By Ben Andoni
In a normal context—or more precisely, in countries where states function properly—institutions have done their work, and socio-economic regimes have succeeded one another according to a logic (even if harsh). The past is deeply processed, the present is treated carefully, and from the lessons of these two, people think and speak about the future. Of course, the future is unknown, because no one can say what will happen.
But in the Balkans—Albania and Kosovo, Serbia, North Macedonia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Montenegro, and even Croatia and Slovenia—there is one common thread: the region’s history has been rewritten and published according to the interests of various groups, often interrupted. Our history is an example: we still do not have a clear date marking the end or the nature of Anti-Fascism; we have not been able to take a thorough look at the achievements and damages of the era of the Presidency and King Zog I; the role of foreign powers and of the Ottoman Empire itself in independence; or what happened under Socialism in rebuilding a destroyed country and the role of the communists. Above all, every text or narrative created is countered by another.
In Albanian territories, this is somewhat understandable given the shifting borders and the dual identity under the various empires (Ottoman, Italian, Austro-Hungarian, among others). It continues with sharp divisions among us: what is heroic for the “Left” is automatically an enemy for the “Right”; long periods when regimes attempted to erase everything, and people lived under the fearsome censorship and self-censorship, with traumas of various kinds. The Albanian who grew up remembers the dedication and exhausting actions, the zeal for utopian faith, but also the internment camps, prisons, and executions, as well as the terrifying surveillance system where everyone spied on everyone else. This clash is still felt in media panels today, where history—even of those working in the same institutions—is recounted in different historical narratives and differing stances are maintained.
The missing and often whispered memory of the past has made Albanian society once deny even relatives who had “undesirable” histories—a fact that continues today. In rare cases, historical witnesses have been fair with their memories, if not outright concealing truths we may never learn. Official history has been used to mobilize population groups according to their narratives, to build national myths, and to present what the crowd wanted regarding friends and enemies.
Our “past” is not only about sudden changes or people forgetting; it is the fact that many things are still hidden today, while others are simply “neglected.” A careful stratigraphy shows that Albanian memory is highly layered, intensely painful, and the past here is entirely unclear—far more so than the future.
In Kosovo, from this ambiguity and especially from false protagonism, a new narrative is emerging about the KLA (UÇK) war and the identity of its commanders and units. The more time passes, the more attention is drawn to the work and path chosen by former President Rugova, a challenging topic in itself. As for Albania, the paradoxes of the past never end. The flag was raised ceremonially three times at the Municipality of Tirana in November, because today’s people do not understand the hierarchy of events and the priority of honoring Independence in a sublime way.
Let’s not even touch the barren debates about World War II and especially Socialism, where many protagonists are still alive (some even camouflaged), making it difficult to reveal truths and exposing the whole mechanism of social engineering that brainwashed people. Even closer: the mechanisms behind the Pyramid Schemes and the disastrous years of 1997-1998 are being forgotten. Neither is it remembered in the Democratic Party what happened on January 8, 2002, nor are lessons drawn from boycotts or how the Right practically lost its party almost entirely. Even worse, the narrative of Berisha continues as if nothing happened, implying: the chairman’s position belongs to him, and whoever dares may run against him. On the other hand, in the Party turned military detachment, Rama keeps saying: “We are not the best, but there is none better than us… and I will leave power when I want.”
Unlike us, the West continued the normal logic of state and institutions; archives were untouched, while ours were damaged, visible even in “Spies”; Western narratives were straightforward, overlapping, openly addressing the past and their issues—with pain, yes, but openly, often with a Mea Culpa.
By not delving deeply into the past, because we cannot access it democratically, things seem to be repeating themselves, including PD’s divisions, reminiscent of similar events during Socialism that sometimes ended tragically. Or the Socialists’ concentration of power, the madness of keeping everything, relying on clientelism, nepotism, and the word of the One to structure a state now suffering a silent exodus of hundreds of thousands of Albanians in the last decade! Seeing that we do not know the past, it seems our past has not yet arrived. It has blocked the entirety of Albanian society and its desire to rise and reflect on its future, barely constrained within the Rama-Berisha circus. Meanwhile, society can no longer think about the future, because it must first mend or heal its past. And our politicians are merely trying to change something long over. On the surface, as populists, they identify with pathos as the identity of the people. Rama does this in electoral campaigns, imitating Hoxha’s once knee-to-knee approach, while Berisha listens philosophically and implements what his people say in the multiple Forums. The motto “Give me power” unites them and fuels the false debates of politics.
But where are the Albanians in this paradox of the past? They are happy to let others think, choose, and take responsibility for them. This is the beautiful trap of totalitarianism, which over time has built a consolidated socio-psychological foundation in our minds. And this explains their return and the fact that we have the same characters appearing over long time spans. This type of Albanian totalitarianism is not irrational, yet it enjoys strong social foundations!
This comes to mind in the twilight of the difficult year 2025, when our past is even more unclear than the future, interrupted, humiliated, censored yesterday and today, and politically unstable… much to the fortune of our politicians, for whom such a situation is convenient.
(Homo Albanicus)