A search for the memoirs of Jusuf Vrioni turns into a broader reflection on historical memory and the angry tone of public debate in today’s Tirana. At its center is an uncomfortable question: when does political revolt move from a demand for justice to the language of eliminating the opponent?
A book found by chance, a quiet August afternoon
The account begins with a days-long effort to find the memoirs of Jusuf Vrioni, the well-known Albanian intellectual and translator, written in French and later brought out in Albanian as well. After searching through friends and publishing houses, the book arrives through an unknown person, ready to hand it over without hesitation.
The meeting takes place near Dinamo Stadium. The reading then continues in a cafe in the Myslym Shyri area, in an August Tirana quieter than usual, without the usual burden of traffic and urban noise. In this rare atmosphere, Vrioni’s memories open another layer of Albanian history.
Jusuf Vrioni and a dark chapter of the postwar period
As the pages turn, the story of Jusuf Vrioni returns, the son of Iljaz Bej Vrioni, Albania’s former prime minister in the 1920s, a signatory of Independence and a diplomat. After returning to Tirana in 1943, according to his memoirs, the ordeal of suffering that would follow him for years begins.
One of the most shocking episodes mentioned in the book is linked to the fate of Iljaz Bej Vrioni’s grave. According to Jusuf Vrioni’s account, in 1945 several young communists from Berat opened the grave, took the decorations, pulled out his gold teeth and then threw the corpse into the river. It is a grim episode, raising not only historical issues but also questions about the limits political hatred can reach.
From violence against memory to today’s language of revolution
In the same cafe, attention is drawn to the conversation of two young people, involved, according to the description, in the nightly protests on the boulevard. Their debate revolves around toppling the government, imprisoning the political class and taking the wealth of the oligarchs, which they consider stolen.
It is precisely here that the link is raised between the memory of the past and today’s political nerve. Revolt against injustices, corruption or the capture of public wealth is a reality present in public discourse. But when anger begins to be expressed with a vocabulary of elimination, the parallel with the blind forms of historical hatred becomes difficult to ignore.
A question that remains suspended
The account does not provide definitive answers about the source of the hatred that erupted after the communists came to power. It raises the suspicion that it may have been ideology, social revenge, or a mixture of poverty, accumulated injustices and political indoctrination.
In the end, the dilemma remains current: is this simply the story of a closed era being read, or a warning that the language of hatred, even when dressed in the promise of justice, can once again produce grave consequences? In a climate where anger toward political and economic elites is real, that question sounds closer than it seems.
Between an almost empty Tirana and the pages of a heavy memory, the account places two periods face to face: postwar Albania and the Albania of today’s discontent.
What remains is not only the emotion of the reading, but the concern that history may not repeat itself in the same way, yet may return as an echo in the words and instincts of our own time.