By Ben Andoni
Racism is rooted in the belief in the absolute superiority of one race over another, a notion that inevitably leads to discrimination, segregation, and countless prejudices—be it based on race, ethnicity, nationality, religion, or other identifiers (as described in academic literature). But in our time, this term carries with it many alternative interpretations. One such interpretation ties it directly to the state itself. In scholarly discourse, this kind of racism refers to institutionalized forms embedded in the policies, laws, and practices of a state towards its own citizens. More precisely, it’s about how laws help (or fail to help) the population and foster hope for a livable future in the country, but also about how they are enforced. Unfortunately, in hybrid democracies like ours, a large portion of the laws serve only a small, select group. The recent episode with the Bankers Petroleum case, where authorities conveniently remembered to block them after 20 years, shows how the state “sleeps” in front of such realities and never truly confronts the concerns of oil workers. It’s no coincidence that the imbalance is now closely tied to the actions of the Albanian state—essentially identified with Rama and his power structure.
Although economic experts consistently raise concerns about the need for diversification and population support, the economy remains heavily dependent on construction and tourism. Construction still accounts for a large portion of the GDP, yet this is mostly linked to real estate and urban projects. While these have generated employment, they hardly provide a sustainable base for long-term growth, as specialists have pointed out. As for tourism—yes, the numbers dazzle, but it remains heavily concentrated along the coast, leaving year-round, rural, and mountainous tourism underutilized. Tourism faces its own litany of problems: poor transportation infrastructure, unchecked pricing, lack of accommodation standards, and more. Still, these sectors are the government’s battle horses, and the glossy charts showing rising tourist numbers make for excellent platform propaganda.
The unequal distribution of government investment—where entire regions of the country are essentially in a state of hibernation—clearly reflects this kind of indifference. Public investments are mostly channeled into grand infrastructure projects, which, according to ALTAX, have minimal impact on sustainable economic growth.
Corruption and the administrative barriers created by a fatigued, principle-less civil service often hamper the private sector and undermine fair competition. This phenomenon has dulled the competitiveness of the Albanian economy, favoring certain interest groups and blocking the potential for comprehensive development and the diversification of income sources, writes Altax.al. The lines between privilege and exclusion are starkly drawn.
According to reports from Transparency International, the World Bank, and the U.S. Department of State, Albania has made progress in investigating corruption, but its levels remain high. Alarmingly, 20% of Albanian citizens—according to these same reports—have little faith in the effectiveness of anti-corruption measures, reflecting a deep distrust in institutions. The result? Around 1.6 million Albanians have emigrated in the past three decades of democracy, from a population of 3.2 million in 1989 (Monitor). This is not merely a silent protest against a government that has failed to inspire hope—it’s also a response to policies that simply don’t work in favor of the average Albanian.
There are several forms of state racism, starting with institutional racism—embedded in the institutions and structures of society, including education, employment, housing, and law enforcement. Ask any ordinary Albanian who’s had to deal with public offices and they’ll tell you about the arrogance of the administration, its sheer incompetence, and especially the culture of privilege reserved for the politically connected.
Another form is racial profiling and policing: Law enforcement practices that target specific groups, disproportionately affecting ordinary people with no access to power and leaving them unprotected against organized interests.
Yet another is systemic inequality: Clear disparities in access to education, employment, healthcare, and housing.
Ask any regular citizen about the ordeal of accessing healthcare—often nonexistent in large parts of the country—or the daunting costs of housing for a young couple trying to own a home. We’re not even delving into the full theory of state racism here, as that would require a more complex discussion, but it’s evident that ordinary Albanians are confronted by a state that neither respects them nor fears them. The mountain of unresolved judicial cases is a Kafkaesque warning to any citizen daring to seek justice.
The consequences are all around us: Albanians are leaving by any means they can. This kind of policy has led to—and continues to reproduce—deep social and economic inequalities. The trust deficit is massive, and you can feel it in communities that no longer believe in institutions or government. Ideally, the violation of rights stemming from this kind of racism would provoke mass protest, but in Albania, not only are such protests not happening, they likely won’t occur at the scale the opposition hopes for. This isn’t the place to get into the shortcomings of the opposition (PD) itself, because internal analysis is nonexistent—and perhaps always will be. Their people live in a different reality altogether.
On a more philosophical level, this concept was explored by the French philosopher Michel Foucault. He argued that with the rise of modernity, the relationship between race discourse and the state took on a perverse form. The modern state appropriated the discourse of race—once used to challenge it—to instead reinforce its own legitimacy and power. “Race becomes the discourse of a concentrated, centralized, and centralizing power,” Foucault stated in one of his lectures, “Society Must Be Defended.”
But for Albanians, the goal is for their state not to view society through this distorted lens—one that drives people away—but rather to encourage and support it. It’s not difficult to imagine institutions being held accountable for racist practices while actively promoting a culture of equality and inclusion for all Albanians. In turn, the people must become aware of the effects of state racism and the power of empathy and mutual understanding.
(Homo Albanicus)