Lucian Kim1 the Free Press in the New Albania
Total Page：16
File Type：pdf, Size：1020Kb
SÜDOSTEUROPA; 43. Jhg., 9-10/1994 Lucian Kim1 The Free Press in the New Albania Of all the former communist countries in Europe (with the exception of war- torn Bosnia), Albania is the furthest from European integration. With industrial production at a complete standstill, its economy is a shambles. Furthermore, political isolation and oppression have dominated the country's modem history: four centuries of Turkish rule; a short-lived monarchy in the 1920s; consecutive Italian and German military occupations; forty years of iron-fisted Stalinism. Although a democratically elected government has been in power for more than two years, the country still functions without a new constitution. Critics charge that the government is taking advantage of this legal ambiguity for its own political purposes. The Press Law guarantees freedom of the press, yet forbids journalists from revealing "state secrets." While Albania's newspapers have more liberty than ever before, many journalists still complain about less obvious forms of censorship. As Albanian society lumbers toward Europe, the independent press is struggling to participate in the crucial process of democratization. 1 Frrok £upi's life as a journalist illustrates the politically charged nature of the Albanian press both during communist rule and afterwards. The silver-haired newspaperman with the becoming smile began his journalistic career in the early 1970s at Bashkimi (Unite). The paper was the daily of the Democratic Front, the political organization to which nearly all Albanians belonged. After six years, £upi was assigned to Zeri i Popullit (Voice of the People), the official organ of the ruling Party of Labor. At the time, the newspaper represented the highest professional standard of Albanian journalism, but its writers were given little opportunity to stray from the Stalinist party line of First Secretary Enver Hoxha. Skillful journalists learned "to write between the lines" and to use metaphors beyond the comprehension of the censors. Gripped with a paranoia of a foreign invasion, Hoxha littered the countryside with thousands of helmet-shaped bunkers; he declared that the West "would never come to Albania." Not able to criticize Hoxha's smugness directly, £upi instead wrote a story on the hydroelectric plant at Fierza. When the dam was first constructed, Hoxha had pompously proclaimed that the land flooded behind it "would never be seen 1 Lucian Kim, Bonn Free Press in Albania 571 again." During the drought of 1982, however, the artificial lake dried up and the once submerged town appeared again. In his sixth year at Zeri i Popullit, £upi wrote several stories that attempted to portray the real problems of Albanian life. In March 1985, following the appearance of an article critical of the bureaucracy, Hoxha personally intervened by ordering an investigation of £upi and the suspension of his writing. Later that year, £upi was convicted and sent to a copper mine in northern Albania for "re-education." Five years later, £upi was released and given a low position as journalist in the Ministry of Culture. In November 1990, the first anti-communist student demonstrations began in Tirana. Ramiz Alia, who became First Secretary of the Party of Labor after Hoxha's death in 1985, sent Sali Berisha, a party functionary and Hoxha’s personal doctor, to negotiate with the protesting students. Berisha quickly understood that Albania’s days as Eastern Europe's last communist stronghold were numbered and resigned from the Party of Labor. He subsequently was chosen as leader of the newly formed Democratic Party, which in January 1991 began publishing the first opposition newspaper in seventy years. As one of the founding members of Rilindja Demokratike (Rebirth of Democracy), £upi became its first editor-in- chief. After four decades of communist tyranny and isolation from the outside world, Albanian intellectuals felt optimistic for the first time. In March 1991, the Party of Labor won the first free parliamentary elections; a few months later the party split into the Socialist Party and the now defunct Communist Party. Alia, who had in the meantime resigned from the Party of Labor, was elected president by the new Parliament. Only seven months after the founding of the Democratic Party, £upi's relation with Berisha soured. £upi complained that he could not take orders on what to write and accused the party of operating along old communist lines. When he rejected offers of high government and party positions in return for obedience, £upi was fired as Rilindja Demokratike's editor-in-chief. In an interview with Swedish Radio, £upi stated that the Democratic Party was "going the same road in the same wagon" as the communists, only the horse they were whipping was Hoxha. A small independent weekly by the name of Koha Jone (Our Time) published the interview; an astounding 30 000 reprints of that particular issue were sold. In March 1992, parliamentary elections were held once again, and this time the Democratic Party took power. Alia resigned under pressure, and after vesting the president's office with greater powers, the Parliament elected Berisha to a five-year term as president. £upi's fortunes, on the other hand, took a turn for the worse. First he was unemployed, then he found a job as director of the International Center of Culture (housed in the former Hoxha Museum). On July 5, 1992, the Attorney General, an acquaintance, warned £upi that he would be arrested the next day. That same night, £upi fled with his family to Greece, where he at first applied for political asylum. In the coming months, £upi took a human rights course in Holland and wrote for a European Community journal in 572 Lucian Kim Brussels. Finally, in February 1993, it was safe for the £upis to return to Tirana, as Berisha had become "preoccupied" with new political opponents. £upi began writing regularly for Koha Jone as head of its political section. Upon his return, £upi learned that he was under state investigation. Although he had won a six-month scholarship to study ancient Greek philosophy at the University of Athens, £upi was not allowed to go abroad, and even trips within Albania required official permission. In July 1993, the travel ban was lifted, but the State Attorney's office advised £upi to be "careful" of his movements and phone calls. Even now, the journalist's phone is tapped, and agents of SHIK (National Information Service) loiter outside his home. "They know my steps," he says with a sigh. "Psychological violence is worse than physical." 2 Early in 1991, Koha Jone began appearing as a local weekly in the town of Lezhe. When the Lezhe print shop broke down some months later, Nikoll Lesi and Aleksander Frangaj, the paper's founders, decided to continue printing in Tirana. Unexpectedly, the paper sold in the capital as well, and after the publication of £upi's famous interview, Koha Jones success as the leading independent paper was assured. Soon after the Democratic Party came to power in 1992, seven journalists from Rilindja Demokratike made a declaration that the Democratic Party's press was not free — three writers stepped over to Koha Jone. Demand for the paper increased progressively, until it began appearing six times a week last January. Staffed primarily by reporters in their twenties and thirties, Koha Jone has a respectable circulation of 15-20 000. Probably the most well-known — and controversial — Albanian journalist is Martin Leka, the 34 year old assistant editor of Koha Jone. In January 1994, he wrote an article about the Minister of Defense's secret order requiring officers to surrender their arms before going home, a violation of existing Albanian law. With the permission of the Ministry of Defense, the Public Prosecutor began an investigation of Leka. His home was searched, and 10 days after the article's appearance, he and Alexander Frangaj, the paper's editor-in-chief, were arrested for endangering national security. Despite both national and international outcry, Leka and Frangaj spent 25 days in a dank prison, awaiting their first trial. Leka was sentenced to one- and-a-half years, while Frangaj was set free. A month later, when Leka appealed the ruling, he was charged under Article 20 of the Press Law, which prohibits the publication of state secrets. The appeal court upheld the previous ruling on Leka and sentenced Frangaj to 5 months in prison. Only after continued international protests did President Berisha finally pardon Leka, Frangaj and other jailed journalists in May 1994. Not surprisingly, three weeks later the Supreme Court ruled that both journalists were not guilty. Free Press in Albania 573 Nevertheless, Leka concedes that in a general sense, freedom of the press exists in Albania, as guaranteed under the Press Law. However, he finds that certain restrictions cause journalists to practice self-censorship. Andrea Stefani, 35, the economic writer for Gazeta Shqiptare (Albanian Newspaper), also complains about self-censorship and the government's control of information. The soft-spoken but articulate journalist is proud of the respect his paper wins from all political factions. As a subsidiary of the southern Italian Gazzetta del Mezzogiorno, the newspaper existed shortly during Mussolini's occupation of Albania. Today the lopsided cooperation has been revived: the Italians not only finance and print Gazeta Shqiptare, but also fly it in from Bari every day. Four Albanian journalists and their Italian editor-in-chief fight the clock to put out the daily with a circulation of 8 000. Stefani feels that the Press Law makes it extremely difficult for journalists to collect information from different government institutions. Bureaucrats can decide what is a "state secret," since no clear criteria exist to define it. As a specialist on the economy, Stefani cannot even eke out information on IMF credits, monetary policy or basic economic indicators from the Ministry of Finance or the Bank of Albania.