Halit Valteri slams Belinda Balluku: The man-eating minister—we must put a stop to this dragon devouring power and people!

Former MP Halit Valteri has responded with a lengthy social media post, this time recounting a story that, according to him, began with a conversation at one of the tables in Tirana’s Rogner Hotel.

Valteri describes an episode in which a well-known business figure referred to a minister as “the man-eating minister,” before turning this metaphor into a broader criticism of the way in which, according to him, power is concentrated and extends its reach over people, institutions and businesses.

According to VoxNews, Halit Valteri is implying that he is referring to Belinda Balluku, who, in his view, has become a dragon that devours power and people.

Halit Valteri’s post:

Yesterday, I was sitting at one of those tables at the Rogner where morning coffee is often accompanied by business conversations, phone calls, meetings and stories that usually never leave the table. The atmosphere was calm, the coffee had just been served, and the conversation had begun like an ordinary business meeting. We were talking about work, people, projects and that complicated world where business and politics often meet, sometimes openly and sometimes in hushed tones. After my conversation with the person who had invited me, a well-known figure from the capital’s business community joined us at the table. At first, the conversation continued normally, with the jokes and comments that usually accompany coffee among people who have seen and heard a great deal. But at one point, in the middle of the conversation, a phrase I had never heard before was uttered: “The man-eating minister.”

I heard it, chuckled at the way it was said, and expected it to pass as a joke made over coffee. But it did not. On the contrary, the longer the story continued, the more that phrase began to take on a different meaning. Because this was not simply about someone who had power, influence or a strong character. It described an entity that, according to that account, had an appetite that knew no bounds. An entity that did not devour only men. It swallowed up ministers, directors, officials, businesspeople, drivers, workers—anyone who stood in its way. And that reminded me of the fairy tales of my childhood, those in which the black dragon emerges from the darkness and does not ask who you are, where you come from or what you have done. It sees you, grabs you and swallows you whole. Except the dragon in this story was more modern. It did not feed on flesh. It fed on power.

First it devours one person, then another, followed by a female director, an official, a businessman. It draws one person close, makes another dependent, places someone in a position, opens a door for one person and closes it for another. A phone call, a signature, an appointment, a contract, a favor, a silence. And with every bite, the dragon grows. At some point, it no longer needs to devour people. It is enough to have them under its control. Because the most sophisticated form of power is not to eat you. It is to make you believe that you cannot live without it.

But a dragon with such an appetite cannot stop at people. After people come institutions, directorates, offices, procedures and decision-making. And that is where the metaphor becomes more serious. Because when power begins to devour institutions, we no longer merely have a story about powerful people. We have a problem with the state itself. The institution that is supposed to serve citizens becomes a tool of power. A procedure that should be the same for everyone begins to have exceptions. The law begins to look big to the weak and small to the powerful. And so, bite by bite, the dragon no longer devours individuals. It devours equality before the state.

Then comes wealth. Apartments, villas, cars, yachts, properties and money. Euros, pounds, francs, lek. For such an appetite, the currency does not matter. What matters is the opportunity to take. Because when power becomes an instrument for enrichment, the line between what is public and what is private begins to blur. A public decision can be seen as a private opportunity, a position as capital, an institution as territory, a relationship as an investment and a privilege as a right.

And then the dragon begins to grow rapidly. Because the dragon is never satisfied. When it gets one office, it seeks another. When it controls one institution, it seeks another. When it has one business close to those in power, it seeks another. When it has one property, it seeks a second. When it has one million, it seeks a second. And when it has people who obey it, it also seeks those who still do not. This is the paradox of unchecked power: it does not always need to be hungry; it is enough that it does not know when it is full.

The dragon of fairy tales has seven heads. The modern dragon may have many more. One head for power, one for money, one for influence, one for institutions, one for business, one for people and another for silence. Because without silence, the dragon would find it much harder to survive. It needs darkness, it needs fear, it needs people who see and remain silent, people who know and pretend not to know, people who say: “That’s politics.”

But it should not be this way. Because politics is not a table where some eat while others wait their turn. The state is not the property of whoever holds the most power. Institutions are not extensions of personal interests, and citizens are not food for anyone’s appetite.

In old fairy tales, the dragon ultimately faced the hero. In real life, there is not always a hero who arrives at the last moment with a sword in hand. There are laws, institutions, the media, justice, citizens and people who must speak out. And above all, there is light. Because the dragon may be powerful in the darkness, but the light makes it visible.

Therefore, the question we should ask is not only how much this dragon has devoured. The real question is how much we will allow it to devour. Because the moment power begins to devour people, wealth, institutions and ultimately the state itself, we no longer merely have a story about a “man-eating minister.” We have the story of a society that must decide where to draw the line. And that line must be clear: power exists to serve the state, not to devour it.