By Ben Andoni
Placed within anthropological frameworks, ambition today stands as one of the strongest driving forces for change. Is it good? Certainly. The ambition of Albanians for their independence gave life to a genuine National Awakening. Yet excessive ambition in the culture of the Albanian individual—perhaps a form of insatiability—seems to be linked to, and a consequence of, the turbulence of historical periods, the transition from a highly closed regime to a globalized one, and so on.
The desire for a better life has led many not to restrain themselves from a simple aspect of ambition: its ethics. Over time, this has made us drift far from the interests of the country, unable to channel our efforts into that larger vessel which unites the sweat of those who build and elevate Albania.
A few years ago (Zaloshnja, B.W., 2023), the media statistician Eduart Zaloshnja referred to a frightening misuse of Albania’s public funds—one of the poorest countries in the Balkans and beyond. In his extrapolation, he wrote that approximately: “…11% of the money collected in the Albanian State Treasury is later misused or distributed among corrupt politicians, officials, and their corruptors. These percentages translate into a 20-billion-dollar hole over the past 20 years…”.
There is hardly a day when the news does not absorb our attention with stories of corruption, tricksters, and “visionaries of evil,” who since the 1990s have become a kind of normality. Unfortunately, they include our Generation X and even Generation Z—the very generation that today seeks change everywhere, across Europe and beyond.
Ambition that ignores ethical boundaries is painfully tangible among us. It materializes today in the theatrical offices of SPAK, flooded with corruption files. And what is ambition for, if it does not produce well-being and Albanians continue to remain poor? Who needs this vanity we see today in vacation photos and entertainment displays of the so-called VIPs, or in the expensive cars that almost run us over on the streets, from which their drivers cast contemptuous glances?
Is this ambition merely part of social well-being, or the status of a new class seeking confirmation? Data show that only a very small segment, close to today’s ruling power, is becoming richer.
Many questions arise, but let us turn to history, which contains some of our figures who had a positive ambition and gifted the country great works, still functional today. They are not many, but let us bring forward one of them.
He was engineer Gjovalin Gjadri, widowed early and left with a son (Eng. Egon Gjadri), whom he had to raise alone across construction sites, following his path with dignity. In 1943, under the pseudonym G. Maranaj, he wrote in German a work titled “Briefe an meine tote Frau” (Letters to My Dead Wife), composed of letters written after her passing, trembling with emotional depth. Nearly 55 years later, the volume was first published in 1998, translated by Petraq Kolevica as “Letters to My Dead Wife.” Later, Ardian Ndreca produced an extraordinary translation in literary Gheg (2017), republishing it under the title “Letters to My Deceased Wife.”
For the post-1990 generation, he had been covered by a veil of “forgetfulness.” Yet dignity always remains a point of reference.
The engineer of the monumental bridge over the Mat River and the large bridge along the “Dëshmorët e Kombit” boulevard in the capital has left behind, in the archives of the Central Technical Construction Archive, projects of over 75 engineering works built across various regions of Albania.
His ambition was not to stand out in a weary Albania—his personal loss and the responsibility of raising his son had already shaped him—but to work at the highest standards. He is considered the engineer who successfully applied in Albania the most innovative and contemporary bridge-building methods, a great worker of science and a man of progress. His students, and especially his colleagues, would remember him for his dignity, his high technical standards, and his uncompromising stance in defending freedom of thought and scientific truth.
As often happens, he too could not escape the confrontation with those ambitions that sought to overshadow, hinder, and above all discredit him. His credo remained: to do the best for one’s country, while respecting the ethics of thought and a positive ambition for Albania.
Identity, though for many considered abstract, was for intellectuals like him shaped through respect for contribution to the country.
Many years later, Eng. Skënder Kosturi would recall this through the example of a bridge (over the Lana River), one of the most functional in the capital, which we cross every day:
“The bridge near Hotel ‘Dajti’ cannot be distinguished by its width, which in such a structure has little importance. What is interesting is the solution of embedding the bases of the flattened arch. Prof. Gjadri once showed me, about 50 years ago, a publication or journal he kept in his office at the Ministry of Construction, where the reinforcement of this bridge was described in German—a language I did not understand. I remember the reinforcement sketches were drawn in white on a green background. What is remarkable about this bridge, built nearly a century ago, is that during the communist period columns of tanks passed over it during military parades—an unusual load for its time. Today, regulations also account for exposure to urban pollution, which was unknown then. Even the cement of that time was much weaker than today’s. The professor preferred bridges anchored on rock foundations, and I would jokingly tease him by mentioning this bridge built on ordinary soil. Its value lies in being the creation of a distinguished figure of Albanian engineering, and beyond.”
Many years before him, in an article titled “On Shaping Character” (Pedagogical Review, no. 6–11, 1926), Mit’hat Frashëri explained the phenomenon of ambition in anthropological terms:
“The Albanian has a highly developed personal ambition; this ambition is the brother and sister of vanity. He seeks honor and praise for himself. Unfortunately, we have somewhat forgotten the nation and its elevation. We must awaken in students a national ambition, a bond of solidarity for everything that belongs to the nation, the race, the land of Albania. This feeling can be instilled by convincing the student that only by honoring the nation, by elevating Albania, by giving a good name and reputation to everything that belongs to our land, can each Albanian, each individual, also be honored and respected. In short, one must place all ambition and activity in the service of Albania, in order to receive the greatest and most valued share for oneself.”
These are valuable lessons for a time when exploiting the country is considered “skill,” and not contributing to it is called “minding your own business.”
Engineer Gjadri had one goal: the ambition to see his country as a “Lady among ladies,” while his work was simply the duty every Albanian owes to their country. Frashëri, with his high cultural potential and as a statesman, sought to awaken national awareness at a time when Albania had just begun its journey among civilized states—with the very concern we still experience today: the lack of ethical ambition and the insatiable exploitation at the country’s expense.
These thoughts come to mind in these days of March, when Gjadri marks 54 years since his passing (he departed on March 13), while Mit’hat Frashëri’s birthday falls on March 25, 1880. Both sought to channel ambition toward a beautiful Albania.
Unfortunately, we Albanians of today remain far from their lesson—the lesson of the true Renaissance figures.
(Homo Albanicus)