Grassroots creativity in arts and culture: a comparative analysis of case studies from the Balkans

Abstract

This article examines self-organised grassroots initiatives in the creative and cultural sector of the Balkans, a region that has experienced significant socio-political shifts over the past three decades. The study focuses on three distinct case studies: Embros Theatre in Athens, Greece; Lumbardhi Cinema in Prizren, Kosovo; and Uzina Cultural Centre in Tirana, Albania. Theoretically, it draws on theory of agonistic practices (Mouffe 2005, 2013) and theories of care and repair (Graziano and Trogal 2017; Puig de la Bellacasa 2017; The Care Collective 2020) to analyse the formation, operation, and collective activities of these initiatives. The paper posits that grassroots initiatives emerge as counter-spaces in response to inadequate cultural infrastructure, limited funding and investment and scarce resources. At the same time, they exemplify more inclusive and “care-full” work models, carrying also the potential to spark change in their local communities by developing support networks.

Keywords:

• Grassroots creativity
• self-organization
• care politics
• counter-spaces

Introduction

Initially celebrated as a vehicle for economic growth (Florida 2002), the ‘creative class’—comprising mainly independent practitioners, freelancers, and social entrepreneurs who represent the ‘new subjects’ of the creative economy (Gandini, Bandinelli, and Cossu 2017)—has, over recent decades, experienced significant precarity and insecurity. This precarity stems from the normalisation of non-permanent contracts and limited social security (McRobbie 2016), project-based labour (Szreder 2021), and practices like hot-desking that are experienced not only by freelancers but also by professionals in cultural organisations (Child, Reckitt, and Richards 2017). Despite the increasingly abstract temporal and spatial dimensions of labour, due to digital technologies and the nomadic nature of freelance and self-employed work, the tangible consequences of immaterial labour are evident, rendering the precarity in creative labour indistinguishable from other life aspects, affecting it on a more biopolitical level (Virno 2013). More than ever before life, politics, and labour form a common nexus of relations.

In order to comprehend the biopolitics of creative labour, acknowledging our current reality is crucial. Moving beyond a singular crisis, which might be specific in its nature, geographic location and duration, more recently terms such as “multi-crisis” and “polycrisis” are used to describe simultaneous and interlocking crises that amplify uncertainty in our interconnected present lives. Events such as the financial crisis which, although it hit some countries harder than others was a global phenomenon, the Covid-19 pandemic, ongoing wars, and the escalating environmental crisis, illustrate a rapidly changing and unpredictable world, urging a revaluation of the initial factors that led us here. This landscape necessitates the need for developing “recuperating forms of value in the creative industries beyond economic value” (Campbell 2022, 33). Consequently, the arts emerge not merely as an economic field but as a dynamic space capable of renegotiating and responding to socio-political shifts. This involves questioning existing structures and inequalities, envisioning sustainable models, and developing alternative ways of being and working in the arts. Due to its inherent capacity to renegotiate realities, creative labour can also uniquely respond to socio-political changes, transcending the limitations of commercial sectors or slow public infrastructure. What forms, then, can such critical responses take? How can creative labour facilitate the envisioning of alternative structures beyond precarity, inequality, and instability?

In the contemporary socio-political landscape, the role and value of grassroots creativity demands closer examination. This article explores how grassroots initiatives in the arts and culture, particularly in the context of Southeast Europe, navigate a complex landscape in the aftermath of crises. The term ‘Southeast Europe’ (or its synonym the “Balkans”) is used in this article not just as a geographic area but as a geo-political concept, representing a region that remains on the periphery of the global cultural production (Cuff and Zečević 2022). This region, having experienced multiple abrupt socio-political changes in the past three decades, presents a unique context. Here, grassroots initiatives in arts and culture not only fill the gap created by malfunctioning public institutions and cultural policies, but also compensate for the absence of a strong private market.

Moving from previous studies of Do-It-Yourself (DIY) movements in the West, which predominantly read group work as entrepreneurial ventures in private, corporate, and public cultural settings (see Lowndes 2016, Sholette 2011), this article redefines grassroots initiatives as a movement of collective practice “where key discussions around current cultural and political issues can be confronted in an embedded manner” (Graziano and Trogal 2017, 636). In the case-studies examined in this paper, such confrontation is not limited to using art and culture as expressions against a given reality, but also lays the foundation for developing solidarity and support networks, mutual aid projects, active participation, and direct community involvement in the creative process. To this end, the article responds to a notable gap in the existing literature and aims to contribute in two significant ways: firstly, by acknowledging grassroots practices as a crucial, yet often under-recognised, force and agent in the arts and cultural infrastructure; and secondly, by mapping the unique skills and strategies inherent in grassroots practices within the creative and cultural sectors of the Balkans. Although in the past decade there has been a significant literature on the role of grassroots initiatives and solidarity movements which flourished in Greece in the aftermath of the financial crisis, there is little written about the cases of Albania and Kosovo. As such, another aim of this paper is to bring these local case-studies into dialogue in closer proximity within the region.

The paper focuses on three case studies of grassroots initiatives in the Balkans: Embros Theatre in Athens, Greece; Lumbardhi Cinema in Prizren, Kosovo; and Uzina Cultural Space in Tirana. These initiatives are distinctive, differing from self-organized initiatives in Western creative economies, as they function as “spaces constituted at the everyday life level, such as the neighbourhood, where participants engage actively in direct decision-making and horizontal operational logics” (Arampatzi 2016, p. 54). In analysing the organisation and work of these grassroots initiatives in their local contexts, the article argues that these initiatives are both the symptom of and the solution to a given political reality that excluded the creative working class from defining their own labour production.

Method

This paper delves into the understudied realm of grassroots practices in the Balkans, a region often overlooked in global cultural discourses. Recognising the Balkans not as a monolithic entity but as a tapestry of diverse socio-political experiences, this study aims to explore the variety in grassroots practices, focusing on their purposes and organising models tailored to local contexts. Utilising a case-study research strategy (Yin 2014), the paper concentrates on three distinct grassroots initiatives located in Tirana, Prizren, and Athens. This methodological approach enables an in-depth understanding of how these initiatives provide creative work conditions while fostering a sense of community, neighbourliness, and connectedness to both their immediate social environment and the broader physical setting (Dragićević Šešić, Brkić, and Matejić 2015, 302).

The case-study research involves contextual analysis of activist strategies, examining their local specificities, grassroots practices, on-site empirical observations, and content analysis of reports by the equivalent ministries of cultures as well as interviews with grassroots members across various media platforms. This analysis occurs at a micro-political level, unravelling the intricacies of daily struggles (Foucault 1980) and the nuanced “micro-politics of resistance” (Thomas and Davies 2005). Here, resistance is conceptualised not simply as direct or linear action against a given reality, but as more affective and perhaps less visible forms of building counter-spaces that exist within or in parallel to the larger cultural sector.

In developing a comparative analysis between the case-studies, the paper juxtaposes theories of agonistic politics (Mouffe 2005, 2013) with theories of care and repair (Graziano and Trogal 2017; Puig de la Bellacasa 2017; The Care Collective 2020). These theoretical lenses are employed to examine how grassroots initiatives evolve into counter-cultural spaces, fostering care and repair as responses to socio-political crises and ruptures in the Balkans.

From squares movement to self-organisation: the case of Embros Theatre in Athens

Crisis and critique: the context

The 2008 financial crisis profoundly affected Greece’s cultural economy. A 2017 report revealed a sharp 29.5% decline in cultural sector professionals and a 27.9% drop in related enterprises (Avdikos, Michailidou, and Klimis 2017). Austerity measures, which were economic plans imposed by the EU, brought about new forms of governmentality, creating what Lazzarato calls the “indebted man” who is subject to creditor-debtor power relations (2015, 91). These abrupt measures encompassed salary reductions in the public sector, pension reforms, increased taxation, and privatisation of state assets. Notably, their repercussions were acutely felt by low-income groups, particularly well-educated young adults, who confronted rampant unemployment. In 2013, unemployment rates soared, with 58.8% of 15-24-year-olds and 37.4% of 25-34-year-olds affected (Hellenic Statistic Authority 2013). The crisis cracked the very foundations of political and social life. Impoverishment and new social disparities, combined with the refugee crisis, gave rise to social polarisations and political extremism - exemplified by the rise of the far-right party Golden Dawn - often culminating even in physical violence. The austerity’s toll on the cultural sector was significant. EU funding cuts led to drastic budget reductions for cultural institutions reliant on state funding, plummeting from €14 million in 2010 to a mere €4.5 million in 2013 (Hellenic Statistical Authority 2022). Researchers observed that from 2008 to 2014, numerous cultural spaces, including the Theatre Museum, were compelled to shut down, festivals ceased, private investments dwindled, and staffing cuts were widespread (Brokalaki and Comunian 2021; Lazaretou 2014; Tsiara 2015).

During this time, grassroots initiatives, originating in public squares, played a pivotal role. Austerity measures propelled individuals to take an active role in their neighbourhoods, leading to the creation of solidarity-based and self-organised communities. The terms “squares movement” and “squares politics” appeared, to describe the occupation of public spaces like Athens’ Syntagma Square, which turned into locations of gathering and protest. Squares movement, revolving around a common share of resources, and decentralised and horizontal decision-making, brought to the fore a reconfiguration of commoning practices within the urban settings. These movements transcended mere protest, embodying alternative local organising methods, and fostering solidarity-based networks (Varvarousis, Asara and Akbulut 2020, 304). Squares movement was predominately based on the self-organisation of citizens; it took diverse forms such as turning car parks and into green spaces, setting up collective kitchens, establishing refugee centres, and providing free medical and legal advice not only to people who participated in protests, but to everyone who was in the neighbourhood. Such solidarity initiatives are viewed as symbols of resilience, social innovation, and public space reconfigurations (Vaiou and Kalandides 2015).

This collective knowledge that emerged from the solidarity economy initiatives is particularly significant for the arts and culture. Until the 2010s, Greece’s cultural infrastructure was characterised by rigid public institutions under the Ministry of Culture,¹ private and commercial spaces, and the two major cultural centres Onassis Stegi and the Niarchos Foundation Cultural Centre. In the past decade, however, independent art spaces and creative hubs have flourished. Often established by arts collectives, spaces such as 3 137, ERGO Collective, and Enterprise Projects, have become vital to Greece’s creative and cultural ecosystem. This boom in independent spaces has especially shaped the cultural landscape of Athens, diversifying arts programmes, enriching arts residencies that create opportunities for freelancers, and embracing cultural trends and debates that happen in the field internationally.

Activating Embros Theatre

The former Embros newspaper’s office (1933-1985) was converted into a theatre in 1988 by actor Tassos Mpantis. The building is in the Psiri neighbourhood of Athens. Following Mpantis’s death in 2007, the theatre was abandoned until the Mavili Collective revived it in 2011, returning it to its community of actors, dancers, and performance artists. This reopening aligned with the socio-political upheaval and self-organised movement in Athens:

It was the moment when the long-standing aesthetic-political stakes of young artists and intellectuals for new spaces, institutions and relations met and resonated with the social and political stakes of a broad range of citizens wanting institutional changes in Greece. (Fotiadi 2017, 117)

Embros Theatre’s history is deeply intertwined with the broader movement of self-organisation that surged in Athens, following the squares movement. At their core, grassroots endeavours, based on structures of solidarity, support networks, and mutual aid, counterbalanced the impact of austerity measures (Arampatzi 2016). In this vein, Embros became a space to critique cultural policies and the widespread corruption in state administration. Greece’s cultural policy has predominately focused on heritage, the repatriation of the Parthenon Marbles, and the nexus between culture and tourism (Kouri 2012). This approach has led to the neglect of contemporary arts and cultural production that falls outside the Ministry of Culture’s priorities. This neglect becomes evident in the distribution of funding within the theatre sector. In 2019, while €15 million were allocated to theatres under the Ministry of Culture, and €717K to municipal theatres, only €1.7 million was earmarked for other theatre organisations (Kolokytha 2022, 75). This allocation is disproportionate, considering the abundance of independent theatres nationwide, in contrast to those under the Ministry of Culture’s jurisdiction.

It could be argued that the financial crisis brought to light pathologies deeply entrenched in Greek public administration, especially within the cultural sector, shaped by a top-down implementation of cultural policy. This includes lack of transparency in the recruitment process at national committees² that make decisions in the sector, obscure funding processes, and uneven distribution of resources. The opacity of state-run administrations, coupled with intense and complex bureaucracy, complicates access to cultural networks. This was also evident in the actions of the Ministry of Culture and Sports during the pandemic, which included a €15 million support plan distributed via Open Calls – a competitive process that exclusively catered to cultural organisations and not to freelancers or independent practitioners (Magkou, Kolokytha, and Tsene 2022, 199).

The activists of Embros Theatre made the above issues visible, demanding institutional changes through open letters to the Ministry of Culture and organising conferences on cultural policy. These events united artists, researchers, and cultural managers to reimagine the sector. The Mavili Collective mention in their manifesto:

We act in response to the total lack of a basic cultural policy on the level of education, production and support of artistic work as a national product. We act in response to the general stagnation of thinking and action in our society through collective meeting, thinking and direct action by reactivating a disused historical building in the centre of Athens (Mavili Collective 2011).

These reconfigurations brought art and politics in close proximity. In this case, this does not simply mean using art and creativity as a form of expressive politics, but rather as a method and a tool to envisage different ways of organising. Interestingly, the Greek word for crisis (κρίση), is etymologically linked with the word critique (κριτική), both linked to the act of judging and deciding in Ancient Greek. This semantic connection is also present in re-thinking the role of art and creativity. Art thus became a platform to raise and practise a collective consensus, evolving into a political praxis. This aligns with political theorist Chantal Mouffe’s perspective on the political. For Mouffe politics comprises “the set of practices and institutions through which an order is created, organising human coexistence” (2005, 9), while the political involves antagonism that manifests in diverse social relations. The political, therefore, is not limited to politics but includes any counteractions to dominant systems. Mouffe expands on this idea, illustrating the antagonistic relationship between established order and counteractions. The organised “we” emerges as a critical political consensus against hegemonic practices. Mouffe notes:

There are always other possibilities that have been repressed and that can be reactivated. The articulatory practices through which a certain order is established, and the meaning of social institutions is fixed are ‘hegemonic practices’, and every hegemonic practice is susceptible of being challenged by counter-hegemonic practices (2005, 18).

Thus, grassroots initiatives, already woven into the social fabric and situated between institutional hegemonies, can establish counter-hegemonic spaces that challenge dominant modes of operation in the arts. The practice of “constituting outside” is essential for forming collective identities that engage in direct action with their local realities (Mouffe and Laclau 1985, 127-134). Although Mouffe uses the above term in relation to representative democracy, it becomes also accurate in the field of arts and cultural practice. In this case, the practice of “constituting outside” had a dual meaning. On the one hand, it becomes a collective critique of arts and cultural institutions, including their policies and politics. On the other hand, it contains the fuel to create counter-spaces where this critique can receive actual resonance in creativity and artistic experimentation.

A space for active participation

Despite the activist and protest elements that characterised Embros, Eleni Tzirtzilaki, a founding member of the group Nomadic Architecture and participant in the 2011 actions, suggests that the term “activation” is more accurate than “occupation” to describe the re-opening of Embros (Dimitriou 2021). The activists returned to its neighbourhood a building that remained unused and neglected, transforming Embros into an open, accessible, and inclusive space for experimentation, artistic freedom, and exchange of diverse ideas and practices. The theatre operates through general assemblies and open decision-making meetings, welcoming anyone to attend and participate. Likewise, anyone can propose a project or event, which is then discussed and decided collectively in these assemblies. These activities are offered free of charge to both practitioners utilising the space and equipment of Embros, and to visitors and audiences. Embros produces an array of activities including plays, performances, workshops, short courses, dance lessons, and film screenings. All these events all curated and programmed by the communities of its users in a non-hierarchical way and according to an open calendar which defines when the space is available. The result of this open practice has established Embros as a hub for creativity and dialogue amongst local communities, encompassing both creative practitioners and area residents.

From the 1980s to the present, the Psiri neighbourhood has been a hub of creative and cultural activity in central Athens, featuring art galleries, theatres, artisan workshops, and music stages, and is located near major museums such as the Benaki Museum and the Industrial Gas Museum. Psiri, once a post-industrial area, attracted creative practitioners with its cheap rents in the 1980s and 1990s at a time when middle class populations preferred the suburbs of Athens. Recently, the advent of Airbnb platforms has ushered in a new stage of gentrification, transforming increasing numbers of spaces into tourist accommodations and complicating living conditions for the locals with unaffordable rents. Amidst this influx of tourists and the Athenian “creative class,” the neighbourhood has also become home to immigrants and refugees in recent years:

The crisis, the insecurity and the fear of police and state violence, and the economic and social instability all formed a new geography in Athens, and we initially pictured Embros as an open space for diversity in the city, as a shelter in a war zone. Vulnerable artists, undocumented immigrants, queer people and vagabonds found their space here. 2012 and 2013 were years of creative juxtaposition and the space served as a shelter for the nomads of Athens (Dimitriou 2021)

This creative juxtaposition, as Tzirtzilaki explains, was manifested through the organisation of activities such as “poetry events, Syrian artists, activist and artistic events performed by African women and immigrants from Afghanistan,” and “experimental cultural-political festivals, discussing issues of biopolitics” (Dimitriou 2021). This ongoing effort to integrate marginalized migrant communities into the creative process demonstrates that grassroots initiatives “can form an alternative cultural model against the gentrification that is taking place in the centre of Athens and against art practices that support the process of gentrification” (Goudouna 2014, 83). Gentrification, described as “a process of displacement” and “accumulation by dispossession” (Harvey 2003) which converts public assets into private properties, reflects urban policies aimed at revitalising certain neighbourhoods in the centre of Athens which are predominantly inhabited by refugees and immigrants. Developing grassroots counter-spaces in this context is also an act of practising collective care, not only for the physical building, protecting it from demolition or dispossession, but more importantly, for its communities. This represents another embodiment of agonistic politics inherent in grassroots initiatives, transcending the realms of arts and culture. Instead, these movements actively contribute to the welfare of the communities they engage with at a micro-political level and in dialogue with the socio-political reality of the neighbourhood.

Working with the past: the case of Lumbardhi Cinema in Prizren

Revitalising Lumbardhi Cinema

The history of Lumbardhi Cinema began in 1952 in Prizren, the second largest city in Kosovo. It is the oldest surviving cinema in Kosovo and one of the first cinemas in the Balkans built with both indoor and outdoor screens. The cinema was built as part of major construction of cinemas at a time when Yugoslavia was just formed as a state. In its first years it screened predominately documentaries and antifascist films celebrating the partisan struggles in the aftermath of the Second World War. However, over time it diversified its repertoire, screening foreign films and becoming especially popular for Westerns.

Lumbardhi’s history is connected to a pivotal turn in former Yugoslavia when access to culture was not a privilege just for the intellectuals. This shift was reflected in a series of reforms in the 1950s aimed at broadening cultural participation across all social classes. The cultural policy “Technique to the People,” transferred decision-making and control over cultural production from the state to local communities and councils (Kirn 2014). This decentralisation was part of Yugoslavia’s distinctive self-management system, an economic model allowing state-owned enterprises to be operated by workers with minimal state interference. Although workers’ councils eventually faced corruption and technocratic control, the self-management system created the space and freedom for grassroots infrastructure which pushed experimentality and critique. For instance, film clubs -which flourished in the 1960s across all big cities in Yugoslavia - became social spaces, “where the underground, experimental and amateur young people started work on interdisciplinary projects that would bridge cinema with other arts and media” (Kirn 2014, 115). By the 1970s, the decentralisation of culture was further advanced with the establishment of Palaces of Culture, offering multi-functional spaces for a wide array of activities, from sports and film screenings to art exhibitions and craft workshops, that were open and available to everyone without having to travel to cultural capitals.

Acknowledging this historical context is crucial for two main reasons. First, Lumbardhi’s popularity and the large audiences who visited the cinema make it a site of collective memory. This memory remains alive in its local communities, and it is passed down through generations. Second, in a region that experienced intense privatisations after the collapse of Yugoslavia, Lumbardhi symbolises an era when culture was a communal asset.

Lumbardhi cinema operated as a public enterprise until 1999, when the escalating war in Kosovo led to a pause in its operations. Despite its state of abandonment, the cinema became a space of social gathering. In an interview, Ares Shporta, one of the main figures behind the initiative to save the cinema, mentions:

My generation created a relationship with Lumbardhi more so through SHKA [Shoqëria Kulturoro Artistike—Cultural Artistic Society], which was an illegal cafe that functioned within Lumbardhi. Lumbardhi was in a way occupied since ‘99. In 2012, a friend of ours functionalized it as a cafe, and it was very underground […] It was a zone of complete freedom (Mehmetaj 2017).

In 2007, the Mayor of Prizren’s decision to demolish the cinema ignited a counteraction of civil resistance. The organisers of DokuFest, in collaboration with EC Ma Ndryshe, a non-governmental organisation dedicated to community empowerment and cultural development in Kosovo, initiated a local campaign. This initiative rapidly gained support from numerous activists across Kosovo. This campaign involved protests in the public space and a petition which was signed by 8,000 individuals. This significant campaign not only raised awareness but also effectively prevented the demolition of the cinema. However, despite this achievement, the building remained largely unused with the exception of DokuFest, which used the cinemas one of its main venues for its annual programme of film screenings.

In fact, in recent years the cinema has been closely associated with DokuFest, an international documentary and short film festival that was established in 2002. DokuFest, the largest annual film festival in Kosovo, hosts screenings throughout Prizren’s historic centre utilising various historic buildings. The festival has been instrumental not only in bolstering the local creative infrastructure but also in fostering regional cultural growth. It has established creative networks and cultural dialogues in a post-war era, reconnecting countries that were once united under a shared ideology but later divided by nationalist tensions in the 1990s. In 2019, DokuFest gained recognition in the UK as a BAFTA qualifying festival for short films, and in 2022, it was nominated by the European Film Academy. These new associations allowed local professionals in the film industry to situate themselves in relation to the broader industry in Europe and gave credibility and visibility to the fights of local activists, which previously remained unrecognised by Kosovo’s official authorities.

From activism to cross-institutional collaborations

DokuFest’s prominent role in the cultural sector and its established internal networks were pivotal for the reopening of Lumbardhi Cinema and its official recognition as a cultural site. In 2014, the DokuFest opening ceremony transformed into a form of protest, with the festival’s then-director, Veton Nurkollari, emphasizing the need revitalise the cinema. The audience of approximately 800 people included cultural representatives from both Albania and Kosovo, the local municipality, and many stakeholders supporting the festival. This event was a turning point, elevating a local struggle into a regional cause. Albania’s Prime Minister Edi Rama, at the DokuFest’s closing ceremony that year, underscored the importance of preserving the cinema as a heritage site. This more formal protest coincided with a second attempt by the municipality of Prizren to demolish the cinema to make space for a road expansion. This time, in addition to DokuFest, and EC Ma Ndryshe, the Network of Cultural Organisations RrOK joined the effort. They delved into the legal aspects and pursued avenues that would facilitate the cinema’s recognition as a heritage site. Professionals working in arts and cultural institutions in Kosovo also played a crucial role in this process as they had an inside knowledge of cultural legislation and access to more formal professional networks. The outcome of this campaign’s approach, moving away from spontaneous protests, involved fifty-eight organisations uniting to petition the Ministry of Culture for the cinema to be recognised as a heritage site, and thus, to be protected from future demolition. This campaign coincided with local elections, which also changed the municipal representation of Prizren. In 2015, the cinema was declared a heritage site, granting the organisers of DokuFest official permission to utilise it.

Learning from previous conflicts with local authorities, in 2015 the activists involved in the process of revitalising the cinema, launched the “Lumbardhi Public Again,” a project that aimed to develop a sustainable management plan for the cinema, in collaboration with various local and international stakeholders. This plan aimed to preserve the cinema’s cultural heritage while establishing a sustainable financial model, reviving it as a local economic landmark. The creation of the Lumbardhi Foundation was a key outcome of this endeavour. In addition to generating income through ticket sales and café revenues, significant funding of €1.5 million from the EU transformed the abandoned cinema into a major cultural centre. In 2022, the cinema received the European Heritage Award.

The recent history of Lumbardhi underscores the importance of building partnerships and networks of solidary at both local and international levels. The combined efforts, expertise, and resources were crucial in saving the cinema, demonstrating that when grassroots initiatives are supported and recognised with funding and resources, it can lead to more sustainable actions in the arts and cultural sector.

The Lumbardhi Foundation maintains a public archive of Kosovo’s cinema and film history and hosts a diverse program of events, including performances, screenings, music events, educational talks, workshops, research projects, and interactive tours. The team running the cinema continues to rely on collaborative practices. For instance, the program QARK serves as a platform to invite external artists, researchers, and curators to contribute to Lumbardhi’s operations and expand its engagement with local communities.

Ares Shporta, the Founding Director of the Lumbardhi Foundation, reflected on the process of saving the cinema from privatisation, recognising its broader cultural and policy significance:

We had a strong belief that fulfilling the goals of the Initiative for the protection of the Lumbardhi Cinema and engaging institutions, organisations, and individuals in that process, could not only be a great planning experience for Lumbardhi, but also a solid base for other similar contexts and larger policy changes. Because while we were trying to rethink and revive the Cinema, we were also producing a new way of running an institution. (Jovanović 2022)

Lumbardhi Cinema’s history, encompassing its past and present, directly reflects the extensive socio-political shifts in Kosovo. The dissolution of Yugoslavia led not only to the collapse of a state and its ideology but also to the dismantling of its institutions. The Yugoslav wars initiated a shift in the national cultural narrative: the Yugoslav identity became obsolete, quickly replaced by narratives emphasizing ethnic claims over borders and territories. Cultural institutions and museums mirrored the tension as each former Yugoslav republic strove to establish its distinct national and cultural identity. This backdrop informs the Lumbardhi Foundation’s current approach:

A cultural institution can be many things, you just need to find particularity in terms of what it represents at the present and what kind of future it projects. Especially when dealing with heritage, you are dealing with three layers of audiences, those from the past, present and future. You need to have this in mind when positioning your organisation. (Jovanović 2022).

Beyond heritage, Lumbardhi Cinema also symbolises the challenges faced by creative practitioners amidst intense privatisations and the decline of public, communal spaces. The self-organised civic society not only preserved the cinema but transformed it into a cultural space that addresses contemporary needs. This transformation is part of a broader movement of community organising in post-war Kosovo, often supported by international NGOs and government bodies. Civil society organisations in Kosovo act as intermediaries between citizens and the government (Alidemaj and Haxhiu 2021), indicating that policy changes occur not only top-down but also bottom-up through community and civic organising. This was evident in the case of Lumbardhi Cinema, where activist engagement shifted from conflict with local authorities to securing support from the Ministry of Culture.

While Embros Theatre finds its resonance in the momentum of social and political emancipation that was exercised in the squares’ movement, the case of Lumbardhi Cinema manifests the power of building a solidarity network and bringing that within the institutions. Networks that appear as counteractions can influence cultural policies. In fact, such conflicts, Mouffe (2013) argues, are at the core of a well-functioning democracy. The crucial distinction here “is that conflict does not take the form of an ‘antagonism’ (struggle between enemies), but the form of an ‘agonism’ (struggle between adversaries),” (7) which requires different positions to be heard. This means that whilst both Embros Theatre and Lumbardhi Cinema were in confrontation with local authorities, in fact they exercise their freedom to revive spaces that are already used in one way or another by their communities of users.

Developing communal spaces: the case of uzina Centre in Tirana

In the shadow of a difficult heritage: the context

While collective efforts succeeded in saving a historic cinema in Kosovo, activists could not prevent the demolition of the National Theatre in Tirana in 2020, amidst the Covid-19 lockdown, to enable the construction of a shopping centre and luxury apartments in a prime, historic location of the capital. This demolition highlighted Albania’s “institutional difficulties in dealing with a ‘newer heritage’ from the recent past,” raising concerns about “the future preservation of the entire Tirana historic urban landscape” (Pompejano and Macchioni 2022, 81–82). Albania’s oppressive Communist past still haunts collective memory. Buildings from this recent history are either demolished under the guise of private investment or innovative projects, or, if preserved, become sites of “dark” tourism, focusing on the hardships and crimes of the Communist Party. Amid this erasure of recent history, the National Theatre’s costumes and archives were lost, with no government plan for a replacement theatre of national status.

The Ministry of Culture in Albania, supporting twenty-eight national institutions and museums, is the sole regulator of cultural policies, strategies, and funding. This centralisation hinders the involvement of individual arts and cultural professionals in decision-making, particularly regarding the future of buildings and spaces in use. This is evident from the fact that contrary to the National Strategy for Culture 2019-2025, which plans to prioritise “architectural heritage rehabilitation” and increase “rehabilitated monuments and museums” (Ministry of Culture, no date), the National Theatre was demolished despite protests by local artists and activists, demonstrating that the Ministry of Culture remains the sole decision-maker. This demolition sparked widespread frustration and opposition among cultural professionals, leading to an open letter to the international art community titled “Stop Artwashing Edi Rama’s Politics”, critiquing Albania’s cultural governance practices and noting the close ties between the government, cultural spaces and media outlets which make opposition even harder (Di Liscia 2020). The letter, signed by over five hundred members of the national and international art community, highlights tensions in Albania’s cultural sector and its imbrication in political life.

Albania’s current cultural policy priorities are predominantly shaped by the country’s political ambition to join the European Union. These policies state as their main goal to expand cultural markets, preserve cultural heritage, promote Albania’s cultural values through international activities, increase public interest in cultural programmes, and implement cultural education in the pre-university education system (Ministry of Culture, no date). However, when these priorities are juxtaposed with the organisations under the auspices of the Ministry of Culture—primarily national museums, state archives, archaeological sites, and regional directorates of cultural heritage—two significant issues become evident. Firstly, the current strategic priorities entirely overlook the broader field of contemporary visual and interdisciplinary arts that fall outside the heritage sector. Secondly, they disregard the social and economic contributions of local creative industries - contributions that could be acknowledged and bolstered through relevant inclusion when establishing priorities in culture. This policy gap, in both contemporary culture and the creative industries, becomes even more problematic when combined with some challenges presented in the current National Strategy for Culture plan. These challenges include the state’s monopoly as the sole funder of cultural institutions and independent operators, bureaucratic obstacles stemming from legal framework reforms that hinder collaboration between state institutions and private entities, insufficient cooperation between central and local institutions, and a lack of training opportunities. Skills, knowledge, and innovative ideas emerging from within the local community, and from independent practitioners in the field of contemporary arts and culture, as well as the broader creative industries, have the potential to address, and perhaps offer solutions to, some of these challenges facing Albania’s cultural sector. Yet, in the best-case scenario, these contributions are often overlooked, and in the worst case, they are actively resisted and opposed by local municipalities, which also represent the government. This issue becomes more pronounced when considering the fate of grassroots initiatives in this context.

Reclaiming uzina

Established in 2019, Uzina emerged when about eighty volunteers, supported by the Belgian non-profit organisation Toestand, reclaimed an abandoned tractor factory on the outskirts of Tirana and transformed it into a cultural centre. This factory, a remnant of Albania’s socialist regime, is one of many such abandoned post-industrial sites across Albania. Uzina, and similar community cultural spaces in Bosnia and Herzegovina (Društveno-kulturni Centar, Sarajevo), Kosovo (Termokiss, Pristina), and North Macedonia (Space Tetova), were established when abandoned former socialist industrial spaces were reclaimed and repurposed with Toestand’s support. This Belgian organisation assists local communities in identifying appropriate buildings and in negotiating their legal status with local authorities. Although initiated by a foreign organisation, their activities are independently adapted to the needs of local communities. These grassroots organisations form a collaborative network in the Balkans, exchanging knowledge and skills and jointly addressing daily challenges. For example, in 2020, Uzina, together with activists from Termokiss in Pristina and the Tetovo Social Centre, organised a series of fundraising events and parties to raise capital for the physical maintenance of Uzina’s building.

Uzina’s establishment coincided with a period of intense privatisation of public spaces in Albania and a dependence on the Ministry of Culture for funding creative projects. The volunteers at Uzina articulate their motivation thus:

With the threat of social unrest, environmental collapse, anxiety, and distrust, the city is the frontline of a battle against exploitative and extractive systems. Public space is increasingly being sold off, and the very city that’s supposed to belong to all people is slowly becoming a very foreign land that we’ve come to stumble upon. Simultaneously, the city is also where home, inspiration, and action stand. (Uzina, no date)

This statement offers a pointed critique of the wider political, social, and environmental issues in Tirana, exacerbated by a pervasive distrust in political structures and a lack of specific governmental plans to tackle these challenges. In response, local communities are establishing their own counter-spaces as platforms for social gathering and political awareness. Uzina’s cultural events, which place a strong emphasis on community participation, exemplify this. In a manner akin to Embros Theatre, Uzina operated through weekly open meetings for collective discussions on practical space needs, such as maintenance of the building and events programming, implementing a horizontal governance structure where all members have an equal role in decision-making. Uzina’s diverse activities and events involved book clubs, crafts, a women’s empowerment club, community yoga and music production. Essentially, anyone could propose an event or a cultural happening. Sundays were reserved for social gatherings. These activities had a significant value for the local neighbourhood. Uzina, based in Shkoza, a suburb on the outskirts of Tirana, remains the only cultural and social centre in a deprived area.

The commitment of Uzina to generate public spaces, is also present in collaborations they had with organisations such as Tek Bunkeri, an NGO based in Tirana and Berlin, working on projects that revitalise abandoned buildings in Tirana. This array of activities showcases their skills in organising community-driven projects and their flexibility in developing collaborations, elements often lacking in state institutions in Albania.

Despite the lack of a substantial municipal approach, Uzina managed to endure the severe earthquake that struck Tirana in late 2019. However, it did not manage to survive the newly-imposed precarity in the aftermath of the Covid-19 pandemic:

Earthquake. Covid-19. We were now stuck and really demotivated. It had been a year where all of our efforts went to vain, and all of our ideas were never able to be concretized because of external mishappenings [sic], or because we didn’t have the resources to do so (Uzina, no date).

Uzina’s income generation practices relied predominately on fundraising from social events, which were no longer possible with the pandemic lockdowns. Similarly, the lockdowns dampened the initial momentum of the volunteer spirit: in particular, the challenges of maintaining a building in need of extensive repair proved too much. In 2020, the Uzina team decided to leave the former tractor factory premises, relocating to the first floor of the Backpacker Hostel in Tirana.

Reconfiguring public and common spaces

Even after relocating closer to the centre of Tirana, Uzina’s educational programme remained dedicated to the communities of its initial neighbourhood, Shkoza, frequently revisiting the old factory’s site. For instance, the Creativity Module, an after-school activity guide for Albanian teachers, was specifically designed with suburban neighbourhoods like Shkoza in mind. Uzina highlights the scarcity of green spaces and leisure facilities in these neglected suburbs, as well as the diminishing focus on creativity and art education in the national curriculum. This highlights the need for social spaces where arts and creativity are central (Uzina, no date). The focus on arts education was also implemented in a week-long summer camp for schoolchildren held at the former tractor factory in 2021, in partnership with Shkoza’s local community centre (Qendra Komunitare Shkoze), and supported financially by Leviz Albania, a Swiss aid project implemented by the Open Society Foundation in Albania.³

This situation illustrates Uzina’s ability to build partnerships and collaborations, essential for actualising cultural projects. Nonetheless, it also brings into question the dependence on financial support from foreign organisations in Eastern European countries, which are arguably still grappling with the aftermath of the “shock therapies” of the 1990s and 2000s.⁴ Like Lumbardhi Cinema, Uzina received support from an external Western entity. While Lumbardhi benefited from substantial EU funding ensuring stability, organisations like Toestand and Leviz Albania offered transient support. Such support is crucial in initiating operations for grassroots initiatives like Uzina or in facilitating short-term projects, but it is not enough to foster sustainable outcomes. Therefore, examining the efforts of grassroots initiatives, their local struggles, and the socio-political context in which they operate, inevitably points towards funding methods that are more ethical and rooted in the ethos of “mutual aid”. Dean Spade (2020) articulates “mutual aid” in our era of multiple crises, as projects comprising three essential elements: firstly, a shared, in-depth understanding of why certain communities are underserved; secondly, a sense of solidarity and the drive to mobilise; thirdly, an emphasis on participation through collective action that eliminates the need for “saviours” (9-20). Viewing funding as mutual aid implies transforming it into a tool for capacity building, enabling local communities to establish and strengthen their networks within their realities, rather than perceiving it as mere charity.

Despite its precarious nature, the grassroots practices of Uzina prompt a re-evaluation of the public space and the urban commons. Uzina describe their activity as a commoning practice: “The idea of social space is rooted in the concept of the commons—a process and set of social relations where a group shares responsibility for a specific space” (Uzina, no date). The concept of commons embodies direct democracy, horizontal participation, and equitable resource distribution, challenging dominant power structures in Southeast Europe (Gkitsa 2023). This recent political realization emerges in the aftermath of intense privatization and the rise of tourism, which have led to the erosion of public and communal spaces. This development, resonating within the arts and culture, is particularly significant for Albania.

Except for the student movement from November 1990 to December 1991, which marked the collapse of the socialist regime, until 2005, and despite intense corruption within political parties, Albania witnessed a lack of social movements. Various factors contributed to this, including mass migration, a deficit in political discourse knowledge due to isolation, and an extreme reliance on representation through political parties (Hoxha 2019). Therefore, the flourishing of grassroots initiative in arts and culture signifies a moment of political awakening, where citizens take an active role in their societies. In this context, the struggle to establish counter-spaces for practising the commons, implying horizontal and participatory governing, represents a form of agonistic politics. Examining the role of art and culture in relation to such political dynamics reveals that “confrontation is not limited to traditional political institutions” but that arts and culture can also create alternative public spaces for re-thinking the political in the broader spectrum of “civil society” (Mouffe 2013, 89).

Fostering communities of care: repair, restore, reuse

When examined together, the case-studies analysed here reveal that the value of arts and culture can be arenas of tensions, power struggles, and local representation (Belfiore 2020). Despite their distinct activities and socio-political contexts, these three case-studies show critical similarities. Firstly, they are deeply embedded in community engagement, sustained by collective efforts that showcase the value of community-driven projects, often in opposition to local authorities. Secondly, they demonstrate more adaptable responses to socio-political changes than the centralised, slow, and bureaucratic approaches of ministries of culture. Lumbardhi Cinema and Uzina emerged in environments still marked by the transition from state socialist to neoliberal democracy, while Embros Theatre’s revival coincided with Greece’s socio-political turmoil following its financial crisis. Thirdly, as part of a collective process to create alternative spaces, they all engaged in repairing, restoring, and repurposing buildings that had been left neglected and abandoned. By reclaiming such spaces, they challenge institutional structures that restrict access and fair resource distribution, redefining values and perspectives on heritage, including what is worth preserving, funding, and caring for.

Grassroots initiatives have previously been analysed in terms of how they implement solidarity practices, but it is equally important to recognize the caring politics inherent in these practices. Care “involves creating and defending the commons: collectively owned, socialised forms of provision, space and infrastructure” (The Care Collective 2020, 31). In the three case-studies discussed in this paper, care is manifested in the maintenance and repurposing of abandoned buildings, involving communities in creation and decision-making processes, and caring for the arts and cultural field itself by creating spaces for cultural production outside malfunctioning institutions. Thus, care practices centralise the interrelation of place, community, and the micro-politics of everyday life. Care practice, as argued by Puig de la Bellacasa, is not predefined but is shaped collectively and in action according to the needs of each community. Puig de la Bellacasa asks,

But what is care? Is it an affection? A moral obligation? Work? A burden? A joy? Something we can learn or practise? Something we just do? Care means all these things and different things to different people, in different situations (2017, 1).

For Lumbardhi Cinema activists, care was directly about saving and restoring a cinema significant to its local community and heritage. For Uzina, care practices were driven by the desire to contribute a space for sociability and gathering in their deprived neighbourhood. For Embros, care was a mode of survival amid a financial crisis and municipal neglect. In all these instances, arts and culture provide a platform for practising care.

Care also involves repair: repairing buildings, realities defined by existing dominant policies, and social spaces dismantled during privatisations. Graziano and Trogal observe that collective repair practices are “pedagogical sites that also bring many other relations that need to be ‘fixed’ to the fore” (2017, p. 653). Influenced by Steven Jackson’s concept of “broken world thinking,” which argues that the neoliberal values of innovation and progress have led to a world in crisis, Graziano and Trogal (2017) note that caring for and repairing becomes a means of knowledge production and a collective realisation. Similarly, against individualism and competition, the politics of repair and care suggest collective work and interdependence that is actualised through self-organisation, as crucial survival strategies. These moments of reconfiguration are key elements of the grassroots initiatives analysed in this paper.

Conclusion

This paper does not aim to idealise grassroots initiatives as a perfect model for organising and working in the creative and cultural industries. Such a view would overlook and romanticise the fact that these initiatives often emerge in response to the failures of cultural policies and institutions, filling gaps in the creative infrastructure. Creative and cultural workers engaged in these efforts not only contend with the sector’s inherent precarity but also face additional challenges such as emotional exhaustion and anxiety in securing necessary spaces and funding for their creative pursuits. The phenomenon of activist burnout, identified in social-justice movements (Chen and Gorski 2015), is similarly present in grassroots arts and culture initiatives reliant on often invisible volunteer and activist labour. This invisible labour involves campaign planning, negotiations with authorities at a local and national level, forming partnerships, building solidarity networks, and resolving internal disagreements whilst advocating for the sector.

However, periods of precarity also present opportunities to reimagine alternative modes and methods of working within the creative economies. Grassroots initiatives, driven by creative practitioners, cultivate “communities of care” which “foreground a collective rather than an individual response to mitigating and managing this risk, creating broader support structures in the absence of policy frameworks” (Campbell 2022, 47). In some instances, as with Lumbardhi Cinema, activist practices can influence local authorities, transforming community-organised movements into business plans that impact policies at a governmental level. Even in cases like Uzina Cultural Centre and Embros Theatre, where the status remains precarious, practitioners continue to produce art and culture that elevates the field and intertwines it with political discourse. The knowledge and skillsets inscribed in grassroots practices show that instead of inventing new or innovative models, perhaps caring for, restoring, and repairing existing structures on the margins of capital production, might be a more ethical method to sustain creative practice in a “broken world” (Jackson 2014).

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No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author.

Additional information

Notes on contributors

Dimitra Gkitsa

Dimitra Gkitsa is a Lecturer in Curating and Cultural Leadership at the Winchester School of Art, University of Southampton.

Notes

1 During the financial crisis, the Ministry of Culture, a key player in Greek cultural policy, experienced notable instability. It transitioned to a secretariat within the Ministry of Education in 2012, regained its status as the Ministry of Culture and Sports in 2013, and merged again with the Ministry of Education in 2015. These frequent restructurings indicate that the cultural sector was particularly vulnerable during the crisis, underscoring the pre-existing frailties in Greece’s cultural policy.

2 In 2021, the arrest of the director of Greece’s National Theatre on sexual abuse charges, who was appointed directly by the Minister of Culture without a competitive selection process, sparked a wave of protests in the theatre sector. This incident was pivotal in bringing the ‘Me Too’ movement to Greece. It also shed light on the broader issues within the sector, including opaque hiring practices for directors and inadequate protection for the working conditions of theatre and dance practitioners.

3 The Open Society Foundations, established by George Soros, emerged in mid-1980s and played a crucial role in the development and financial support of art and cultural practices across post-socialist Eastern Europe. These non-profit organisations, sponsored and managed by the Soros Foundations, filled in a “gap after centralized state subsidies were discontinued; the Ministries of Culture showed little to no interest in exploring the cultural legacy of the socialist decades, and no models of public–private partnership yet existed” (Hock 2023, 95).

4 “Shock therapy” is a term that described the transition process of former state socialism to neoliberal democracy. This process was characterised by high inflation in the sudden absence of state to control prices, large-scale privatisations, strict fiscal and monetary policies which lead to social welfare reductions. With many countries, not having a previous experience operating in an open market, “shock therapy” brought about socio-political chaos.