Why are these drums beating?
To herald the dignity of victory and defeat, or to frighten us with the return of rally violence
Perhaps because we also lived for a long time with the consequences of the festive hypocrisy of the routine elections of the dictatorship era, drums and revelry continue to seem to us like the only prelude that must simultaneously play the role of décor for an election campaign. Whether this custom has truly become so entrenched that its organic ties to the dictatorship are not merely a physical concept, identified in most cases with groups of people converted to various positions from their one-time party “conviction,” but also a conceptual continuity in the mentality of Albanians, regarding campaigns in general and the way we voted as a bloc, as well as their antagonism, when the drums turned into gunfire. The much-repeated example of May 28, when the intolerance and megalomania of the “great ones,” through victory chants and shots in Tirana’s square by one side, and hysterical calls by the other to respond to electoral “violence” by occupying the squares, showed the way elections are won in particular. In truth, somewhere deep in the minds of many voters, the illusion may have taken hold that, even according to an apparently unfathomable political logic, the noise accompanying a party’s campaign is directly proportional to its chances of winning, indeed to the scale of its victory. But perhaps this is also a hallucination of leaders who mistake the exuberance of people, especially young people, who spend their time at (electoral) spectacles not to hear politicians’ sermons but singers’ voices, for political affection—and even for votes won. So compelling has the desire become to secure votes in advance through televised concerts that, following the example of the biggest parties, even foundation-parties have begun to imitate them, such as Bashkim Driza’s “popular” ones. It is natural that every party has the legitimate right to choose whichever form it wishes, and which the law and the rules of pluralism permit, in order to present its “strength.” Even if this is done through fixed visions or their rollout every four years, or even if it turns back by suggesting the futility of voting in the face of a force that denies it the right to win elections “at the table,” in the end it has left Albanians with the bitter taste of uniformity in conviction and voting as well. One of the “great ones,” through footage and victory shots around Tirana respond to electoral “violence” by occupying the squares, did nothing but bring back onto the stage the police violence used to “decorate” the scenes filling Skënderbej Square in 1991. For their part, quite a few of the “little ones,” although “hidden behind the gaxho” with rare exceptions, contributed, if not to worsening the situation, then to preserving the status quo of a tense atmosphere. Will it happen this way again with them, with them? Will it happen again with the drums which, although softer, have once more begun beating in the ears of ordinary voters? Perhaps not, but perhaps yes. More than anyone, the political parties, large or small, can and should say so, particularly those who administer power and its force. But above all, it is the members of the leadership, emancipated from every candidate, who must do so; while not forgetting the “intimate” character of local elections, they should also remember the message that Republican candidate Neritan Alibali addresses to voters and his rivals: “We were born in the same maternity hospital, walk the same streets, and will rest in the same cemetery!” That is how these drums should beat: they must not frighten us with the threat that October 22 could resemble May 28, and for that reason May 26 must not be turned into October 20 either.