– Gjon Bruçi –
Three vices born of one another…
I was watching the investigative show Fiks Fare on Top Channel TV. At the centre of the episode’s subject was the issue concerning a seventh-grade student, his mother and the principal of the “Qemal Bici” Nine-Year School in Durrës, where the student is enrolled. The thirteen-year-old had complained multiple times to his parents, and they in turn to the teachers and the school principal, about the bullying and harassment he was suffering at the hands of his classmates. The matter had dragged on for several months without any resolution to the student’s and parents’ complaint, who were extremely concerned about their son’s psychological and emotional state.
During the Fiks Fare journalist’s confrontation with the school principal, what struck me as a viewer of the program were the principal’s behaviour and attire. Right from his opening remarks, the principal told the journalist that “the student’s issue has been addressed and resolved.” But he was unable to say when or how it had been resolved. When asked by the journalist for specific details about the solution, the principal stonewalled: “For what you’re asking, go to the Education Directorate, get authorization, and then I’ll give you an answer…!” — those were his final words. Without even saying goodbye to his interlocutor, he headed straight for the school door, slamming it shut right in the journalist’s face.
* * *
This “scene” was neither the first nor the last for us viewers of investigative programs involving officials or state employees. Dozens of times in these shows we’ve seen directors, chiefs and supervisors who, when cornered by a journalist’s camera and microphone, demand a “written request” before answering — even the simplest of questions. And after that, they rush off to their offices and lock themselves in from the inside. In fact, some of them run away, hiding in hallways and office nooks or fleeing their workplace through “secret doors” that might be located behind the institution’s restrooms.
But in the case we’re discussing, the principal’s retreat and hiding behind the office door didn’t surprise us much, because it wasn’t new — it was a recurring behaviour seen in many state and government employees. What stood out in this brief exchange between the journalist and the principal of the nine-year school was the principal’s outward appearance. The man, middle-aged and in his forties with a belly starting to protrude, showed up wearing a shirt with its hem hanging out over his trousers. The meeting took place in the schoolyard, which suggests that this manner of dress and presentation would also apply inside the office — likely even in front of subordinates and especially students.
We see this trend of wearing shirts untucked over trousers in many state employees — in offices, on the street, at cafés, even at official meetings — and it’s something that needs to be addressed specifically. But that teachers or school principals would show up in the schoolyard — and surely also before students — with their shirts hanging over their underwear, I had never imagined. We all know that for teachers, including school principals, there is a mandatory rule: arriving at school dressed simply, cleanly and neatly. On the other hand, schools themselves — along with parents — demand that students wear a specific, recognizable uniform that differs in style and colour from other schools.
Struggling to “enjoy” the principal’s tasteless and even vulgar outfit, I couldn’t help but wonder where he might have borrowed this “fashion” from. It didn’t take me even three seconds to guess. This so-called style had clearly been taken from our Prime Minister, Rama, who — when it comes to extravagant clothing — outdoes even the most modern “Joni Peci” of modern Europe. The unbuttoned shirt hanging over trousers, the black trousers resembling the old-style underpants from Kavaja, red or patterned socks, bracelets dangling from his wrists, all the way to the black suit, the tie adorned with various flags, and the white sneakers marked with the “European star” on top — all of it has crossed our borders, drawing reactions from his colleagues in the EU and beyond. It all started with him growing a beard, which we initially assumed was just for a photo. But after his fellow party member and government colleague, Erisa Spiropali, compared him to Skanderbeg of the 15th century, our Prime Minister doubled the length of his beard — perhaps thinking that if he couldn’t resemble our famous Gjergj, then at least he could look like Ismail Qemali. After all, according to him, they are the only two true Prime Ministers of the Albanian people from 1912 until now…
Rama’s extravagant dress and especially his showy beard were adopted by his subordinates faster than any order or government decision he’s ever issued. The first, as far as I recall, was Ylysiu of Justice, followed in line by Çuçi, Klosi, Mazniku, Shalësi, Gogu and so on, down to Braçe — whose beard seemed to have added a few centimetres to his height. Some say this “grooming” and “fashion” has modernized Rama’s officials. But to me, it looks like their clothing and appearance have taken them back to the early Middle Ages. Hopefully their minds won’t follow — or have they already? Along with their actions?
* * *
As I was typing this piece on the computer, a not-so-distant memory came to mind — an episode from the 1980s, during the socialist era, a time when not only your clothing and haircut but also your actions were dictated — especially if you were a state official or employee. It must have been January 3, 1972. At the time, I was serving as a military officer, and during the first and second days of the new year, we were on duty and standby at our military units. That left January 3 as the day for exchanging New Year’s greetings. On that day, together with a fellow officer from my unit, we decided to visit the Commander of the Shkodra Division — the late and unforgettable General Tefik Ruçi — to offer our best wishes. We were two young officers and held Commander Tefik in particularly high regard, as he often visited our unit and would sit, as they say, “cross-legged” among us, breaking down the hierarchy of ranks and responsibilities. With no small amount of emotion, we knocked on the door of his home. His wife answered and warmly welcomed us, leading us to the sitting room. We exchanged our initial greetings, and after asking permission, she stepped into the kitchen, where the Commander was chatting with his relatives. As soon as he heard who had arrived, he stood up and came to the room where we were waiting. We jumped to our feet and saluted him, but he embraced us like we were his own sons. He was dressed in athletic wear, as he remained active in sports even at an older age. After a few introductory words and well-wishes, he asked us for five minutes and stepped out of the room. We assumed he might have had an important phone call to finish, so we waited calmly. Not long after, he returned — now dressed in a suit and tie, as though he were heading to a formal conference.
“Commander,” I said, “you didn’t need to go to the trouble.” I was referring to the fact that he had taken the time to change out of his tracksuit and put on a suit out of respect for two young officers — both of whom could have been his sons. “No,” the Commander replied, sitting down across from us. “You came for a visit, and a comrade’s or friend’s visit deserves respect…!”
That phrase stayed with me — but even more so, his action did. He wasn’t just a first-class military officer — he was also a man of deep culture. Commander Tefik Ruçi was a senior leader who had mastered both Modern and People’s Military Arts. But just as well, he honoured Albanian tradition — the kind that understands clearly which clothing is appropriate for different ceremonies or everyday work settings.
Unfortunately, our government and state officials — including the charismatic Prime Minister Rama — do not know this rule, this tradition. Or perhaps they have abandoned it now that they’ve reached the peak of “Olympus.” This vice does not emerge in adulthood — it takes root in childhood, shaped by the upbringing provided by parents, school and society. If this vice surfaces only once you’ve grown up and gained power, it means you are ignorant. And when you are ignorant, you act extravagantly. And what’s worse — arrogantly. Because all three of these vices give birth to one another.
All the arrogance of today’s government, led by Edi Rama — just like the arrogance of past governments led by his political twin, Berisha — stems from ignorance. From ignorance in behaviour and conduct with friends, with companions, with parents and with citizens.
(Gazeta SOT, May 26, 2025)