Because the drama is not only on the coast. It is not only about the flamingos, the lagoon, the luxury resorts or the iron fences. The drama is also in Tirana, in the heart of an area that was once sold as peace, greenery and clean air, but is now turning into an endless construction site. Dry Lake is not drying up from a lack of water, but from an excess of concrete. It is being suffocated every day by trucks, dust, noise, heavy machinery and permits that come down from above like orders to destroy even the little nature the capital has left.

Residents are not complaining about one more apartment block or one less. They are complaining about a way of governing. They are complaining that the roads are blocked by heavy-duty vehicles, that children can no longer go outside as they used to, that windows cannot be opened because of the dust, that the peace they invested in has been replaced by the noise of cranes. So the problem is not simply urban planning. It is social, economic, environmental and political.

In the olive-covered hills near Dry Lake, as Albeu.com has learned, excavation of the hillside has begun for the “Centaurea” project by the company “Bega-07” sh.p.k., owned by businessman Arben Muçobega.

This is a major construction project with 15 buildings of up to 9 floors, on an area of about 31,000 square meters of land and with nearly 94,000 square meters of construction above and below ground. This is not “development integrated with nature,” as marketing brochures usually package it. This is the classic formula of Albanian concretization: first you call the area green, then you advertise it as luxury, and in the end you hand it over to concrete.

This is where the greatest hypocrisy lies. For every such project, there is always a beautiful vocabulary: “harmony with nature,” “green lifestyle,” “new urban landscape,” “European standard.” But when the olive trees are removed, when the hills are flattened, when the landscape is destroyed and when residents live amid dust and without parking spaces, there is no marketing language left that can cover up the truth. The truth is that Tirana is losing its lungs, neighborhood by neighborhood, hill by hill, lake by lake.

Zvërnec shocked us because we saw violence in a brutal way: a citizen being dragged along the ground, private guards, fences, spray, a state appearing powerless in the face of private interests. But at Dry Lake the violence is quieter. It does not come with punches, but with permits. It does not drag people along the ground in front of cameras, but drags their lives through traffic, dust and noise every morning. It does not use pepper spray, but uses concrete as a weapon against the city.

And that is exactly what makes it more dangerous. Because when violence is visible, the citizen reacts. When violence comes with documents, decisions, signatures, 3D projects and luxury advertising, society often remains silent. This silence is our biggest problem. We are outraged when we see a body being dragged along the ground, but we do not react when an entire neighborhood is dragged toward concrete.

Dry Lake is the mirror of a Tirana that is being built without ideas, without soul, without infrastructure and without mercy for the citizen. Apartment blocks are built, but not schools. Luxury apartments are sold, but quality of life is not guaranteed. Construction sites are opened, but the community is not asked. Property prices rise, but the value of living falls. In the end, the citizen is left surrounded by walls, while those in power boast of development.

That is why Albanians have even more reason to protest, because it is not only Zvërnec. The same mentality that surrounds Zvërnec with fences is flattening the olive-covered hills at Dry Lake. The same government that talks about elite tourism on the coast talks about green residences built on concrete in Tirana. The same system that sees nature as merchandise sees the citizen as an obstacle.

Unfortunately, the years-long silence over unchecked construction in Tirana brought us the Zvërnec scandal. And today, you are protesting for Zvërnec, but turn your head toward Dry Lake as well. Because there, in silence, the same story is unfolding: Albania is being covered in concrete with permits, advertising and institutional smiles. And when a city loses its greenery, it does not lose only nature. It loses reason, breath and the future. /albeu.com/

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