THEY ARE LEAVING VLORA with their tail between their legs...
The corrupt chief social-communists who are dragging the cities down!
But which ITA?
The news services have now calmed down. Those bitter and dark reports that circulated in those days in Europe have stopped. So the history of the war and tragedies of Bosnia is over. It now remained in Europe and not in Vlora. Meanwhile, the Italians, alarmed by the tragedy of the war in Bosnia and Herzegovina, chose to worry about the fate of the unfortunate Albanians and Muslims fleeing by speedboat, while in Italy other events were taking place. Vorio-Epir, as it had, in its own context, declared a state of war. The statement had appeared in the press and on television. The Bosnian from Vlora, terrified by the declaration of war, with dizzying speed, with one pig’s sandal in his hand and his trousers around his legs, had gone out onto the field in the bus park area and shouted all night: “We must no longer think about Bosnia but about Vlora!” This was followed by a series of alarms and immediate actions. With young men and young women, middle-aged people and old people, mothers and children, they left the entrances and exits of the shops, stopped buying goods, broke off their ongoing conversations and, with tears in their eyes, headed toward the scene. Oh God! What happened to us? But which ITA?
My dear Adem Demçi, the modesty, nobility and calm of the chairman of the Vlora Municipal Council once again imposed balance in a city worn down by poverty and backwardness. As people walked in the center and through the city streets, they came across flowerpots and neatly trimmed squares, with most citizens carrying out their business in peace and the administration working. Where was the war taking place? Where was the tragedy happening? What “upheaval” was taking place in Vlora? Why were they leaving, leaving as if to escape war? This question troubled all those who had headed to the Bus Park, where the Bosnian from Vlora had organized his alarms. When they got there, they saw with surprise a truly tragicomic scene. The Bosnian from Vlora had come out like a madman before the people and was whispering and crying, sometimes lowering his head and sometimes raising his voice. “Vlora is lost, it is ruined, I could not live to see it!” Some took him for mad, others for frightened, and some as a man blowing a reed pipe at a funeral feast. But in the end, when it began to be understood what had reduced him to that state, everything made sense. They had taken away his chair.
The chair he had kept through lies, threats, pressure, clientelist voting and artificial inflation. The chair of the mayor. That is why he was shouting. That is why he was howling. That is why he was crying and cursing. He had taken his own personal departure to mean the departure of Vlora. He had taken his own personal defeat to mean the destruction of the city. And since that did not stick, he immediately began another tune: “I will go to Strasbourg. I will internationalize the issue. I will denounce Europe.” A great hero. From Vlora to Strasbourg on a political dinghy.
Many of those who had heard him finally saw that “But which ITA?” was not a question about the Italy of the news, but about the “Everything is leaving” of his chair. And so the city breathed more calmly. The proclaimed tragedy was only the personal tragedy of a man who was leaving the office.
(To be continued on page 2)