Alienum phaedrum torquatos nec eu, vis detraxit periculis ex, nihil expetendis in mei. Mei an pericula euripidis, hinc partem.
There is nothing noble in the fine words of the Ministry. They speak of “memory,” yet they allowed Spaç to fall into ruin since 1997, when, in the face of extreme poverty, people had no choice but to dismantle the prison to build their homes. Governments of all political colors—for 35 years—let this national symbol of pain be destroyed. And now they come forward with “management plans,” while all this destruction happened right before their eyes.
It’s not simply that they let Spaç collapse. They made it happen. Consciously. Through criminal silence. Through deliberate inaction.
Memory is not plaster. It’s not a visual effect.
Memory is a cracked wall that speaks. It is a testimony that keeps you awake at night. It is the voice of those who had no voice.
But the Ministry of Economy, Culture, and Innovation, along with the Albanian state, want to silence history—to throw a coat of paint over hell, to give a director a verbal “OK,” and turn it into a film set. That’s all.
When those who let Spaç be destroyed for 35 years now speak of “care” and “vision,” it is not irony—it is hypocrisy. And it insults every victim, mocking every citizen who still believes in justice.
Spaç is not a “tourist attraction.”
It is an open wound. And it cannot be covered with drywall.
In Spaç, a father who was imprisoned for 16 years once said he wished the place would be wiped off the face of the earth.
But no, Dad—it must not be erased.
Because forgetting is the second death.
We do not forget.
This is for all those who suffered.
And for all those who remain silent.
