“I wrote a film script at the request of director Namik Ajazi. It is rare in the world that two imprisoned authors create a film—the director and the screenwriter. The responsible institutions have been asked to fund a testimony, a work of art, because we need to escape the monologue, the yearly retelling of the same story, like Israel does with the Holocaust. The director contacted the Prime Minister, who promised him that since the prison needs to be rebuilt for filming, it would be like killing two birds with one stone—Spaç or Qafë Bari would be transformed into a museum.” During an interview on Ora e Betit, on May 23, 2023, where we recalled the two bloody revolts of Spaç and Qafë Bari, writer Visar Zhiti spoke to me for the first time about the project of a film dedicated to the communist prisons in Albania.
What we didn’t know— not even the screenwriter Zhiti himself— was that this verbal agreement between Prime Minister Rama and director Ajazi became the starting point for a restoration intervention at Spaç, a second-category cultural monument. Complaints with photos and footage by activist Arnen Sula, rapidly spreading on social media, revealed that one of the camp’s buildings had been plastered and painted white, while interventions worth over 100,000 euros were planned for several other buildings that had escaped destruction, including the appeal terrace. These interventions, carried out by the National Institute of Cultural Heritage in the name of restoration, have damaged the historical memory of the harshest communist camp in Albania and have been opposed by former political prisoners, civil society activists, architects, and researchers, as they risk distorting and manipulating the past. The protests and a petition have raised alarms not only about the lack of institutional transparency but also about the fact that interventions carried out without public consultation and a conservation plan are destroying the identity of this memorial space.
Today, many former prisoners of the communist regime and activists protested at the Spaç prison in Mirditë.
Against the destruction of the prison camp’s history, in an effort to protect what remains of the living legend of the prisons, Fatos Lubonja stated that the guardhouse and kitchen have already been destroyed, so not a single stone should be touched anymore. Yesterday’s response from the Minister of Economy, Culture, and Innovation, Gonxhe, instead of apologizing for the inappropriate intervention, spoke of a “haze,” a fabricated tale about “the destruction of memory and the Sancho Panza of the old politics.” But apparently, the minister deliberately “forgets” that at the forefront of the voices opposing this intervention are not peripheral characters from Cervantes’ work, but two survivors of the communist prisons—Visar Zhiti and Fatos Lubonja—along with many others who have spoken out publicly. I would wish the minister to read Zhiti’s article “Don’t Beautify Hell” so that he might at least remain silent, without desecrating his pain! And I would have wished for Mr. Ajazi to join this chorus as well.
Because in fact, Spaç is not just a camp with some ruined buildings but an open wound in Albanian society. It is the living memory of those who faced the brutality of the totalitarian regime and a testimony that speaks through everything—the walls, the cold cells, the barbed wire, the silence of those who never came out alive from that hell. In a serious country, the restoration of such a memorial site would be carried out with transparency, the participation of victims, and dedication to preserving the authenticity of the pain it carries. Painted white, one of the camp’s buildings that was intervened upon no longer bears any trace of its past as evidence of the suffering of hundreds of prisoners. “The guard tower,” as Fatos Lubonja ironically remarked, “looks more like a Hollywood production than the reality he and hundreds of fellow sufferers experienced for many years.” “Not a single brick should be moved!” Dashamir Biçaku insisted with pain on my show during the discussion of this issue. “It was a prison, not a hotel,” said a relative of a former prisoner to journalist Enkelejda Mema on Euronews. In fact, the terror of communism cannot be covered with plaster nor painted over with 2025’s paint. The past cannot be restored for the sake of a film project. In a place of pain and memory like Spaç, this intervention is a second violation of the victims to make the crime acceptable. Today, we risk forgetting not only the past but also its meaning. Spaç does not need decoration, scenery, or effects. Spaç needs preservation and respect! Spaç needs the immediate halt of any intervention until a comprehensive conservation plan is approved, where the final word belongs to the few surviving former political prisoners and heritage specialists.
Because Spaç is not a film set. It is evidence of a crime. And crime cannot be painted over, nor can it be restored!
Beti Njuma është gazetare dhe moderatore në televizionin Ora News. Ajo drejton rubrikën kulturore "Vitrina e Librit", e cila i kushtohet promovimit të letërsisë dhe autorëve shqiptarë, si dhe emisionin personal "Ora e Betit", ku trajtohen çështje politike, sociale, të aktualitetit dhe kulturore. Për një periudhë të gjatë ka qenë gazetare politike, duke u bërë një nga emrat më të njohur dhe me ndikim në gazetarinë shqiptare. Beti ka kontribuar gjithashtu me artikuj të shumtë në gazeta dhe revista periodike shqiptare.