Another fine joke

Here is another joke as told by an Albanian who I met on the bus:

On a vist to the United States Sali Berisha (Albanian Prime Minister) asks George W. Bush how he became so wealthy. Bush points to a US Highway. "See that road?" he asks. "For every yard completed I took this much cement" motioning five inches with his fingers.

A few years later during his visit to Albania Bush asks how Berisha has become so wealthy. Berisha points to a river and asks, "Do you see that bridge?" Bush replies, "What bridge?"

AAAAAANNNNDDDD I hope you enjoyed this look into the Albanian psyche.

Freedom from Law

I was catching up with a friend yesterday and he told me a story that illustrates one of the main challenges Albanians face - living in a country where the state does not enforce the rule of law. The effects are numerous. Corruption permeates every level of society. Nepotism is widespread. Criminals avoid serving out their sentences and often never see a courtroom. It should be no surprise that people willingly turn to vigilantism rather than state institutions when they want justice served. The current lack of enforcement is a complete about face from the strict, at times draconian, enforcement Albanians survived under the reign of Enver Hoxha.

In Northern Albanian, a set of traditional laws called the Kanun are being used by some citizens as a supplement to the Albanian Justice System. These laws were passed down orally until the 15^th century when they were first written down. The Kanun covers all aspects of life including; marriage, property, hospitality, crime, honor and murder (there is even a non-profit organization that is trying to use the Kanun to promote community organized resource management throughout the country). The section on murder has, in many cases, created and sustained blood feuds by the Albanians who follow its tenants. These feuds only end when all the men in both families are dead or remain in hiding in their homes.

Doing something that could possibly lead to a blood feud might seem irrational, but when the state fails to uphold justice citizens have limited options. Put yourself in the shoes of someone who lost their livelihood from the British Petroleum’s Deepwater Horizon oil spill. Let’s say a fisherman. You’ve gone through your savings and are being coerced by the Gulf Coast Claims Facility to sign a release for inadequate payments. Of the fishermen you know who’ve received compensation the amount of money they’ve gotten has been incredibly inconsistent. Then you read that Corexit (the chemical dispersant BP used to break up the spill) could be toxic to plankton and bacteria when… mixed with oil. Then you read that the gulf will be opened up for deep water drilling again and BP will be drilling 10 of the new wells. At what point do you give up on the state? Or at what point do you realize the state has given you up?

My friend’s story begins at a beach. He was helping run a camp and at one of the events a man interrupts them with a pistol. He’s brandishing it, shooting it in the air, shooting it in the sand, shooting the equipment and just because he can, he pistol whips another man in the head. A camp staff member is able to take a picture of the perpetrator on a digital camera. The police are called and give the man the option to come to the station in their car or his own. He chooses to ride with the police. Thirty minutes later he returns in another car with a friend. The perp’s friend begins berating the police for taking him to the police station and for many other perceived transgressions An argument ensues and the police, the perp, the perp’s friend and two people from the camp all return to the station to sort it out. The police give the representatives from the camp two options. The first is to forgive the man. The second? To take up the matter in the capital. They chose to forgive. My friend didn’t understand his colleagues’ decision, but it makes sense to forgive a madman with a gun who apparently has a get out of jail free card. Who knows what kind of action he might undertake if he were actually arrested and sentenced for what he’d done. Who would such a man hold responsible? The state who offered to let him off the hook or his fellow citizens who pushed the issue. It’s interesting to note that a few days later a different man with a larger gun (a Kalashnikov assault rifle) pulled a similar stunt at the same beach.

As an Albanian citizen you are trapped between the tough decision of taking justice, whatever form you desire, into your own hands or placing your bets with the inept and ineffectual state. Furthermore, vigilantism and vendetta are so common that pursuing justice through the courts could lead to reprisal. Most Albanians, like people everywhere, are decent humans. Half of them have lived through the two polar extremes of law, nearly complete repression and now nearly complete apathy on the part of the state.

On a completely unrelated note I would like to show the difference between how I was greeted by friends and family upon my return to the states after being gone for over a year and my return to Peshkopi after being gone three weeks.

My father picked me up at the airport. He gave me a hug, asked how the flight was, I got in the truck, shook my grandfather’s hand from the back seat, asked how he was and we drove off.

My mother hugged me and kissed me and said it was so good to see me.

Some of my friends gave me a hug. Some gave daps. Some asked what’s up.

These were all normal greetings to me. I will now contrast with two examples from an Albanian acquaintance and my closest Albanian friend in town.

When I met my counterpart we gave daps, put the left and right sides of our forehead together and started talking.

I was walking down the street on my way to a meeting when I see Luli (we used to call him Crazy Guy 2, but after learning his name we now call him “LLulli” which is “pipe” in Albanian). He sees me, yells something that I didn’t catch (I actually thought he was yelling at someone else), he does a strange belly thrust motion a few times to the air and then runs over and picks me up (he was yelling at me), pulls my forehead into his, shakes me at the shoulder, does some more belly thrusting (unfortunately I haven’t detached myself yet), I eventually break free and we talk for five minutes and he tells me how much he missed me and why didn’t I bring him a pack of cigarettes like I brought for Crazy Guy (the original, though Adam just learned his real name I have begun calling him “Njeshi” which means “Number 1”). I tell him that I brought Njeshi cigarettes because he’s number one (short and circular arguments are the best arguments in Albania). Another man I know tried to make me feel better by saying that Luli is a fool over and over (he also agreed when I said that Njeshi was numero uno). Then they discussed where my American Football was…