The graves that Albania has not yet found

The old walls of Spaç still bear witness to a time when a regime attempted to eradicate not only people, but also their memory.

In this isolated valley of Mirdita, where thousands of political prisoners were sent to work in inhumane conditions during the communist regime, history is not just a memory written in books.

Over three decades after the fall of the dictatorship, Albania still faces one of the most difficult wounds of its past: the fate of thousands of missing people whose bodies were never returned to their families.

In an event dedicated to the memory of the dictatorship and its victims, attended by ambassadors, representatives of the diplomatic corps, former political prisoners, family members of victims, historians and researchers, Spaçi became a place of testimony and demand for historical justice.

 
Jorida Tabaku, chairwoman of the Human Rights and Media Committee in the Albanian Parliament, called for the establishment of a national mechanism for the search, exhumation and identification of persons missing during the communist dictatorship, arguing that historical memory cannot be built solely on monuments, while thousands of families continue to lack a place to lay flowers.

"There are places where history is read, places where history is told, but there are also places where history is still heard. History speaks through the memories of those who survived, through the names of those who did not return, and through families who have been waiting for an answer for decades," Tabaku said in Spaç.

 

Unpunished crimes

The communist regime in Albania, one of the harshest in Eastern Europe, left thousands of victims executed, imprisoned or disappeared. Many of their families never received the bodies of their loved ones and were unable to hold a funeral ceremony.

Tabaku said that around six thousand people went missing during the dictatorship, underlining that behind every number there is a human story.

"Behind every digit was a name, behind every number was a family, and behind every execution was a mother who waited, a wife who didn't know where to mourn, and a child who grew up not knowing where their father rested," she said.

Focusing on the Spaç revolt of May 21, 1973, Tabaku remembered the four death row inmates: Pal Zefi, Hajri Pashaj, Dervish Bejko and Skënder Daja, whose bodies continue to lie without an identified grave.

The Spaç Revolt was one of the most important acts of resistance against the communist regime. Faced with demands for more freedom and more humane conditions, the regime reacted with violence and severe punishments.

"Let us pronounce their names, because the dictatorship tried to turn them into numbers. The dictatorship denied them a grave and the duty of the democratic state is to find one for them," said Tabaku.

The International Commission on Missing Persons (ICMP) has conducted assessments and investigations in several areas where remains of victims of communism are suspected to be located. But the identification process in Albania has been slow, as family members and memory organizations have called for more institutional engagement.

Tabaku mentioned areas such as Shpali, near Spaç, and the "Wall of Blood" in Shkodra, where there are suspicions and data about the presence of human remains.

"Science has spoken, archives have spoken, witnesses have spoken, and families have not stopped speaking. Now the state must speak," she declared.

According to her, any site where there is evidence or suspicion of graves of victims should be addressed through official investigations, with the involvement of law enforcement institutions and forensic experts.

The initiative proposed by Tabaku includes the creation of a national database for missing persons, the systematic collection of DNA samples, archaeological and forensic investigations, as well as a special fund for research and identifications.

 
But the debate that opened in Spaç goes beyond an administrative issue. It touches on how a society decides to confront the crimes of the past.

A museum can preserve the memory of a regime. But for families still waiting for answers, the memory doesn't end at the walls.

"It's not enough to restore the walls if we don't find the people. It's not enough to put up memorial plaques if we don't give answers to the families," Tabaku said.

In Spaç, where the stones still bear the traces of one of the darkest chapters of Albanian history, the battle for memory is no longer just a matter of the past. It is a test for the present.

For families who have been waiting for decades to know where their loved ones are buried, justice is not measured by anniversaries, monuments, or memorial speeches. It begins with a concrete search: by opening a file, by investigating, by digging in the ground, and by returning a name to where once only silence was left.

The regime that disappeared these people aimed to erase not only their lives, but also their memory. The task of a democratic state is the opposite: to bring them out of oblivion, restore their identity, and give their families the opportunity to mourn with dignity.

Finding the missing, identifying them, and returning their remains to their families is not simply an administrative act or a historical duty. It is a human obligation and a sign of the functioning of a state that agrees to face its past.

Spaçi must remain a place of remembrance, but memory cannot be built only on ruins and memorial plaques. It also requires the names of those who are missing, their stories, and the right to a resting place that was denied them for decades./ Lindita Çela, Shteg.org