THE ACTS OF A BODY IN SHKODËR They are burning in front of the Presidium. For days in front of the Presidium in Tirana, a large number of people from all over Albania were going to get visas. When, one evening, a man from Shkodër was lying there where the evening found him. It seemed they had sent him by order to go to the embassy without having the right to do so. Perhaps it has turned into an all-Albanian phenomenon, where going abroad through the embassy has become a profession for the most miserable. Yet we are dealing with a citizen who for three consecutive days slept on the ground under the evening rain. After the third night, we called a female friend to find him shelter. But her answer was very blunt: What! Am I supposed to shelter some man from Shkodër these days? Do you know what trouble you are bringing down on me?! The head of the Department of Internal Affairs in Shkodër has been ordered to use the cassette. Of course. He finds no help. The poor man is staying on the streets of Tirana for three days. But the problem becomes much more serious, because the next evening he sets off for Shkodër. He thinks everything is over. But no. Right away his ordeal begins. In his own city they do not even let him sleep. Or else night is falling and he must leave. These are the people in the pluralist committee. Silence, talk, fear. Comrades, the rich, the troubled. People do not know whom to turn to. Shkodër is experiencing strange days. In people’s eyes there is fear and misery. They move cautiously, as if guarding a secret. Some avoid strangers, others ask in a half-voiced tone. Much is said, little is written. On the streets are tired and hungry faces. Everyone talks about the pluralist committee, but no one knows exactly where responsibility begins and where the fraud ends. A time has come when a person must have permission in order to sleep. In order to move, one must have a guarantee. In order to eat, one must have relatives. This is the social drama being played out. People have been left alone. And when they dare complain, they are called provocateurs. If they want to leave, they are hindered. If they return, they are punished. And above all, no one takes responsibility. This is not simply the story of one citizen. It is a picture of an era. It is the fear that moves from Tirana to Shkodër and then returns again. It is the impossibility of being a free person in your own country. It is the everyday misery, when no one opens the door to you, not out of malice, but out of fear that they themselves will suffer the consequences. ZSV LUCA Mathematics student

IMAGINARY INTERVIEW WITH MR. FATOS BITINIKA — Really, Mr. Minister? Indeed! — Mr. Minister for himself? Difficult. — What do you think is happening? The trains are packed to the brim. You dare not fail to pay. The conductors, the police, relatives and officials, all speak in the name of order, but no one guarantees anything. The traveler boards in fear. He does not know whether he will arrive on time, nor whether there will be a place to sit. In the corridors sleep women with children, old men with bags, soldiers, students. Cigarette smoke and the smell of kerosene mix everything together. — And what is the worst thing? — The lack of responsibility. Who runs the railway? Who supervises it? Who keeps track of how many wagons are broken, how many windows are missing, how many doors do not close? No one answers for anything. Everyone says the system is changing, but the train remains the same: tired, dirty, ruined. — And you yourself, Mr. Minister? — Perhaps he has never taken this route as an ordinary passenger. If he did, he would understand why people no longer complain: not because they are satisfied, but because they have given up. Travel has become a test of patience. A person must have both a ticket and luck. — I FEEL LIKE CRYING... — On the train, one learns a great deal about the country. One sees poverty, insults, shoving, small deceptions, great exhaustion. One also sees the good: a glass of water passed from hand to hand, a seat freed for an old woman, a child laughing in the midst of the chaos. But this cannot save the overall picture. — Can this change? — Only if you travel yourself, Mr. Minister. Only if you stand among the people, if you see the ticket seller, the policeman, the conductor, the station, the broken toilet, the window that will not close, the delay that no one explains. Only then will you know what public transport means in this country. ALEKSANDËR FRANGAJ Publishing manager PUBLISHED IN LEZHË Friday, no. 41 (186) Price: 1 lek

FOR A STUDENT The country has taken a strange turn. Students are in doubt, families in anguish, cities in turmoil. No one feels safe. Young people sit in dormitories and cafés speaking in low voices, as if they were afraid even of the walls. They are killing us, not only with bullets, but with a lack of hope, with insecurity, with poverty. In the lecture halls people speak about the future, but outside the lecture halls the future looks like a bad joke. Who will work? Where will they live? How will they support a family? Students see that a diploma no longer promises anything. Yet they are asked to stay silent, to endure, not to rebel. And when they speak, they are called manipulated. They are killing us slowly. With endless waiting, with queues, with humiliation, with empty words. They drain our energy, they exhaust our faith, they teach us to lower our heads. But a generation that finds no place in its own homeland cannot keep silent forever. Hoy drejt![?] MI MIRASHI

1 — How the district finance chief, Mr. Saimir Kraja, was made (By Nikollë Lesi) 2 — The hotel on the island of Lezhë, stolen or of Nazism? (By Alfons Zeronni)[?] 3 — Do the spiritual leaders belong there or to Nazism? (By Alfons Zeroni) 4 — The man who died twice and was buried… naked! (by Edmond Kaçel and Fran Zefi) 5 — Zem Hysen, chairman of the committee for the folklore of the Kadurinit that were burned at the Cossivarie of the Democratic Prosperity Party (Macedonia); comes to Tirana to buy the bust of Enver Hoxha (By Tomorr Veigjku)[?]