Between Power and Hope

Between Power and Hope

Those who are in power fear change.

Those who have been overthrown dream of change and work toward it.

Meanwhile, the common people remain in the middle and pay the price.

— Attributed to Socrates

If there is one truth that has traveled through the centuries almost unchanged, it is that the struggle for power rarely ends. Names change, flags change, systems change, and slogans change, yet the same cycle remains: someone strives to preserve power, while someone else strives to obtain it.

Between them stands the ordinary person.

He does not wake up in the morning thinking about party strategies. He does not fall asleep calculating political coalitions. He does not spend his days building power. He wakes up to earn a living, to raise his children, to support his family, and to preserve his dignity.

Yet it is precisely he who pays the highest price.

When the economy weakens, he feels it first.

When prices rise, he tightens his belt.

When institutions fail, he waits in line.

When justice is delayed, he loses faith.

When politics becomes polarized, he loses peace of mind.

Those in power and those in opposition often present themselves as bitter enemies. On the political stage, they appear divided by everything. Yet from the citizen's perspective, they sometimes resemble two banks of the same river—occupied with each other while the current flows over the lives of ordinary people.

In Albania, Kosovo, North Macedonia, Montenegro, and the Preševo Valley, ordinary Albanians have listened to promises for decades. They have heard speeches about development, reform, integration, renewal, change, and transformation. Some of these promises have brought real improvements. Others have remained nothing more than echoes of words.

Still, the people continue to wait.

They wait for better schools for their children.

They wait for hospitals where patients are treated with dignity.

They wait for courts where justice is not for sale.

They wait for public administrations that serve rather than rule.

They wait for labor markets where success comes through merit rather than connections.

This waiting is not merely economic. It is moral.

Because human beings do not live on bread alone. They also live on the feeling that they matter, that they are respected, and that the future is not a closed door.

Perhaps the greatest Albanian tragedy of recent decades is not poverty, nor the lack of resources. The greatest tragedy is the departure of hope.

When a young person leaves his homeland, he does not carry away only a suitcase. He carries away his energy, his knowledge, his dreams, and the best years of his life.

When a doctor leaves, a portion of tomorrow's care leaves with him.

When a teacher leaves, a portion of future knowledge departs.

When an entrepreneur leaves, an opportunity for employment disappears.

When an outstanding student leaves, a possibility for progress vanishes.

Thus, a nation loses not with noise, but in silence.

No sirens sound.

No bells ring.

The airports fill, while the villages empty.

At this point, a difficult question must be asked:

Does politics exist for the citizen, or does the citizen exist for politics?

In theory, the answer is clear. In a democracy, power is meant to be service. Its purpose is to create conditions in which people can live better, freer, and more dignified lives.

But whenever power begins to see itself as an end in itself, it drifts away from its mission.

And whenever the opposition sees change merely as a pathway to power, it risks becoming a reflection of what it criticizes.

Societies advance only when a culture emerges in which the state matters more than the party, institutions matter more than individuals, and the public interest matters more than political victory.

Albanian history is a history of survival.

This people have endured empires, occupations, shifting borders, wars, repression, and long transitions. They have lived through periods when everything seemed lost, and yet they found the strength to continue.

That is why hope is not a luxury for Albanians. It is a means of survival.

But hope cannot be sustained forever by words alone.

It needs justice.

It needs merit.

It needs opportunity.

It needs functioning institutions.

It needs leaders who are accountable for what they promise.

In the end, the question is not who will win the next election.

Nor is it who will hold power tomorrow.

The deeper question is this:

Will we build a society in which children do not need to leave in order to dream?

Where the elderly do not feel abandoned?

Where work is respected?

Where the law applies equally to all?

Where politics is measured by service rather than propaganda?

Because when that day comes, the old formula will lose its power.

Then those in power will no longer fear change.

Those in opposition will no longer seek change merely for themselves.

And the common people will no longer pay the price for battles fought by others.

On that day, the citizen will no longer be a spectator of history.

He will be the reason history is written.

Tha Land of Leka, 14.06.2026