Flamur Bucpapaj
On November 4, 1990, in Shkodër, the Church of Our Lady of Shkodër was reopened by Dom Simon Jubani. I was present on that historic day, among thousands of believers and citizens who gathered to bear witness that the hope of the Albanians had not been extinguished. That day marked one of the first open acts of defiance against communism in Albania, when faith and religious freedom, banned for decades, rose again in front of a regime that had not yet fallen.
Dom Simon Jubani was not simply a priest, but a symbol of courage and resistance. He knew well the game of power and never agreed to become part of its compromises. He spoke openly about the regime’s violence and about the need for Albanians to rise above fear.
At that time, I was leading the student movement in Shkodër, taking part in the organization of protests and later as the head of the hunger strike with Shkodran students. For us students, democracy was not a foreign word, but a concrete dream, a demand for freedom and justice that we wanted to make real.
But, as time showed, the State Security and the old communist structures did not give up so easily. They infiltrated people among us, who pretended to be opponents of the regime, but in reality played the game of power. Many communist professors, who had once been part of the ideological apparatus, quickly transformed into members of the Democratic Party, showing that the Albanian transition was more a recycling than a true change.
The students of December, as well as we who rose up in Shkodër, were used in a great game, perhaps the greatest political deception in the history of the Albanian nation. Democracy did not come as a pure act of popular will, but as a prepared scenario where the main role belonged to former communists who changed their mask but not their mentality.
The great betrayal that was done to us, to the students, to the citizens, to faith and to hope, remains a wound that still holds Albania hostage.
History must be written as it truly was: with the courage of people like Dom Simon Jubani and the sacrifice of students, but also with the betrayal and manipulation of those who turned democracy into a farce. Only then can we understand why the freedom we dreamed of never became the full reality we deserved.
Dom Simon Jubani – the Free Priest in an Enslaved Land
Prisons of Dictatorship and the Test of the Spirit
Dom Simon Jubani, like many other Catholic clerics, endured firsthand the merciless violence of the communist regime. He spent long years in the infamous prisons of the dictatorship, where torture and isolation aimed at breaking the human spirit. But Jubani was not broken. On the contrary, there he was forged as a figure of moral resistance, who accepted neither compromise nor silence.
At a time when many intellectuals bowed in order to survive, Jubani became the example that freedom of conscience is stronger than any chain.
The Catholic Church – the Eternal Enemy of Power
In Shkodër and in the north, the Catholic faith had deep roots in culture and identity. For the atheist regime, this was an open danger. A people who believe in God are a people who do not blindly obey the party. This made the Catholic Church an undefeated institution, and thus persecution was total:
Priests were executed without trial.
Others were sentenced to decades in prison.
Churches were closed, destroyed, or turned into warehouses.
Religious books were burned, preaching was forbidden.
But faith was not extinguished. It lived secretly, in homes, in people’s hearts, in the memories of generations. The Catholic Church, wounded and bloodied, became the silent support of a people who did not surrender their spirit.
Dom Simon Jubani – the Embodiment of Freedom
Jubani’s figure thus becomes a unique symbol: a priest who survived dictatorship not only physically, but also spiritually. He was the free priest in an enslaved land, an independent voice who dared to speak the truth when fear had silenced the majority.
When the regime thought it had extinguished all hope, Jubani proved that the free spirit is unbreakable.
November 4, 1990 – The Act that Shook the Dictatorship
On November 4, 1990, in the Church of Our Lady of Shkodër, Dom Simon Jubani celebrated the first public Mass after 23 years of religious prohibition. This act was far more than a religious ceremony:
it was an open challenge to the regime,
it was a political and national act,
it was a message to the people and to the world that Albania still had free voices.
On that day, the church was filled with believers who had never stopped believing. The tears, the songs, and the prayers were not only signs of faith, but also of liberation. It was proof that the dictatorship had failed to destroy the Albanian spirit.
Dom Simon Jubani as a Forerunner of the Freedom Movement
The opening of the Church was not an isolated event. It preceded the outbreak of the student movement in December 1990. In a way, Dom Simon Jubani’s Mass gave courage to the Albanian youth, showing that fear could be broken and that freedom is won with courage.
Jubani was not merely a priest who opened a church. He was the forerunner of a new era, a living witness that change begins when someone dares to say: “Enough is enough!”
1) The Context: When Faith Was Declared a “Crime”
After 1967, Albania declared itself “the first atheist state,” with a total ban on religion. The Catholic clergy, especially in Shkodër, was struck as the “internal enemy”: temples closed, property confiscated, religious teaching penalized, and a security apparatus that monitored every sign of spiritual life. In this climate of fear, faith migrated into the depths of conscience and into the rituals of family memory. It was precisely here that the figure of Dom Simon Jubani was forged.
2) Prisons as a Test of Conscience
Jubani spent long years in the prisons of the dictatorship—not for crimes, but for faith. The system’s goal was not only physical isolation, but the breaking of conscience: giving up the mission, signing false confessions, public silence. He refused. Imprisonment turned him into a witness of inner freedom: a man who does not negotiate with the truth even when the body is punished.
3) Why Catholicism Was Seen as a Structural Threat
In Shkodër, Catholicism was more than faith: it was culture, civic tradition, European memory. For a regime that sought total control, the presence of a moral authority outside the state (the Church) was unacceptable. That is why persecution was so severe: priests executed, imprisoned, books and archives seized, lay networks dismantled. Yet the communal spirit survived.
4) Jubani as a Symbol of a “Theology of Freedom” Dom Simon Jubani embodied an ethic of conscience: the conviction that religious freedom is the foundation of human dignity. He did not conceive of faith as a private sphere sterilized from politics; on the contrary, belief — as affirmation of truth — carries a public impact. This transformed him into a figure with resonance even for non-believers: a free voice in an enslaved country.
5) November 4, 1990: Breaking the threshold of fear
When Dom Simon Jubani celebrated the public Mass in the Church of Our Lady of Shkodra, the event operated on several levels at once:
Juridical-political: the “taboo” of prohibition was broken, imposing upon the state an accomplished fact.
Sensory-symbolic: the bells, the singing, the collective prayer — visible signals that fear had cracked.
Sociological: the massive presence of citizens created an “information cascade” (Kuran’s model): each saw that they were not alone.
Moral: the return of the sacred into public space restored to society the language of dignity.
It was not merely liturgy; it was a founding act of public freedom. In that moment, the Church regained its role as a safe communal space and as a matrix of hope.
6) The semiotics of “Our Lady of Shkodra”
Our Lady of Shkodra is not just a building of worship; it is an archive of the city’s memory. Its reopening in 1990 signaled the passage from spiritual illegality to public legality. In cultural terms, a central symbol of Shkodra’s identity was “reactivated,” capable of uniting generations and social layers beyond political divisions.
7) The regime’s reaction: control without frontal clash
The state apparatus responded with monitoring, pressure, and tactics of avoidance. Instead of an open strike (which would have produced a martyr and ignited revolt), it opted for image management: limited tolerance, surveillance of key individuals, efforts to present the event as a “local incident.” But the accomplished fact had already entered the public sphere.
8) The multiplier effect on society and students
The Mass of November 4 created a coordinating effect: families, the elderly, youth saw each other without fear. This lowered the threshold of participation in protests, fueling the energy of the December student movement. In terms of civic mobilization, Jubani served as frame alignment: he offered a shared meaning (“freedom is possible”) and a shared place (the church) where this meaning could be experienced.
Authority after 1990: moral, not clientelist
Unlike figures who suddenly emerged as “opposition” to the system, Jubani’s authority came from sacrifice, not deals. This made him a moral reference across party lines: a man who spoke to conscience, not to interest. In a transition where many roles were recycled, this distinction is essential to understanding why his figure remains credible.
Legacy: from liturgy to citizenship
Dom Simon Jubani’s teaching is twofold:
Religious: freedom of belief is non-negotiable; it is the foundation of humanity.
Civic: freedom must be made public, not hidden. The ritual of November 4 gave citizens a new way of being together in public, without permission from fear.
The organic link with the call for democratic cleansing
This legacy translates today into a civil imperative: to use the free vote to remove from politics every figure representing the legacy of the Sigurimi and its infiltration games. If November 4 opened the door to freedom, the ballot box must close the door to the dark past. This is the logical continuation of Jubani’s act: from the altar of conscience to new civic pacts.
Prisons as the trial of conscience
Jubani spent long years in the prisons of the dictatorship — not for crimes, but for faith. The regime’s goal was not merely physical isolation, but the breaking of conscience: renouncing his mission, signing recantations, maintaining public silence. He refused. Imprisonment transformed him into a witness of inner freedom: a man who does not negotiate with truth, even when the body is punished.
Why Catholicism was seen as a structural threat
In Shkodra, Catholicism was more than belief: it was culture, civic tradition, European memory. For a regime that sought total control, the presence of a moral authority outside the state (the Church) was intolerable. This explains the harsh persecution: priests executed or imprisoned, books and archives seized, lay networks dismantled. Yet the communal spirit survived.
) Jubani as a symbol of the “theology of freedom”
Dom Simon Jubani embodied an ethic of conscience: the conviction that religious freedom is the foundation of human dignity. He did not conceive of faith as a private sphere sterilized from politics; on the contrary, belief — as affirmation of truth — carries a public impact. This transformed him into a figure with resonance even for non-believers: a free voice in an enslaved country.
November 4, 1990: Breaking the threshold of fear
When Dom Simon Jubani celebrated the public Mass in the Church of Our Lady of Shkodra, the event operated on several levels at once:
Juridical-political: the “taboo” of prohibition was broken, imposing upon the state an accomplished fact.
Sensory-symbolic: the bells, the singing, the collective prayer — visible signals that fear had cracked.
Sociological: the massive presence of citizens created an “information cascade” (Kuran’s model): each saw that they were not alone.
Moral: the return of the sacred into public space restored to society the language of dignity.
It was not merely liturgy; it was a founding act of public freedom. In that moment, the Church regained its role as a safe communal space and as a matrix of hope.
The semiotics of “Our Lady of Shkodra”
Our Lady of Shkodra is not just a building of worship; it is an archive of the city’s memory. Its reopening in 1990 signaled the passage from spiritual illegality to public legality. In cultural terms, a central symbol of Shkodra’s identity was “reactivated,” capable of uniting generations and social layers beyond political divisions.
The regime’s reaction: control without frontal clash
The state apparatus responded with monitoring, pressure, and tactics of avoidance. Instead of an open strike (which would have produced a martyr and ignited revolt), it opted for image management: limited tolerance, surveillance of key individuals, efforts to present the event as a “local incident.” But the accomplished fact had already entered the public sphere.
Authority after 1990: moral, not clientelist
Unlike figures who suddenly emerged as “opposition” to the system, Jubani’s authority came from sacrifice, not deals. This made him a moral reference across party lines: a man who spoke to conscience, not to interest. In a transition where many roles were recycled, this distinction is essential to understanding why his figure remains credible.
Legacy: from liturgy to citizenship
Dom Simon Jubani’s teaching is twofold:
Religious: freedom of belief is non-negotiable; it is the foundation of humanity.
Civic: freedom must be made public, not hidden. The ritual of November 4 gave citizens a new way of being together in public, without permission from fear.
The games of the Sigurimi – infiltration, manipulation, and recycling of elites
The survival strategy of the Sigurimi
The State Security understood earlier that communism was collapsing. To survive, it employed a classic strategy: infiltration into the new movements. Instead of fighting the students openly, the Sigurimi inserted among them people who:
maintained secret contacts with the old structures,
reported on every move,
and created internal divisions.
The “occasional oppositionistsMany lecturers and individuals who until yesterday had been staunch supporters of the system suddenly appeared as “supporters of the youth.” Some of them later managed to become members of parliament, party leaders, even local leaders. This recycling was one of the greatest deceptions of the transition: those who had been instruments of repression now appeared as “symbols of change.”
Isolation of the uncompromising figures
Meanwhile, those students who had truly sacrificed, who had been persecuted or had taken upon themselves the strikes and the risks, were isolated, forgotten, even attacked. For some, false accusations such as being “collaborators” were fabricated in order to discredit them. In reality, they were the only ones who had no ties to the Sigurimi.
The game of “dividing the merits”
After 1990, the Sigurimi apparatus and the old structures manipulated the narrative:
Those who had been informants were presented as “student leaders.”
Those who had truly sacrificed were ignored.
Shkodër, which had been the first center of resistance, was overshadowed by the “students of December” in Tirana, where the games of infiltration were even stronger.
Long-term consequences: a deformed transition
This recycling created a hybrid political class: former communist lecturers turned into democratic MPs; former Sigurimi officers turned into businessmen or officials. This is the reason why the Albanian transition never produced a moral cleansing and why society always felt betrayed.
The inescapable call
This history leads us to a clear conclusion:
Democracy cannot be built on the recycled heads of the dictatorship.
The people must use the vote as a cleansing instrument.
Otherwise, the transition remains a game of the Sigurimi, where the victims are forgotten and the persecutors return as the elite.
