My aim as an artist is the truth.
A nation with no memory is a nation with no dignity
Dedicated to you, forgotten heroes of the tragedy, which, when it happened, was not recognised how great and deep it was!
The comunist dictatorship spread its red cloak over Albania for 50 years,
30 years later, memories still fresh and alive.
Silence must be broken! This deep silence terrifies me.
It took a lifetime to find out that they were real monsters with a human face.
Albanians were fighting Albanians, a war started...
One of their aims was to kill peoples belief in God, to make them worship only the dictator.
Only criminal/ traitors like Enver Hoxha could devise such traps for their own nation.
Killing peoples intellect was one of the forms of dictatorship to perpetuate its rule.
Albanian nobles were in prisons and labour camps,
...the nobels that were Albania itself.
We were treated like we were not part of the nation, praising those who hit us, punishing those who supported us!
I was at the age when life really begins, but my Sun had already started setting.
It was the first day of my long-suffering.
My origin, education, my biography, for them I was a genuine monster.
Why blame parents for the damage their children were causing to the state?
The state Security was above everything. It controlled even the rain and the sunshine in Albania!
People lived with anxiety of a total uncertanity.
The anxiety was caused by murders, hunger, deportations, with books, limited culture and art, with isolation from the world...
...lies, bunkers, and more than anything loss of trust in one-another.
Our “misdeeds” were made up in their sick mind!
They brought ‘charges’ without a shred of evidence!
They were shamless manipulators who staged investigations.
In state procesution work practices, slander was a “professional art”
As educators, we saw the big blatant lie that was sown and cultivated with care.
We saw forms of suppression of human personality, strict censorship of free thought, hypocrisy transformed into social morality.
This system and these people were just hyenas that can never be satisfied.
From the age of six I got to know the cell or the dungeon, that was icommonly used.
Even today, the memory of time spent in the darkness of the dungeon gives me the shudders...
....Crying alone scered of a bogeyman.
Outside, my dearest nan was sayig: “Don’t be afraid, nan will kill the bogeyman”
But you are just a child, they were afraid of you?
We were only 11. We were not allowed to play, they wanted us to work.
Life for us was a “forbidden fruit”
Our diet consisted of boiled water with few beans in it and a piece of bread!
Chronic hunger is very difficult. A dream about a piece of bread was one of the most powerful.
From dawn to dusk, on an empty stomach…
We always carried loads of wood, long and fat trunks tied to our backs by rope.
The communist terror during dictatorship was so cruel that even babies trembled in the womb.
We left our children in the morning, praying to God to find them well in the evening.
Who knows how many mothers found a corpse!
Death was hanging over our camp, with a daily prey!
Woman, mothers .... burried their offspring with her own hands, without shedding any tears.
We run out of tears, we shed them all!
In the “undergound” world I hugged a victim and loved him passionately. This love beat even the death threat!
Mothers cry day and night: "We were left with no children into our laps!"
Many have died, but never forgotten, our hearts crying forever.
Mum...., You, the dearest and most painful memory of this life!
I can forgive the Communist dictatorship my personal sufferings, but I cannot forgive them what they they’ve done to the Albanian nation.
They took my father, supposedly to help him with his administrative work, he went never to return, not even as a corpse...
We grew up convinced that the “revolution” needed victims, we were its sacrificial lambs!
At that time, it was sensible and essencial to hide your skills.
When you speak, cover your head with a quilt, not to be heard by anyone
They killed sincerety and pride, instilling hypocrisy and servitude.
How many people were handcufed again, just as they were leaving the prison gates?
This was really an endless horror, the idea of dying was not that scary.
By making their life unbearable, the dictatorship removed the fear of death from the people.
Tepelena, cursed place, killed women, killed children, what are you doing to young men?!
Dear Lord, where are you?
From arrest to release or death, we were just a number.
We were just like carthorses, who cannot see left or right, directed by a skillful cart-driver, who actually was a deceitful and a lier.
He, who incited fratricide, preached love as the "father of the nation".
While bones of wolves can be found, Enver’s communism left no trace of you!
Among the cries of victims ... the dictator found the applause of a terrorized people.
They had destroyed a whole generation, that disappeared without trace.
We were unfortunate, stoical and tireless dreamers
We were offended by our own punishment withot guilt ... We were miserable!
We were the actors of our drama, which we had to play to the end.
We were in the hands of a state that did not feel responsible for our lives, we were no valuable than meeting minutes...
... that comunists on duty used to justify the end of our life’s drama.
We had to survive, while sacrificing a lot, for the sake of those that were watining for us abroad.
The temple where Albanian character was kept was attacked in barbaric ways.
Even today, at a ripe old age, I cannot understand where did the strength that made me survive come from!
Even at the lowest level of misery, a human being finds the strength to seek a meaning in life.
People were amazed at how these children brought up amid untold suffering excell at school?!
We never lost faith in the goodness and survived, remaining human beings?.
I started life almost as an old man, without family, and without a hope to form one.
I thank God that made me fly with eagles and not be tempted by the crows!
May God shine upon you, be careful not to step on rotten wooden plank!
My account is a moral obligation for my parents, for myself, for my children, for my co-sufferers and for society,
Our wives, mothers, daughters and sisters, whose suffering and support gave the Alanian movement for democracy its biggest human dimension.
Those who died, those who kept their humanity during that difficult time, in which people were treated as working animals.
Can the tyrant be forgiven of the unprecedented disfigurement he did to his own nation?
History never lies, but be wary of those who write it, don’t let them lie.
We have to speak out, silence is unaaceptale.
Failure to denounce their crimes and lack of apology by the perpetrators represents "the second Albanian tragedy".
Remorse is a gesture of nobility.
An apology by those who caused this tragedy would pacify our souls.
History cannot be surpressed forever. The truth cannot be distorted.