By Eraldo Xhelili
I don't want to talk about the affairs and tenders worth millions that take place in the open, for which there are pens that unravel them every day.
Nor about the control bodies that close their eyes every time they see violations, nor about the nepotism or conspiracies of offices that have replaced merit with mediocrity.
I want to talk about something else: About the specialist, and the reality in which he lives. About that part of the administration, which carries the weight of others' mistakes and the daily fear that the truth could cost them their job.
I believe that each of you has heard the expression "public administration" at least once, accompanied by a series of "good" comments, which circulate like urban legends, prejudices and stereotypes that are repeated in every conversation: incompetent people work there, people who do not touch the work with their hands, who abuse their position, who only know how to intrigue and not their duty. Where they wear high heels, where perfume stinks, designer clothes and ignorance are at their maximum.
The truth is that these are not entirely untrue, but they do not represent the entire system either.
In public administration, you have to be inside the system to understand how it works. From the outside, everything seems easy to judge; from the inside, any unnecessary word can cost you your job.
In this reality, those who suffer the most are the most honest, the most defenseless, on whose shoulders falls the entire weight of the guilt and responsibility of others.
When a citizen does not receive a service, who confronts him? The specialist. The one who is in the office, who signs, who must give an answer, who has no right to say “I don’t know”, who covers up all the shame of the system. The citizen, rightly, explodes: curses him, insults him, demands an account. But in the end, the one who curses does not know: he is cursing his own plight, not the real culprit. Because the reality is much more bitter. The specialist is not the one who does not work. He is the one who works to survive in a system that oppresses him every day.
The specialist is asked to sign documents that he has not read, because "there is not enough time".
He signs with fear, because the responsibility is his, but the order comes from above. (It happened to me, I am talking about a personal testimony in the first person and experienced under my skin).
A document he didn't prepare, a decision he hasn't seen, a signature that could cost him his career, but without it, the process stops, and in this system, the process never stops, no matter who gets burned along the way. The specialist is given a mountain of uncoordinated work.
A file that has no deadline, a report that was due yesterday, a checklist that changes every week, a plan that no one reads, and yet they have to do it “because it's required.”
Who requires it?
The director who doesn't even know what Excel is, but demands colored tables.
The secretary who hasn't read the law, but gives orders in tones. While the specialist, with a degree, certifications, and experience, ends up becoming a servant of mediocrity.
There are rare cases when he is in the office until the evening, but it is not called "overtime" because there is no official announcement of overtime.
In the morning he goes to work, in the afternoon to party meetings, and at dinner he reads manuals that his superiors have never opened.
He is the engine of the administration, but he is treated like a screw that can be replaced tomorrow.
When he disobeys an absurd order, three stages await him:
1. Moral pressure: you are not cooperative, you are hindering work, you have a negative attitude.
2. Silent coup: you are excluded from communications, isolated from decisions.
3. Transfer: justified with the cynical phrase: “The institution needs it.”
Even if you complain, they say: “Go to the Labor Inspectorate.”
The inspectorate comes, has a coffee with the director, looks around the office, greets them "about the hygiene rules," and leaves.
No questions, no defense, no real report. Because in this country, the law is for files, not for justice.
But the truth is even more absurd:
There are days when the specialist has no work at all in the office.
But that day is remembered.
Not for rest, but for anxiety.
Because when there is no work, suspicion arises: "What is being prepared?"
Where will they catch me?
"What plan is being made?"
In administration, the lack of work is a warning. It is the calm before the storm.
And the specialist's mind, that mind that never rests, keeps spinning, even when the office lights are off.
Because I know: in this system, the calm is always false. The specialist is the one who keeps the state afloat, but is never mentioned.
The one who trains himself, who reads, who learns, who takes care of every detail, but gets a third of the salary of the boss who doesn't know how to open Word.
The one who knows a lot is dangerous, because superiors feel inferior.
The one who knows the law better than a lawyer, but isn't invited to meetings because he "has no rank."
If he tells the truth, they call him problematic.
When he refuses abuse, they call him "conflictive."
When he doesn't keep quiet, they call him "political."
And when he still doesn't break it, they move him to some corner of the office, where he gets lost (unless they have managed to conspire to make him "immediately terminate his employment contract" or receive a "resignation request").
This specialist is the "phone that breaks" when the citizen receives bad news.
Because he is the closest.
The most vulnerable.
The one who appears guilty on the surface, but behind the scenes is as much a victim as the citizen himself.
Everyone talks about “reform in administration.”
But what reform?
A reform that makes the administration more obedient, not more capable.
A reform that punishes the specialist who asks “why”, but rewards the director who signs “yes”.
A reform that strips the public service of professionalism and clothes it with militancy, nepotism and servility.
If you look around the world, you see the same scene, with different nuances, but with the same structure: the knowledge worker, the honest man, is drowned by the incompetent bureaucracy.
Because mediocrity is global, and meritocracy is in crisis.
But in Albania, this is a comic tragedy.
This is the Albanian specialist: without a work plan, without clear objectives, without coordination.
With excessive volume, with unreasonable responsibilities, with daily pressure.
A man who has learned to no longer expect reforms, but to seek dignity.
Because he already knows: neither politics, nor the director, nor the system will save him.
Dignity is not a privilege, it is the oxygen of his work.
And when the oxygen runs out, the specialist fades away in silence, while the system, without shame, seeks “someone else to sign off”.
In Albania, public administration reform has become a word that sounds good in every official report, but in practice remains an old promise recycled with every new government. It is used as a card in front of internationals, but within the country, in every office, in every institution, the reality is another story.
Instead of a reform that is measured by professionalism, meritocracy and efficiency, we are faced with a tired and often fearful administration.
In theory, the civil service should be neutral, based on transparent competitions and objective performance evaluation. In practice, every step towards meritocracy is blocked by a “friend”, a “phone call”, or a “verbal order” that undoes every procedure. A job in the administration is no longer the result of professional preparation and this is precisely what has uprooted the public’s trust in the state and in the institution of public work itself.
Moreover, many employees who enter with honest efforts to do their job well quickly tire, not from the volume of work, but from the absurdity of the system: procedures that change every month, contradictory orders, hierarchies built on fear rather than professionalism. Within our institutions, conviction is more valuable than opinion, and silence is more important than argument.
Reform in the administration cannot be done with slogans. But by respecting the laws of the Labor Code, and even by improving them!
In the end, the question remains: who will have the courage to tell the truth, when the truth can cost you your job?
At the end of the day, public administration is not just a mirror of the state, but of our collective conscience.
A system that rewards obedience and punishes thought can produce neither reform nor service, but only apathy and corruption.
And perhaps that is precisely why, instead of merit, we have servility, instead of transparency, we have fear, and instead of reform, a facade.
And in conclusion, I tell myself, speak up, Eraldo, speak up, but deep down I know that the centuries-old situation of this administration, of this society, has so greatly influenced our collective consciousness, to the point that no one feels sorry for the specialist and he will continue to be abused by both the leaders and the citizen.
I hope I'm wrong and I hope you, my readers, you uncorrupted journalists, you clean media, you empathetic citizens, and I know there are very few of you, will prove me wrong.
