Here’s a careful and faithful English translation of your text: WHEN ALBANIAN CULTURE IS AT RISK: AN IDENTITY CRISIS THAT REQUIRES IMMEDIATE ACTION “Every ending is a door that opens toward a new beginning; cultures that lose their voice do not close—they await the hand that will bring them back to life.”

Here’s a careful and faithful English translation of your text:
WHEN ALBANIAN CULTURE IS AT RISK: AN IDENTITY CRISIS THAT REQUIRES IMMEDIATE ACTION
“Every ending is a door that opens toward a new beginning; cultures that lose their voice do not close—they await the hand that will bring them back to life.”
FLAMUR BUÇPAPAJ
There is a silent danger unfolding in Albanian society before our very eyes—without noise, without sufficient public debate, and without a clear institutional strategy: our national culture is losing ground to foreign products and an institutional void that neglects Albanian literature, film, and drama. This is not merely an aesthetic issue or nostalgia for the past—it is an identity crisis with long-term consequences for our language and values.
One of the most visible manifestations of this cultural shift is the massive presence of Turkish soap operas that have invaded Albanian television and daily programming. Since the early 2010s, series such as Gümüş, Ezel, Magnificent Suleiman, and Karadayi have been regularly broadcast on our screens and widely followed by Albanian audiences, capturing a significant portion of TV drama viewers. These series, with their extended dramaturgy, romantic themes, and family conflicts, have achieved major dominance in the prime-time slots of major channels—often surpassing domestic content. Around ten major Turkish soap operas have aired in Albania, setting a foreign narrative standard that frequently replaces local productions in the hearts of audiences.
In many cases, these series are designed for global export and serve as instruments of cultural “soft power,” fostering not only an appreciation for dramaturgy but also shaping perceptions of foreign countries’ norms, imagery, and social values. Sociologists studying these phenomena in the region have noted that Turkish series influence cultural perceptions and intercultural relationships, even affecting how audiences see themselves and their own values.
This dominance has tangible consequences. For many Albanians, prime-time television drama has ceased to be Albanian, and this occurs precisely in an environment where domestic film and drama production and distribution are sporadic and unstable. RTSH, the country’s public broadcaster, which plays a fundamental role in preserving national culture, often neglects its own productions in favor of imported content—despite the same platform being usable to strengthen the Albanian language and narratives.
Meanwhile, literature and art are often treated as peripheral phenomena, not as core components of society. There are writers, actors, directors, and playwrights who have contributed decades to our culture—and today live on small or nonexistent pensions, surviving on minimal salaries without adequate social support. In Albania, pensioners—including artists of the third age—rank among the most dissatisfied social groups, with a low level of happiness compared to others, reflecting the severe economic difficulties they face.
This situation is indicative of a system failing to support professional creators. Celebrating literature once a year or holding film festivals without a sustainable public policy is not enough. Every country that takes culture seriously ensures professional status for artists, writers, playwrights, and screenwriters—not just honorary titles, but financial support, social security, and real opportunities for ongoing creation.
In Western countries, this is not seen as “cultural socialism,” but as a wise public policy that preserves identity and produces strong creative spaces. A professional writer or playwright paid by the state is not an unnecessary expense; they are an investment in cultural memory, language, film, and the narratives passed to future generations.
Similarly, the creation of a real system for Albanian television and film production—where RTSH plays a central role—is essential. RTSH must prioritize the production of dramas, series, and films in the Albanian language that reflect our reality, history, and social dilemmas—not only for entertainment but to strengthen the public’s connection to its culture.
If we allow the small screen to be dominated by foreign soap operas while Albanian drama and film remain below minimal visibility, we will gradually lose the ability to communicate with each other in a language and form that belong to us. This is not a matter of personal taste; it is a challenge for preserving our cultural identity in a world where global narratives are powerful but not necessarily aligned with the needs of our nation.
Art is not a luxury—art is the foundation upon which a free, thoughtful, and feeling society is built, beyond immediate consumption. When the state remains silent in the face of a cultural void, foreign soap operas fill the space where Albanian should be spoken loudly—not just in form, but in content and intensity.
It is time to restore the prominence of the Albanian language, literature, and film; to support professional artists and creators with real status and fair pay; and to make our screens a home for dramas and films that speak about us, not just for outsiders.
If we do not act now, the loss of our cultural voice will be irreversible.