By Alfred Peza
Edi Rama and Lulzim Basha have been alone in the past 48 hours to negotiate the details of the solution of the political crisis, which will take all the sides in the elections and this is the longest time that the main Albanian political leaders have ever spent together in the past 27 years. Instead of making everyone happy, this achievement which is unique for our political history–although it should have been something quite routine–made more enemies than friends in Tirana. It made more people sad than happy and it made more people grumpy than smile. There were more whispers and exclamations than chanting. More disgruntlement than positive energy. More poison and acid rather than rose water.
Of course, we’re not talking about the common people of this country, who, today looked more relieved while they walked on the streets, enjoying the warm spring sun and the greenness that has exploded everywhere. We’re not talking about the international community, who didn’t waste any time at all to congratulate the main two protagonists, but also their supporters. I’m talking about all of those who in such politically charged periods in Albania, position themselves between Rama and Basha and the simple voters. They position themselves between the mouth and the ear. Between those who elect and those who are elected.
Most upset today were councilors and lackeys, mediators and zealous ones, analysts and opinion makers, allies and renegades, popular tribunes and people without tribunes, those who know a lot and those who listen very little, those who know everything and talk a lot, future tellers and horoscope experts, those who pretend and those who pretend that they pretend, those who didn’t sleep thinking that they were the first ones and when they woke up they realized that they were the last.
We must understand all of them. Without exception. They have deserved it. They have sweat so much. They have made a lot of efforts and sacrifice. It’s been 27 years that they have been invested for this. For this moment. Someone dreamt of the intermediary. Someone dreamt of those who whispers on the ear. Someone dreamt the one who kisses the hand. They would wish for nothing else in this world but be there for a few seconds. Physically. To listen to a few words. To record something, anything. To spread words. To send sms to the media. Or at least to show off before the wife in the evening on the new headlines that would appear on the screen.
But none of this happened. What was this big tragedy? And if this was not enough, they left everyone jobless with just a handshake and the closing of doors. They sent everyone out! Without mercy. Excluded them from the game and awoke them from their dream. They made everyone feel worthless. Without a pose in front of the cameras and photo reporters at least. Even accidentally, posing next or behind their leaders. Or smiling in triumph. And to sell everything until the next meeting as something which cannot be said.
You could see everyone walking on the street, one by one or as a group. Discussing in cafes and fantasizing in the world wide web. Upset. Whispering. Talking non-sense. They had imagined everything, but this, never. This happened in front of their very eyes. In the middle of the day and middle of the night. Live, in front of the camera. In front of everyone. Without their mediation. Without delays. Without intrigues, gossips, scenarios, schemes, dilemmas and funny stories.
Because inside there were only two people. In front of each other. On a table. In a room. In the state’s offices. In the middle of the boulevard. Near the tent. Near the government’s building. Parliament. President’s office. While everyone was aware. Without the presence of anybody. Without cameras. Without Facebook. Without Twitter. Without microphones. Without advisors, Without tale tellers. Without dancers. Like two responsible people. Those who were elected and voted. One of them as head of majority, the other as head of the opposition. One of them as head of the government and the other a Prime Minister nominee.
Is this perhaps the “New Republic”?! Let us wait and see. But one thing is sure. Whatever our republic is after this, it will no longer be like the old Republic or the old Albania. And even less, in the hands of the new jobless people.
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Note: The views expressed in this article are the author's own and do not necessarily reflect Albanian Free Press’ editorial policy.
