By Maks Velo
(Extract from the book “Spaçi", Pg. 151, 152, 153)
From
the long lines of prisoners in the camp, one man, who always got in the
unemployed line, really caught my attention. He was like one of Balzac’s
characters. I do not know why this thought got stuck in my head, but he was
slow moving, most often alone, and a man of few words. They told me he was
Ceni, Hysen Shoshori from Tirana. It was clear he was an inveterate prisoner,
lacking any outside support. At the end of mealtime, he would go over to the kitchen
counter, and if there happened to be some leftovers, they would give him an
extra tea ration. It was supposedly tea, but it was really more like cold water
with no sugar at all.
Hysen Shoshori
They told me his story. In April
1959, using a mimeograph, he typed up a flyer in which he exposed official
propaganda. He distributed these flyers throughout Tirana, until he was caught
in 1974. He would change up their scripts. During nighttime he scattered them
under the doors of private houses and apartments, and stick them onto walls,
pillars, and stairwells. He had even taken them to the Polish, Romanian,
Italian, and Yugoslavian embassies, among others. He would toss most of them
out onto parked cars while the embassies were hosting cocktail parties, or he
would send them over the embassy walls. He did this from 11pm to 1am and make
initial plans for distributing the flyers by changing up his neighborhood
route. News about these flyers was broadcast from “Voice of America,” Radio
Moscow,” “Radio Belgrade.”
State Security was on their toes.
They positioned themselves in places with clear views, from treetops to
apartments used for surveillance. It is now I realize what happened to me in
1966. It was winter, January to be exact, a gentle January like it is in
Tirana; it was delightful to be outside. It was close to 2 o’clock in the
morning, and I was under a tree near the Gallery of Arts. I was with a
girlfriend. We just had kissed when I heard a slight noise. I raised my head and
looked up to find a man on top of the tree. Without saying anything, I quietly
left.
They caught him on August 16, 1974
in the alley across from the ambulance building while he was sticking up a
flyer with two drops of glue. Ceni would place them either at the start of a
road or at the end. Security had climbed on the poplars near the former War
Museum. They jumped in front of him, laid him down on the ground, and beat him.
Kadri Ismailati handcuffed him, shoved him into a “Warsaw” car, and took him directly
to the Interior Ministry. There were special tools of torture in the cellars of
the ministry. All of them were inhumane, skilled criminals – Kadri Ismailati,
Ali Korbi, Koço Josifi, headed by Nevzat Haznedari. “Tell us your friends…” but Ceni had no
friends. They did not believe him. After the torture, they ordered Bujar
Shkaba, the doctor to “Save him, otherwise he is going to leave with the
investigation halfway complete”… “Urgently take him to the hospital…” The next
day Ceni was taken to the new prison dungeons on the second floor. He was
sentenced to be executed by firing squad. Death was salvation for him. However
the door of prison cell opened, and it was communicated to him that his life
was spared and he was to be sentenced twenty-five years in prison. They
expected a thank you, yet Ceni was deeply despaired. He wanted to die. Ceni
spent sixteen years in prison and was released in March 1991. He was among the
last inmates who were released from St. Vasil’s camp in Borsh.
What drew my attention most to
Ceni’s story was when I found out Ceni’s sacrifice – the cause that turned him
into an ardent enemy of the regime. He never forgave the communists for taking
his small piece of land, a fertile soil there on the hills; it kept Ceni always
dreaming.
AAFH Translation
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