Out of the Cave: The Many Lives of Surviving Islamic Artifacts in Post-communist Albania

For a year now, I have been working with friends and colleagues to establish a museum of Muslim cultural heritage in Albania, an initiative led by the Konak Institute, a volunteer-based project founded a year ago. Given current debates about the colonial roots of museums and the place of religious objects in such institutions, the question inevitably arises: why establish a museum? What narrative would such a museum seek to convey? What types of objects should be mobilized to tell that story?

The story of the Sleepers of Ephesus—a group of young men who, according to both Christian and Muslim traditions, took refuge in a cave to escape religious persecution and were miraculously preserved in a state of suspended animation—serves as a compelling allegory for the proposed museum. Upon awakening years, decades or centuries later, the Sleepers emerged as living symbols of divine favor, resilience, and enduring faith. The museum project in Tirana—dedicated to artifacts that survived the violence of Albania’s communist era—draws inspiration from this narrative, which provided the curatorial framework for our inaugural exhibition launched in April 2024.[1]

Among the exhibited items were two calligraphic works in the shape of boats, each inscribed with the names of the Sleepers. Their narrative echoes across the stories of many of the artifacts themselves—objects that were protected by individuals who risked state persecution to preserve them. It resonates also with episodes of silent human resistance under communist rule, involving prominent imams and ordinary individuals. Two brothers and their families reportedly lived for years in hiding, quite literally taking refuge in caves in the mountains of central Albania. An imam who, from the moment he was freed from prison, never left his home.[2] A yorganci (quilt – maker) in the Old Bazar who would begin his daily life in the same fashion for as long as he could remember: praying sabah (fajr) prayer in the mosque and opening his shop in the Old Bazar. With the closing of the mosque and the destruction of the Bazar he found no reason to leave his home until the day he died, some forty years later.[3]

Yet, the collection also embodies multiple, often competing narratives of heritage. At its center is the personal commitment of an Albanian imam, Saimir Ismaili, who, over more than a decade, assembled this collection and now offers it as an endowment to establish a museum. His own story adds a further layer of complexity. Following a heated sectarian campaign, he was dismissed after 17 years of service to the Kokonozi Mosque due to his affiliation with the Rifai Sufi Order. His story is representative of a post-communist dominant Muslim religiosity in Albania, socialized in globalized searches for an authentic Islam of the generation of the Prophet – the Salaf – that sees this Sufi heritage with suspicion. Within this religious framework, the artifacts in question—tombstones, manuscripts, talismans, and calligraphy—may be seen not as cherished relics, but as deviations from a presumed orthodoxy.

In the process, tombstones have been vandalized, mosque frescoes scraped away, and talismans of intricate beauty burned—all in the name of purifying Islam. At the same time, the collection includes manuscripts donated by the descendant of a distinguished Ottoman scholarly family whose ancestors served as judges as far as Yemen. These texts point to an overlooked legacy of Ottoman cosmopolitanism and transregional intellectual exchange.

The museum project also brings to the fore the longstanding neglect of Islamic heritage in Albania’s post-communist period. Islamic cultural legacies have often been regarded as culturally inferior or incompatible with the country’s aspirations toward European integration. Finally, the collection’s current vulnerability also speaks to the threat posed by private collectors—mostly foreign—who see such artifacts as commodities rather than as elements of a shared cultural patrimony.

The very idea of housing these objects in a museum introduces additional conceptual challenges. What does it mean to display devotional objects in a secular institutional space? How is their meaning deciphered? How are objects selected and arranged? Museums, by their very nature, are sites of displacement, and in this case, they also risk reinforcing the processes of violent secularization that originally led to the removal of these items from the contexts for which they were produced.

Communist Iconoclasm and Heritage Hierarchies.

Albanian sociologist Enis Sulstarova has depicted Albanian modernity and nationalist thought in the wake of Ottoman imperial collapse and since, as an “escape from the East,” in pursuit of “acceptance in Europe.”[4] This movement encapsulates the dilemma articulated by historian Nathalie Clayer in her analysis of the formation of a Muslim-majority nation within Europe.[5] The history of late 19^th and 20^th century Balkans has been depicted by historians like Justin McCarthy as a story of ‘De-Islamization,’ following the ethnic cleansing and forced migration of the Muslim population towards Turkey.[6]

The end of the Second World War and the communist victory marked the beginning of a new era. In his recent work, The Sacralization of Politics in Communist Albania, Doan Dani argues that the regime’s anti-religious campaign—culminating in the 1967 prohibition of religion and codified in the 1975 constitution—represented more than a mere rejection of religious practice. Rather, it signaled the emergence of a new, quasi-theological form of mono(a)theism. The exiled writer Arshi Pipa famously characterized this ideology as a belief system in which “There is no God, and Enver Hoxha is His Prophet.” [7] This sacralization of politics profoundly shaped Albania’s national narrative, fostering a sense of collective destiny akin to a form of civil or public religion.[8] Thus, the communist regime’s anti-religious violence constituted more than political repression. It represented a form of truth claim with deep cultural ramifications.

The anti-religious campaign included political persecution of clergy, prosecution of religious practices, and destruction of material culture.[9] One of the most significant campaigns against Muslim heritage in the capital, Tirana, was the complete demolition of the Old Bazaar, along with its mosques, tekkes, and churches. Communist propaganda juxtaposed the imagery of collapsing minarets with the rising cranes of socialist modernity, symbolizing the creation of a new city atop the ruins of the old.[10] The Dutch art historian Machiel Kiel, who managed to secretly sketch a number of Muslim heritage sites before their destruction, documented these events with both scholarly precision and emotional resonance. Reflecting on the fate of the Mosque of Peqin—once among the most architecturally impressive Ottoman-era mosques in Albania—he wrote:

From the time of the Cultural Revolution in 1967, I remember the long minarets fallen across the main streets of Shkodra, blocking traffic. Elsewhere, we saw leaflets with instructions on how to demolish minarets. We were not allowed to photograph these leaflets. In 1967, I visited the Mosque of Peqin, still displaying all its glory. By 1978, the mosque had been destroyed, although the courtyard (sahn or hajati), adorned with beautiful typical Albanian frescoes, had been converted into a coffeehouse. In 1983, everything had been razed—evidence that the forces of destruction had prevailed over those of preservation. In my studies of Ottoman architecture in Albania, I have described the destruction of mosques in places like Kavaja and Peqin as an ‘Aztec barbaric sacrifice,’ in which the priest rips the beating heart from a living body.[11]

The destruction encompassed, in addition to mosques, churches and tekkes, cemeteries, soup kitchens, madrasas and libraries.[12] Kiel’s dramatic description underscores the symbolic and emotional violence of the era’s cultural devastation—violence that reverberated far beyond the physical demolition of heritage sites, reshaping the cultural and religious landscape of the nation for generations to come.

“While the regime’s war on religion was grounded in a Marxist conception of history and scientific progress, the communist politics of cultural heritage in Albania reflected a distinctly Eurocentric view of cultural hierarchies.”

While the regime’s war on religion was grounded in a Marxist conception of history and scientific progress, the communist politics of cultural heritage in Albania reflected a distinctly Eurocentric view of cultural hierarchies. By 1967, the officially recognized religious monuments under state protection included 9 mosques, a single site affiliated with Sufi orders, none associated with the Bektashi order, 117 Orthodox churches, and 10 Catholic churches. Notably, the Mosque of Peqin, or the mosque in Kavaja, referenced by Machiel Kiel, were not included among the protected sites.[13] In Tirana, only one mosque from the former Old Bazaar—the Hajji Ethem Bey Mosque—was spared from demolition. Its preservation appears to have been due largely to the intervention of Gani Strazimiri, an architect affiliated with the Institute for the Protection of Cultural Monuments.[14] Following the collapse of the communist regime, the widow of the communist dictator, Enver Hoxha—herself a prominent political figure and close collaborator—noted in an interview that, while the war on religion had indeed been consistent with the regime’s revolutionary ideology, certain forms of religious art, particularly Eastern Orthodox icons, were nevertheless recognized for their cultural value. As a result, a former church in the southeastern city of Korça was converted into a museum dedicated to Orthodox iconography, one of two similar museums that remains active to this day.[15] As Elton Hatibi has argued:

Despite being a militantly anti-religious regime, Albanian communism— even during its autocratic phase in the 1970s and 1980s—invested significantly in maintaining a presence within the broader cultural discourse of the European continent when it came to the use of national cultural assets. Alongside the rigid, ideologically driven construction of a society tailored to the needs of the regime, a more conciliatory approach toward cultural heritage—particularly Eastern Orthodox Christian heritage—can be observed during the period of international isolation. Following a hysterical campaign against religious heritage that culminated in the late 1960s, the subsequent decades witnessed the establishment of several museums that accommodated elements of the country’s Orthodox spiritual legacy. Iconographic museums were opened in the cities of Berat and Korça, while a complete wooden iconostasis was installed in the permanent collection of the National Gallery of Figurative Arts in Tirana. This valuable yet culturally and religiously decontextualized heritage was transformed into another window through which the regime sought to communicate with the outside world…[16]

An integral component of the communist regime’s campaign against religion in Albania was the formation of socialist subjectivities—a modernizing project grounded in key Enlightenment ideals, including the emancipation of individuals from religious belief, the “education of the new generation,” and the creation of the “new [socialist] man.” This endeavor was celebrated as “the [Communist] Party’s greatest achievement.”[17] Through extensive social engineering, the regime aimed to produce a disenchanted generation—one that would eventually lead the country’s post-communist transition.[18] This new elite reflected the worldview of the state-sponsored atheism, and upheld a Eurocentric value system. This worldview often translated after the fall of communism into a political—if not spiritual—affinity toward Christianity (the religion of Europe) and, correspondingly, a dismissive or antagonistic attitude toward Muslim spiritual and cultural heritage. This disposition was reinforced by global narratives such as the “clash of civilizations” and by the Albanian political and intellectual elite’s determination to align the country with the perceived “right side” of the global political divide.[19] These dynamics contributed to the marginalization of Islamic heritage in post-communist Albania, reflecting broader geopolitical and cultural anxieties about belonging, modernity, and civilizational identity.

Relevant to our investigation, this cultural and political orientation is also reflected in the current government’s politics of memory, particularly in the allocation of state funds for the restoration of religious heritage sites. This pattern is readily observable in reports by the National Institute of Cultural Heritage.[20] While notable restoration efforts have been undertaken for Muslim cultural sites, these projects have rarely been funded by the Albanian government’s designated public funds or by grants provided by the European Union. Instead, they have often relied on support from the Turkish Cooperation and Coordination Agency (TIKA). TIKA’s approach to restoration merits a separate and more extensive inquiry, as it has attracted criticism regarding both the quality of its work and its sensitivity to original aesthetic elements. Earlier TIKA representatives have openly criticized Saudi-funded restoration efforts for attempting to obscure or erase the Ottoman character of historic mosques. However, subsequent TIKA-led projects have themselves been subject to similar critiques.[21] Meanwhile, the Albanian government is building two museums dedicated to celebrating Jewish life in Albania – all 170 of them among the inhabitants of Albania today. On the other hand, there is no declared plan to invest in a museum that recognizes the cultural heritage of the majority Muslim population. As foreign visitors to the National Museum in Tirana observe, five centuries of Ottoman presence in Albania are absent in the museum. Meanwhile, important surviving cultural sites, like the building housing the ethnographic Museum in Kruja, Tirana as elsewhere, are depicted as typically Albanian. The Ottoman dimensions in the architecture of entire cities in Gjirokastra or Berat are erased from the official narratives.

The Dilemmas of a Museum Project

When I first moved to Berlin a year after the 2015 migration crisis, a friend shared with me an incident she had witnessed at the Berlin’s Museum of Islamic Art. A group of Syrian refugees had been invited to the museum as part of a series of goodwill initiatives designed to foster a sense of welcome in response to growing anti-immigrant sentiment across Germany. The visit happened to coincide with one of the five daily Muslim prayer times. Upon encountering the striking turquoise Konya mihrab on display, a few of the visitors prepared to pray. However, they were promptly stopped by museum staff and informed that prayer was not permitted in that space. This incident highlights the museum’s role as a secular institution in which devotional objects are decontextualized—stripped of their original religious function and significance. Such practices often result in the erasure of the intention and purpose endowed by those who originally commissioned or used these objects.

Among the few surviving objects in our institute’s collection is a candle-holder donated by the daughter of Sulejman Pasha, the founder of the mosque (established in 1604) that, along with a hamam and a bakery, marked the foundation of Tirana as an urban center in the early seventeenth century. The mosque sustained serious damages during the Second World War and was subsequently demolished under the communist regime. Today, the only remaining monument from the mosque’s adjoining cemetery—a solitary tomb—has been absorbed into one of the towering new developments that now dominate Tirana’s skyline, serving as a stark symbol of Albania’s post-communist neoliberal urban transformation. To the best of my knowledge, the candle-holder is the sole material object to have survived from the original mosque complex.

In the current political climate—shaped by contested real estate interests and the identity politics of post-communist Albania—the possibility of restoring the mosque and returning the candle-holder to its original context, as advocated by figures such as Amra Hadžimuhamedović in Bosnia who champion heritage practices as investments in spiritual and communal afterlives, appears unfeasible. What, then, is to be done with this object? What forms of care, display, or interpretation might meaningfully engage its historical and spiritual significance, while accounting for the complex cultural and political terrain in which it now exists? The idea of a museum appears as an opportunistic compromise in the absence of restorative options.

I do not subscribe to the notion that the “museumification” of religion constitutes a form of recontextualization equivalent to “sacralization.” [22] However, the modern museum’s primary function as a storyteller presents creative opportunities for engaging the public with sacred narratives. Can a museum, then, convey the Qur’anic sacred history that these objects were originally intended to communicate, particularly when they were produced for religious spaces—such as mosques or shrines—that no longer exist? As museums increasingly strive to become visitor-centered institutions, is it possible for such storytelling to meaningfully engage audiences who may be unfamiliar with the religious traditions represented? Furthermore, how can a text-based narrative resonate with a public that may no longer recognize the script, comprehend the narratives, or interpret the symbols embedded within these objects?

In 2024, the Turkish and Albanian governments officially inaugurated the new Grand Mosque of Namazgja in Tirana. Although construction had been completed nearly a decade earlier, the Turkish government—reportedly the primary donor, contributing approximately 30 million euros—had delayed the mosque’s opening due to its opposition to the Gülen Movement, which leads Albania’s official Muslim representative body, the Muslim Community of Albania (KMSH). The mosque was ultimately inaugurated by Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan and Albanian Prime Minister Edi Rama.[23] It is now administered by a foundation composed of Turkish representatives and Albanian affiliates unaffiliated with the Gülen Movement.

The original project envisioned the inclusion of a museum and a library within the mosque complex, alongside several commercial units and a parking facility intended to support the mosque’s financial sustainability. While designated spaces exist—a museum/exhibition hall and a two-story library area—these components remain incomplete due to the withdrawal of Turkish funding, reportedly owing to budgetary constraints.

The Konak Institute proposed using the available space to establish a Museum of Islamic Art and Heritage. After more than six months of negotiations, our proposal has neither been formally accepted nor rejected. Setting aside the specifics of those negotiations, our proposal was shaped by the understanding that placing the collection within a mosque complex would return devotional objects to a sacred setting. Moreover, such an institution could potentially offer historical and cultural depth to a newly built mosque that exists within a politically fraught context.

“…our proposal was shaped by the understanding that placing the collection within a mosque complex would return devotional objects to a sacred setting.”

Setting aside the question of space, the first exhibition we launched a year ago in a private gallery offered a number of valuable insights. Initially, I was skeptical about the capacity of a post-communist public to engage meaningfully with the material we were presenting. “Do not underestimate the public,” the curator we collaborated with, Lauresha Basha, advised me—and she was ultimately proven right. Public interest exceeded expectations; visitors expressed a sense of both vague familiarity and new discovery. The Qur’anic story of the Sleepers of Ephesus offers a compelling metaphor: upon awakening, it was the obsolete coinage they brought to the market that sparked public curiosity. Similarly, our exhibition invited viewers to encounter objects that, while historically distant, still resonated in meaningful ways.

As we continue to await a decision regarding the proposed space, we have remained engaged with the question of storytelling. As Beverly Serrell has argued, audiences respond most effectively to clearly articulated “big ideas.” The central narrative that these objects were originally meant to convey is the sacred history of humanity—from the primordial covenant with the Divine (alastu bi-rabbikum) to an eschatological future. Even seemingly modest or damaged artifacts bear witness to this overarching story. A delicately embroidered yet almost naïve calligraphic inscription on silk of the well-known devotional verse law lā-ka (“if not for you [O Muhammad]”), along with several weathered tombstones, speak to this cosmic narrative. A depiction of a feminine Buraq—the mythical steed of the Prophet—serves as a visual reminder of the Prophet’s ascension during the Night Journey (Mi‘raj), a spiritual ascent that, through prayer, remains open to everyone.

I find Brent Plate’s characterization of religion in museums as merely a historical category within human evolution to be, therefore, unsatisfying. Similarly, the grand narrative that religious objects seek to convey need not be diminished to the level of spectacle, as is often the case in religious theme parks.[24] While it is indeed essential for museums to contextualize objects historically, the narratives these objects were originally intended to communicate often transcend the realm of empirical documentation.

In this context, I would also like to problematize Pamela Klassen’s assertion that “museums narrate religion with an authority that comes from their attempts to distance themselves from religion, as secular institutions. A secular museum’s authority comes from scholarly or scientific knowledge, and not from institutions, hierarchies, and orthodoxies understood as religious.” [25] Klassen’s observation overlooks the potential for museums to engage with religious traditions from within—particularly as Western academia increasingly acknowledges the legitimacy of studying religion from internal perspectives. There is no compelling reason to exclude such approaches in preservation efforts and curatorial initiatives. In this regard, the Swedish scholar Helena Wangefelt Ström has identified three distinct approaches to the presence of religious objects in museums, offering a useful framework for reconsidering how these institutions might more holistically engage with the sacred dimensions of material culture.

The first model builds on the museum as a killing of previous identities, and the objects as provided with new identities as museum objects. A second model is the hybrid identity, where a museum object can possess several identities simultaneously, depending on the eyes of the beholder: sacredness, art object, or evidence of history. The third model is defined by the uses of objects.[26]

The metaphor of the Sleepers of Ephesus that we have employed deliberately rejects the first of Ström’s models—not only in terms of scholarly methodology but also in recognition of the history of ideological violence that many of these objects carry with them. The hybrid identity of the museum, as articulated by Helena Wangefelt Ström, offers a more inclusive and audience-centered framework, one that is less prescriptive in its interpretative stance. This model does not negate the original intention behind the production of religious objects, nor does it alienate those who may not share in the theological or cultural narratives these objects represent. Rather, it affirms an aesthetic and affective dimension that transcends specific doctrinal or cultural boundaries.

As Adina Langer observes, modern museums increasingly embrace their educational mission by envisioning a curious, non-expert audience—individuals eager to learn about unfamiliar people, places, and ideas, yet capable of recognizing a shared humanity. The human search for the divine, for transcendence, and for participation in sacred history is a universal impulse, manifested in diverse forms across different historical and cultural contexts. While the objects on display reflect this enduring drive toward sacred meaning, they also point to particular local traditions and historical specificities. Consider, for example, the double-headed eagle, prevalent in the Albanian flag, formed from the Arabic names of the Ahl al-Bayt—the family of the Prophet Muhammad. This flag once belonged to Ahmet Shkodra (d. 1927), a Rifaʿi shaykh. Or take the cigarette box engraved with the Bektashi tughra alongside the image of Stalin—an object that captures the complex entanglements of political ideology and spiritual identity. These are but two among many compelling examples that illuminate the layered histories and hybrid meanings embedded in such artifacts.

Contentious Histories – Work in Progress

In an interview I gave last year on the occasion of the first exhibition of our collection, I sought to emphasize that the objects on display speak not only of beauty and the human search for the divine, but also of a history marked by political violence.[27] The candle-holder mentioned earlier, for instance, evokes the memory of the now-destroyed mosque and the lives of those who once worshipped there, such as Bayram Cela, the yorgancı (quilt maker) of the Old Bazaar. The question we continue to ask ourselves is: how might the future museum we are working toward effectively narrate this history of violence—a history that contextualizes both what has been preserved and what has been lost? To omit this dimension would render the story incomplete and would forgo a crucial opportunity for education and reflection.

This project remains a work in progress; the story is still being written—and crucially, it is not meant to be finalized. One way we have begun to explore and articulate this narrative is through a new exhibition we opened just a few weeks ago in Tirana.[28] Intended as a foundational component of the future museum, this exhibition presents a collection of visual materials from communist-era media that were used during the regime’s anti-religious campaign to legitimize violence against religious institutions, practices, and communities. These images—part of the regime’s indoctrination apparatus—became icons of the communist form of “mono(a)theism,” a secular faith grounded in ideological absolutism. As several visitors to the exhibition ironically noted, some of the images on display could easily be repurposed by contemporary far-right parties in Europe as part of their Islamophobic rhetoric.

“What are the potential dangers embedded in political promises of emancipation, modernization, progress, and liberation—ideals so central to the Communist narrative, and indeed to many ideological descendants of Enlightenment thought?”

The project aimed to prompt critical introspection on the notions, visual representations, and inherited assumptions that continue to shape how Islam and Muslims are perceived and discussed in contemporary Albanian society. What are the potential dangers embedded in political promises of emancipation, modernization, progress, and liberation—ideals so central to the Communist narrative, and indeed to many ideological descendants of Enlightenment thought? The story of those promises—and the violence they produced—is embedded in the broader narrative of the Muslim experience that the museum seeks to convey. Storytelling, after all, is rarely about the past alone. It is fundamentally about the creation of meaning, the cultivation of memory, and the invitation to reflect in and for the present.

Besnik Sinani is an AIWG fellow at the Center for Islamic Theology, Tübingen University, currently working of modern sīrah. He is the author of the forthcoming monograph “Sufism in Saudi Arabia Since 1979: the Politics of Orthodoxy in Contemporary Islam” to be published by Brill in 2025. He is also the co-founder of the Albanian-based Konak Institute for Education and Heritage.

[1] The curatorial essay was written by the Albanian poet, Ervin Hatibi. See Besnik Sinani, “Shoket e Shpelles”, Peizazhe te Fjales, April 8, 2024. https://peizazhe.com/2024/04/08/shoket-e-shpelles/ (Accessed on April 12, 2025).

[2] “Kryet nalt” – Hafiz Ali Kraja, Kujto Albania, June 10, 2019. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rjOI5DnfKGk. (Accessed on April 14, 2025).

[3] Arba Baxhaku and Anna Shkreli, “Tirana Forma Urbis: Arkitektura e Shperberjes se Pazarit te Vjeter”, in Anna Shkreli ed., Pazari i Vjeter i Tiranes: Ne Zgrip te se Vertetes, Tirana: Berk, 2024, 59.

[4] Enis Sulstarova, Arratisje nga Lindja: Orientalizmi Shqiptar nga Naimi tek Kadareja, Tirana: Dudaj, 2006.

[5] Nathalie Clayer, Në fillimet e nacionalizmit shqiptar, Tirana: Perpjekja, 2012.

[6] Justin McCarthy, Death and Exile: The Ethnic Cleansing of Ottoman Muslims, 1821–1922, Princeton, NJ: Darwin Press, 1996. For a documentation of the destruction of Islamic heritage in Kosova in the 1998-1999 war see Sabri Bajgora; ed. by Robert Elsie, and Petrit Selimi, Destruction of Islamic Heritage in the Kosovo War, 1998-1999, Prishtina: Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Republic of Kosovo, 2014.

[7] Doan Dani and Edvin Cami (trans.), Sakralizimi i Politikes ne Shqiperine Komuniste 1944 – 1991, Tirana: Pika Pa Spierfaqe, 2024.

[8] Egin Ceka, “’Ligji i Shenjte i Partise’: Ateizmi dhe politika kundra fese ne Shqiperine komuniste”, Perpjekja, No. 32-33, Spring 2014, 129-154.

[9] Roald Hysa, Persekutimi i Klerit Mysliman Nen Regjimin Komunist 1945 – 1967, Tirana: ISKPK, 2022.

[10]Alen Bejko, “Storja e Pazarit: Veshtrim Mbi Ardhjen e Modernise ne Tirane”, in Anna Shkreli ed., Pazari i Vjeter i Tiranes: Ne Zgrip te se Vertetes, Tirana: Berk, 2024, 16-25.

[11] Machiel Kiel and Holta Vrioni (trans), Arkitektura Osmane ne Shqiperi 1385-1912, Istanbul: IRCICA, 2012, 446

[12] Roald Hysa, Persekutimi i Klerit Mysliman, 95 – 124.

[13] Doan Dani, Sakralizimi i Politikes, 78.

[14] Arba Baxhaku and Anna Shkreli, “Tirana Forma Urbis”, 59-60.

[15] Nexhmije Hoxha, “Si vendosi Enver Hoxha, prishjen e kishave dhe xhamive!”, Dritare TV, Feb 21, 2023, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9_drzni8gtc. (Accessed April 12, 2025)

[16] Elton Hatibi, “Ku shtrihen kufinjtë e “njeriut të ri””, Shenja, April 2025.

[17] Doan Dani, Sakralizimi i Politikes, 221.

[18] Doan Dani, “Ikonat e Opiumit”, Peizazhe te Fjales, April 2, 2025. https://peizazhe.com/2025/04/02/ikonat-e-opiumit/. (Accessed on April 12, 2025).

[19] See Maria Todorova, Imagining the Balkans, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009, 45-46. See also Ismail Kadare, Identiteti Evropian i Shqiptareve: Sprove, Tirana: Onufri, 2006. See also Piro Misha, Arratisja nga Burgjet e Historise: Cdo te thote sot te jesh shqiptar, Tirana: Toena, 2008.

[20] Instituti Kombëtar i Trashëgimisë Kulturore, https://iktk.gov.al/site/. (Accessed on April 12, 2025).

[21] Kerem Öktem, “New Islamic actors after the Wahhabi intermezzo: Turkey’s return to the Muslim Balkans”, European Studies Centre, University of Oxford, December 2010, 20. https://wikileaks.org/gifiles/attach/126/126845_Oktem-Balkan-Muslims.pdf. (Accessed on April 12, 2025). On May 8, 2025 the restoration of the 18^th century Lead Mosque in Shkodra was officially finalized. However, local conservationists have lamented the use of cheaper plaster material in the mosque’s stone walls.

[22] S. Brent Plate, “The Museumification of Religion: Human Evolution and the Display of Ritual”, Gretchen Bugglen, Crispin Paine, S. Brent Plate eds., Religion in Museums: Global and Multidisciplinary Perspectives, London and New York: Bloomsbury, 2017, 41.

[23] “President Erdoğan inaugurates largest mosque in Balkans”, Daily Sabah, October 10, 2024. https://www.dailysabah.com/politics/diplomacy/president-erdogan-inaugurates-largest-mosque-in-balkans. (Accessed on April 14, 2025).

[24] Crispin Paine, Gods and Rollercoasters: Religion in Theme Parks Worldwide, London and New York: Bloomsbury,

[25] Pamela Klassen, “Narrating Religion through Museums”, 333.

[26] Helena Wangefelt Ström, “How do Museums Affect Sacredness? Three Suggested Models”, https://journals.openedition.org/iss/1917?lang=en. (Accessed on April 14, 2025).

[27] Elsa Demo, “Besnik Sinani dhe Elton Hatibi për artin islam si dëshmi dhune”, Artes RTVSh, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W0cvN_ZjEhI&t=112s. (Accessed on April 14, 2025).

[28] Elsa Demo, “Koleksioni i karikaturave – Basha dhe Dani për propagandën antife që shenjtëroi partinë”, Artes TVSh, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tCbC1Zga_ZY&t=405s. (Accessed on May 15, 2025).