‘We Think Differently . . . That Is All’ : Albanians Live in a World of Their Own

The 3 million inhabitants of this country, virtually cut off from the rest of Europe for four decades, appear happy and proud in their isolation, despite industrial development that lags way behind the West.

Albanian towns are almost bare of traffic, for there are practically no cars or trucks or even bicycles, and ramshackle, overcrowded buses and a few horse-drawn carts with rubber tires are the only signs of locomotion.

But on the other hand there are no taxes, no terrorism, no rich or poor, no divorce, no drugs, no standing army, no foreign debt, no unemployment, no inflation.

This list of “nos” could go on indefinitely--including no churches, no mosques, no beards and no camping--for the fact is that daily life here has no Western comparison.

Communist Society

The people of this tiny, mountainous country live in a world of their own, a communist society regulated by the teachings of the Big Four--Marx, Engels, Lenin and Stalin--whose giant portraits can be seen in city squares.

Communism, the Communist Party and the late party leader Enver Hoxha have constructed an exclusive kind of society where the lack of freedom to travel abroad and the absence of political opposition at home does not, to all appearances, necessarily add up to an unhappy people.

Albanians, realizing that their country’s unusual society intrigues Westerners, explain: “We think differently from you, that is all.”

A Westerner waking up one fine morning in the town of Shkoder is in for a shock.

No One Rushes

There are large tree-lined avenues where pedestrians are kings, as in all Albanian towns. Yet no one rushes, and everyone seemingly has the time to chat with friends in the sunshine.

Now and then a weird vehicle zigzags through the crowds. It has a top-heavy appearance, looking like some giant insect, and dates from the time of China’s “indestructible” friendship.

A Westerner looks in vain for some familiar sight like a church, a well-stocked shop or even traffic lights. But this is another world, with slogans at every crossroad exalting the love of labor, the value of patriotism and the greatness of Comrade Enver.

Shkoder, 48 miles north of the capital, Tirana, is a newly built town, like most towns here.

Few Reminders

The old part of the town has disappeared, devastated by war and earthquakes. A few old houses still remain with finely chiseled wood ceilings that will probably end up in a museum.

But houses like this, reminders of the past, are rare, for Albanian socialism stresses modernity. This has resulted in huge living complexes of low-rent apartments, many built just after the war, which are today decrepit.

Ancient old Chinese and Czechoslovak trucks can be seen on the main highway to Tirana, only held together by do-it-yourself mechanics who make spare parts for them, for Albanian industry does not manufacture vehicles.

Young women, in military uniforms, march along with rifles, and ahead of them are a unit of boys, clutching wooden guns and bearing the red-colored neck scarfs reminding them of “the blood of the martyrs.”

‘Must Be on Guard’

Half-buried minibunkers can be seen all over the countryside. Albanian leaders repeat: “We must be on our guard.”

Somehow the revolution has transformed Albania into a vast garden, for all available land is used to grow fruit, vegetables or crops, an agricultural boom that has made Albania self-sufficient in food, with enough left over to export.

Comrade Enver, who died in 1985 after 40 years’ rule, decided that his country, mostly of peasant stock, should become a “proletarian dictatorship.”

The country’s industrialization is continuing apace, and Albanians proudly point out their new factories, hydroelectric plants and other signs of revolutionary progress spawned by fantastic mineral wealth.