For several days now, there has been a fear that has been haunting Tirana. Who has been filmed? Who will come out? Who knows that a video of him exists and sleeps with the anxiety that tomorrow he will wake up on the phones of all of Albania? Then there are the others, those who are looking for names, who are waiting for the next video, who are passing on the warning that "there is more", sure of only one thing: that for the moment it is not them.
In the midst of this story, Blerina Matraku decided not to wait any longer. Her name had begun to circulate among the rumored names and she came out publicly: "Today I do not want to defend myself, I want to apologize." She apologized to the public, to Claudia and her daughters, took responsibility for what she considers her mistake and asked for the lynching to stop.
He could have remained silent, waited for the story to die down, for attention to shift to another name, for someone else to become the next target of the mob. He chose not to. And that is precisely the part that is worth separating from all the noise of these days: coming forward yourself at a moment when everything pushes you to hide and hope that the storm will pass by the other door.
There are people who live in fear that their name might be revealed, families who might expect a blow, and women who see what is happening and think that tomorrow it could be them. There are also those who remain silent, hoping that the wave will pass without touching them. Blerina Matraku chose to face it. She admitted what she thought she had to admit and apologized for what she thought she had to apologize for, without waiting to see if silence would save her.
Because it's always easier for someone else to do the first battle. Someone else to take the insults, to face the crowd, family, friends, colleagues and all that public trial that in Albania is set up within a few minutes. Then, when someone has taken the first blow and has broken through the wall, it becomes easier for others. But if there are women or men today who live with the same fear, they cannot wait endlessly for Blerina to bear the entire cost of the confrontation alone, while they watch from afar to see if she will spare their turn.
This story also touches on a very old Albanian wound: the fear of shame. We still weigh not only what we have done, but what our family, neighbors, colleagues, friends or people on social networks will say. Blerina herself showed how hard she had experienced this moment, when she wrote that she had left home and could not look her father in the eye. It was in that state that she chose to speak, instead of waiting in silence to see what would happen next.
Here is a lesson from #MeToo, without equating stories that are not the same. The movement started by Tarana Burke took on global proportions in 2017 precisely when people started speaking out one after another. The strength did not lie only in the first one who spoke, but in the fact that after her the others did not leave her alone. One voice made it easier for the other voice, until what until yesterday was kept hidden out of fear and shame could be said publicly.
And maybe this is the moment we are going through, in a completely different dimension and story. For days we have been waiting for the next name, the next video, the next woman on whom the entire weight of the crowd will fall. But much less are we wondering how many people are keeping quiet just because they hope that their turn will not come. Blerina Matraku interrupted this waiting for herself. She came out, admitted what she had to admit and apologized.
Perhaps her act will not stop the crowd, nor will it close this story. But it removes an alibi from those who wait in silence: that someone else must come to save them. Because fear becomes power only when everyone tries to save themselves. And it loses power the moment people begin to emerge from silence, no longer waiting for their turn.
