Albanians! Unknown diabolical energies are being tested, aiming relentlessly to lead the country into chaos and civil war. Thanks to the nonconformist and politically mature protest of the students, the country and the whole world clearly saw the bloody and sinister face of the clique in power and of the police state. It was forced to finally grant the students some elementary rights, but not that pluralism and that democracy that Albania needs in order to become like the rest of Europe. For this reason it is afraid to appear before the people. That is why what happened happened. At midday on 20 February, a furious group incited by the old nomenklatura, which gave the order to tear down the monument to Albanian Stalin, attacked the Democratic Party building with forceful and heavy means. The Democratic Party program poster was destroyed, anti-democratic slogans were shouted, and the headquarters itself was threatened with attack. Everything aimed to frighten, divide, provoke revenge, fratricide and chaos. The people can see that the organization, inspiration and financing behind the scenes are coming to light. Its forces still feel strong. But democracy, despite some initial victories, remains under a great threat. If we were to lose our composure and restraint, we would become a tool of whoever has the greatest interest in unrest. That is why we call on all democrats and all citizens not to fall for provocations, to keep calm, not to use violence, and to stand united in defense of freedom and the democratic order. Yesterday's experience showed that democracy cannot win through emotions alone. It wins through organization, wisdom, determination and faith in the power of the law and of the majority of the people. We have entered a new stage. Every hasty step, every rash act, every conflict staged by those who are losing privileges, can turn the country backward. Today moral clarity and a firm political stance are required. Every attempt to dress up old-state scenarios in the guise of a popular revolt must be unmasked. Hope must be preserved and pluralism defended. The country does not need anarchy, but change. The people do not need fear, but free elections, trustworthy institutions and a European future. This is the moment when every democrat, every honest person, every young and old person must understand that freedom has only just begun its journey and that its enemies are still strong. Only united, clear-headed and without hatred can we defend democracy from the attack being made on it.

It is clearly visible how convinced we are about what we do, and recent events prove this. The clear indicators of our social and political condition have become visible in the streets, in factories, in schools and in universities. Everyone has begun to understand that the time of silence is ending and that no one can hide any longer behind old justifications. Instead of calming things down, we have often seen voices that want to push society toward confrontation. Instead of argument, insults and threats are used. Instead of responsibility, confusion is sought among people. But the ordinary citizen is understanding these maneuvers more and more each day. He asks for bread, freedom and dignity, not spectacle and deception. Albania has entered a period in which the truth can no longer be kept shut away. Now everyone asks: who benefits from violence? who benefits from chaos? who incites crowds against one another? These questions must receive answers and cannot remain unaddressed. Therefore we must understand reality as it is, not as others want to present it to us. Let us not be seduced by empty slogans, but rely on facts, reason, and the common interest of the country. (Continued on page 2)

-Interview with Dr. Ibrahim Rugova.- (Continued on page 2) -Interview with Dr. Ibrahim Rugova.- Question: How do you assess the political situation in Kosovo and the expectations of Albanians at this moment? Answer: Our people are going through a difficult period, but also one filled with hope. Patience, wisdom and stable democratic organization are required. The Albanians of Kosovo do not ask for alms; they ask for equal opportunities, freedom and respect. Question: What is your message to Albanian public opinion? Answer: My message is simple: let us keep calm, defend our national and cultural identity, and move along the path of democracy. No one can stop a people who persistently seek their rights and who seek them by peaceful means. Question: How do you see the future? Answer: I believe that democracy will win. This requires time and sacrifices, but it is the only road. Our people have shown that they know how to stand with dignity and resist injustices. (Continued on page 2)

The 12-year-old opponent Olga age, 12 years old. Taking this role into account, we thought it appropriate to publish the letter of this girl, who not only describes with feeling and with revolt what she saw, but also gives a clear message to everyone. Olga was not outside out of curiosity. She was on that street because she felt that something big was happening. With the eyes of a child, but with the sensitivity of a young citizen, she saw the crowd, the fear, the shouting and the hope. She writes about how people were running, how some faces looked angry while others looked bewildered. Television showed only part of the truth, while the street showed another picture. In this difference between what was said and what was seen, Olga understood that there was a need to speak openly. Her letter is simple, but moving. She asks why there must be violence, why young people and children must grow up in fear, why the police and the crowd must behave like enemies of one another. These questions, coming from the heart of a little girl, are worth more than many long speeches. We are publishing this testimony not merely for its sensitivity, but because it reminds us that freedom and democracy are not only political matters. They touch the life of every citizen, even the eyes of a 12-year-old girl who sees, is frightened, and yet finds the courage to write.

21.02.1991, 8:30 p.m. Wednesday. Demonstration. Gunshot. Cry. Silence again. A young girl falls to the ground. People gather around her. Someone calls her name. Fatmira. Then come the questions: who shot? why did they shoot? who ordered it? In that moment no one could give an answer, but everyone felt that a crime had been committed that would weigh on the conscience of the country. Fatmira was not just a name. She was an Albanian girl, part of that generation growing up amid deprivation, fear and hope. She went out into the street like many others, perhaps to watch, perhaps to protest, perhaps only because she felt she was living through a day that would be remembered. And there, in that confusion, someone took her life. The question "why was Fatmira killed?" is larger than the event itself. It touches the nature of a power that has lost contact with its own people, that fears the voices of citizens and that, when it fails to persuade, uses violence. It also touches the responsibility of those who incite hatred and clashes only to preserve their privileges. It is not enough to say that everything happened in confusion. Confusion also has authors. Disorder is also organized. Fear is also used as an instrument. That is why the full truth is needed: who was the killer, who protected him, who stayed silent, who benefited from that death. Fatmira's name must not be lost in the statistics of victims. It must remain as a reminder of how high the price of freedom is when power chooses to answer the people with bullets. There is, apparently, little hope of finding out who shot and with what weapon. However, her name has already entered the memory of this day. Fatmira Isaj. We know almost nothing about her. Not even how old she was. Nor where she lived. Nor what she dreamed of. But we do know that she fell at a moment when many people were seeking change. The bullet that struck her did not strike only a body. It also struck every illusion that violence could be kept hidden, that victims could remain nameless, that the people could forget. People saw it, felt it, experienced it. And now they ask. And they have the right to ask. In a normal society, the death of a young girl would immediately bring investigation, responsibility and transparency. In a society sick with fear and propaganda, the fog begins at once: rumors, denials, alibis, shifting of responsibility. It is precisely this fog that makes the question even more piercing: why was Fatmira killed?

In this way our country and all its citizens honored the fallen and protested in silence. In many cities and neighborhoods, windows were filled with lit candles. There were not many speeches. There were no orders. It was a simple and powerful gesture through which people said they no longer accept death as ordinary news. The candles were lit for those who lost their lives, for those who were wounded, for those who went out into the street with frozen hearts and returned home in pain. They were also lit for hope, so that it would not go out, and for memory, so that it would not be distorted by propaganda. The evening brought an unusual calm. In that silence the questions people ask themselves, families, young people and ordinary citizens could be heard even more strongly: how long? why? who is responsible? This silence was not surrender. It was a moral accusation. It was a sign of civic spirit. Albania lit candles not only to mourn, but also to remember that a nation is not held together by fear. It is held together by trust, justice and truth.

Part of public opinion is trying to understand whether the latest developments are the result of incompetence, panic, or an old tactic of power to retain control. PSH appears sometimes as a force making concessions, sometimes as a structure that once again relies on the usual means of pressure and confusion. This wavering creates uncertainty among citizens and fatigue among those who hoped for a faster change. However, in this political fog it is becoming increasingly clear that the problem is not only with the names, but with the way of governing, with the lack of responsibility, and with the refusal to accept the moral defeat of the old system. If this is a soft trap, then it aims to drag out the transition, divide the opposition, frighten society, and preserve the old positions for as long as possible. But time is working against it, because people are learning to read the language of power more clearly. (Continued on page 2)

It is clear that this term is entering the vocabulary of our days as a sign of a serious social condition and of a revolt seeking new forms of expression. When bread is lacking, when dignity is violated and when hope is endlessly delayed, a person begins to think even of sacrifices that until yesterday seemed impossible. "Voluntary hunger" is not just a metaphor. It is a moral threat to a power that does not listen, and an alarm for a society that is losing patience. No one wants to reach that point. But when the normal channels of communication and representation are blocked, the forms of protest become radicalized. That is why every voice rising from the universities, from the cities, from families worn out by waiting, must be listened to carefully. Because behind this term lies not a desire for self-sacrifice, but a desperate call for the country to wake up.