By SAMI REPISHTI
Part Five
Sami Repishti: – In Albania, the communist crime of the past has not been documented and punished, there has been no “spiritual cleansing”, no conscious confession and denunciation of ordinary communist criminals! –
‘Under the Shadow of Rozafa’
Memorie.al / During the 30s and 40s of the last century, with the descent of the unstoppable fascist and communist deluge over Europe, sooner or later over the whole world, “fate” also seized the Albanian nation by the throat. Like all young people, I also found myself at a crossroads where a stance had to be taken, even at the risk of life. Then I said “no” to the dictatorship, I took the road that had no end, a sailor on the wide, shoreless sea. The rebellious act that almost killed me liberated me at the same time. I am an eyewitness to life in the fascist and communist hell in Albania, not as a “politician”, a “personality” of Albanian macropolitics, but as a student, as a young man who became aware of my role, at that time and in that place, from love for the homeland and the desire for freedom; simply, as a young man with a pronounced sensitivity, faithful to himself, to a life with dignity.
Continued from the previous issue
“You left them today, at a time when they need enthusiastic and idealistic young people, to raise their voices without fear, against oppression, exploitation, slavery…! You have left out of fear, because today, this effort of ours is a harsh, bloody war, that demands new sacrifices, and you, are not capable and conscious enough to accept them. Today you have separated from the group; you have withdrawn from the just war, which we face with courage. I cannot continue my friendship with you. It would be unfair. I would be insincere, towards my comrades in arms, to continue as before…”! – No! – I said with determination. – Lili, I don’t understand you…! I think it’s not necessary to speak, about the sanctity of our war, about the justice of our cause…! Lili.
You know well that these are the lessons you learned from me, heard from me…! These were my convictions, Lili, that I expressed when we were together, when you feared for my fate, because you knew well what kind of dangerous game was being played those days, and I was the one who gave you courage. I have not lost faith in myself, Lili, nor am I afraid of the sacrifices that our struggle demands… or has I lost faith in the justice of the cause for freedom…! – “Don’t talk about freedom! – she interrupted me again. – You no longer have the right! You are no longer part of our ranks…!” – I will speak, Lili, – I said angrily.
– Everything must be clarified. I wish that you, at least, would understand me…! What is happening to me now is neither fear nor the weakening of my conviction in the common cause. But I am thinking, Lili. I desire with all my soul, perhaps even more than before, to fight for a world, without the wretched and the oppressed, just as I have told you many times, I understand that our enthusiasm has been an effect of youthful impulse and the purity of our hearts…! Something else, Lili, something that terrifies me, is hidden behind all this phraseology that captivated us…!
This is the fear I have and that has forced me to withdraw…! – “You are afraid, – she retorted, emphasizing every syllable of her words. – You are afraid, say it openly. And only those who are afraid, or think of betraying, only they leave our path…! For me, you are today a worthless element… perhaps something else…something more…”! – Say it, Lili, say it openly. If your mouth won’t say it, I will…! I am a deserter! –
“The truth is that you have deserted! That’s what all the comrades in the activity group say..! That’s what I think too”! – If desertion means, my departure from a group of comrades who, in words and deeds, no longer inspire me, then Lili, you are right…! I am proud of what I am today, and I am happy that I have begun to think for myself, with my own head, with my own logic, about what surrounds us and what happens, in the world we live in…!
This new state causes me suffering and has taken away the joy of youthful carelessness, throwing me into the arms of loneliness. But this endeavor I have embraced satisfies me boundlessly and gives me enough strength to face myself without fear, before the judgment of conscience, to examine every step, and to say “Stop!”, every time enthusiasm sweeps me away…! You don’t see me laughing, Lili, or walking full of life and vitality as before, and you think perhaps that I have realized the mistake…”!
No Lili! If it were possible, I would take back many words I said to you then. But I see that today, it is useless to talk with you. You are infatuated! You are going through a phase of indoctrination, which I have overcome. Nothing now, seems more logical, more just, and more idealistic to you, than what you hear in the activity group meetings. Even when you are alone, it helps you feel part of a great society of people, with a noble mission.
You are not alone, Lili, and this is a great consolation for you. Today, you are enthusiastic, I understand you, just as I was, but I fear that all this you see and hear, in the circle where you live today, will implant in your heart feelings, that are not at all human, Lili…! They are not at all human. – “Very quickly you learned to speak the enemy’s language,” – she retorted.
– It seems you are absorbing his propaganda. But I don’t intend to tire myself opposing, what you have achieved with the force of your logic…! You can think as much as you want, but keep it to yourself…! – “I am convinced, that there is no logic more right, than the logic of our path. Whoever does not accept or opposes it, is an enemy to be hated and fought without mercy…”! – To hate, to hate! You are right Lili. If this is the only way out that leads to the fulfillment of your ideals, Lili, allow me to say openly, that you have lost much, perhaps everything…!
You have lost what is most noble in you, Lili, you have lost what is yours, only yours, – I said with a broken heart. Lili did not respond and left without saying goodbye. I remembered with pain the face of this enthusiastic young girl. She was going through the process of ideological formation, which appealed to emotions; she was going through the phase that stripped young people, of their natural and noble sentiments, awakened by their age, through the phase of dehumanization, which had revolted me during my own preparation. I watched this young victim with pain, I was clear about the path that would lead her to destruction… and I felt powerless, to help. “Poor Lili”!, I said to myself.
The time for the maturity exams was approaching. The amount of study material was large. The efforts to master it continued for several weeks and consumed all our energies. We had formed small study groups and functioned as work collectives. Textbooks, handouts, notebooks, were accumulated and passed from hand to hand. This time, the division of the class was clearly visible. Even in this final period when we were preparing, not only to leave the school desks, but also the companionship that had kept us connected for so many consecutive years, the group of “communist comrades” refused cooperation with “the others”.
I saw “them”, all together, engaged in systematic and persistent study. In general, “they” were serious students. But when the occasion arose that a student, not from their circle, asked for help or study material, “they” would skillfully bypass the request. For me, this attitude was clear. In every step of life, they remained consistent. “They” did not consider everyone a comrade, who was not a “comrade on the path”!
VI
June 1942. It was the day of the matriculation exams. The whole class was electrified. Through the open windows, the crack of gunfire came clearly. In an outlying neighborhood of the city, the police had surrounded three young “communists”, who were fighting with rare courage. No one was thinking about addressing the exam topic. I didn’t know what to write. In my mind, the scene of the siege revolved, captivating me, while in my heart, I felt a brotherly closeness to the unknown ones who were fighting, and dying manfully, for an ideal. New pedestals of heroism were being built, alongside those of tradition, taught by our country’s history. The legend of Oso Kuka was being renewed in my city, and for a people who had sung songs of glory for more than a century.
Death for the homeland was no longer just the inflamed fantasy of our teacher. It became the experience of our days, present, powerful in its call for sacrifice! As for all the youth of my country, in those days, this event stirred our feelings and influenced our approach to the exam material. Spiritually revolted, it molded the material I worked on for my essay. It forged in my thoughts that made me proud, ever since the benches of elementary school, and that at every moment, elevated me spiritually, experiencing the glories of crowned victories, during our difficult national history. The crack of weapons was the signal of the great moral strength of a freedom-loving people.
***
I received my matriculation certificate with good results. I ran with joy, sharing with my parents what I felt inside. In his room, my aging father was very pleased when I, unrestrained, showed him the results. He embraced me with his wide arms and, leaning against his chest, I felt happy, thinking of these moments of joy I was giving him. “Well done”! He told me, and again, “Well done”!
Mother appeared at the doorstep, and without needing to be told, she understood. I broke away from my father’s arms, hugged mother with both hands around her neck, while her lips moistened my forehead and both eyes. She didn’t speak. In her eyes, tears of joy showed everything. I was truly happy! I spent that whole day with my younger brothers and sisters. I was still young, but circumstances forced me to become a man as quickly as possible…!
***
With the end of the exams, following a school tradition, we were to gather to celebrate the beginning of a new life. The first step was a group photograph with the teaching staff. I look at the faces of the twenty-eight fellow graduates, and the heterogeneity of this group of young people strikes me. The ideological currents of the outside world had penetrated, with all their poison, into our small country, inexperienced in politics.
They had especially poisoned the minds of the young and created an atmosphere so hostile, that even a year earlier it would have been difficult to foresee: idealists, nationalists, elements opposing the occupation, partisans of international communism, and “menefregists” (those who don’t care): it was a strange motley of types and characters, in a single class, in a small Albanian town. In those days, the value of professors was not judged by their professionalism, but by the political current they embraced; from what we called; respect for the teacher, was nothing but a memory. The teacher, our former idol, was toppled from his pedestal. Albanian society was going through a deep moral crisis.
Scattered by life and the situation created in the country, we began to seek new paths for our future. One such path opened, with the competitive exams for a university study scholarship. In a large hall in the capital, 112 qualified candidates competed for 28 study scholarships. We all entered hoping that this exam would be the gateway to becoming doctors, engineers, agronomists, professors, lawyers, architects, etc.
We all worked persistently. Our imagination flew to the university halls of a European state. Two days later, I received notification that I had won a study scholarship, at the University of Florence, Italy. But most of the participants were desperate. To be poor, without means, without help, and to lose the only opportunity given to move forward, was a heavy blow, the effect of which I saw clearly, expressed on gloomy faces.
With the competitive exam, we were taking the first step in life. Now everything depended on us. For the first time we entered into competition with each other, for a study scholarship, which even the closest friend risked obtaining. It was a strange feeling. We were side by side, and yet, we looked at each other as rivals…! It was the first blow of a bitter reality, of life. With September approaching, I began preparations for the trip to Florence. The journey was long and dangerous, due to the war, which interrupted the free passage across the Adriatic.
In the family, everyone was worried about my departure, for a relatively long time. Each one tried to do something for me, to encourage me with a word, while I, despite the heavy heart caused by leaving my family, had begun to dream of my life as a young university student, free from family obligations. Immersed in a cultural and artistic environment, much higher than that of my city, I was determined to study as much as possible, in the field I had chosen with passion, modern history.
On the day of departure, I was seen off by many relatives and friends, and in the evening, I boarded the large cargo ship, together with a small group of students from various cities. It was my first journey, from the port of Durrës, by ship. A new world opened before me, and I devoured it with the great thirst of a traveler seeking unknown lands. Before the ship departed, which would travel through the night, the captain showed us the “life jackets”, which we should use in case of danger. We took them immediately, put them on over our clothes and, mobilized by the fear of a tragedy at sea, kept them on until landing. During the night I gazed at the calm and infinite sea and the beauty of the starry sky, in that September month.
It was a complete silence disturbed only by the rhythmic beating of the ship’s engine, which reminded me of the ticking of a great clock…! Although drowsy, I dared not sleep. The idea of tragedy kept me awake and alert. I waited impatiently to see the other shore, no matter how far away it was. Being in the middle of the sea, sitting on the deck leaning against a chest where ropes were stored, with eyes towards the West and into the darkness of the night that seemed endless, forged thoughts in me, especially about the purpose of the journey, to study in a country that was the occupier of my homeland.
The moral dilemma undoubtedly occupied the central place in the framework of my meditations, and cast a heavy shadow over the joy nurtured by the opportunity for university studies, in a renowned cultural center like the city of Florence. The idea, voluntarily and enthusiastically accepted, of the fight against the occupier, remained untouched in its essence, an impregnable fortress in my mind and heart. So then, why am I leaving the homeland, when it calls me and demands my sacrifice?! Every explanation I found was a weak justification! Several times the word “deserter” also came to mind, stuck in my head since the day Lili accused me of fear and weakness in the war.
This tormented me greatly, and although I was convinced that the group I had despised had embarked on a path whose methods was unacceptable to me, and which I thought would lead to a dangerous dead end. I was not able to deny my admiration for all “those” who were committed, with conviction, to the fight against the Italian occupier. It seemed to me as if “they” had solved the posed problem, had accepted the presented logic, had adapted the terminology accompanying this logic, thus avoiding the internal dilemma between “evil” and “good”, that action caused. “They”, my high school comrades, did not “waste” time thinking! Their dilemma was resolved by action, and action lessened and sometimes eliminated the need to think…!
Were “they” happy? I didn’t know! Their satisfaction seemed natural, at least on the surface, and in relations with others. Action for them was usually Manichaean, black and white, with no gray zones in between. It was validated by the success or failure achieved. Every action enthused them, while failure was individualized and attributed to “deviationists” and “factionalists”. Action in itself was always good and confirmed the “justice of the cause”. But I was in a different situation.
Far from “action”, as a concrete expression of the mass resistance movement against the occupier, I had taken the path of doubt, which threw me into the arms of personal thought and judgment. Thought reserved for me the right to examine and condemn the aim and the form of implementing the action. Thought did not allow accepting “action” a priori, and consequently supporting it without hesitation.
The truth was that I felt myself outside the world of my comrades, that I was in a fluid political state and, from the unwillingness to participate in a collective action that I did not approve of, in order to find myself, I was moving away towards another society, not polarized, towards the society of books and university halls. Pursuing university studies, I hoped, would broaden my horizon, would open new doors for me, unknown until then, and would make it possible to take a more mature, more studied stance, and I hoped again, even more just…! However, I was not at peace. / Memorie.al
To be continued in the next issue
