The remnants of Albania’s opposition, under the leadership of embattled figure Sali Berisha, have descended into a hollow echo of their former selves. Recent protests, marked by sparse attendance and staged theatrics, epitomize the decline of an opposition once poised to challenge the status quo but now tethered to outdated tactics and questionable credibility.
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| You can see some people who are protesters who have blocked a main road in Tirana, December 23, 2024 |
Notably, the protest’s leadership comprised parliamentarians who are less representatives of the Albanian people and more products of Berisha’s handpicked lists—an undemocratic practice that undermines their claim to be a voice of change. The spectacle of their participation highlights the systemic issues that plague Albania's political elite, where both major parties—the ruling Socialists and the Democratic opposition—share a legacy of 34 years of mismanagement, corruption, and stagnation.
Berisha, recently freed from house arrest, made appearances at various protest sites, attempting to project an image of resilience. However, his rhetoric and presence only serve as reminders of his controversial history and the shadow he casts over his party. Under his tenure, the opposition has struggled to distance itself from accusations of corruption and collusion with the very forces it claims to oppose.
The protest was further marred by tensions with the police, which Berisha and his allies quickly labeled as provocations. Claims of police brutality and accusations against Prime Minister Edi Rama’s government for targeting opposition figures dominated the narrative. Yet, these assertions ring hollow in the absence of substantive evidence and amid a broader pattern of hyperbolic blame-shifting that characterizes Albanian politics.
For instance, the alleged mistreatment of Agron Gjekmarkaj, a deputy chairman of the Democratic Party, became a flashpoint during the protest. While Berisha declared it an unprecedented attack on a parliamentary figure, the police maintained that Gjekmarkaj’s health issues, not force, led to his departure from the scene. Such incidents underscore the opposition's tendency to amplify minor confrontations into spectacles of victimhood.
Similarly, Democratic MP Flamur Noka’s reported aggression against police officers further eroded the opposition’s moral high ground. Video evidence, if presented, could clarify the incident, but the opposition’s reluctance to provide transparency only deepens public skepticism.
Allegations of collusion between Albania’s two dominant political parties remain a persistent concern, as both share responsibility for the country’s prolonged post-communist transition. With key figures from both sides implicated in corruption and criminal activities, the political establishment appears more invested in mutual preservation than in addressing Albania’s systemic issues. This tacit cooperation has kept the country locked in a cycle of underdevelopment and democratic malaise.
Berisha’s calls for a technical government and fresh elections on May 11, 2025, may resonate with a segment of the population desperate for change. Yet, without significant reform within the opposition itself, these demands are unlikely to inspire the broader trust needed to shift Albania’s political trajectory. The opposition’s reliance on performative protests, unsubstantiated accusations, and entrenched leadership reflects its inability to present a credible alternative to the current government.
In the end, the Democratic Party’s so-called resistance is less a testament to its strength than a mirror of its inadequacies. Until Albania’s opposition can purge itself of outdated leaders, rebuild its legitimacy, and engage meaningfully with the public, it will remain a marginal force—more spectacle than substance in the country’s political theater.