By Arshi Pipa
Memorie.al / Arshi Pipa was born in the city of Shkodra in 1920, in a well-known intellectual family (originating from Libohova in Gjirokastra), where his father was a well-known lawyer who graduated from Istanbul University. After completing primary and secondary education in the city of Shkodra, in 1942, he graduated in Literature and Philosophy at the University of Florence in Italy. After graduation he returned to his homeland and worked as a teacher, teaching the subject of Philosophy, in the high schools of Shkodra, Tirana and Durrës, until 1946, when he was arrested and sentenced to ten years in political prison accused of “agitation and propaganda against popular power”. In 1946, the State Security had arrested his brother, Myzafer Pipa, (a well-known publicist and publisher of the magazine “Fryma” and a lawyer who had participated in the Special Trial), who died in the torture of the investigation in the Internal Branch of Shkodra. After serving his sentence in some of the forced labor camps in Tirana, Beden, Orman-Pojan, Vloçisht, Burrel, etc., Arshiu was released from prison in 1956, after completing his 10-year sentence. A year later, while working as teachers in the deep villages of the Shkodra Highlands, he together with his sister, Fehime, managed to escape from Albania and go to Yugoslavia, where he settled in Sarajevo and after some time gained the status of political asylum and settled in the USA. During his stay in the USA, in addition to working as a professor at several universities, he continued his passion, literature, by writing several books. He ended his academic career with the title “Professor emeritus” in 1987. The work of Arshi Pipa is very wide and it extends from literary writings, to criticism, journalism, essays, translations, poetry, etc. The following part is excerpted from the book “Albanian Stalinism”, which was also published in Albanian under the title “Albanian Stalinism”. After the overthrow of the communist regime in Albania, Arshi Pipa returned several times as a visitor to his homeland, but continued to live in Washington D.C., where he died on July 20, 1997.
IN THE CHANNEL
An episode from forced labor in the Maliqi swamp (Summer, 1948)
That day at the end of July was incredibly hot. The sun began to burn more than usual, filling the swamp with a bright light that made the black mud beneath the water glow like anthracite.
Nicholas was thirsty, but there was not a single drop left in his glass. The worst thing was that he knew that there was a good chance that he would not fill his matar that day; no one was seen carrying drinking water along the canal.
It wasn’t the first time that on the hottest days the water service was neglected, if he had been in the part of the canal where people were working on dry land he would have dug a hole in the ground and drank from the water, which would flow into the small hole.
Of course, the water would be disgusting, slightly salty, and would go down in his stomach like lead, but, at least, he would get rid of the thirst that tormented him.
For a moment Nikola stopped digging. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and asked Muko, the boy working closest to him, if there were any drops of water left in his matara. Mukoja was surprised:
– Why should I have? Is the sun kinder to me than to you?
He continued mocking:
Blessed are you who are waist-deep in mire. Think of the oxen of your village. Why don’t you act like them? I assure you that your thirst would disappear instantly.
Nikola heard Muko’s malicious laugh. He was sure that Mukoja had water in his matar; a little while ago he had seen her steal from Liman’s butcher’s shop, when he had been summoned by a guard. He knew that Mukoja was not the type of person to help his friends. He regretted asking such a person for help.
Mukoja had just made his bad joke, when Nikola heard a voice coming from behind:
– I think you like what oxen do.
Nikola turned his head towards the speaker. He had recognized him immediately: he was Capt. Zijai, one of the camp’s most brutal guards.
The captain was standing a few steps away from him, on the side of the canal. He had approached the workers from behind the soil reinforcements. The prisoners had not heard him, because of the noise made by the handcarts, which carried the piles of mud past the fortifications. He carried a long stick, which he had most likely picked up in the kitchen.
Now he shouted:
-You, brat, why are you sitting back instead of doing your job? Shouldn’t we put you here, so you can laugh and make fun of us? Come here quickly.
Mukoja walked along the marsh and stopped in front of him. He was pale. In a ready position and holding his shovel with two hands like a weapon, he lowered his head, not daring to meet the captain’s eyes.
The voice now grew wilder.
– I see that you will confuse the people who are here and prevent them from doing their duty. Your joke…! I’ll show you how to joke!
Now there was the sound of something heavy hitting something equally heavy. It was followed by a succession of noises, depending on the weight of the body being hit, when the prisoner gathered his head and shoulders, his back and arms.
A sound of something breaking was heard, and Nicholas saw the guard, who was looking at the half-broken staff in his hand. He threw it away and started hitting the prisoner with his shoes. He hit him so hard that his body stopped resisting.
– Throw it in the water! – shouted the captain.
Two of the convicts, who were nearby, approached the body. Nicholas did not move even though he was the one who was closer than the others; the captor looked at him angrily
– It seems like you are in no hurry to help your friend.
After a while he was shouting to the two convicts, who had managed to lift the body to its feet:
– Release him! Bastards! Throw it away!
Mukos had already fainted. Instant contact with the water brought him to his senses. He came out of the water waving his hands erratically and trying to grab something. Then he fell again, got up again, fell to his knees and slowly made his way to the shore.
– Don’t let it out! – the furious voice was heard even more. – Keep it down! During this time, a third person was approaching the unfortunate Muko. Nikola knew him well. He was a young man, named Vojo. He had previously been a thief and now he was a spy, who had more than once helped the guards carry out numerous tortures on the “enemies of the people”.
He was not in Nikola’s work group, but apparently he had been accompanying the captain on a walk along the canal. Attracted by what he was climbing, he volunteered to carry out the guard’s orders.
He grabbed a shovel from someone’s hands and ran towards the swamp to block Muko from getting out of there. He immediately fell upon him and threatened him by swinging the shovel close to his face. Then he took it out and led it to the captain, who was laughing loudly.
Mukoja managed to get back on his feet, but now Vojoja was shoveling mud and water at him with such speed that Mukoja was falling.
The captain shouted and snorted with laughter.
– You mean! Ha! There you have!
He addressed the two convicts who had remained spectators:
– Help him, you scoundrels! Don’t you feel sorry for him?
It was at this moment that Nikola spoke to the captain.
The guard looked at him in surprise at first. Then, after a pause, he said:
– I mean, you feel sorry for him.
There was no answer.
– Come here! – he said in a low and cold voice, which was even more frightening.
Nikola walked slowly and sat in front of the captain, a little far from him, looking straight into his eyes.
The captain took a step forward. For a while he studied Nikola from head to toe and suddenly punched him with all his strength.
Nikola bent, but did not fall. He moved and continued to see the captor, slowly wiping the blood from his nose.
The other muttered through gritted teeth:
– Enter the channel!
Nicholas walked slowly.
– Stop! Enter the channel!
Nikola sat down in the water leaving only his bloody head out.
– Put your head in! Shouted the angry voice.
This time the prisoner put his head into the swamp and brought out his black head again, with some strips of mud.
– Again…! Again…! Again…!
Every time the captor screamed, Nikola repeated the action like a robot, or like an excavator working regularly.
This finally annoyed the captain. It was more like a parody than a torture.
– Give him a shovel! – he ordered in a low voice, which was no longer angry. – And let all the lazy and saboteurs know! This is all they will suffer.
Then he left, whistling a song…! Memorie.al
