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Protester "gives Rama a cold shower"/ Gives forced response after letter

Following the public letter, protester Erlis Sina responde...

Rama's message to the protester: I am your friend, I am not the enemy

2026-06-23 08:15:00, Aktualitet CNA

Prime Minister Edi Rama has published a long message addressed to the protesters, inviting them to reflect on the reasons for their anger and on the role of those who, according to him, are using them for political interests.

Rama says he does not see the protesters as losers, but as citizens left alone with their beliefs and concerns. He lists a number of problems that, according to him, could be a source of citizen dissatisfaction, citing economic difficulties, problems with employment, healthcare, and property issues.

Rama accuses political opponents, analysts, influencers, and various interest groups of exploiting citizens' anger for personal or political gain, then leaving them alone with their problems.

According to Rama, the protesters have become overnight heroes, while those who instigate the protests benefit from public attention and leave without facing the consequences of their actions.

The Prime Minister admits that he too faces disappointments and cases of betrayal within the administration or state structures, emphasizing that he fights every day against corruption, favoritism, and abuses of power.

Rama calls on citizens not to allow their troubles to be used against Albania's interests and invites them to dialogue with him, even if they continue to be critical of the government.

Rama's message

GOOD MORNING DEAR PROTESTANT

I don't see you as the loser of a protest, but as a man left alone with his beliefs.

You have joined the absorbing vortex of the crowd because you sincerely believe you are protecting something precious.

Maybe you fear that the country is heading towards the abyss. Foreign capitalists will devour nature. Albania's rare birds will die. Your homeland is up for sale.

Or maybe you're not worried about the birds and don't even know where the Narta lagoon is. Or maybe you're angry because you have a problem of your own. A problem with your employer who treats you like a robot. He doesn't pay you for overtime. He gives you half of your salary in slush. A problem with your family's health. Maybe with your sick mother who needs expensive medicine. A problem with your property, with the house in the suburbs that hasn't been legalized yet or with the land in the village that hasn't been registered yet...

I don't know what your problem is exactly. I do know that you have a problem that not only no one can solve, but no one can even cry for. Believe it or not, I feel your pain. Because not only do I understand you, but I also understand you, because I am just as angry as you are with the rich owner who thinks that wealth gives him the right to behave like the master of your fate. With the employee or the director who serves him unconditionally, while he doesn't even look at you. I am angry with the arrogance of anyone who exercises his duty to you as power over you.

But precisely because your concern hurts me and your reasons convince me of their legitimacy, I cannot see you like that. Alone. Like a fish out of water, after the great wave that brought it to shore has completely withdrawn. And those who called you to become the "sea of ??the new Albania", without arrogant owners, without officials who bow to the lek and despise man, without health and property problems, without foreigners investing in our lands and without private investments on our shores, without anything that violates the harmony of a happy brotherhood, are nowhere today.

Those who commented on you in the television studios last night with enthusiasm as a man of the people, who is finally settling accounts with the government and the corrupt prime minister, while for many years they have been paid more under the table than over the table to slander all the black people and curse me with a house book, are now sleeping in spacious houses bought at steep discounts from the "oligarchs". On soft mattresses bought with the black "alms" of thousands of euros from the latter.

Those who fell from the horse of power all these years and never saw in themselves but in the horse the reason for their fall, and who found in you the light of lost hopes by lifting you to the sky, are drinking their early morning coffee with their friends. They can't wait for you tonight to be angrier, more impatient, more resolute in your protest against the regime that left them without a horse, without guards, without subordinates. In short, you have tasted the incomparable taste of power that the more useless you are, the more you miss it.

The influencers, bloggers and celebrities who made you feel like their hero, giving you for the first time in your life the intoxicating feeling of power that the spirit of a warrior from the ranks of the people has over the wealthy, the famous, the well-known and why not, frankly, even the strong feeling of a man who, as in a fairy tale, became the idol of the unattainable women of the world of luxury, have also flown away, with the wings of orgasm for the last night's surge of flatterers and followers, who entered their breasts and saddles as protesters, but will now remain on their list as clients of advertisements for villas, hotels, creams, perfumes and seductive panties for the slaves of the algorithm.

The caravans of the "diaspora" from Kosovo and Tetovo also fled. They used you, to bring to Tirana with the brutal rudeness of the invading hordes, the political anger of the Sallahans from other parts of our nation. Against your government in Albania, which you are not at all obliged to love. You are not even forbidden to fight it. But you do not have the right to let others decide for you and speak in your name; the sons of your uncles and the sons of your aunts cannot come to your house to decide.

Gone, of course, are those whom the algorithm and the parties and particles of thrown stones and hidden hands gathered to imprison Rama, turning the boulevard of the capital of Balkan Europe into a medieval square where the crowds of the Inquisition howled in chorus for the burning of witches alive. Gone are the scoundrels. Gone are the ballibullists. Gone are the opposition sycophants who would come around talking to the digital toilet mirror in front of their hypocritical faces. Gone are the parliamentary caricatures that poked their heads out from behind the eagle on your back...

Along with the enemy armies of fake profiles and digital missiles, which relentlessly launch from the East and beyond Europe towards the television square of the flamingo revolution and scatter into thousands of crumbs of fake likes and followers, every bomb that throws a lie, fake news, manipulated video, those who flocked to the boulevard from emigration to foreign countries also fled, like the savior eagles of the motherland drawn by the algorithm into the battlefield of global, political, ideological opposition with the President of America.

They all ran away!

Even a ravenous crow, preaching revenge against the Americans who killed "our brother," Iranian General Qassem Suleimani, the ruthless butcher of Tehran's terrorist regime, is gone.

You are left alone, with your troubles and with no one to mourn you, a human example of the algorithmic proletariat, because the algorithm has no feelings, it does not know people, it does not want ideals, it does not ask who is right. It is only interested in what produces the most curiosity, excitement, anger and dependence on it.

You actually remained as you were. The one you were when you set off towards the boulevard to change the world. Alone in the face of the long day. With your eyes open to the emptiness that surrounds you, after returning to earth from the night in the sky of revolutionary illusions. While those who rose high in the world's attention thanks to you, filling you with the idea that you suddenly became what you are not, the force of a revolution that is not, for the overthrow of reality and its replacement with a reality created only to seduce you, mercilessly cook in the boundless frying pan of the algorithm, their food with your flesh and soul.

And they disappeared.

You stay there.

In this sad picture I don't see your failure at all. I see myself and your difficulties and troubles. Yes, because I struggle every day and I get angry quite a bit, with those who don't feel sorry for those difficulties and don't even know how to cry about your troubles, but worse still, despise them as if you were an anonymous comment on their Facebook, not a slave of God with the burden of your problems on the doorstep of your country.

But I also see in this photograph of waking up in the empty square the taste of betrayal by everyone who used you last night for their own interests. Be sure that, as strange as it may seem to you, I also have empty awakenings with the same taste. Likewise, the photograph is mine while the betrayal is that of others, sometimes a collaborator, sometimes a known subordinate, or other times unknown subordinates of subordinates, who for their own interests violate my trust in various ways. They treat people badly. They despise merit. They stimulate kinship. They promote factions. They ask for money under their arm. Favors. And above all, they forget that that chair is an honor, not a stipend. Fortunately, unlike you, my day continues with uninterrupted work, thanks to the abundant good energy of others who work with me.

So as you can see, this is not a letter from someone who is crying out for you, looking down on you or from afar. It is a letter of deep respect for you who believed, fought, and were left alone. But at the same time, it is also an outstretched hand from someone who knows what it means to feel alone, when the trust you give is wasted and the fight you wage is betrayed.

I know that today you may see me as your adversary. Perhaps even as the cause of your anger. This letter is not an attempt to make you see me differently. Nor a request that you direct the arrow of your anger elsewhere.

Ask yourself if your enemy is me, who tirelessly strives amidst a thousand difficulties to make Albania better every day than the day before, or those who turned you into the hero of the evening only to leave you on the street, alone, like an empty bottle thrown away without thinking after a collective intoxication.

If your answer is still that I am your enemy, I will definitely respect it. Because democracy also lives from this right and from respect for this right. But if one day you will understand the simple truth, that your problem is not far from my problem, then do not wait there for those who will return again in the evening.

Come to me.

Not to applaud me. Not to give up your criticism. Not to vote for me if you don't want to convince yourself, because not only am I not the great evil that they have convinced you that I am, but today I am the only obstacle between this country and you and the great evils that they could do to Albania if the way is opened for them.

So come to me, if only to prevent anyone from using your troubles against Albania, nor from using Albania's troubles against you.

Come, because Albania is not made by those who blindly cheer, nor by those who blindly get angry. Albania is being made by every Albanian, who instead of cursing the darkness, lights the candle of their contribution every day, adding to the light of European Albania at every step and diminishing the darkness inherited from old and new times.

Whoever wants the light to increase more and the darkness to dissolve faster is blessed, no matter how much they disagree with me. While those who will return tonight to use your body and flesh are the very darkness of an old curse on Albania.

I am your friend, not your enemy./ CNA