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"Frowning revolutionaries, "proletarians" with villas or topahipas with cream?!
Written by Kristo Mërtiri 23 Shtator 2022
Over 45 years ago, at the peak of my youth, we were finishing our higher studies in the only Department of Journalism at the beloved University of Tirana. The embers of dreams and passions were always burning. We were anxiously awaiting the fate of appointments in newspapers, magazines, and central and local radio and television stations. There were only 13 of us, selected by competition by a special professional and serious Commission (the story of competing as a soldier and my appointment probably deserves a separate article). 13 out of dozens of participants in the large auditorium of the Faculty of Political and Legal Sciences (today more than 200 people graduate almost every year, a number that will surprise and shock you!). You will not find many young men and women who easily and with a pompous tone "we are journalists" (without writing or publishing a single line in the media) in newsrooms (?!). And just like that, melted in satisfaction, they continue to declare with empty pride: "We are highly educated...". And they cry and curse the governments and politicians who do not provide them with jobs "according to the trade". Moorish fairies! In the University, as they entered, so they left. And they remain outside the beautiful lawns, the hard work and tiring of real Journalism. Incompetence, mediocrity, talkativeness and pettiness accompany them at every step. Who chose them, chose them wisely "tender" or without "tender", as always, a God in heaven knows. It is enough to keep the relevant branches, teaching and administrative personnel (?). Maneuvers without charms or blessings, rebaptizing and raising the market with the "European" name of the fabulous "Communication Science", I think they have not saved bio-journalism. This hurts my generation a lot. Always a hot topic of debate that is rarely approached by "analysts" with bags on screens, opinionists, moderators, editorialists, directors, columnists, bearded and beardless publicists, activists, etc. But let's not escape from the beginning and the main topic of this article... So energetic, full of idealistic demands, aims and goals, as if we were passing the last glittering afternoons and evenings along the Boulevard named "Martyrs of the Nation. The Radio and Television Song Festival, the culminating cultural event of every year, was knocking. I hadn't told my friends about a "bold" step, like going underground: I kept quiet and one day knocked on the door of RTSH, handing over a newly created song text. Motif of the day. I was waiting for an answer from the Festival leaders and finally I got the confirmation that it was approved. I flew for joy. It was no small feat for a student intern. On the eve of the New Year, my name as an author for the first time on the screen, the whole humanity would hear! I agreed to "any word" that could be substituted for the sake of harmonizing with the music. Above all, the People's Artist, Ramiz Kovaçi, would sing it. Krutani, the baritone, had rocked the stages of Sofia and Rome since his youth and graduated with a gold medal. Or the unforgettable Pigeon Katroshi. While Ramiz's bust can also be found in the premises of the Izmir Opera House, where he closed his eyes forever in 1994... The positive and negative emotions I experienced are not easily separated: "Proletarians of all countries unite", composer Tasim Hoshafi, author of the text me. When the presenter finished, I was completely exhausted. Another title after another and a lot of massacred text! I have suffered long and bitterly. I never spoke or wrote publicly. Except for today, it remained my first and last participation. The severe disappointment took its toll... Then, during the years of working as a professional journalist, I did not get a "whistle" of protest and rebellion, every time a boss or publisher ax fell on my writings. However, the song about the Proletarians of the world apparently left a deep mark!...I remembered this unpleasant episode, when I was writing some notes last night about those politicians who call us for "Revolution" in the stands and party gatherings in the year 2022 (!). The civilized world laughs and mocks. And I smiled and thought about the song of that Festival. While an old lab friend of mine, a brave partisan boy from the River of Vlora, He took that well-known song easily, not without a joke: "The revolution that has started / Smoke and sky in Albania!" Many of those who sang it for the first time, gave their lives "as me le" in the holy Anti-Fascist National Liberation War against the Nazi-Fascist invaders. That the song "Partisan Eagles" by the good Shkodran, Kolë Jakova, took the stage and raised up fighters of all ages in villages and cities. Many turned into inextinguishable stars that shine eternally in the sky of our Halemadh Albania. They were, are and will remain the greatest democrats and idealists of the nation. They gave blood. They gave life to the flower of life! What would they give more for the motherland?... But the sons and daughters of the mothers who fell for a New World without oligarchs, without beylers, scumbags and villains who deceive and defraud an entire people and with their insolence get angry and fire against corruption, they can't help but tremble in their graves. I think that the Martyrs have nothing in common with the politics of the 30-year Transition "byrra-byrra". Even when the Calander leaders go "darkened" to the place where the Eagles of Freedom with their roots in blood and sacrifice rest (after they left the villas with heavy luxury cars and full of guards of the Republic), I often feel like vomiting. There is no greater insult that is done to the fallen of the Motherland by these hypocrites and thieves dirty in politics! Transition that the country tried and paid very painfully, side by side. Roll on the jerm that is still not stopping from the powers left and right. While the alienated leaders quickly turned into greedy wealth grabbers in front of the angry eyes of the tax payers with the bag "the size of a grain of garlic". The same faces now hated en masse, call for Revolution from the milieus of their unbridled luxury. The cooks swear and curse with a crippled soul. In reality, those who say goodbye to "Enver's time" are increasing every day. This is the truth. Like near the trash cans in cities where people dig at night with nails and hands; as in Public Order where you can eat lead while drinking coffee in sidewalk bars in the heart of the city; as from the black wells of blood feud and medieval revenge; as in the killing of women with cobras, knives and machetes (the castrated man!); as in taking brother's life from brother "for a ledh, for a property border" separated from the "anti-communist" trumpets of "social" capitalism, etc. The words in quotation marks are from a song as old as the Liberation of the country, which showed, not without pride, the disappearance of this painful wound that will pour generations of elegy, tragedies and pain to the bone, even for the paradoxical sayings "with a sword and a sword". Realities that cannot be denied. The new generation, born in Pluralism, listens bewildered and somewhat disbelieving through the rumblings of aggressive propaganda and party illusions, "blind behind the hut" politics and roaring militancy only with mobile phones in their hands (without any literature, history, publicistic and philosophical books! ). Cafes are drowned daily in the name of barren Freedom. No passionate discussion about real culture, movies, libraries or big national and local issues. They know better the music and the vulgar song with miserable lyrics; they know which of the "vipat" (meaning: belts) is pregnant or who lives with the sevdalli partner of some "star" women; know the number plates and types of multimillionaire cars of peers with mothers and fathers, businessmen and politicians, bosses with the "salary" of Dovlet (the state)... Imagine tomorrow these ignorant bastards, offspring of those who today tear the gurmaz for "Revolution", through the state and power ! Woe to Albania! spawn of those who today tear the gurmaz for "Revolution", through the state and power! Woe to Albania! spawn of those who today tear the gurmaz for "Revolution", through the state and power! Woe to Albania!
-Më dëgjo pak mua, o miku im në metropol ! Aman, më qafsh, a e kanë pagëzuar me emrat xixëllues “ revolucion tekniko-shkencor, industrial, anti-imperialist, demokratiko-borgjez, ideologjik apo kulturor” ?! Le t’i vëmë kapak muhabetit : Revolucion për kolltuqe pushteti apo evolucion pa huqe e ulluqe “dovleti” ? Mos vallë është si ajo “rruga e vetme për përmbysjen e kapitalizmit nëpërmjet vendosjes së diktaturës së proletariatit pas rrëmbimit të pushtetit politik…nëpërmjet revoltës e kryengritjes. Më shqip, “përmbysje me dhunë e një rendi shoqëror, politik e ekonomik”. Sa para bën, po na ikën dhe shtatori, lumi-lumi që na mori ! Mjafton të mendojmë, të punojmë dhe të jetojmë si revolucionarë. Aman, u thuaj të mbajnë dorën si luftëtarë (jo si lapërdharë) të paepur nga vilat hijerënda e verbuese në Kryeqytet e në Bregdet; në Gjirin(kupto: gjirizin) e Lalëzit; në Gjirin e Kurvave(kështu thirrej dikur në anën perëndimore të liqenit të Tiranës; në Farkë, Lundër, Surrel, në “Teksas”(Qerret i Kavajës) e gjetkë. Kjo “ndërgjegje revolucionare” do e shmangë rivendosjen e kapitalizmit të pashpirt dhe pa din e iman ?!
Njerëzia pyet: Mos vallë do të katandisen në TOPAHIPAS (jo mish për top) me të dalë ku të dalë, mjafton që të shpëtojnë paq vilat, apartamentet, dyqanet, pallatet, tokat e zaptuara, llogaritë e mbarsura bankare që po pëlcasin nga mbipesha vrastare. Të gjitha janë “siguruar” nga rroga e “Dovletit” dhe jo nga fukarallëku e uria e miletit ! I keni vënë re ? Aq shumë e kanë shtrënguar rripin e kursimit dhe kanë tharë zorrën, sa nuk u dallohet dot lehtë barku nga kurrizi… Sa për “topahipasit”, të kuptohemi, nuk janë nga ata që luajnë në dy skuadra : në njërën mileti u shtron shpinën dhe rri përkulur duke rënkuar e mbajtur liderët e regjur në Tranzicion, kurdoherë kaluar. Dhe hedhin vickla e presin topin e qelbur të korrupsionit e të kusarëve me çizme e pa çizme. Oi, oi, po na çudisin me ato që po përrallisin përditë ! Nuk e fshehim, një merak e kemi : Mos na ndërliksen keqazi me synimet e Revolucionit të parë në Shqipëri, me atë demokratiko-borgjez të qershorit 1924 ?!
Po përse vallë, sot në 2022 na flasin si të ndërkryer nga një lloj tërbimi të marrosur bulevardesk e donkishotesk ? Dhe në fund, nuk arrijnë të ndërsejnë dot as qentë e mëhallës për të sulmuar “të paudhët” e hipur në kolltuqe e pasurira erërënda…Apo janë mësuar të trillojnë e të bëjnë me barrë edhe priftin e hoxhën ? Po pse hiqen xhanëm sikur u këputet shpirti për proletarët e mbytur në varfëri ! Politikanët profkatarë i harruan shpejt udhët e shtigjet nga erdhën dhe lundrojnë në bollëk, luks e pasuri të pistë. Këto këllira politike mbi 30 vjeçare (djathtas e majtas) duhet të shporren me hir e me pahir. Përndryshe, Shqipëria jonë me siguri do të lëngojë gjatë ! Kishte të drejtë Kiço Spiri ose Këthja siç e thërrisnin në Gjirokastër vjershëtorin origjinal të Dashurisë e Politikës , kur ligjëronte: “Mora pushkën dola malit,/ Të luftoja për atdhe,/ Ku ta dija unë i varfri,/ Se armiku ishim ne ?!”...