By Helion Terlaci
In 2016, Edi Rama called Donald Trump and politicians with anti-Muslim rhetoric “the shame of our civilization.” In 2025, the same Rama suggested that God had sent Trump on a historic mission, not only for America, but also for Europe. In January 2026, he praised Benjamin Netanyahu in the Israeli parliament, while critics accused him of ignoring the Palestinian tragedy in Gaza.
Now, after the US midterm elections, an ironic question arises: what will Rama say about Trump if his political fortunes change? Will he return to the language of 2016, once again declaring him the embodiment of evil and the American left a symbol of progress? Or does the divine mission remain in effect even when circumstances change?
The irony is poignant, but the problem goes beyond that. Pragmatism changes the means to preserve principles; opportunism changes principles to suit interests. When this logic permeates governance, loyalty risks taking precedence over integrity, power is personalized, and institutions weaken in the face of the will of the leader.
In Albania, after more than thirteen years in power, senior Rama associates have faced a series of scandals and criminal proceedings. Saimir Tahiri was convicted of abuse of office; Lefter Koka received sentences in the incinerator cases; Arben Ahmetaj, who fled Albania, has faced charges of corruption and money laundering; Ilir Beqaj and Erion Veliaj have been prosecuted; and Belinda Balluku has faced charges related to public procurement. The cases have different legal statuses, but together they raise an inescapable political question: how can Rama be the architect of every government success, but a politically innocent spectator of every scandal?
Here lies the paradox of personalized power: merits ascend to the leader, while responsibilities descend to subordinates. Rama exerts great influence over the selection of candidates for deputies, nominates ministers, and directs the executive. In such a system, responsibility for the quality of selection and supervision of associates cannot disappear after every scandal. He who concentrates the power to elect and appoint cannot distribute responsibility when his chosen ones are involved in scandals.
The incinerator affair exposes this problem beyond individuals. Investigations into concessions, procurement manipulation and illicit benefits have revealed mechanisms through which competition has been replaced by privilege. When proximity to power determines the beneficiaries of public money, corruption is not just individual abuse: it raises the problem of political oligarchy, where private interests influence state decision-making.
The influence of organized crime makes this relationship even more troubling. Drug trafficking, money laundering, and the risk of criminal interests infiltrating politics are long-standing problems in Albania, but after thirteen years of governance, they cannot be indefinitely justified as legacies. The OSCE/ODIHR report on the 2025 elections highlighted problems with fair competition, the use of state resources, and reports of pressure and vote buying. When economic privilege, criminal influence, and the distortion of political competition combine, the risk is no longer just corruption, but state capture.
Rama's relationship with Jared Kushner, Trump's son-in-law, and the tourism projects in Sazan and along the Albanian coast raise another question: where does diplomacy end and where does favoring private interests begin? When the investor is a relative of the American president, transparency on procedures and the use of public assets cannot be replaced by trust in the prime minister. Public interest must be proven, not simply declared.
The government’s defenders argue that the investigation of former ministers demonstrates the independence of the judiciary and the political will not to obstruct it. This argument deserves a response, but it confuses two different issues. SPAK’s investigations show that the judiciary can act even against powerful figures; they do not automatically prove that the government has functioned well in preventing corruption. The selection of leaders, the control of procurement, and the supervision of public assets remain the responsibilities of the government. A judiciary that punishes corruption is an achievement; a government that fails to prevent it requires accountability.
The comparison with Trump does not mean equating the two systems. The American president has faced criticism for conflicts of interest, family businesses and clashes with control institutions. The American system gives voters the opportunity to change the majority in Congress during the presidential term. In Albania, where the executive and parliamentary majority are closely linked, parliamentary control and the independence of the judiciary take on particular importance.
The proceedings against the collaborators do not automatically determine Rama's criminal responsibility, but neither do they allow it to be excluded a priori. If evidence emerges, his actions or inactions must also be subject to justice. Political responsibility, meanwhile, does not await the court's decision. The absence of a criminal conviction is not a certificate of political integrity.
The crucial question is what system Rama has built over the past thirteen years, which people he has elevated to leadership, which interests have benefited, and why scandals have recurred at the highest levels of power. Because the most serious failure of a leader is not just compromising his own principles, but creating an environment where loyalty is rewarded over integrity, privilege over competition, and silence over responsibility. Then corruption ceases to be just a matter of those who are caught. It becomes a matter of the system that raised them, protected them, or failed to control them.
Rama and Trump operate in different systems, with different counterweights, and cannot be equated either in the powers they exercise or in the responsibilities they bear. But comparing their public behavior highlights similarities that deserve attention. Trump has called the press the enemy of the people; Rama has publicly clashed with Reporters Without Borders, an organization that ranked Albania 83rd for media freedom in 2026, highlighting political attacks, lack of transparency, and threats against journalists. Beyond these episodes, the rhetoric of both is characterized by the personalization of merits, ridicule of opponents, and clashes with critics. However, the controversies that accompany their governments are not legally the same and require special consideration.
The Republican defeat in both houses of Congress on November 3, 2026, has changed the balance of political forces in Washington and provided a new counterweight to the Trump presidency. This does not predict Rama's political fate, but it does bring attention back to a truth that every leader must face: power is not eternal, and his legacy is not determined solely by the narrative he constructs for himself.
History is not a television studio where one can interrupt a journalist, insult an opponent, or change the subject when the questions become unbearable. It is not impressed by servility and does not confuse the applause of the court with the respect of the people. When the curtains fall, it will not matter how loudly they shouted, how many opponents they ridiculed, or how much greatness they attributed to themselves. What will remain is the balance of decisions, scandals, and institutions: what has been proven, what has remained unanswered, and what mechanisms have been strengthened or weakened in the face of corruption, organized crime, and abuse of power.
Because history does not measure the greatness of a leader by the power he has amassed, but by the state he has left behind: by the corruption he has fought or tolerated, by the freedom of the media he has protected or violated, by the economy he has opened to competition or subjected to privileged interests, and by the institutions he has strengthened or allowed to fade. In the end, the greatness of a leader is not proven by the strength of his power, but by the strength of the state that remains when he leaves.
