Don't Delay Any Longer!

 

The Crisis Must Be Resolved, Not Merely Its Consequences!

The violent escalation of protests is a warning signal that cannot and must not be ignored. The situation demands responses and solutions from those who bear the political and institutional responsibility to provide them.

Had citizens' grievances, demands, and disagreements been heard and addressed in a timely manner, through appropriate means and with the necessary political will, perhaps we would not have reached this point.

But now, before the situation escalates further, action is urgently needed. Through political means, not violence! Violence, regardless of which side resorts to it, is not a solution. Arrogance is never the right approach, even when one believes oneself to be right. Still less so when exercising power.

You cannot govern by showing contempt for the people!

Listening to citizens does not necessarily mean agreeing with everything they say. It means respecting their right to be heard, to demand accountability, and to receive answers. It means acknowledging that disagreement is part of democracy and that politics exists, among other things, to find solutions through democratic engagement.

Responsibility for the way the protests have been handled lies with the political class as a whole, but not equally. The primary responsibility rests with the governing majority, which holds the instruments of power and has the capacity to offer solutions. Instead of being heard and invited into dialogue, protesters have also been met with labels, irony, and disregard. Derogatory descriptions such as “crows,” “ravens,” and similar expressions cannot substitute for meaningful responses to citizens' demands.

Yet other political forces cannot regard the protests merely as an opportunity to capitalize on public dissatisfaction. Their responsibility is not to appropriate the protests for their own purposes, but to help ensure that citizens' demands receive responses through democratic mechanisms.

Thus, between disregard and ridicule on one side, and attempts at political instrumentalization on the other, the positive energy of the protests was lost—an energy that could and should have served as a democratic instrument for reflection, dialogue, and the correction of political decisions.

Today, the protests have entered a different stage, marked by escalation and violent confrontation. But an essential distinction must be made: the loss of the positive energy that characterized the initial phase of the protests does not mean that citizens' demands have lost their legitimacy.

As long as these demands remain unresolved, they continue to require political and institutional responses. Violent escalation does not justify violence, but neither does it automatically invalidate the underlying problems that gave rise to the protests.

Therefore, ending the violence is an immediate necessity, while addressing the root causes of the crisis remains a political and institutional obligation. One cannot replace the other.

Meanwhile, allegations of foreign interference, intelligence networks, or destabilization scenarios bring back memories of Gazidede's statements in 1997. I am not equating the two situations, but history should have taught us to be cautious about explanations that risk diverting attention from the domestic causes of a crisis.

Even if such external influences exist, they can hardly gain traction without fertile ground within the country itself. And that fertile ground is created precisely by the failure to address citizens' grievances, demands, and disagreements in time, by the absence of dialogue, and by the failure to channel them through democratic and institutional processes.

Under these circumstances, the issue is not simply to stop the protests or restore calm. The crisis that gave rise to them must be resolved.

Temporary calm may create an illusion of normality, but it does not eliminate the problem. Unaddressed grievances remain like embers beneath the ashes, ready to ignite again, perhaps with even more serious consequences.

Political responsibility is not limited to managing the consequences of a crisis. It also requires identifying and addressing its causes, opening the way for dialogue, taking the necessary decisions, and, when required, having the courage to correct them.

Overcome the obsession with appearing strong, unyielding, and invincible. Correcting a decision or reconsidering a position is not a sign of weakness. On the contrary, the willingness to reflect and take corrective action may be the clearest expression of responsibility in the exercise of power.

Humility is a quality of capable and responsible leadership. It does not weaken authority; rather, it gives authority substance and legitimacy. Knowing how to listen, acknowledging the possibility of error, and having the courage to make corrections does not mean losing authority. It demonstrates the ability to exercise it in the service of citizens.

Power does not become stronger by refusing to acknowledge mistakes, but by demonstrating the ability to correct them. It is time to put an end to Balkan-style arrogance!

The first opportunity to address the crisis through timely dialogue has been lost. We must not lose the opportunity to prevent even more serious consequences.

Do not delay any longer!

Political solutions may come at a cost, but inaction and procrastination can make those costs far greater, even unbearable and irreversible.

What we need is not a temporary peace that conceals the crisis, but a solution that addresses its underlying causes. Because it is not enough for the streets to become quiet; the grievances that brought people into those streets must be addressed.

No political interest, no claim to being right, and no justification based on the exercise of power can warrant an unbearable price for citizens, society, and the country.

By Luiza Hoxhaj

Tirana, 15 October 2026

OPEN LETTER -The Ethnographic Museum of Vlora: Let Us Preserve It, Let Us Bring It Back to Life!

 

A reflection on heritage, memory, and the way we tell the stories of Vlora

Addressed to: The Municipality of Vlora , the Ministry of Tourism, Culture and Sports, as well and the institutions responsible for cultural heritage

From: Luiza Hoxhaj, Citizen of Vlora

Dear Institutional Leaders,

The civic reactions of recent days, the different sensitivities expressed, the views of professionals and representatives of organisations, as well as the public and political discourse surrounding the interventions in Vlora’s Historic Centre, have prompted me to reflect and to share my views publicly.

I do not seek to represent all these positions, nor do I necessarily share every argument expressed within them. But I believe that the very existence of such diverse sensitivities is reason enough not to reduce the issue to a simple division between being “for” or “against” a museum.

That is not how I see the issue.

For me, the question is broader: how can we honour one history without diminishing another, and how can we intervene in a historic space without losing the hierarchy, authenticity, and memory it has inherited?

The decision has been made and the works have begun. But the fact that a process has entered the implementation phase does not mean that the decision itself cannot be reconsidered if, along the way, reasonable questions arise about its impact on historic heritage, authenticity, proportionality, or its relationship with the ensemble as a whole.

For precisely this reason, I propose that not only the manner in which the project is being implemented be reviewed but, where historical, urban-planning, and museological arguments so require, that the decision itself regarding its concept, function, and location also be reconsidered.

Reconsideration does not necessarily mean turning back. It may mean finding a better way forward before an intervention made today becomes an irreversible reality tomorrow.

An institution does not weaken its authority by reflecting on a decision. On the contrary, a willingness to listen, to consider new arguments and, where necessary, to correct a choice is a sign of responsible decision-making.

Let Us See the Whole Before the Part

The Ethnographic Museum, the historic building where the “Labëria” Patriotic Club was founded in 1908, the Sharraj House, and the other historic buildings surrounding them are not isolated objects. Together, they form an ensemble and create an architectural, urban, and historical relationship.

Their value lies not only in each individual building, but also in the way they are read together. Therefore, every new intervention should be assessed not only on its individual quality, but also on the impact it creates on the whole: volumes, heights, materials, façades, lighting, sightlines, and the visual hierarchy of the ensemble.

In this sense, the intervention in the Sharraj House should not be considered only in relation to the new function it will assume, but also in terms of the transformation of the historic building itself and the relationship that the new additions and volumes create with the surrounding structures.

The Ethnographic Museum and the former “Labëria” Patriotic Club should not be overshadowed — either physically or in the historical reading of this space.

The “Labëria” Club: Let Us Preserve It, but Also Bring It Back to Life

Preserving heritage should not mean freezing the past.

A historic building is preserved not only when its walls are restored. It is also preserved when we succeed in keeping alive the spirit and social function it once had. And the history of the “Labëria” Club itself offers us an idea for its future.

It was not simply a building. It was a space for civic organisation, culture, education, and patriotic activity. In 1910, in this building, Marigo Posio opened an Albanian-language school for the girls of Vlora. Here, knowledge was passed from one generation to another. Education was both a means of emancipation and a way of preserving identity. Why not bring that spirit back to life today?

If Vlora’s Historic Centre needs an active centre for culture, education, tradition, and civic dialogue, I believe we should begin precisely with the “Labëria” Club — not by inventing a new function for it, but by bringing into contemporary life the function that history itself gave it.

Part of it could once again become a forum for debate, thought, and civic activity. And why not a “School of Tradition”, where the living masters of Vlora and Labëria could pass their knowledge on to younger generations? Vlora still has such people. One of them is master Vendim Kapaj[i], a connoisseur and performer of Labëria’s traditional wind instruments — the culë dyjare, fyell, and pipizanë — who also teaches them to children.

A century ago, the girls of Vlora entered this building to learn Albanian. Today, the children of Vlora could enter it to learn an instrument, a song, a craft, an element of the culture that belongs to them.

What is taught changes; the act of transmission continues. Then the museum is no longer only a place we visit to see what we once were. It becomes a place where we learn how to carry forward what we are.

This, for me, is what bringing heritage back to life means.

Jewish History Is Part of the History of Vlora

The history of a city is not made up only of the events or people we choose to honour. It is built from all the layers that time has left upon it.

Ancient, Roman, Byzantine, medieval, and Ottoman history; the presence and passage of different populations and communities; the Albanian National Awakening; Independence; the Vlora War; and later developments are all part of the city’s history.

The Jewish presence is also one of these layers and deserves to be documented and passed on with due seriousness. In this case, there is another valuable dimension: a history of hospitality and coexistence across different periods, which, in the darkest moment of Nazi persecution, became a story of protection and rescue. This is a history that should be told.

The question, therefore, is not whether it “deserves” to be part of the city’s memory. The question is how to tell it in the appropriate proportion, context, and relationship with the history of Vlora as a whole.

For precisely this reason, my primary proposal remains that the history of the Jewish presence and Albanian-Jewish relations should have a dedicated section within the Historical Museum of Vlora.

There, it could be placed in relation to the other layers of the city’s history, without being diminished and without being separated from them.

Let us strengthen the whole and, through it, the part.

Not Only Presence, but Relationship

The narrative itself also deserves reflection.

The history we have to tell is not only the history of a community that lived in Vlora. It is also the history of how that community was received, the relationships it developed with the city and, in the most difficult moments, of the people who opened their doors and took risks upon themselves to protect human lives.

Therefore, whether within the Historical Museum or — if, after reconsideration, the choice of a separate museum is retained — I believe that a narrative built around presence, hospitality, Besa, protection, and rescue would be more representative.

In the case of a separate museum, consideration could also be given to a concept such as the “Museum of Besa and Rescue” or the “Museum of Vlora’s Besa.”

Not to replace Jewish history with a self-congratulatory Albanian narrative, but rather to tell the story of the relationship between them. In this narrative, Besa does not divide two histories. It connects them.

Must All Memory Be Concentrated in One Place?

Here, I believe, we should ask another question.

Is it necessary for all the layers of Vlora’s memory to be physically concentrated in the same area of the Historic Centre?

Vlora has its own places of memory. The Street of the Jews is one of them. It is a historic space within the city that already carries the memory of the Jewish presence. Why not bring it back to life as well?

It could become a living space of interpretation, where documents, family histories, photographs, testimonies, guided visits, and contemporary interpretive tools could tell the story of the Jewish presence in Vlora, coexistence with the city, hospitality, and protection.

In this way, memory would not be artificially concentrated at a single point. It would follow the real geography of the city’s history.

The “Labëria” Club could be revitalised as an active centre for culture, education, tradition, and civic dialogue. The Street of the Jews could be revitalised as a place of memory and interpretation of the Jewish presence and Albanian-Jewish relations.

Other authentic places connected with this history could become part of the same itinerary. The Historical Museum could connect these layers within the broader narrative.

And the city itself could become the museum that brings them together.

Not every history needs to be relocated into the same building in order to become visible. Sometimes the most authentic way to tell history is to allow it to speak where it actually happened.

What Are We Preserving, and What Are We Creating?

This brings me to another issue that requires transparency.

The Albanian Jewish Museum project has been publicly presented not only as a museum, but also as an active cultural hub, with educational functions and activities.

This makes the question of its relationship with the ensemble in which it is located even more important. If a new active cultural centre is being created next to a historic institution that itself originated as an active centre of culture, education, and civic engagement, should we not first ask whether we have revitalised what history has already left us?

Likewise, the current works and interventions being carried out in the immediate vicinity of the Ethnographic Museum and the former “Labëria” Club require full public information regarding their nature and function.

If any element of the project is intended to reconstruct or evoke a historic synagogue, on what documentary, cartographic, or archaeological evidence are its location and form based? If, instead, it is a new architectural or museological element, that too should be stated clearly.

There is a fundamental distinction between the restoration of a historic structure, reconstruction based on documented evidence, and the creation of a new element intended to symbolise or interpret a history.

All may be legitimate museological choices. But they are not the same thing.

What we build today may itself become a reference tomorrow for how future generations read the past. We therefore bear responsibility not only for what we preserve, but also for what we create today as memory for tomorrow.

Civic Debate Deserves to Be Heard, Not Labelled

I see the civic reaction surrounding this project, first and foremost, as an exercise of the public’s right to be informed, to express its views, and to be heard on matters affecting the city and its heritage.

In this sense, I support it as a legitimate civic act, without claiming to share every individual opinion or argument expressed within it.

For precisely this reason, I do not believe that concerns or objections regarding a project should, as a whole, be interpreted as antisemitism or as incitement to interethnic conflict. Antisemitism is a serious matter, and every concrete manifestation of it should be treated as such.

But it is precisely the seriousness of the term that requires it not to be applied indiscriminately to questions concerning a project, its location, an architectural intervention, or a museological concept.

The history of relations between Albanians and Jews — of hospitality, coexistence and, particularly, protection in the most difficult moments — gives us ample reason to conduct this debate calmly and with mutual respect.

This history should not be used to close today’s debate. It should give us the confidence to engage in it.

Respect for Jewish history and care for Vlora’s historical heritage are not mutually exclusive positions.

An Invitation to Transparency, Reflection, and Reconsideration

Decisions have been made and the works have begun. But this does not make reflection too late, nor reconsideration impossible. We are dealing with a heritage that does not belong only to the present.

I therefore propose the publication and clear presentation of the complete project — architectural, structural, and museological — as well as a public hearing in which historians, architects, museologists, heritage specialists, organisations, and citizens can be heard.

Such a process would not weaken decision-making. On the contrary, it would make it better informed.

Perhaps full information would clarify some of the concerns.

Perhaps some would prove unfounded.

Perhaps others would identify elements that need to be corrected.

And perhaps the reconsideration itself would show that another solution could better serve all the values we seek to protect.

That is precisely what dialogue is for.

I am not proposing that we remove one history in order to preserve another. I am proposing that we seek a solution that allows us to preserve and enrich as much as possible of what we already have.

Let us preserve the Sharraj House and the integrity of the historic ensemble.

Let us preserve and revitalise the Ethnographic Museum and the “Labëria” Club, restoring to the latter its active cultural, educational, and civic role.

Let us document with dignity the Jewish presence and the history of Albanian-Jewish relations.

Let us revitalise the Street of the Jews and the authentic places connected with this memory.

Let us connect these places through an itinerary that extends history across the city rather than artificially concentrating it at a single point.

Let us distinguish clearly between what is historic heritage and what we create today in order to interpret it.

And let us not place the histories of Vlora in competition with one another.

The part should enrich the whole, not replace or overshadow it.

Vlora does not need to choose between its memories. It needs to recognise them, preserve them, and place them in the proper relationship with one another. Because heritage has not been given to us so that we may choose which parts of it to preserve. It has been entrusted to us so that we may pass it on.

Let us preserve it. Let us bring it back to life. And let us enrich it without losing what we already have. With respect and confidence,

Luiza Hoxhaj

Citizen of Vlora

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[i] Most recently, Master Vendim Kapaj performed the pastoral melodies for the film Odysseus.

Beyond What I Knew About Ahmet Demaj

There is something that has made me reflect in recent days on one of the oldest and most powerful bonds in human life: the ancestral cult.

Respect for our ancestors, remembrance of them, appreciation of who they were and of what they left behind is a value found, in different forms, almost everywhere among human societies. Perhaps one of the origins of human social life itself lies here: from the family to the clan, from the village to the city and eventually to nations, so much of what we have built rests upon the connection between generations, upon memory, and upon the need not to lose those who came before us.

But this connection does not move only from descendants toward ancestors. It also extends forward, beyond us. Children, grandchildren and the generations that follow are our treasures. We love them, and they love us, with a love that is sometimes greater than the words we know how to say. Perhaps this is precisely why we should express our love and appreciation for them, and for one another, whenever we have the opportunity. Because one day, what we have given them becomes part of their memory of us.

This came to my mind recently when I had the opportunity to see another dimension of Ahmet Demaj: the way he values his family, his children, grandchildren and the way they, beyond the bonds of family, value and love him.

I was touched by this beautiful circle of love and appreciation between generations. Because beyond what a person does in public life, in his profession, in society or for his country, there is another, deeper world — the world in which we live through the relationships we have built and through the memory we leave in the people who are ours.

And this made me see Ahmet once again beyond what I had known about him.

I have known Ahmet Demaj for more than 30 years.

The first coffee I had with Ahmet was at his home in Vëlcë, prepared by his wife, the unforgettable teacher Mirjani. It was 1999. I had gone there with my nephew to ask for his opinion and support for Fatos Nano, then Chairman of the Socialist Party, in connection with the developments taking place within the party.

Many years have passed since then. Over those years, I came to know the talented teacher, colleague and political collaborator, patriotic activist, publicist and serious, thoughtful and courageous intellectual. These were the impressions formed during a long acquaintance, through different periods and circumstances.

But recently, another coffee gave me the opportunity to see some other dimensions of Ahmet. It seems remarkable how long one can know a person and still discover dimensions of them that one had never seen before.

After I made an appreciative comment about his work at the head of the Labëria Association, Vlora Branch, I also made a suggestion regarding what I believed the association should do to bring the Labëria Club to life as its successor. This was long before the protests in Vlora over this issue began.

With the courtesy that characterizes him, Ahmet told me that efforts had not been lacking and invited me for a coffee, so that we could discuss the matter and bring our contributions together. The coffee was postponed for a while for family reasons, but eventually we had it.

That conversation gave me the opportunity to learn more about the work of the Association, but also about a part of Ahmet’s personal activity of which, strangely enough, I knew far less than I should have, considering how rich his overall contribution had been.

I learned more about his work beyond journalism, which I had known through his writings published over the years in the press. I learned about his contribution and expertise in rural development and microfinance. In other words, beyond the Ahmet I had known for years, other dimensions of his personality and work were beginning to unfold before me.

At that meeting, he gave me his latest book, I Hear Your Voice. And this is where another acquaintance with Ahmet began.

With his particular modesty, as a man who speaks more about others and promotes people, his homeland and Labëria than himself, Ahmet had allowed very little to be known about what he himself had done over the years. But what Ahmet does not tell in conversation, the book reveals.

I began reading it last night and, to put it simply, the reading swept me away. I did not put it down until I had finished it. Before me rose the figure of a man who had done so much, written so much, studied and researched so many fields and dimensions of life, always with a clear inclination to discover values, bring them into the light, elevate them and promote them.

But what particularly attracted me was the way Ahmet chose to tell his own story. He does not place himself at the centre of the book. Instead, he entrusts that task to the voices of colleagues, collaborators, friends, students, contemporaries, fellow villagers and ordinary people who have shared a part of their lives with him.

This is a particular challenge. Because choosing to tell your story through the words of others requires a rare kind of wealth: the wealth of relationships built on honesty and trust. And Ahmet seems to meet that challenge precisely through that wealth.

Throughout the pages of the book, one encounters the wisdom and depth of his thinking, both in what he has written himself and in what others have brought through their memories and testimonies. One encounters sincerity and a disarming simplicity, among the most distinctive qualities of this personality.

The circle of people appearing in the book is impressive as well. They come from very different worlds: academics and professionals, but also ordinary citizens, students, contemporaries and fellow villagers. Each brings a piece of Ahmet, but also a piece of the time and place in which he lived and worked.

And so, without placing himself at the centre, Ahmet succeeds in speaking about himself.

The book also taught me that his concerns and commitment to the values of his homeland have not been limited to historical sites. They have also extended to issues such as the Naval Academy, the Higher Aviation School and others, revealing a much broader interest in memory, knowledge and the human and institutional wealth of the country.

Perhaps this is why, when I closed the book, I had the feeling that I had just met another Ahmet. Or, more precisely, an Ahmet who, with his simplicity, had always been there, but whom I had not yet known in the full dimension of his work and activity.

But I Hear Your Voice, beyond introducing us to its author, also conveys a series of messages that go beyond the person himself: messages about responsibility toward one's homeland, the value of memory, the need to preserve and promote what deserves not to be forgotten and, above all, the importance of civic engagement.

Because Ahmet does not simply remember, observe or speak. He searches, studies, researches, writes, gathers testimonies, meets people and tries to pass on to others what he has discovered and what he believes has value. And here, for me, lies one of his most beautiful messages: to lead by example.

We are looking at a man in his eighties who continues to devote so much positive energy to people, to his homeland, to memory and to the values he believes should be preserved and promoted. He studies, researches, writes, listens, gathers, remembers and passes things on. And he does all this quietly, without placing himself at the centre of attention.

It is a beautiful reminder that civic engagement has no retirement age. As long as you have something to give, you also have a reason to search, to learn, to contribute and to give others something of what you have gathered throughout your life.

Perhaps this is also one of the lessons I took from the book: that the value of a life is measured not only by what you have done for yourself, but also by what you have discovered, preserved and left behind for others.

And Ahmet's four books do honour to any library, including my own, as an added value. Not only as books by an old friend, but as evidence of a body of work, thought and commitment that deserves to be read, preserved and passed on.

Thank you, Ahmet Demaj, for the book, for this new encounter, and above all, for the example of a man who continues to believe that there is always something more to do, something more to say and something more to give to others.

Luiza Hoxhaj
18 September 2026