Kurt's ex-militant breaks his heart out of his government, read how “is exploited” through a long writing

In a confession filled with disappointment and grave political and institutional accusations, Dervisaj says that after three years of non-stop work for Kurti's government, he realized that"bataccies"were not replaced, but joined, as the system continues to produce injustice, corruption and negligence.

Linking his disappointment even to the tragic loss of the boy, for whom he blames the health system, he calls on Kurt of"bre from the jeep", to see the real situation in hospitals, schools, courts and institutions, and closes the letter with the message: "Go, Albin, before you go into oblivion", showing that you already live as an exile in Berlin.

His full post:

Go, Albin

)

When we entered the second half of your decade in power, it's time to go.

Go as in April 2021, when you came to the Ministry yourself. You walked, confident, believing that you had big plans. We trusted you. Even without reservation. I trusted you three years of my life, with 13 to 14 hours of work a day, without stopping. But I'm just one. There are many others.

When you came that day, one sentence I said: “Prime Minister, two decades of hope has been in clinical death. ” I didn't close the sentence because everyone wanted to talk. Everyone wanted to show how long they had waited for that day and how much they wanted to sweat for the good of the land. I mean, it's up to you to kill him or keep him alive.

However, those who tried to show how much they wanted to do about this place and how long they had waited for it, I soon began to watch them fall one by one, as in battle with swords. They were one by one. They began to see something that took me three years to understand.

Three years. Every day. No days off. Just three days after my son's funeral, I stayed home. On the fourth day, I went to work. It seemed to me that every day more away from work would push the good of the country a century back.

In the end, though, it was that century of total lethargy. Without hope. People were starting to say: It's okay.” I watched as worms rose and eagles collapsed.

To them, Albin, hope was dead.

I kept believing. But today, Albin, I see the procession of hope the way I saw my son's procession, who was killed by the rotten health system. I didn't. I didn't write. Because I thought those bastards you came to replace were only there temporarily and that a functional system would be built.

Now, Albin, do you know what happened?

Those who murdered my son with negligence are today killing other children just to sell one more box of medicine.

Albin, almost nothing has changed. It's just now that your villains have become together with the rest of the Batak, and the cruelness has gone away. The lake around the citizen is just too tight.

So go, Albin. Get out of the jeep to drown your voice from the outside as soon as you get inside. Put on the Levis jeans and the black shoes you had the first day we saw them. Take off your set, roll your sleeves and walk a month, day after day, all over. Do the Gotham walk. On your feet, barefoot by court reports.

Starting from QKUK. Don't go where cosmetics are made. Go to Paddy. Go to gynecology. Know that nothing has changed. Learn how step - by - step children are killed for their mothers ' tension by not putting them to the east just to sell one more medicine. Or go to the waiting list office. Then go to the ambulance. See and understand that the wind resembles stables more than hygiene.

That's where you go to school. Know that nothing has changed. See how the foam is still on the board, and each year 6m euros for digitalisation are returned to the state ark. See schools closing one by one fall like paper towers from depopulation. Then go back to the minister. Ask him who heads the administration and realize that he is a person with an accusation of corruption. Recognize how a basket is bought the size of a wise television set. See how a m2 is paid double construction of a municipality. Go to universities and see how projectors are still old, X-ray walls and classrooms look more like entrances to nightclubs than university facilities. But like abandoned clubs from youth.

Then go to the courts. See archives full of moldy materials. A rotten system more like the world of Kafka than justice.

Out of the way. You have all you want. In Pec, Podujevo, Gjilan, Prizren. Look at them. To the black page. By the time the second mile ends, it collapses first. Roads that take more time to build than an entire city in a normal country.

And so on. Travel.

And finally, get out of the fancy neighborhoods where your ex-ministers and your first ministers live and realize that their world and that around here is completely different.

When you've gone everywhere, realize that the situation is not nearly what courtiers tell you. Then think it over if you want to get back to your father. But remember: he can turn you down when you least expect it.

Promises are no longer enough; real results, responsibility, and change are needed.

So go, Albin. Go before you go into oblivion.

And if you don't go, at least I, like a former soldier of the trade garrison, have a clean conscience. I have the clear conscience I've told you, even if only through this letter.

You know what they mean: “is sold. Buyed.” No, Albin. I'm neither sold nor bought. You, if you trust them. In the handle, open your eyes to this little cat you've got in front of yourself. And then you closed your eyes and saw another reality.

When I saw that the ground under my feet was falling apart, and that where I was the enemy, justice was done, I left everything behind. I left my son's grave. I left it in the poplar's shade. I left my father's mother's mother with flowers every month. Just a bag of two shirts, a pair of pants, and two books I took with me. I wore the marble uniform and started from the beginning.

Hello from Berlin.

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