Rama described the square as a “television studio for the algorithm.” Eight voices involved in the protest tell Faktoje how work is divided on the ground, where different approaches clash, and what may come after day 51. Author: Jona Cenameri The original article was published on Faktoje, you can read it here. Photo: Jona Cenameri “The square is simply a television studio for the algorithm. It is the place where material is filmed to feed the algorithm and justify it,” Prime Minister Edi Rama said on June 20 during a meeting of the Socialist Party Parliamentary Group. Rama argued that the algorithm rewards conflict, outrage and intimidation, while describing the protest in these terms: “A protest is no longer a protest. It is a stage, a marketplace, a marketplace of emotions, clicks, morality, and even careers.” On July 11, during a conversation with young people in Jalë, the prime minister added nuance to this position. “I did not say that the algorithm was the reason for the protest,” Rama said. He acknowledged that the protest had causes rooted in citizens’ everyday lives, but argued that the algorithm amplified noise, dissatisfaction, manipulated videos and fake news, which, according to him, “pour fuel on a fire that was not started by the algorithm, but by people.” Rama added that the algorithm was not the organiser of the protest and that a distinction had to be made between “where the protesters’ genuine motivation ends” and where manipulation by other actors begins. On July 19, protesters gathered in Tirana for the 50th consecutive day to demand Prime Minister Rama’s resignation. The nightly protest in the capital, which began as a reaction to violence and in defence of Zvërnec, has continued without interruption since May 31, 2026. What is happening? To understand what is happening beyond the content circulating on social media, Faktoje interviewed eight people involved in the protest in different ways. Their accounts do not represent the entire protest and do not claim to summarise the views of every participant. They are some voices among the many voices, groups and currents that coexist in the square. Nevertheless, they help shed light on the origins of the discontent, the way the protest is organised, the role of digital platforms and the debates over how it should continue. Zvërnec For environmental expert Olsi Nika, the events in Zvërnec were “the last straw,” though not necessarily the only event that could have triggered such a reaction. According to him, the spark could just as easily have come from the dragging of a woman in Rrjoll, the protest by mussel farmers in Butrint, or an issue such as the treatment of cancer patients, among others. “The glass has to fill before it overflows. This was the drop that made it overflow,” Nika says. He considers it significant that the spark this time was environmental, since interventions in the territory and protected areas had long generated dissatisfaction but had never before provoked such a broad reaction. For Nika, Zvërnec should not be seen only as the place where the episode that triggered the protest occurred. He describes it as “one of the most representative images” of the problems created during Albania’s transition. In his view, “Zvërnec brought together unresolved property disputes, the dominance of private interests, the role of private security and the lack of an immediate institutional response.” He sees the fence and the violence against the protester as “symbols of a relationship in which the citizen is confronted not by institutions, but by private interests operating on the ground.” Nika also criticises the way part of the media covered the event and the protest. According to him, the incident in Zvërnec initially did not receive the attention it deserved, while later coverage focused mainly on the microphone and the speakers outside the Prime Minister’s Office, leaving out other voices from the square. “Zvërnec is a mirror that showed how things are done in Albania,” he says. According to Nika, the protest quickly moved beyond its initial environmental cause. Photo: Jona Cenameri The leadership Those interviewed generally agree that the protest is not being directed by a single hand. “Is there one central organiser? No. Are there groups coordinating in order to contribute? Yes, and there are several of them,” says Migen Qiraxhiu, activist and co-founder of Civic Resistance. According to him, one of the reasons the protest has maintained participation is the belief among citizens that they are not being used to serve a single individual or political force. Within the protest, Qiraxhiu says, there are young people who take care of the children’s area, students who create installations and placards, the drum and flamingo group, people who manage the sound area, and young people who organise the march after the formal part of the protest outside the Prime Minister’s Office ends. “The protest has many voices, many groups and many forms of contribution, and that is precisely one of its greatest strengths,” Qiraxhiu says. Natasha Paja, a designer and member of the Trivet Art group, describes the organisation through the concrete division of tasks. “Someone makes sure the microphone runs smoothly, someone takes care of the children’s creative corner, someone handles the rhythm of resistance, someone else the chants. There are people who contribute to communication with the diaspora and a group that takes care of the evening march,” she says. According to Paja, the organisation is horizontal: people become involved wherever they are able to contribute, without a leader who has the legitimacy to make decisions on behalf of the entire protest. Entela Ndrevataj, a feminist activist and member of the Feminist Collective, a voluntary and autonomous community, also says the protest does not have a classical structure, but that this is precisely what has created space for different groups. “The square is a shared space and, as such, no group has imposed itself over another,” she says. For Ndrevataj, corruption is also “intertwined with an authoritarian and patriarchal way of exercising power, where decisions are made from above and public wealth is treated as private property.” The flamingos Sokol Çunga, an activist, historian and translator, participates as an individual rather than as part of an organisational structure. He describes the protest as sincere and articulated not only through the microphone, but also through placards and the flamingos. When it comes to the level of coordination, Çunga is more sceptical. “The only coordination I see is the time and place, and ‘who is going to transport the flamingos?’” he says. According to him, the crowd changes every day in form, size and composition and does not come to the square under direction or with a completely unified goal. For this reason, Çunga does not believe that the protest, as a single body, can draft detailed political or institutional plans. “The next steps remain simpler and more tangible: every day on the boulevard!” The organising group Unlike participants who see only dispersed coordination, Ilir Xhemalaj, activist and founder of the National Union of Telephone Operators, says that from the first day there has been a group of activists responsible for the smooth running of the formal part of the protest. According to him, the group is made up of environmental activists, trade unionists, oil workers and people from other fields. They take care of the sound system, the speakers and the organisation of the gathering outside the Prime Minister’s Office. “The sound system comes at a cost, which all of us activists have paid out of our own pockets,” Xhemalaj says. He explains that, apart from several intellectuals who were invited at the beginning, the other speakers wait their turn to take the microphone. “The only criterion for speakers is to wait your turn. One person comes off, another goes on, and everyone speaks about their own views and concerns,” he says. According to Xhemalaj, the group’s responsibility ends when the speeches finish. The march that follows and other actions may be organised by different people and are not automatically decisions made by the same group. For Xhemalaj, the importance of digital platforms has been undeniable. “It is precisely social media that has made it possible for this protest to function, develop and grow in size. Gen Z has managed to use social media very effectively to call on people to come out into the square,” he says. Photo: Jona Cenameri The algorithm Migen Qiraxhiu turns the prime minister’s argument about the algorithm in the opposite direction. According to him, Rama had no problem with the algorithm when digital communication kept attention focused on the government and on Rama himself. “The problem begins when the algorithm is no longer on his side. The algorithm does not create events by itself; it follows the interest, reaction and attention generated by a real event,” Qiraxhiu says. In his view, the protest “has taken not only the square and the public debate, but the algorithm as well.” Arnen Sula clarifies that the organisation he leads is not part of the protest’s organisational structure and that he participates as a citizen and activist. “Every protest is measured by the people who take part in it, not by algorithms,” Sula says. “Digital platforms can help with organisation and communication, but they cannot replace the physical presence of citizens.” According to him, when citizens continue to come to the square for weeks, it shows that there is a concern that cannot be reduced to a social media phenomenon. Olsi Nika interprets Rama’s focus on the algorithm as an attempt to avoid responsibility for the causes that produced the protest. “To deny that there is a protest when people are in the square, when the protest is being covered across the media and when there is an extraordinary outpouring of anger online as well, and to call all of this simply an algorithm, is a tactic belonging to a failed strategy,” he says. The microphone The very element that Xhemalaj presents as organisational work, the sound system and the speaking order, is viewed sceptically by Olsi Nika. Nika says that the people around the microphone represent only one part of the protest. “Both technically and physically, there is another protest where the microphone can no longer be heard,” he says. According to him, the cameras’ focus on the improvised podium creates the impression that the speakers represent the entire square, while leaving out participants standing farther away and their reasons for protesting. Nika also sees the microphone as carrying the risk of personal protagonism and the controlled release of revolt. “I consider the microphone to be the instrument that kills the protest and kills the revolt,” he says. For Xhemalaj, the sound system is necessary infrastructure for giving different groups and citizens a voice. For Nika, focusing on the microphone can create a hierarchy of visibility within a protest that presents itself as horizontal. Politics There are also activists and representatives in the square with political affiliations. Emiljando Kita, an activist with Together Movement (Lëvizja Bashkë), says he supports the demands articulated by protesters, from the repeal of the contested laws to the resignation of the prime minister. “When people take to the streets, coordination happens naturally because the objective is shared,” he says. The protest has also brought representatives and activists from other political forces into the square, including the Opportunity Party (Partia Mundësia), the Albania Becomes Movement Party (Partia "Lëvizja Shqipëria Bëhet") and the Democratic Party (Partia Demokratike), the latter mainly through its youth members. Migen Qiraxhiu argues that one reason the protest has not become fully identified with any single political force is that its messages have been critical of the two main political figures of Albania’s transition, Edi Rama and Sali Berisha. The “National Assembly” The clearest disagreement over the future of the protest concerns the idea of creating a “National Assembly” or citizens’ assembly. Ilir Xhemalaj says the initiative is not intended to speak on behalf of the protest or to establish parallel institutions. It is meant to serve as a space where citizens and intellectuals can offer ideas about how the protest should continue. Xhemalaj clarifies that the Assembly has not yet been created; only a few meetings of the working group for its formation have taken place. “We are preparing for a marathon, we are preparing for a long battle, and naturally we need everyone’s ideas,” he says. Other protesters view the initiative with reservations. Migen Qiraxhiu says he had joined a WhatsApp group where the idea was being presented, but left after reading the materials. He considers it legitimate to create new initiatives, including organisations or political parties, but opposes any claim to speak on behalf of the entire protest without a clear mandate. “Every initiative has the right to organise and propose ideas, but it must be clear that it represents only its founders and supporters, not automatically all protesters,” he says. Arnen Sula also believes that a National Assembly could create the perception that one group is assuming representation of a square that has no centralised structure. Natasha Paja calls the initiative “an old method for an old concept,” while Entela Ndrevataj says that, at this stage, the square should remain the main space and that one group should not place itself above the majority. For Sokol Çunga, the information circulated about the initiative was unclear and gave the impression of a chaotic process. He does not believe that such an assembly could confront the existing political forces and sees mass, peaceful protest as the main instrument. Olsi Nika is more critical. He regards such structures as parallel ones and argues that change should come through existing mechanisms: the vote, parliament, the justice system and the media. According to him, the energy of the square should exert pressure on these mechanisms to function, rather than replacing them with a structure that has no mandate from all protesters. Photo: Jona Cenameri What comes next After 51 days of protest, those interviewed do not present a single strategy. Their positions can broadly be divided between continuing pressure in the square, moving towards institutional action, and the need for more structured organisation. Sokol Çunga calls for a continued daily presence on the boulevard. Natasha Paja also sees the square as the priority, but says that work should continue in parallel on legal aspects, communication with European institutions and actions in other parts of the country. Entela Ndrevataj believes it is still too early to create a movement with a leadership and formal representation. She proposes closer cooperation among legal, media and environmental experts while preserving transparency and the horizontal character of the protest. Arnen Sula places emphasis on sustainability and on linking public pressure with justice institutions. “The protest cannot replace justice, but it can support it by demanding accountability and by not allowing issues to be forgotten,” he says, mentioning SPAK and other responsible bodies. Migen Qiraxhiu proposes legal initiatives, institutional requests, monitoring, documented reports of wrongdoing and stronger mechanisms of civic oversight. “The wounds of 36 years of transition cannot be healed in 43 days,” he says. For Qiraxhiu, one of the most important outcomes of the protest could be a change in the relationship between citizens and those in power: from citizens asking politicians for photographs to citizens filming them and demanding accountability. Ilir Xhemalaj calls for broader organisation, stronger links with regions outside Tirana and with the diaspora, and preparation for continuing through the summer. “The protest will continue without stopping until September,” he said during the interview, describing the summer as the main challenge to maintaining participation. Emiljando Kita sees the way forward as a combination of pressure in the square, political action and legal complaints. Olsi Nika offers the most critical assessment of the stage the movement has reached. According to him, the protest clearly knows what it does not want, the government and the current way in which power is exercised, but has not yet managed to articulate with equal clarity the political and institutional model it wants to build. “The protest is dead; long live the protest,” Nika says. He calls for lawyers, economists, journalists, analysts and experts to reorganise so that the energy of the protest can be transformed into argument, institutional pressure and concrete action. According to him, the protest could enter a phase in which it is “smaller in numbers, but much stronger in argument,” a process he believes could take shape in September. Social media Social media has played an important role in the mobilisation, growth and visibility of the protest. None of the voices interviewed denies this. But behind the online content there is also real organisation, even if it remains dispersed and without a single centre of leadership.

In its sixth week, the protest against the project in Pishë Poro-Nartë has entered a more fatigued, but also more hard-edged phase: participation fluctuates, political demands are becoming more visible, the issue has returned to the European Parliament, while tensions with the police and disagreements over how the movement should continue have made the protest more fragile, but it is still there. Author: Jona Cenameri This article was originally posted on Faktoje, you can read it here. Photo: Jona Cenameri In the sixth week of the protest, two young people who have been there since the first days happen to catch each other’s eye and smile. Without saying much, like people who know they are tired, but also know they have not given up. Because after 38 days, the protest against plans for a tourist resort in the protected Pishë Poro-Nartë area is no longer measured only by the number of people in the square. It is also measured by those who arrive late after work, those who stay for only a few minutes, those who ask each other, “Were you here yesterday?”, and those who have left the country but continue to support the protest through social media. When the protest began on May 31, no one could have predicted that July, instead of finding Albanians on the beaches, would still find them in the square. But by its sixth week, what began as a rebellion against a project in Zvërnec that had yet to receive final approval had evolved into a broader revolt against the way public decisions are made, the way common property is treated, the way the state treats its citizens, and the way those in power respond when challenged. “It has changed a lot,” says a middle-aged man, summing up the protest in one sentence: “From resistance to a single project, it has become a determined protest against a distorted model of governance.” At first, it was Zvërnec. It was the images of the fence and the bulldozers, the confrontations with residents and activists, and the sight of a Zvërnec resident being dragged away by private security personnel in front of the State Police. It was the debate over the protected area, the legal amendments, the lack of transparency and the fear that one of the country’s most important ecosystems was being opened up to intensive construction. Then the revolt moved to Tirana. Tirana It began on May 31, while on June 1, International Children’s Day, the crowd initially appeared uncertain, mixed together with another protest taking place in Skanderbeg Square. Gradually, through chants and announcements over a megaphone, the direction became clear: those protesting for Narta were to head towards the Ministry of Environment. They were protesting against what they saw as a “project advancing without transparency and at the expense of public assets.” There was no single leader, no podium controlling the crowd and no single message. People had come out because of Zvërnec, but they were also talking about corruption, emigration, pensions, healthcare, the lack of prospects for the future, the media, the police, the government and the opposition. The chant that closed the first night was simple: “More of us tomorrow!” During the first days, the protest took on the face of Gen Z. Instead of traditional political placards, the square filled with memes, anime references, television catchphrases, Spotify screenshots, AI-generated illustrations and flamingos that quickly became a symbol of the movement. TikTok, Instagram and the protest seemed to have merged into one. A video became a story, a placard became a meme, one friend invited another, and a repost brought dozens of new young people into the square. In those days, the protest had humour and rhythm. Its chants were harsh, but its form was light. There was anger, but also playfulness. There was patriotism, but also irony. There were flags, drums, songs, placards and endless photographs taken on young people’s phones. “The protest was magnificent during the first three days,” says a 20-year-old student from Tirana. But according to him, something changed when the protest began to take on a more structured form. “The moment they installed the sound system, it turned into a party rally. And let’s not even get into the level of some of the people who go up there and speak. Get rid of the sound system. Give the protest back to the people, not to a hierarchy,” he says, asking not to be identified by name. The debate This is one of the debates that has continued within the protest itself. Should it remain a protest that leads itself? Or should it have a structure, clearly articulated demands, speakers and representation? In the first days, the absence of a leader was one of its strengths. By the sixth week, that same absence has also become a dilemma. Photo: Jona Cenameri The demands From its earliest days, the protest had five articulated demands. Protesters called for the resignation of the government; the repeal of the status and legal framework related to strategic investors; the cancellation of the so-called “Mountain Package”; the repeal of the amendments to the Law on Protected Areas; and the repeal of amendments to the Cultural Heritage Law, which they argue put the country’s natural and historical heritage at risk. Initially, the demands were linked to the environmental cause, cultural heritage and a development model that protesters viewed as being geared towards private interests. But as the days passed, they expanded. The platform On the 23rd day of the protest, the organising group presented broader political demands. These included the resignation of the prime minister and the government, the establishment of a non-partisan transitional technical government with a 12-month mandate, constitutional and electoral changes, the retention of the original demands concerning the contested laws, and the drafting of a new social contract between citizens and the state. It was the moment when the protest attempted to translate itself into a more comprehensive political platform. A few days later, a group of 13 signatories issued an ultimatum in the name of the “coordinating group.” The question mark But in the square, this did not resolve the question of representation. For many protesters, the ultimatum exists more on social media and in media reports than in the everyday reality of the protest. Ask people in the square and not everyone knows it exists. Not everyone knows what it contains. Not everyone knows who signed it. And not everyone feels represented by it. In the square, each person still seems to arrive carrying their own concern. A resident talks about Zvërnec and about the fear that one day they may no longer recognise their own home. An activist talks about the Law on Protected Areas and about laws being changed without citizens being heard. A young person demands Rama’s resignation because he no longer feels represented. A citizen standing opposite the police talks about a state that is supposed to protect him, but which many protesters experience instead as a wall. Someone else criticises the media because they feel that what happens in the square is not reported the way it looks from inside the protest. A young woman talks about her sister not receiving the healthcare she needs and about the exhaustion of an entire family. A parent talks about education, about children and about the question of what kind of country is being left to them. A pensioner talks about financial hardship and growing old without dignity. So although the protest now has written demands, a political platform, an ultimatum and a group of signatories, it has not yet transformed into a single political body. The organisers speak in the name of the protest. But the square continues to speak in many voices. The demand that has not changed In the evenings, however, the demand heard most loudly remains the resignation of Prime Minister Edi Rama. It is repeated through the sound system, by the crowd, on placards and by the groups that march every night outside the Prime Minister’s Office. Zvërnec was the spark. But it is no longer the only reason people are taking to the streets. One young woman, an emigrant living in the European Union, says she has to leave again in the third week of July. But since the protest began, she has put her other commitments aside and remained in the square indefinitely. She says she will come back again. Another young man, a content creator living in London, continues to support the protest on Instagram after having to leave Albania. A man in his thirties from Tirana jokingly called himself a “deserter” because he had gone away on holiday for a few days. Others come every other day. Some cannot make it at the beginning and join later. Some stay for only a few minutes. The diaspora Participation peaked over the weekend of June 20 and 21. During those days, the square was fuller, the energy stronger and international attention more visible. People from the Albanian diaspora, as well as from Kosovo and North Macedonia, were there to join the protest. Photo: Jona Cenameri The European Parliament Members of the European Parliament visited Albania, spoke at the protest, met citizens and also held meetings with the Minister of Environment. In June, the European Parliament adopted a resolution on Albania calling for an immediate moratorium in the Vjosa-Narta area and a review of the legal amendments concerning protected areas, while expressing concern over developments in the area. On July 1, the “Flamingo Revolution” returned once again to the European Parliament, this time through a discussion organised by MEP Pasquale Tridico of The Left group, titled “Democracy, Rule of Law and Civic Participation in Albania.” Members of the European Parliament, representatives of left-wing parties from several European countries and participants from Albania attended the meeting. The issue of Vjosa-Narta was discussed in connection with democratic standards, the rule of law, civic participation, emigration and Albania’s relationship with the European integration process. For several days, it seemed as though Pishë Poro-Narta had become a public test of Albania’s relationship with the environment, democracy, the European Union and private interests. The fluctuations But after the peak, participation began to fluctuate. It was the end of June. Then came July. The heat, beach season, holidays planned long in advance and accumulated exhaustion all began to take their toll. The protest has now lasted more than a month and entered its second. It no longer has the same momentum every evening that it had at the beginning. There are fewer humorous placards. There are fewer people who come simply out of curiosity. “There is more violence now,” says a young professional in her twenties when asked how the protest has changed. And July changed the tone. Clashes outside parliament On July 2, the second protest near Parliament was marked by violence. Afterwards, participation increased again, this time driven not by enthusiasm, but by anger. For several days, protesters marched towards Police Station No. 3, where detained protesters were being held. In the square, chants directed at the police became harsher. The relationship between citizens and the State Police, already strained since the beginning of the protest, appeared to have broken down. A video went viral on social media showing a woman standing face to face with a police officer positioned near the Prime Minister’s Office. She was holding a placard that read: “I am disappointed in you.” Representatives of the governing majority used the violence of July 2 as evidence that the supposedly “peaceful” protest had finally shown its true face. Protesters, on the other hand, saw this as an attempt to delegitimise the entire movement through a single incident. Prime Minister Edi Rama, who at the beginning had extended an invitation for a public meeting with a group of protesters, later defended the project and has frequently attacked the protest, public figures who support it and individual participants associated with it. The Zvërnec protest is not only a confrontation with many of the country’s problems. It has also become a moment in which everyone’s public stance is being measured. Photo: Jona Cenameri Who spoke? Who remained silent? Who took a position? Who stepped back? And who will be remembered for it? On July 4, the prime minister’s birthday, the protest once again took on a satirical form. Cakes carrying different symbolic messages were brought into the square. Songs were sung. The daily demand for Rama’s resignation was repeated once again. A symbolic political coffin for Rama also appeared in the square, an image that was strongly criticised by representatives of the governing majority. The contradictions By the sixth week, however, the contradictions have become more visible. The protesters oppose violence, yet some of them are increasingly saying quietly that chants alone may no longer be enough. Among groups of young people, questions can now be heard that were not voiced so openly at the beginning. Are the repeated chants “Rama, resign,” “Your time is up,” and “Rama in prison, Berisha in prison” simply lulling the protest into passivity? Should the tactics change? Is the government simply waiting for summer, the holidays and exhaustion to take their toll? Will everything eventually fade away without producing any result? Placards have also invoked the memory of January 21, the Socialist Party protest held when it was in opposition, the clashes, the burning cars, Tirana in flames and the four citizens who were killed. For some protesters, that memory raises the central question facing the movement: How is change achieved in a country where those in power do not step down simply because people demand it? By its sixth week, the protest is no longer the same crowd that once enthusiastically chanted: “More of us tomorrow!” It is something more tired now. But it is still there.

The protests against the project in Zvërnec did not remain solely an Albanian domestic story. Across the Western Balkans, they became linked to a range of narratives: alleged regional coordination, foreign funding, geopolitical theories, supposed support for Albin Kurti, and false videos that had not been filmed in Albania. Author: Jona Cenameri The original article is published here. Photo: Jona Cenameri What connects the student protests in Serbia with the protests against the project in Zvërnec? According to the Serbian tabloid Informer, “an important role was also played by Faktoje journalist Jona Cenameri.” But how? At the end of June, the Serbian outlet published an article claiming that Cenameri’s participation, as the only Albanian journalist present, at the Novi Pazar Youth Summit, her reporting on the protests in Tirana, and posts on her private social media accounts were evidence that she had played a role in connecting Albanian protesters from the “Flamingo Revolution” with the so-called “blockaders” in Serbia, a term used by the Serbian government and pro-government media to describe students who organise blockades as part of anti-government protests over the past two years. The narrative also mentioned articles that Cenameri had written about the “Flamingo Revolution” for Faktoje, where she works as a journalist, as well as her social media reporting on the issue. However, the claims were not accompanied by evidence. The SafeJournalists Network responded to the case, explaining that the summit was a regional event organised by the Youth Initiative for Human Rights Serbia, focused on democracy, human rights, media freedom and regional cooperation. According to the network, Informer had constructed an unfounded narrative by speculatively linking the journalist’s participation in the event, her professional reporting and her public posts. Cenameri rejected the allegations, clarifying that she had attended the summit as a journalist and invited speaker, not as a protest organiser or representative of any political movement. The articles published by Faktoje about the protests are part of her regular journalistic work at the organisation and are intended to provide impartial, fact-based reporting on political and social developments in Albania. Reporting on the protests in Tirana represents only one part of her coverage of current affairs in Albania and, above all, does not imply involvement with or support for any of the parties concerned. Accordingly, Faktoje clearly distances itself from any insinuation, speculation or unfounded claim seeking to link journalistic reporting carried out by its staff on behalf of the organisation with the organisation, support or coordination of political activities or protests, either inside or outside Albania. The reporting The Informer case was not the only one. Monitoring of media coverage and social media posts across the Western Balkans shows that the protest that began in Zvërnec was interpreted in different ways once the story crossed Albania’s borders. In some countries, it was portrayed as part of a coordinated regional protest network. Elsewhere, it was used to fuel geopolitical narratives or domestic political debates. In several cases, it was also accompanied by claims and videos that were later verified as false by independent fact-checking organisations. The “blockaders’ recipe” and the international funding network In Serbia, Informer and Alo portrayed the Albanian protest as part of the same model as the Serbian student protests. Their articles used the phrase “blokaderski recept”, the “blockaders’ recipe”, claiming that the protests in Tirana were being organised by the same infrastructure that, according to them, had organised the protests in Serbia. Another recurring narrative concerned foreign funding. Long-term funding received by Albanian environmental organisations such as PPNEA and EcoAlbania from EU programmes, the World Bank, the Critical Ecosystem Partnership Fund (CEPF), and other international donors was presented as evidence of a coordinated political operation, without providing evidence that those funds had been used to organise the protests. The protest in Albania was also used to revive debate over Jared Kushner’s project in Belgrade. The articles argued that Albanian protesters were following the same model that, according to them, had led to the failure of the Trump Tower project in Serbia, effectively turning the Albanian protest into an argument within Serbia’s own domestic political debate. This narrative was taken further by Informer’s editor-in-chief, Dragan J. Vučićević. He claimed that “some people from Serbia are also involved in the organisation, preparation and conduct of the violent demonstrations in Albania,” adding that “their bosses move them around as needed.” No evidence was presented for this claim either. From regional comparisons to geopolitical theories In North Macedonia, the Albanian protest circulated mainly through social media posts, where it was used as a point of comparison in domestic civic and environmental debates. One post asked why Albanians had been protesting for days against the transfer of an island to the Trump family, while Macedonians were not reacting over Lake Treska near Skopje, which, according to the author of the post, was being handed over to businessman Samir Mane. Along similar lines, another post called on citizens of North Macedonia to protest “like in Albania” against corruption and crime. In other posts, the Albanian protest was presented as an example of civic mobilisation. One stated that “Albania is on fire” and praised Albanians for taking to the streets against the project linked to Jared Kushner and Ivanka Trump. The post claimed that protesters had “burned the prime minister’s house.” Photo: Jona Cenameri In fact, the footage accompanying the claim was unrelated to the recent protests over Zvërnec. It showed Molotov cocktail attacks during earlier Democratic Party protests outside the Prime Minister’s Office. Alongside such comparisons, more speculative narratives also circulated. One media portal framed Jared Kushner’s investment as a choice between an “economic boom” for Albanian tourism and a “strategic geopolitical operation” aimed at securing military and energy control over the Adriatic. The article claimed that Sazan Island, because of its position near the Strait of Otranto, could serve as a strategic point for controlling maritime, commercial and energy traffic towards Central Europe. Another post linked the project to Gaza, sarcastically suggesting that, after being unable to build a luxury resort there, the Trump family had found its way to Sazan Island in Albania. Meanwhile, an analysis written in conspiratorial terms linked the project to Jared Kushner, the Trump family, George Soros, the “deep state,” Israel and “powerful families” across the Atlantic, claiming that major international deals and hidden interests lay behind the controversy over Sazan. None of these claims was accompanied by evidence of a geopolitical operation, military control or an international conspiracy behind the protests in Albania. “We want Albin Kurti” In Kosovo, the narrative took a different direction. Although media attention was primarily focused on the electoral process, several online profiles and portals shared videos from the Tirana protest with captions such as: We want Albin Kurti,’ protesters in Tirana chant” or: “Albania is calling for him: We want Albin Kurti.” In fact, the protesters were not chanting the name of Kosovo’s prime minister on duty. The chant heard in the video was: “Your end has come!” It was directed at Albania’s political class. Because of the similarity in sound, however, the chant was presented in these posts as an expression of support for Albin Kurti. The claim was not reported by professional media outlets in Albania or Kosovo, but circulated mainly through unofficial pages and social media accounts. Video from Spain presented as Albania’s “flamingo revolution” In Montenegro, the main piece of disinformation circulating online involved a video that was claimed to show crowds taking part in Albania’s “Flamingo Revolution.” Social media posts presented the footage as showing thousands of Albanian citizens protesting against the tourism project linked to Jared Kushner. Some captions also included the slogan: “Israel, get out! Our land is not for sale!” This framed the protest within narratives opposing foreign investment and claims that Albanian land was being sold off. In fact, the video was not filmed in Albania. Photo: Jona Cenameri Raskrinkavanje.me verified that the footage showed supporters of the Spanish football club Deportivo de La Coruña celebrating the team’s return to La Liga. Protests in Albania illustrated with footage from Spain and Poland In Croatia, another piece of false content circulated under the caption: “Albania, protest against Trump’s investment.” The video shared on Facebook consisted of two separate clips: one showing a crowd near a beach and another showing a large gathering in a city square. According to the accompanying description, the footage showed protests in Albania against the investment linked to Trump and Kushner. However, verification by Faktograf.hr found that neither clip had been filmed in Albania. The first was recorded in Galicia, Spain, during celebrations by Deportivo de La Coruña supporters, while the second was filmed in Kraków, Poland, during a gathering of Wisła Kraków supporters. One protest, multiple narratives From Serbia to North Macedonia, Kosovo, Montenegro and Croatia, the protests against the project in Zvërnec were accompanied by a range of claims: allegations of regional coordination and foreign funding, geopolitical theories, calls for civic mobilisation, misinterpretations of chants from the crowd, and the use of videos that had not been filmed in Albania. Once the story left Albania, it was reshaped across the region according to the domestic issues and political debates of each country.

The editorial team of Balkan Talks stands in full solidarity with our colleague and friend Jona Cenameri, who has become the target of a smear campaign by Serbian pro-government tabloids. We strongly condemn the actions of Informer and other regime-aligned media outlets that continue to target young people from Serbia and across the Western Balkans who are working to build peace, regional cooperation, and democratic societies. These campaigns do not simply attack individuals; they seek to intimidate an entire generation determined to imagine a different future for our region. Photo: Jona Cenameri, private archive Jona is a journalist at Faktoje.al, one of the leading fact-checking media organizations in Albania and the Western Balkans. Her commitment to evidence-based journalism, accountability, and public interest reporting is precisely what makes her a target for media that thrive on disinformation and political polarization. Over the past few days, Jona participated in the Youth Summit in Novi Pazar, organized by the Youth Initiative for Human Rights, together with students and young activists from across the region. Speaking to Balkan Talks, Jona questioned why media reports attacking the summit featured images of Albin Kurti when he had neither attended nor been mentioned during the event. Her remark illustrates how quickly facts can give way to manufactured narratives whenever independent voices challenge the stories that certain media seek to promote. Unfortunately, this kind of targeting has become increasingly common in Serbia. Since the beginning of the student protests, pro-government tabloids have repeatedly attempted to portray students, journalists, academics, and activists as enemies rather than citizens exercising their democratic rights. Such campaigns foster hostility, encourage harassment, and place real people at risk. What stands out in this latest wave of attacks is the attempt to link the Serbian student movement with Albania's Flamingo Revolution as though regional solidarity itself were something suspicious. In reality, these movements emerged independently, responding to different local circumstances. Yet they share many of the same democratic aspirations: demanding transparency, accountability, protection of public goods, and institutions that serve citizens rather than political elites. They also reflect a generation that refuses to accept corruption, state capture, and the privatization of resources that belong to everyone. Across the region, young people have increasingly recognized that many of the challenges they face are interconnected. Debates around public land, urban development, environmental protection, democratic participation, and the influence of powerful political and business interests do not stop at national borders. Whether discussing the Albanian coastline or public assets in Serbia, these conversations are rooted in a broader struggle over who has the right to shape the future of their communities. This growing regional dialogue is precisely what makes initiatives such as the Youth Summit in Novi Pazar so important. They create spaces where young people from different countries can meet not as enemies defined by the past, but as partners committed to justice, democracy, and a more peaceful future. At Balkan Talks, we witness this every single day. Our platform exists because young people throughout the Western Balkans want dialogue instead of hatred, cooperation instead of nationalism, and reconciliation instead of division. Every article we publish, every conversation we host, and every story we amplify demonstrates that another Balkans is not only possible, but it is already being built by those who refuse to inherit old conflicts. Attempts to divide us through fear, smear campaigns, and media harassment will not succeed. To those who spread hatred, we answer with solidarity. To those who try to isolate courageous young voices, we answer by standing closer together. And to Jona, as well as to every young journalist, student, activist, and researcher who faces intimidation for speaking the truth: you are not standing alone. Balkan Talks stands with Jona Cenameri. Today and always.

Author: Almin Šemić Ovaj članak možete pročitati na naškom ovde. On the wall of a building near the Glass Bank in Mostar, behind the Croatian National Theatre, in Knez Domagoj Street, there is a graffiti piece shown in the cover photograph that testifies to the long-standing presence of various messages in Mostar’s public space. Photo sourced from the Bljesak.info news portal As can be observed, the wall surface had previously been used for different inscriptions, including football supporter markings and other messages, indicating that this space functions as an open surface for informal visual communication. At the centre of attention is the graffiti bearing the message “Death to Fascism, Freedom to the People,” over which the symbol of the Ustasha “U” has been drawn. This creates a direct and clear ideological contrast within the same visual field between the anti-fascist slogan and a symbol that carries an opposing historical and political meaning. Furthermore, the message represents both a contrast and a reflection of Mostar’s society, where individuals express their affiliation with one ideology or multiple ideologies through such graffiti. On the same wall, there is also the inscription “There Is a Western Mostar,” which can be interpreted as a form of narrative concerning the division of Mostar. Such messages do not function merely as individual expressions but as recurring discourses that shape perceptions of the city and its boundaries in a symbolic sense. As Joseph Goebbels once stated, “A lie repeated a hundred times becomes the truth.” Just imagine how many times such a message, along with similar messages, had to be repeated in order to become normalized. In the context of children and propaganda, within ten years, sustained propagandistic influence may result in people no longer knowing whether Mostar was an anti-fascist city. Consider also how many times the phrase “Mostar Gymnasium” had to be repeated in order to erase the name of Aleksa Šantić. On a road in the suburban Mostar settlement of Vrapčići, near Mikulića Mahala, a graffiti inscription containing a message directed at a particular ethnic group was written. The inscription was sprayed in black paint directly onto the asphalt, without any additional visual elements, suggesting a rapid and informal intervention in public space. This is characteristic of graffiti intended to communicate a message quickly and directly. Photo sourced from the Večernji list news portal According to media reports, specifically from Raport and Večernji List, the graffiti was noticed in the early morning hours, after which the case was reported to the competent authorities, who conducted an investigation. Available information further suggests that similar inscriptions had previously been recorded in this area, indicating a continuity in the use of public surfaces for messages carrying political and identity-related connotations. Unlike graffiti that relies on symbolism or indirect messages, this inscription is characterized by its explicit and unambiguous formulation. What distinguishes it from the graffiti discussed in the previous section of this article is precisely the directness and explicitness of its message, which does not rely on symbolic conflict but instead communicates its content openly and unequivocally. Whereas the previous graffiti functioned through the overlapping of signs and the creation of ideological conflict within the same visual space, this one relies on a clear verbal formulation that requires no additional interpretation. From an analytical perspective, as previously noted, the message of the graffiti is clearly directed toward a specific ethnic group, as evidenced by the wording itself. Its structure and choice of words indicate an attempt at direct communication with a clearly defined “other,” while public space is used as a channel for transmitting such a message. At the same time, although it is impossible to determine with certainty who was responsible for creating the graffiti, the manner in which it is formulated points to a pattern characteristic of anonymous actors operating outside institutional frameworks. It is precisely this anonymity that allows the message to exist without the assumption of responsibility, while its public visibility ensures the dissemination of the message without intermediaries. In this context, the graffiti may be interpreted as a form of expression that does not seek dialogue but rather a one-sided assertion of presence and attitude within a particular space. Its function is not informative but performative: it does not merely communicate content, but also establishes a particular relationship toward the space and the community in which it appears. It is also possible to identify elements of propaganda within this graffiti, although it does not operate through an organized or institutional form. The message is formulated directly and without symbolic complexity, which is one of the fundamental characteristics of propaganda: clarity and ease of understanding without the need for additional interpretation. It is directed toward a specific group and employs emotionally charged language, thereby attracting attention and potentially influencing both the perceptions and emotions of passers-by. Although the identity of the author remains unknown, the manner in which the graffiti was created suggests an attempt to transmit a particular viewpoint through public space and reinforce the presence of that narrative, placing it within the broader framework of informal and decentralized propaganda. One may therefore consider how many times such a propagandistic message would need to be repeated before it becomes perceived as reality. On the wall of a residential building in Mostar, a graffiti inscription containing multiple messages written in black and red spray paint can be observed. The upper section consists of a sentence referring to territorial expansion and a historical context, accompanied by a symbol and a year, while the lower section contains the inscription “Ustaše Mostar: Fascism Lives!”. Photo sourced from the Mostarski.ba news portal The use of different colours and the arrangement of the messages suggest that the graffiti was not created at a single moment but rather represents a layered intervention produced by multiple authors or during different stages. The inclusion of geographical references and ideological terminology indicates an attempt to symbolically define the space and connect it with particular historical interpretations. The upper section of the graffiti, referring to historical context and territorial boundaries, demonstrates an awareness of historical narratives and their role in contemporary public discourse. From the perspective of propaganda studies, this graffiti illustrates how public space can become a site of competing messages that seek to influence the perceptions of passers-by. The upper inscription employs historical references and territorial allusions to suggest a particular political and identity-based framework, relying on recognizable symbols and narratives that already possess emotional and ideological significance within Mostar. Such an approach corresponds to several basic principles of propaganda, including the simplification of messages, reliance on familiar symbols, and attempts to associate a specific space with a particular collective identity. Furthermore, repetition represents one of the fundamental mechanisms of propaganda. Through the repeated appearance of similar messages and symbols in public space, certain narratives may gradually become normalized and integrated into collective perceptions. This raises broader questions regarding institutional responses to such messages and the extent to which public authorities address their presence within the urban environment. If viewed alongside recent incidents, such as attempts to remove graffiti depicting Slobodan Praljak in Ortiješ, as well as acts involving the placement of Ustaša stickers and symbols on monuments in Baćevići, the graffiti may be interpreted within a wider pattern of symbolic and ideological contestation in public space. In the context of propaganda, the graffiti can also be understood as an affirmation of a particular ideological narrative that relies on historical references and symbols associated with the legacy of fascism. Such messages do not operate in isolation. Rather, they often build upon existing social and political tensions, particularly in communities such as Mostar, where public space continues to bear the legacy of the conflicts of the 1990s. In this sense, the graffiti may be connected to narratives emerging from the war in Bosnia and Herzegovina, including the conflict between Bosniaks and Croats, with symbols and messages serving as mechanisms for the reinterpretation or preservation of specific forms of collective memory. Although the territorial divisions established during the war may no longer exist in a formal sense, symbolic boundaries continue to shape public discourse and spatial perceptions within the city. The repeated appearance of ideologically charged symbols, attacks on memorial sites, and disputes over historical narratives demonstrate how public space remains a field in which competing interpretations of the past are expressed and contested. The emotional dimension of propaganda is also evident in such messages, as they seek not only to communicate information but also to provoke emotional responses and influence attitudes toward coexistence, identity, and collective belonging. On an information board located in front of a building associated with the religious and cultural institutions of the Serbian community in Mostar, specifically in front of the Bishop’s Residence, a graffiti inscription was written in purple spray paint containing the markings “1981” and “4th Corps.” Photo sourced from the Top Portal news portal These references may be linked to local identity-based and historical contexts. The number “1981” is commonly associated with the Red Army (Football club Velež Mostar) supporters’ group, while “4th Corps” refers to a formation of the Army of the Republic of Bosnia and Herzegovina that operated in this area during the Bosnian War. The choice of location itself—an information board identifying a museum and religious site—further emphasizes the symbolic dimension of the intervention within this space. From an analytical perspective, the graffiti can be understood as a form of symbolic marking of space, through which a particular identity framework is communicated by means of brief and recognizable references. Such messages do not necessarily require explicit verbal formulations in order to be understood by the local community, as their meaning is constructed through existing social and historical references. In this context, the graffiti may function as a signal of the presence of a particular group or narrative within a given space, especially when it is displayed at a location associated with another community. Consequently, the message may be recognizable not only to members of the local community but also to a wider audience familiar with the historical and social significance of these references. Within the framework of propaganda studies, this graffiti may be viewed as a form of symbolic and identity-based territorial marking that relies not on direct statements but on recognizable signs embedded within the local context. The inscriptions “4th Corps” and “1981” evoke wartime and supporter-group symbolism, and through the combination of these references communicate a particular identity narrative. Their meaning is further shaped by the location, given that the graffiti appears on a board situated in front of a building associated with institutions of the Serbian community in Mostar, thereby giving the message a more specific and targeted dimension. In this sense, the graffiti may be interpreted as a signal of the presence of a particular social or ideological group within a space symbolically associated with another community. Similar inscriptions containing the same references have previously been documented at this and related locations, suggesting a pattern of repetition and the use of public space for the transmission of coded messages, a characteristic feature of informal forms of propagandistic communication. At first glance, the graffiti reading “KILL THE BALIJA” at the Bunica picnic site may appear to be just another act of vandalism in public space. However, its message extends beyond ordinary graffiti and enters the sphere of hate propaganda, ethnic intolerance, and symbolic violence. The location itself further amplifies the significance of the message. A natural recreational area, which should represent a space of leisure, social interaction, and escape from societal tensions, is transformed into a site of intimidation and a reminder of wartime narratives that have not completely disappeared from the public sphere of Bosnia and Herzegovina, even decades after the conflict. Photo sourced from the Blagaj Info Facebook page The message of the graffiti is direct, aggressive, and leaves little room for interpretation. The use of the term “balija,” which is employed within nationalist discourse as a derogatory label for Bosniaks, demonstrates a clear intention to dehumanize a particular ethnic group. Dehumanization has historically been one of the central elements of hate propaganda, involving the portrayal of the “other” as inferior, dangerous, or undesirable. When such language is combined with the imperative “kill,” the graffiti moves beyond hate speech and becomes an explicit call for violence. Visually, the graffiti is not artistically complex, yet its propagandistic power lies precisely in its brutal simplicity. The black lettering, roughly painted on a concrete surface, conveys a sense of urgency and raw aggression. There is no aesthetic ambition and no symbolism intended to obscure its meaning; the objective is not artistic expression but rather the dissemination of fear and the provocation of a reaction. Graffiti of this kind often functions as a territorial marker, representing an attempt to symbolically claim space through a nationalist message. It is particularly important to consider the context of Mostar and Herzegovina, regions that continue to bear the legacy of wartime divisions. Within such an environment, graffiti can serve as a means of prolonging conflict in symbolic form. Their impact extends beyond the individual reader, influencing the broader social atmosphere by creating feelings of insecurity and reinforcing distrust between communities. In this case, the propaganda does not seek to persuade through rational argumentation but through emotions, primarily hatred, fear, and anger. Such graffiti also performs a function of normalizing extremist discourse. When messages that advocate violence remain visible in public space for extended periods without a response from institutions or the wider community, they may create the impression of social tolerance toward such expressions. In this way, the graffiti becomes more than an isolated incident; it becomes part of a broader culture of silence and passivity regarding nationalist violence. From a propaganda perspective, the graffiti employs several key mechanisms: simplification of the message, identification of an “enemy,” emotional manipulation, and public visibility. For this reason, its influence can be particularly significant among younger generations who grow up surrounded by symbols of division. Rather than encouraging dialogue and shared public space, messages of this kind contribute to an atmosphere of conflict and serve as a reminder that public space in Bosnia and Herzegovina continues to function as a site of political and identity-based struggle.

Ovde pročitajte ovaj članak na naškom jeziku. What happens when young artists are given the space to speak? The Puzzle, a collective exhibition organized by the Underground Initiative, offers one possible answer. Open from June 15 to June 26 at the European House in Niš, the exhibition brings together diverse artistic expressions that explore identity, climate justice, memory, and belonging, while reminding us why independent cultural spaces remain essential for young people and their communities. This exhibition was created in 2026 as a collective cry of Niš youth. It is called The Puzzle because each of us contributed a small piece of ourselves, and somehow those pieces came together into a larger story. There was no common theme, no agreed form, and no attempt to create a unified artistic vision. Each artist followed their own voice, choosing their own medium, symbols, and message. Yet when the works were brought together, we realized they were speaking to one another. Through illustrations, graphic design, oil paintings, and photography, visitors will encounter stories that may initially seem unrelated. But a closer look reveals recurring questions and shared concerns. The exhibition reflects a longing for climate justice through depiction of environmental destruction, endangered animals, and the tension between nature and the colourless aesthetics of contemporary life. It explores identity through music, memory, archetypes, the beauty of the human body, and symbols of home, belonging, and southern Serbia. The Puzzle is more than an exhibition. It is a space where young creators search for meaning, connection, and ways of understanding the world around them. It is also a reminder that art remains one of the most powerful languages through which young people express their hopes, fears, and visions for the future. Organized by the Underground Initiative with the support of the Critical Education Centre and the European House in Niš, the exhibition brings together emerging artists from Niš and invites visitors not only to look at the artworks, but to listen to what they are trying to say. At a time when cultural spaces are increasingly inaccessible to those at the beginning of their artistic journeys, initiatives such as Underground seek to open doors rather than close them. We believe that young people need places where they can exhibit their work, exchange ideas, challenge dominant narratives, and develop their voices without having to wait for institutional recognition. Whether through exhibitions, concerts, festivals, independent media, or public discussions, these spaces allow new generations to participate in shaping the cultural and social life of their communities. This is also why Underground exists alongside initiatives such as Balkan Talks. While one creates room for artistic expression and the other for critical dialogue, both are driven by the same conviction: that young people deserve platforms where they can think, question, imagine, and create. Critique does not belong to a single form. It can be found in an article, a photograph, a song, a painting, a performance, or a conversation. Art and critical thought are not separate spheres; they are often different languages through which we respond to the same social realities. We therefore invite you not only to visit this exhibition, but also to support the initiatives that make spaces like this possible. Support young artists. Support independent culture. Support platforms that encourage critical thinking, creativity, and dialogue. And if you want to experience even more of the creativity, energy, and critical spirit of Niš youth, join us at this year's Underground Festival, taking place from October 1–4 at the Niš Cultural Center. Follow Underground and kriti.cko on Instagram, stay connected, and become part of a community that believes culture is not something we simply consume - it is something we create together. We are the young creators of this city. We invite you to listen to our images. Here you can see the whole exhibition.