No one would have imagined that two places, until a few months ago virtually unknown to the general European public the island of Sazan and the Narta-Zvërnec lagoon could become the center of the most significant popular mobilization Albania has seen in recent years. --- On one side, Sazan, the military island overlooking the entrance to the Strait of Otranto. On the other, Narta, a coastal lagoon home to one of the largest flamingo colonies in the Adriatic. Two places separated by dozens of kilometers, but united by the same destiny: to become the heart of gigantic tourism and real estate projects promoted by the investment fund linked to Jared Kushner, son-in-law of US President Donald Trump.
These projects have rapidly generated very different concerns. For some, the issue is the protection of fragile ecosystems and protected areas. For others, it is the progressive privatization of territories considered common goods. For others, the affair represents yet another episode in a long history of administrative opaqueness, intertwining political power and economic interests, and transformations imposed from above without the true involvement of local communities. Among the more radical sectors of the protests, geopolitical interpretations have even emerged that see the operation as a form of economic colonization and strategic control of the territory by foreign interests. The planned investment on Sazan Island is sometimes described as a sort of symbolic "conquest" of a space considered part of Albanian national identity, to the point of evoking, in some slogans and comments, the theme of colonization present in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.Interpretations aside, however, the most significant fact is another: in the space of a few days, a protest born to defend a lagoon and an island has transformed into an open challenge to the entire Albanian political system.
The spark ignites in Zvërnec. The appearance of fences and barbed wire in the areas affected by preliminary work sparks the first demonstrations. When images show citizens dragged to the ground by private security personnel while the police largely remain on the sidelines, the outrage spreads far beyond environmentalist circles and reaches a much wider audience through social media. From then on, the mobilization grows day by day. The initial local initiatives are joined by demonstrations in Vlora, Durrës, Shkodër, and finally Tirana. The squares fill up, especially with young people. Many do not belong to any political party. Many had never participated in a demonstration before. Others follow the events from abroad and help spread the word among the vast Albanian diaspora spread across Europe and North America. While the government continues to present the affair as a simple dispute over tourism investment, a growing segment of Albanian society begins to see it as a symptom of a much deeper problem.
What is striking is not only the number of participants, but the very nature of the demonstrations.
Those who observe the images from Tirana do not see the traditional backdrops of party mobilizations. Political flags are almost absent. Albanian flags dominate, along with homemade signs and the flamingos that have become symbols of the protest. Here and there, European Union flags can be seen, a few banners from the One Piece manga universe, and a very rare US flag carried by isolated groups, but no symbol capable of dominating the square.
Dominating the square are not the traditional symbols of the left or the right, but rather two seemingly distant images: the black eagle of the Albanian flag and the flamingo of the Narta lagoon. The eagle evokes a national community scattered between Albania and the diaspora. The flamingo evokes the defense of a territory threatened by speculation. Together, they describe a movement that seeks to reconcile belonging, the environment, and participation without fully recognizing itself in traditional ideological divisions.
This is probably the most interesting aspect of the mobilization.
Environmentalists, students, feminist groups, civic associations, returning emigrants, and ordinary citizens gather in the same space, without any organization appearing capable of imposing a common political line. Even the main opposition parties' attempts to establish themselves as leaders of the movement seem to arouse more mistrust than enthusiasm.
Neither Rama nor Berisha.
If the defense of the Narta Lagoon and Sazan Island was the initial spark, the real change emerged in the streets of Tirana. As the days passed, the slogans changed. Alongside demands to halt real estate projects in protected areas, slogans began to appear that questioned the entire Albanian political system. The most frequently chanted chants didn't just call for the resignation of Prime Minister Edi Rama. They challenged a political era that, in the eyes of many protesters, had lasted over thirty years.
"Rama në burg, Berisha në burg" became one of the most repeated slogans during the marches. The formula is significant. For over three decades, Albanian political life has been dominated by the alternation, conflict, or coexistence of the same ruling groups. On one side, the Socialist Party led by Edi Rama, in government since 2013. On the other, the Democratic Party of Sali Berisha, a central figure in Albanian politics since the 1990s. In the protests, however, this opposition is increasingly perceived as a false alternative.
In speeches from the stage, in interviews conducted by local media, and on signs displayed during the demonstrations, the idea recurs that both government and opposition are responsible for the country's current situation. Corruption, youth emigration, rising living costs, the housing crisis, and land privatization are blamed not only on the current government, but on the entire ruling class that has governed Albania since the end of the communist regime until today.
This is likely why the mobilization also poses challenges for the parliamentary opposition.
Initially, Sali Berisha observes the demonstrations cautiously. Later, he attempts to align himself with the protesters' demands and supports some of their environmentalist demands. The reception on the streets, however, remains cold. Anti-Berisha slogans continue to resonate alongside those against Rama, signaling a mistrust that appears difficult to overcome. For many participants, the problem is not just about who governs today, but the political model that has consolidated over the years.
The demands made during the demonstrations reflect this approach. Alongside the cancellation of projects in protected areas, there are demands for greater transparency in public decisions, more effective controls against corruption, oversight of the ruling class, and, in some interventions, even the possibility of a technical or transitional government. Naturally, the protests are far from homogeneous. Different, sometimes even incompatible, sensibilities coexist within them. Environmentalists, feminist groups, civic associations, nationalist groups, social activists, students, returning emigrants, and ordinary citizens share the same space without necessarily sharing the same vision of the future. What unites them, at least for now, is above all a rejection. The rejection of a politics perceived as distant, self-referential, and incapable of offering prospects to a generation that continues to see emigration as one of the few ways to improve their living conditions.
From this perspective, the Flamingo Revolution seems to express something that goes beyond the environmental issue alone.
The defense of the Narta Lagoon becomes the language through which a segment of Albanian society attempts to talk about itself, its expectations, and its relationship with power.
It's difficult to understand today what young Albanians really have in mind when, in the streets of Tirana, they obsessively chant "Revolution! Revolution! Revolution!" Many of them probably can't define it precisely. Perhaps they don't even know it yet. But after years in which European politics seems to have stopped even imagining change, hearing a new generation pronounce that word so stubbornly still has a particular effect. It brings to mind the idea that the future hasn't yet been completely decided. Naturally, the crucial question remains open: Are we witnessing a mobilization destined to fizzle out in a matter of weeks, or the birth of a new collective entity?
Building a Movement
Whether the Flamingo Revolution will leave a lasting mark on Albanian political life will depend on a very concrete issue: its ability to transform from a protest into a movement. Demonstrations can fill the streets for a few days or weeks. It is more difficult to build tools capable of surviving the initial outrage and ensuring the continuity of collective action. It is precisely in this context that the Albanian situation becomes particularly interesting.
One of the most significant aspects is the speed with which the mobilization began to equip itself with its own communication and coordination tools. The main websites, social media accounts, and platforms dedicated to the Flamingo Revolution appeared once the protests were already underway. They did not precede the mobilization: rather, they were its product. During the first few days, the website The Flamingo Revolution was also created , which collects a chronology of events, demands, a calendar of initiatives, and documentation materials. On the website, the movement explicitly defines itself as characterized by "decentralized leadership," a phrase that seems to describe the reality observed in the streets quite well. Thus far, no recognized leader has emerged capable of monopolizing the protests. Nor has an organization openly claimed ownership.
Alongside environmental activists, there are feminist collectives, civic associations, citizen groups, diaspora representatives, and smaller political organizations. Among these are groups like Lëvizja Bashkë , which openly support the mobilization but, at least for now, appear unable to dominate it.
The role of the diaspora also deserves attention. In the space of a few days, demonstrations and solidarity demonstrations appear in numerous European and North American cities. London, Berlin, Madrid, Milan, Rome, Padua, Boston, and other cities are hosting initiatives promoted by Albanian communities living abroad. For a country that has experienced significant emigration for decades, this is far from insignificant. Many of the young people protesting in Tirana today have friends or family who live and work outside Albania. The environmental issue is thus intertwined with broader issues: emigration, the housing crisis, the rising cost of living, the difficulty of building a future in one's own country, and the growing perceived distance between governments and the governed.
Even in the field of communication, as already mentioned, interesting elements are emerging. Alongside the official channels of mobilization, a network of creators, photographers, journalists, influencers, and videographers has developed, helping to document events and disseminate them well beyond the confines of the streets. Websites linked to the Flamingo Revolution even include sections dedicated to these public figures, a sign of recognition of the role they play in the movement's growth. Not all the profiles cited are activists. Alongside journalists, environmentalists, and creators, there are also bloggers, photographers, entertainment personalities, travel influencers, and figures from the world of communication and entertainment. Rather than a traditional leadership structure, a widespread communication community seems to be emerging, capable of rapidly connecting activists, the diaspora, and public opinion.
However, the crucial question remains. The streets exist. The slogans exist. The symbols exist. A communication network is beginning to emerge. Less clear is whether assemblies, territorial coordination groups, collective decision-making tools, and forms of organization capable of lasting beyond the emergency are also emerging. This is where the future of every movement is played out.
Recent history is full of mobilizations capable of filling the streets yet failing to outlast their own growth. Others, conversely, have managed to transform a protest into a lasting experience of participation and self-organization. Albania today appears to be in precisely this transition.
Perhaps this is also why Edi Rama has reacted so harshly against influencers and creators who have chosen to side with the protests. In a mobilization without recognized leaders, the ability to narrate events, disseminate images, and build consensus can become a political resource as important as a traditional organizational structure. And precisely for this reason, it represents a battleground that extends far beyond social networks.
When the Territory Rebels
What is emerging from the Albanian streets is not just the defense of an ecosystem.The strength of theFlamingo Revolutionlies not only in the protection of a lagoon or a few flamingos. It lies in having transformed a territorial issue into a collective demand for the right of communities to participate in the decisions that affect them. It's a dynamic we've already seen, in different forms and languages, in many other places in Europe: from the Susa Valley to the Strait of Messina, from Salento to Notre-Dame-des-Landes. These very different contexts share the emergence of movements challenging major projects, tourist developments, or territorial transformations presented as inevitable and decided without the real involvement of the affected communities.
In all these cases, the conflict wasn't just about an infrastructure, a construction site, or a specific project. Behind the contested project, a deeper question emerged: who decides the future of a territory, and in whose interest?
In Albania too, day by day, the debate seems to have shifted from the Narta and Sazan project to the country's development model. It's no longer just about resorts, investments, or luxury tourism. We're debating the relationship between citizens and power, between local communities and large economic interests, between democracy and decisions presented as inevitable.
From this perspective, theFlamingo Revolutionappears less like a Balkan exception and more like a new manifestation of the long period of social and territorial conflicts that has swept across contemporary Europe. From the struggles for territorial defense to the recent student protests in Serbia, similar questions emerge about democratic participation, political representation, and the ability of communities to truly influence the decisions that shape their future. These movements are very different, often lacking a single ideological stance, but united by the conviction that territory is not a mere commodity and that the communities that inhabit it have the right to participate in the decisions that shape its destiny.
Perhaps this is the question the Flamingo Revolution also poses to those observing from across the Adriatic: not whether Albania is for sale or not, but whether we are still capable of imagining that there exist places, landscapes, common goods, and communities that cannot be evaluated exclusively in terms of income, profit, or tourist appeal.
Between Narta, Ostuni, and the Susa Valley, languages, laws, and governments change. The questions remain surprisingly similar: who decides the future of the territories? In whose interest? And what space is left for those who inhabit those territories every day? Perhaps this is why the cry of "Revolucion!" resounding today in the squares of Tirana speaks to us too. Because the questions that permeate this mobilization participation, self-governance, bottom-up control of collective decisions are the same ones that anarchist federalism has always attempted to answer.
We don't know what the fate of the Flamingo Revolution will be. It could quickly fade away, transform into a new collective entity, or flow back into the traditional dynamics of Albanian politics. But one thing has already happened: a lagoon populated by flamingos has managed to bring back to the streets a word that seemed to have disappeared from the European political lexicon: Revolucion. And, with it, the question of who has the right to decide the future of a territory and a society.
Totò Caggese
https://umanitanova.org/flamingo-revolution-albania-sono-i-fenicotteri-a-chiamare-alla-rivolta/
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Source: A-infos-en@ainfos.ca
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