By Ben Andoni
If one carefully traces the history of the Albanian Left—whose formations have outlasted many political upheavals in the country—one finds a mirror reflecting our nation’s understanding, or perhaps misunderstanding, of democracy and how the Albanian individual has internalized it.
Division and the relentless thirst for power are its defining traits. The Right, meanwhile, still awaits deeper scrutiny and a clear identification of its key figures and how they perceived democracy. History has judged them—sometimes rightly, sometimes not. But the truth remains: both ideological lines owe Albania a great deal for this ceaseless race for absolute power, often cloaked under the banner of democracy.
The latest elections delivered what many had predicted: a victory for the Socialist Party (PS) and complaints from the Democratic Party (PD), driven by the overwhelming advantage and, truthfully, the generous use of that advantage by their opponents. The Central Election Commission (CEC) and its appeals body must now face a deluge of complaints—allegations of fraud, manipulation, recounts, and accusations from all sides—resulting in irritation and banality. In a Freudian slip of sorts, opposition leader Sali Berisha compared recent elections to those under communism, stating in disbelief:
“The most perfect election administration was only possible in a dictatorship—yes, it was flawless. They were sincere about it, only speaking of voting, voting. There was no contest, they were fully aware of that. But in terms of administration—they were perfect. With helicopters and military, they delivered ballots to the highest peaks, filming everything—perfect organization.”
This statement left many journalists—most of them born after the 1990s—utterly speechless.
There’s a hard truth when it comes to elections in Albania. The 1992 vote, managed by the PS (then freshly rebranded from the former Communist Party), gave Democrats a stunning 92 mandates, compared to the PS’s 38. Such a result has never been repeated, except perhaps the abysmal showing of the PD in 1997, following the financial ruin brought by the infamous pyramid schemes in which it was a protagonist.
But why have our elections never once resulted in a universally accepted outcome? Why have we never managed to see elections as nourishing to democracy? Albania has yet to sever ties with its past, and this is starkly reflected in the blind loyalty many party members exhibit toward their leaders—namely, Berisha and Rama—echoing the kind of devotion once demanded under socialism, the very system they now claim to reject. As Romanian writer Norman Manea—an admirer of Kadare and perhaps instrumental in securing his Bard College lecture—once noted:
“It is very easy to condemn a system, especially when it has already collapsed. I think it’s far more important to try to understand the human mechanisms of submission.”
When asked by renowned Greek author Anteos Chrysostomidis what democracy truly means, Manea, with bitter realism grounded in Balkan experience, replied:
“What is democracy? It is essentially a strategy of compromise. Democracy is not necessarily pure, nor inherently morally superior. But it attempts to find a middle ground between different desires, between differing opinions.”
This notion of compromise is nearly inconceivable in Albania. Mr. Berisha today cloaks himself in a missionary’s mantle, while Mr. Rama plays the pragmatist, declaring he’ll step down only when he decides so—on whose back is this understanding of democracy playing out? Who bears the cost of such political arrogance, after a parliamentary session that, in a mere 15 minutes, gave the people yet another grotesque spectacle? What remains for the public now, other than despair and dashed hopes?
This is the central dilemma, as we listen to Rama’s rare, anecdotal remarks and Berisha’s exhausted complaints: a democracy that isn’t democracy at all.
“Democracy is a term more easily used than defined. If it means ‘rule by the people,’ that leaves open the question of what form ‘rule’ should take—ranging from direct participation in decision-making to merely securing certain interests,” writes Chris Pickvance of the University of Kent in his article Decentralization and Democracy in Eastern Europe: A Sceptical Approach (1997).
“Likewise, the level of ‘people’s’ participation is open to debate. While democracy is understood to imply political equality, restrictions based on property or gender are universally condemned, yet restrictions on citizenship are often accepted.”
At this moment in Albania, the people have completed their part—voting. Now, it falls to electoral institutions to ensure the legality and legitimacy of the vote. But the people’s power? It ends there. Their vote is seized and managed by party leaders who decide for the MPs, imposing uniformity in voting, while the voters themselves become irrelevant. With no possibility for referendums, and no direct mechanism for exercising sovereignty, one must concede that this version of democracy offers little more than disappointment.
As political scientist Robert Dahl once proposed,
“Perhaps the solution is to reserve the term ‘democracy’ for an ideal and unattainable state, while creating a new term for the actual political systems that exist today.”
This rings especially true for Albania, even though Dahl defined democracy through eight institutional guarantees relating to elections, institutions, and citizen participation.
Yet in Albania, democracy reveals its bitterest face—an ideal that remains tragically out of reach. And still, as Manea reminds us, democracy cannot be compared to anything else.
Who knows—perhaps even this tragic idealization of democracy is the only fate left to those of us who are still so far from its most basic principles.
(Homo Albanicus)
References:
Dahl, R. A. (1971). Polyarchy. Yale University Press. New Haven, CT.
Lively, J. (1975). Democracy. Basil Blackwell, Oxford.
Pickvance, C. (1997). “Decentralization and Democracy in Eastern Europe: A Sceptical Approach.”