By Ben Andoni
The idea belongs to the renowned Romanian writer Norman Manea, now in his twilight years and one of the most prominent contributors to memory and literature in our region. Manea is among those authors who, through sharp observations, brought the pragmatism and simplification of the American world—traits of the New World—face to face with the peculiarities of the small, distant Balkans.
As a Romanian Jew, his identity forced him to endure a concentration camp in a Ukrainian locality as a child. Among many reflections, descriptions, and syntheses, a few years ago, during a discussion on Nazism, he made a nearly unimaginable proposal in the Neue Zürcher Zeitung: that “every country, without exception, should erect—alongside its monuments—a Monument of Shame. Because every nation is ashamed of something…”
Let’s bring that thought into our own reality. What might Albania be ashamed of? And what would its Monument of Shame look like? It’s predictable: self-proclaimed patriots would jump up and cite our legendary heroics—unmatched in the Balkans (!); the pathos-ridden would argue that such a project should begin with our aggressive neighbors; and ordinary Albanians would most likely just shrug their shoulders. To be more specific: those aligned with the Socialist Party would rush to dismiss any wrongs committed by the Right or nationalists, while dragging up sins from WWII; while PD loyalists would highlight every stain on the Left’s record, identifying it all with Enver Hoxha and continuing down a list of leaders that ends with the current Prime Minister Rama.
Truthfully, Albania has monuments for the persecuted, martyrs, and nationalists, while those honoring antifascist fighters have faded into obscurity—often disrespected and overlooked. The remnants of the latter are scattered across the country, and even our instinctively destructive hand has not managed to erase them all. But we lack a Monument of Shame, dedicated to those Albanians who vanished simply for thinking differently—for dissent—whose remains are unknown to this day. Nor do we have a Monument of Shame for the question of property, which may seem abstract on the surface but has produced just as many—if not more—victims than our wars, especially when one considers the continued denial of rightful return to property owners. After all, property is the essence of the state and the foundation of economic development.
In civilized societies, shame governs life—but it also sparks the social reasoning that prevents such errors from recurring. Shame doesn’t follow rules, but sociologists can clearly explain that the way we respond to shame reflects the level of a society’s maturity. Today’s Albania is a mirror of our denial of shame. True, there are half-hearted apologies in our society—from Berisha’s delayed regrets over the 2008 agreement, to past acknowledgments regarding the persecuted, property, and other matters—but one quickly realizes these gestures are fleeting, outpaced by the very acts committed while in power or undermined by his continual campaign trail gaffes for 2025. Rama, on the other hand, justifies everything by pointing to the state of the country in 2013, claiming things “should’ve been done better,” and absolves himself with a simple: “That’s how we found Albania!” That Albania remains poor and that inequality has soared under his governance doesn’t seem to bother him.
The worry, now, lies elsewhere: this denial of shame has gone global. A few years ago, Canada’s former Prime Minister Trudeau publicly apologized for nothing more than a face makeup incident. Yet this wasn’t the case for President Trump—his first term, that is (Trump 2 is already shaking the world with his brazen language of power)—nor for former British PM Boris Johnson, who had the gall to suspend the world’s oldest parliament. Neither saw fit to apologize, continuing instead with a cynicism that, it seems, heralds our current era—one brimming with cynical acts, both internationally and within our domestic democracies.
But perhaps this argument is too much already—when today’s publicly elected officials seem to shy away from any feeling of shame, let alone act with contrition or accept criticism. Rama shows no remorse for anything. Meta, from prison, speaks of parallel realities. Berisha has erased his recent past altogether. “Criticisms of Trump’s violations of moral standards seem to provoke even more shameless behavior, testing the boundaries of what’s considered acceptable,” writes assistant professor Aneta Stępień in The Conversation, referring to Trump’s first term—but really describing the model of many politicians today who now resemble him. While this might seem self-evident in our own country, it is now visible across the region and beyond—in how officials behave, utterly devoid of repentance. Prime Minister Rama exudes self-confidence and unchecked power, dismissing input from cabinet members, the public, civil society, even the parliamentary group he himself belongs to—but governs as its unquestioned leader! Not merely silencing them, but rendering them incapable of speaking, is a grim reflection of the state of our democracy. As for PD—there is no need to even go there. Meanwhile, Kurti in Kosovo won’t deign to respond to criticism or even to justice authorities, openly challenging the independent judiciary. We need not even mention Vučić and Orbán, but their brazen refusal to acknowledge reality is eroding faith in institutions and justice alike.
“Psychologists and sociologists affirm that embracing shame at a personal level allows us to grow through positive change. In international relations, public acknowledgment of wrongdoing has a powerful reparative effect. That’s why it’s so impactful when a government issues a public apology for past injustices,” writes Stępień. But such a moment seems long gone with today’s leaders. And Albania’s current campaign reveals just how shameless the effort to secure votes has become—with Rama’s egoism, Meta’s worn-out ambitions, and Berisha’s empty promises laced with blunders. May 11 will speak volumes about the state of our democracy. Yet for the average Albanian—or Serbian, or Hungarian—it comes down to what Obama recently reminded an audience at Hamilton College in New York: that defending democratic rights from now on will require real effort. “It used to be easy to say you were a progressive or for social justice, but now you’re going to have to pay a price for it,” Obama said, highlighting the need for commitment and sacrifice to protect democratic values. That’s hard for us. But if we held in our minds the idea of a Monument of Shame, that would at least be a first act of service to this country—to prevent its descent into autocracy. Perhaps it might hold us back. The monument would demand that we lay bare all our excesses—excesses which apparently have no end in our so-called democracy. As for our officials, that’s impossible. In their heads, there is only power—not such “abstractions.” None of them could ever do what Chancellor Willy Brandt did in 1970 when he knelt before the Monument to the Heroes of the Ghetto in Warsaw.
