Shabani who dreamed: he is not Noka's or Balla's, but Rama's

Alfred Lela

Opposition supporters are rightly infuriated by the election of Endrit Shabani as Ombudsman—carried triumphantly on the white horse of signatures gathered from Democratic MPs. Because procedure and parliamentary jurisprudence are difficult to understand, people are more easily persuaded by whatever is repeated in the pro-government media, which—by sheer volume—dominates the landscape.

Out of a natural human instinct to assign blame, this time the designated culprit is Flamur Noka, who “takes the beating” even though he neither heads the parliamentary group nor sits on the Committee of Legal Affairs.

The reasons behind his personal signature have nothing to do with conspiracy, but with two rather mediocre facts: first, an opposition MP, wanting to “do a favor,” asked colleagues for another favor; and second, Noka’s signature—and those of other opposition MPs—was not given to certify Shabani as the opposition’s candidate for Ombudsman, but merely to allow him to be heard before the parliamentary committee. In other words, to enable him to present his candidacy.

Opposition MPs may be guilty of short-sightedness, but not of moral or political corruption—nor of some “deal” with the Socialists.

Yes, there was short-sightedness in failing to see, from afar, what was obvious: that Shabani did not enter this dance covertly, but with guarantees from Edi Rama.

There are at least two post-fact indicators that explain this. The leaders of the main parliamentary groups had agreed, in a gentleman’s arrangement, to set aside the existing candidates and restart the process for the Ombudsman. One day later, Taulant Balla withdrew, declaring that Rama had vetoed the agreement in favor of Shabani.

This relates directly to Rama’s unusual appearance in Parliament—rare in recent months—and his presence at the Socialist parliamentary group meeting to ensure there would be no vote leakage and that Shabani would receive unanimous backing, as indeed he did.

Returning to the signatures: an MP has the legal right to withdraw a signature even during the plenary session, but after Rama’s decision, this option was not permitted.

Legally, opposition MPs were “run over” twice: first, their signatures were used for a purpose other than intended (to certify a candidacy, not to allow a hearing), and second, they were denied the right to withdraw those signatures—something permitted by Parliament’s rules.

But this is hardly new in a state run by Rama, who moves his finger toward Peleshi, Balla, or whoever else, and institutions bend accordingly.

The question that must be asked is: why did Rama mobilize his entire apparatus in the service of Endrit Shabani? The same old reason—which certainly has nothing to do with admiration for Shabani, whom he likely cannot stomach—namely diversion. He performs a diversion for the opposition’s grassroots, telling them: You are counterfeit; offer you a position, and you’ll take it; your venomous language toward me is easily forgotten.

But also for a second reason, a spin strategy aimed outward. He wants to show foreigners that the official opposition’s narrative about his autocracy cannot be true if he is willing to appoint opposition figures to positions where “the people are defended.”

At its core, it is both his necessity and his entertainment.

This is where the opposition MPs’ short-sightedness lies: they still do not understand either the nature of their opponent or the nature of power.

Flamur Noka, or any other name, becomes nothing more than collateral damage—created and magnified because the mind struggles to explain events and seeks comfort in finding someone to blame.

At the bottom of the sieve lies the bran of hypocrisy. In this case, that of Endrit Shabani, who until yesterday brandished two diplomas before us on every TV screen: one from Oxford, and the other from the self-appointed “opposition” he claimed the country needed—of course, in contrast to Sali Berisha or Flamur Noka.

Today, he is the People’s Advocate, but he has ceased to advocate for his own principles. Today he has an office, a salary, a car, and a driver—but also a new identity: a convenient ornament in the socialist-Sorosian lap of Edi Rama.

He is not the first, nor will he be the last. But I will say this: Oxford does not teach you character. And what a tragic waste—to collapse a decade of public activism for the sake of a single chair.