PERMANENT REVOLUTION: THE IMAGE OF THE CLASS ENEMY IN THE LITERATURE OF SOCIALIST REALISM IN ALBANIA

Abstract

This paper examines the construction of the "class enemy" in Albanian socialist realist literature through a critical discourse analysis lens. Under Enver Hoxha's leadership, the Party-State politicized aesthetics to convince citizens that Albanian society was ostensibly unified, with any divisions attributable to social elements-kulaks, bourgeoisie, and clerics-linked to the old order or to imperialist forces. Drawing on Arendt's concept of permanent revolution and Lefort's notion of social prophylaxis, the paper demonstrates how the Party continuously produced the "enemy of the people," not only by reimagining genuine opponents in fictional terms, but also by inventing new adversaries whenever ideological expediency demanded it. Waves of exclusion, persecution, and terror periodically shook the country, reaching even the upper echelons of the Party of People of Albania. Legitimated by literature and other artistic productions fully subjugated to Party directives, these purges depicted enemies as parasites or remnants warranting eradication. Through a close reading of key socialist realist works published between 1945 and 1989, the analysis highlights how specific rhetorical and narrative strategies-derogatory epithets, dehumanizing imagery, and insistence on sabotage-reinforced the totalitarian discourse of vigilance, suspicion, and annihilation. It further explores how economic position, social standing, and family background became markers for identifying the "enemy," shaping the fates reserved for such figures. The study concludes that Albanian socialist realism texts not only portrayed an "evil Other" but also served as a disciplinary apparatus in the Foucauldian sense: they rationalized ongoing purges and bolstered the state's full-spectrum control over politics, culture, and society. Ultimately, this literary deployment of the "enemy" concept sustained the Party's permanent revolution narrative, perpetuating an atmosphere of fear and legitimizing the regime's authoritarian measures.

Headnote

ABSTRACT: This paper examines the construction of the "class enemy" in Albanian socialist realist literature through a critical discourse analysis lens. Under Enver Hoxha's leadership, the Party-State politicized aesthetics to convince citizens that Albanian society was ostensibly unified, with any divisions attributable to social elements-kulaks, bourgeoisie, and clerics-linked to the old order or to imperialist forces. Drawing on Arendt's concept of permanent revolution and Lefort's notion of social prophylaxis, the paper demonstrates how the Party continuously produced the "enemy of the people," not only by reimagining genuine opponents in fictional terms, but also by inventing new adversaries whenever ideological expediency demanded it. Waves of exclusion, persecution, and terror periodically shook the country, reaching even the upper echelons of the Party of People of Albania. Legitimated by literature and other artistic productions fully subjugated to Party directives, these purges depicted enemies as parasites or remnants warranting eradication. Through a close reading of key socialist realist works published between 1945 and 1989, the analysis highlights how specific rhetorical and narrative strategies-derogatory epithets, dehumanizing imagery, and insistence on sabotage-reinforced the totalitarian discourse of vigilance, suspicion, and annihilation. It further explores how economic position, social standing, and family background became markers for identifying the "enemy," shaping the fates reserved for such figures. The study concludes that Albanian socialist realism texts not only portrayed an "evil Other" but also served as a disciplinary apparatus in the Foucauldian sense: they rationalized ongoing purges and bolstered the state's full-spectrum control over politics, culture, and society. Ultimately, this literary deployment of the "enemy" concept sustained the Party's permanent revolution narrative, perpetuating an atmosphere of fear and legitimizing the regime's authoritarian measures.

KEYWORDS: permanent revolution; social prophylaxis; totalitarianism; literature; discourse analysis.

1. Introduction

From its very inception, Albania's totalitarian regime demonstrated an unwavering commitment to detecting and eliminating the "enemy." Waves of "enemy detection and elimination" recurred periodically and relentlessly, perpetuating the notion that the socialist construction project was in constant jeopardy. These supposed threats were not confined to the usual suspects-kulaks, bourgeois elements, or feudalists, who, in communist rhetoric, had historically "oppressed and exploited" the masses-but sometimes emerged within the Party itself. Notably, a series of high-ranking officials were denounced and removed: Koçi Xoxe (Minister of the Interior, 1948), Tuk Jakova (Deputy Prime Minister), Bedri Spahiu (Minister of Education, 1955), Liri Belishova and Koço Tashko (1960), and other prominent figures from art and literature following the "Plot in Culture" after the 11th Festival in 1972. Further purges included Beqir Balluku (Minister of Defense, 1974- "Plot in the Army"), Abdyl Këllezi (Deputy Prime Minister and Chair of the State Planning Commission), Koço Theodhosi (Minister of Industry), Kiço Ngjela (Minister of Trade, 1974-"Plot in the Economy"), Mehmet Shehu (Prime Minister), and Kadri Hazbiu (Minister, 1981). The removal of these officials inevitably reverberated through every level of governance. After Koçi Xoxe's downfall, for instance, approximately 8% of Party members (around 4,000 individuals) were expelled for "lack of loyalty" and labeled "enemies of the people." The Central Committee lost 14 of its 31 members, while the People's Assembly lost roughly onethird of its membership (Logoreci 1997).

This entrenched practice of manufacturing enemies soon found its way into the arts as well. Under the doctrine of socialist realism, literature was tasked with reflecting a so-called "socialist reality," and it could not escape the strict directives of the Party leadership (Xhaferaj & Reli 2023). It adopted the Party's vocabulary and accordingly fashioned a prototype of the enemy who might surface anywhere-from the disenfranchised classes to the working class itself, or even within the Party's own ranks.

Building on these observations, this paper addresses two core questions: How was the 'enemy of the people' constructed within Albanian socialist realist narratives, and what rhetorical strategies were employed to legitimize the identification and eventual elimination of these figures? These questions are crucial not merely for understanding the historical context of Albanian communist rule, but also for examining how political discourse can mold public perception and validate exclusionary or violent practices. Although Albania's socialist regime ended formally in 1991, its cultural and ideological legacies continue to resonate in the nation's collective memory and identity. The enduring echoes of this discourse underscore how literature, harnessed by a totalitarian Party-State, can instill fear, unite a population around a perceived threat, and legitimize repressive measures against dissent. Moreover, the construction and demonization of an "enemy" remain relevant in contemporary settings, whether in post-communist societies grappling with their past or in modern contexts where propaganda and "othering" tactics are used to marginalize opponents. Studying these dynamics in Albanian socialist realist literature thus sheds light on the power of language and art to create societal "truths," sanction persecution, and preserve ideological conformity.

From the outset, Albania's communist regime aimed to exercise comprehensive control over literature as a means of regulating the knowledge it produced (Reli & Xhaferaj 2022). In 1949, Enver Hoxha remarked: "To judge a writer's work... one must also judge his political activity. When a writer is reactionary and a soldout agent, his work cannot be popular, so it cannot be allowed to educate young people, because his language, verse, rhythm, and entire art are used to spread the ideology of the class he defends" (Hoxha 1986 [1949]: 392). This directive functioned as an effective instrument of intimidation, compelling writers to conform to the Party's line. They needed spotless biographies to be published and had to follow the Party's ideological dictates in their work if they hoped to avoid punishment. Once an individual was criticized or branded disloyal, the stigma of "enemy" could follow them for life. As Hoxha himself put it, "...it is clear and must be well understood that not everyone who has been in prison is entirely innocent. Perhaps in imposing their sentences, there may have been some excesses, but we must always bear in mind that many of them were at fault to some degree; therefore, the Party does not do well to forget these matters" (Hoxha 1986 [1949]: 392).

A brief survey of Albania's artistic and cultural landscape indicates that both the creative sphere and artists' professional trajectories were circumscribed by the totalitarian framework that dictated how art was produced, distributed, and consumed. When certain artists were labeled potential enemies, the regime readily exploited art to construct and perpetuate images of foes who, it claimed, threatened the collective march toward socialist prosperity. One predominant method of shaping these images was exposing and denouncing- ultimately punishing-individuals or groups whose values deviated from the moral code widely upheld by any "decent" citizen (Eckhardt 1991: 88). Literature thus became a powerful means of unifying the public discourse to such a degree that the broader population participated in singling out and condemning the socalled "enemies of the people."

The works analyzed in this paper illustrate how literature functioned as an instrument of this broader ideological mission. These include:

* Lëkura e daulles (The Wedding) by Ismail Kadare

* Këneta (The Swamp) by Fatmir Gjata

* Dora e ngrohtë (The warm hand) by Nasho Jorgaqi

* Kalamajtë e pallatit tim (The children of my building) by Bedri Dedja

* Vepra Letrare 4 (Literature Work, Volume 4) by Spiro Çomora, specifically the short stories "Qir Thomaqi"(Sir Thomaqi) (Hosteni, April 16, 1950), "Brahim Agai i trullosur" (The dizzy Ibrahim bey" (Hosteni, May 21, 1950), and "Kardinali i Pentagonit" (The Cardinal of Pentagon) (Hosteni, no. 14, 1960)

* Vepra Letrare I (Literature Work Volume 1) by Ali Abdihoxha, particularly the short story "Reforma" (The Reform)

* Ngjarje në Tiranë (A Story in Tirana) by Gaqo Bushaka, especially the short story "Këngë të reja mbi Urën e Lashtë" (New songs on the old bridge)

* Fshati midis ujërave (The village between waters) by Kolë Jakova

Through a critical discourse analysis of these texts, the paper demonstrates how the Party's rhetoric and ideological imperatives not only cast specific social groups as threats but also conditioned literary production to depict them accordingly, thereby reinforcing the permanent state of vigilance demanded by Albania's communist regime.

2. Literature Review

2.1. Totalitarianism and the Production of the Enemy

This study situates itself within the broader theories of totalitarianism, propaganda, and cultural production, drawing on the works of Hannah Arendt, Raymond Aron, Claude Lefort, Michel Foucault, Debra Bergoffen and other important scholars who have written on totalitarianism. These scholars shed light on how totalitarian regimes exploit both language and art to sustain their power, marginalize dissent, and shape public consciousness.

In a totalitarian regime, a single political party wields exclusive power over all political activities. Having endowed its preferred ideology with ultimate authority, the single party presents that ideology as the state's official truth. To enforce this truth, the regime maintains a dual monopoly on both coercive and persuasive instruments. Consequently, state representatives control the primary channels of communication - radio, television, and the press - while also overseeing professional and economic affairs. Because every endeavour must conform to the prevailing ideology, even technical or professional missteps are judged as ideological infractions. This blurring of boundaries between error and subversion gives rise to the politicization and ideological reframing of all potential offenses, culminating in the dual imposition of police and ideological terror (Aron 1965: 193-194).

Building on these observations, Karl Popper's (1945) seminal work on closed societies argued that such regimes systematically delegitimize dissent by enforcing rigid ideological confines. Like Aron, Popper underscores the fusion of state and ideology that prevents genuine intellectual freedom. In this sense, Albania's socialist regime exemplified the "closed society" paradigm, where even minor deviations from official doctrine were deemed threats to the Party's absolutist vision.

Arendt's concept of permanent revolution in totalitarian societies underscores how the "enemy" is continually reinvented to prevent ideological stagnation and maintain a climate of fear (1979 [1948]. The production, creation, or invention of enemies in a totalitarian system was necessary to maintain the existence of the revolutionary movement. The very existence of enemies hindered the achievement of stability, thereby making revolution indispensable and turning it into a permanent revolution (Arendt 1979 [1948]: 391). The construction of socialism required the building of a classless society-a society in which the People were One and undivided. Yet this necessitated the uninterrupted production of the enemy, of the Other, who could be the kulak, the bourgeois, or the foreign emissary of the imperialist world that threatened the unity of the people. Under a totalitarian regime, the enemy was defined "by the politics of the government and not by his own desire to overthrow that government" (Arendt 1979 [1948]: 423).

In all circumstances, the internal enemy-the representatives of the old society-were strongly linked to the outside world, to the imperialist world (Lefort 1986: 297-298), and to the revisionist one, composed of the communist currents within the international movement represented by the socialist bloc headed by the Soviet Union, Titoism in Yugoslavia, Eurocommunism of the major communist parties in Western Europe, and Maoism in China (Vehbiu 2007: 160-161). Through persistent attacks, the totalitarian ruler made everyone aware of who the enemy was; once someone was widely accepted as an enemy by all, that individual understood that their destiny would be elimination (Arendt 1979 [1948]: 424).

Timothy Snyder (2010, 2017) has similarly emphasized how totalitarian governments forge "enemy" categories to sustain a perpetual state of crisis, validating more drastic state interventions. In his analysis of Eastern Europe, Snyder notes that attributing blame to alleged saboteurs or spies was a hallmark of Stalinist regimes - paralleling what Arendt calls the "permanent revolution". This climate of constant threat ensures that the populace remains vigilant, fearful, and ultimately dependent on the regime's "protection."

Lefort (1986) argues that totalitarianism perceives society as a singular body that must remain "healthy" by expelling elements deemed infectious or impure. His concept of zoopolitics exposes how dehumanizing descriptions - labelling enemies "parasites", "vipers," "cockroaches" - naturalize violence in the name of social prophylaxis. This rhetorical strategy surfaces frequently in Albanian socialist realism texts, where figures such as kulaks, clerics, or bourgeois elements are linked to vermin threatening the collective body of the new socialist society.

A mere glance at the rhetoric used over the years by the leader of the People's Party in Albania, reveals how he sustained the permanent revolution and, along with it, the continual need for the people's mobilization to find, denounce, and eliminate the enemy of the class, the people, and society. Below are a few titles of Enver Hoxha's speeches compiled in the two-volume work Gjithmonë vigjilencë. Për Organet e Punëve të Brendshme [Always Vigilant: For the Organs of Internal Affairs]:

* "Mobilize the masses in an organized struggle against reactionaries and saboteurs" (1946)

* "Increase revolutionary vigilance to expose the enemy and strike it in its egg" (1949)

* "It is the duty of every honest citizen to increase vigilance and detect the enemy wherever it hides" (1950)

* "Not only do certain specialized weapons defend the Fatherland, but the entire people" (1951)

* "Let the class struggle be conducted severely and justly in all fields" (1952)

* "Let us purge state agencies of the enemy element, the suspicious, and the undesirable" (1953)

* "We must always remain vigilant against the enemy's aims, efforts, and refined methods" (1956)

* "The Party's line is clear-merciless struggle against the enemies" (1959)

* "The weapon of the Security Service is the steel hand of our people who are building socialism" (1963)

* "The people have great love for the Party; let the class enemies tremble" (1964)

* "Bureaucracy is also encouraged by the class enemy's activity" (1966)

* "A proper development of the class struggle requires high partisanship" (1968)

* "We are building socialism under conditions of a fierce imperialist-revisionist encirclement" (1971)

* "Alongside vigilance toward foreign and domestic enemies, let us not forget the pressure of the pettybourgeois mentality" (1973)

* "The Party, with its vigilance and revolutionary instinct, uncovered the enemy's sabotage activity in the economy" (1975)

* "The enemy does not always come face to face with us. He acts under cover" (1976)

* "We must understand and conduct the class struggle not in general terms but in its essence, breadth, and depth" (1977)

* "Revolutionary vigilance must be sharpened" (1980)

* "Let us better recognize the forms, tactics, and methods the enemy employs" (1981) (Hoxha).

This summary, which at first glance may seem lengthy, nevertheless provides only a superficial overview of the logic of permanent revolution-the logic of always being on guard to protect the Party and the people from an enemy who never sleeps and aims to undermine the successes of socialism. Clearly, such rhetoric could not go unnoticed by writers, who were expected to reflect the Party's rhetoric in their works to demonstrate that they, too, were part of the One and indivisible people, aligned with the Party, and in perpetual struggle against the enemy of the people.

In Tzvetan Todorov's (2003) reflections on memory and authoritarian regimes, this sort of rhetoric is seen as crucial for instilling a collective sense of duty and paranoia. By repeatedly invoking the "enemy," leaders reinforce a singular worldview in which dissent is not only politically dangerous but morally reprehensible. Consequently, official literature was instrumental in spreading such worldviews, aligning artistic narratives with state imperatives.

Bregoffen (1990) provides other useful insights into the logic of totalitarian regimes. The author describes how terror and aggression in totalitarian regimes can both fragment and totalize. On the one hand, terror disintegrates interpersonal trust, fostering suspicion. On the other, it compels individuals to unify under a single ideological banner, leaving no space for neutrality. In socialist realism narratives, this dynamic is visible in how various "enemies" (the clergy, kulaks, bourgeois elements) are distinctively targeted while simultaneously forming a single collective threat - thereby reinforcing the Party's role as the only integrating force capable of protecting the social body. The profile of the enemy was never static; it changed according to conditions and circumstances. As soon as one category was eliminated, another "appeared" in its place, against which the regime would wage war until its elimination, only for yet another category to arise. This is because the totalitarian regime was not "a government in the traditional sense, but a movement whose progress constantly encountered new obstacles that had to be removed" (Arendt 1979: 425). Meanwhile, the unanimous conviction of the population regarding the "enemy" status attributed at times to one person and at times to another was achieved because, through ideology and the manipulation of public consciousness, the totalitarian state succeeded in what was called the total politicization of the mind (Gronskaya et.al. 2012).

Sheila Fitzpatrick (1999) makes a parallel point in Everyday Stalinism, describing how Soviet citizens, constantly threatened by purges, learned to adapt to a political environment where "enemies" emerged and disappeared swiftly. This climate further restricted social possibilities, as trust among neighbours or colleagues was often shattered. Similarly, Tony Judt (2005) demonstrates in Postwar how societies emerging from totalitarian rule struggle to rebuild trust in institutions when cycles of eliminate have profoundly eroded social and civic bonds.

Under such circumstances, where the enemy could be found everywhere, the entire society in a totalitarian system acquired the qualities of a secret police force. Mutual suspicion penetrated all social relations, such that provocation-once the specialty of secret agents-became a way of life between neighbors, colleagues, and relatives, a lifestyle that everyone followed, whether willingly or not. The collaboration of the population in denouncing political opponents was so well organized that it rendered the work of the "real" specialists almost unnecessary (Arendt 1979: 430-431).

A feature of totalitarian society is that it aimed to make impossible all forms of socialization and social relations. Totalitarian regimes sought to restrict all forms of socialization and relations either to state-authorized or state-controlled associations or, in the case of non-state relationships, to ones based on fear (Bergoffen 1999: 119). Indeed, "in a system of universal espionage, where anyone can be a police agent and everyone feels under constant surveillance-and furthermore, where careers are exceedingly uncertain, with promotions and demotions occurring daily-every word becomes ambiguous and subject to future 'interpretation'" (Arendt 1979: 431).

Slavoj Žižek (1989) offers a psychoanalytic perspective on such environments, suggesting that totalitarian discourse does not merely compel external obedience but also refashions the subject's inner sense of reality. In effect, a person begins to "enjoy" compliance through ideological fantasy: identifying enemies- both real and imagined-provides psychological reassurance, reinforcing the sense that the regime's worldview is consistent and correct.

Most high-ranking officials owed their rise to power to waves of elimination that destroyed their predecessors. Such a process characterized professional advancement in all areas of life. In cyclical fashion, nationwide waves of extermination opened opportunities to new generations, recently graduated and eager to work. Thus, the production and elimination of enemies did not come solely from the government but also from those who sought to climb the career ladder and had come to understand the totalitarian logic (Arendt 1979: 431).

From Arendt's notion of permanent revolution, Lefort concept of zoopolitics to Popper's concept of the closed society, these theoretical perspectives converge on a central theme: totalitarian regimes thrive on the relentless construction of enemies. Scholars such as Snyder, Todorov, Judt, and Fitzpatrick underscore the profound social and psychological repercussions of such environments, in which suspicion, denunciation, and self-censorship become embedded in daily life. Meanwhile, Žižek highlights the psychoanalytic dimension of ideology, revealing how subjects internalize the "enemy" narrative as part of their own identity.

Within this matrix of fear and fragmentation, the Albanian example demonstrates how a cultural sphere-particularly literature-could be harnessed to propagate and reinforce official doctrines. As we will see in the subsequent sections, socialist realist works actively participated in manufacturing and sustaining these images of the "class enemy," ultimately legitimizing the state's oppressive power and perpetuating a cycle of distrust that served the Party's drive for total control.

2.2. Language, the Production, and the Legitimation of the Enemy's Extermination

According to Lefort, the struggle against the enemy of the people was conducted in the name of social prophylaxis, with the goal of preserving the integrity of the body. In a totalitarian context, society is imagined as a compact, indivisible body that maintains its cohesiveness by expelling perceived "waste" and withdrawing from any external threat (Lefort 1986: 298). This biological analogy appears frequently in the speeches of the First Secretary of the Party and resonates throughout other Party directives. For instance, Hoxha (1986a [1949]) refers to kulaks as "bloodsuckers" that must be destroyed-a metaphor that likens the political enemy to a contagious or parasitic force requiring extermination. Similarly, Hoxha's rhetoric of impurity, waste (Hoxha, 1986 [1946]: 176), and infection stresses an urgent need to eradicate the source of "infection," reflecting a mindset rooted in medicalized language of social cleansing. As Hoxha states in the 6th Plenum of the PPSH, "Let us not allow any cadre to become infected and thus become a reserve for the enemy. Above all, we must preserve the purity of the Party's ranks and its unity" (Hoxha, 1986 [1957]: 572).

The enemy was described as a parasite, beetle, mouse, or centipede that had to be eliminated. Within this framework, the enemy is portrayed as a parasite, beetle, mouse, or centipede-creatures considered menacing or distasteful. Lefort describes this animalization as "zoopolitics," which draws on medical, biological, and pseudo-scientific discourses (Lefort 1986:13). In line with Michel Foucault's (1977, 1978) conception of power/knowledge, such biologistic formulations function as techniques of social control: by casting certain groups as diseased, the regime legitimizes its invasive interventions in the name of "public health." Thus, while overt depictions of genocide or extermination may be rare in literary works, the underlying discourse of infection and prophylaxis normalizes and rationalizes violent expulsion or annihilation.

This paradigm of language-as-control aligns with Foucault's view that discourses are not merely descriptive but also performative, shaping what can be said, thought, and done within a society. As the Party monopolizes discourse, it can propagate the notion of "pure blood" versus "contaminated," establishing who deserves protection and who must be eradicated. Such discursive dominance exemplifies what Pierre Bourdieu (1991) calls symbolic power-the power to define reality and impose a worldview that others internalize as legitimate. For instance, when Hoxha's speeches depict kulaks or clerics as literal pests, this constitutes a symbolic act: it publicly confirms their subhuman status and justifies their exclusion or destruction.

Given these ideological imperatives, literature became a vehicle for materializing such language in its characters: their physical descriptions, their dialogue, and ultimately, their fates. As Bedri Dedja illustrates in his portrayal of former kulaks:

...the nightly comings and goings of these people bring to mind the insect world. What are they- people or insects? As soon as the lights go out, cockroaches emerge from their holes ... But these people who have adopted the habits of these insects are very difficult to understand and decipher. (Dedja 1979:172)

By labelling them "cockroaches," Dedja partakes in the broader cultural script of dehumanization. In Foucauldian terms, this language produces a disciplinary effect: it trains readers to see certain categories of persons as vermin, thus endorsing vigilance and potential aggression toward them.

Meanwhile, Bourdieu's notion of habitus (1977) underscores that such attitudes become ingrained dispositions through repeated exposure-readers and citizens alike learn "which side" they must align with in order to remain safe. Over time, this symbolic violence (Bourdieu 2001) becomes normalized: the target of the regime's wrath is accepted as inherently degenerate, and violence against them appears not only permissible but necessary.

Lefort (1986: 299) argues that in these conditions, the dimension of law is overridden by the dimension of knowledge, as interpreted by the regime. In a society where the Party-or, as some Albanian scholars label it, the Egocrat-claims exclusive ownership of truth, the law primarily serves to codify and punish deviations from Party-sanctioned knowledge. This aligns with Foucault's assertion that mechanisms of punishment under totalitarian regimes often spring from epistemic claims, i.e., "we know what is best," rather than strictly juridical norms.

Totalitarian language was characterized by a dramatic style and the triumphalism of propagandistic rhetoric. It exaggerated social achievements, employed abstraction and pseudo-scientific terminology, and relied heavily on slogans and absolute truth claims (Gronskaya et.al. 2012: 279-280). Such discourse not only emphasized the inevitability of socialist progress but also identified the external or internal enemies who allegedly disrupted this trajectory. Bourdieu's understanding of fields further elucidates how the Party, by monopolizing the cultural and political fields, sets the boundaries of legitimate expression: anything challenging the "official truth" is deemed erroneous, subversive, and ripe for punitive measures.

In this context, Van Leeuwen (2007: 92) describes four main strategies of legitimation-authorization, moral evaluation, rationalization, and mythopoesis-that totalitarian discourse uses to justify identifying and eliminating an enemy. Reyes (2011) expands these to include emotional appeals, hypothetical future constructions, and the appearance of altruistic motives. By layering in Foucault's power/knowledge and Bourdieu's symbolic power, we see how these legitimizing strategies operate not just at the level of official speeches or decrees but also within cultural products like novels, short stories, and plays. Through them, the Party effectively choreographs collective emotions, mobilizes moral panic, and consolidates its authority with minimal overt resistance.

3. Methodology

This study employs critical discourse analysis (CDA) to examine how Albanian socialist realist literature constructed and disseminated the image of the "class enemy." Following principles outlined by Fairclough (1995) and Wodak & Meyer (2009), CDA enables an exploration of how power relations, ideology, and sociopolitical contexts shaped literary portrayals. Rather than focusing solely on literal plotlines, this analysis uncovers how discourse functioned to legitimize political repression and strengthen state power.

The study uses three main analytical tools. First, a lexical and semantic analysis identifies key words and phrases-such as "cockroaches," "vipers," or "parasites"-that dehumanize certain social groups. Evaluating the frequency and context of these labels reveals patterns of demonization. Second, intertextual and interdiscursive analysis compares repeated themes and rhetorical forms across different authors and genres. This step traces how official Party directives, speeches, and other political texts are woven into literary narratives. Finally, the socio-historical contextualization situates these texts within Albanian communist policies, propaganda campaigns, and censorship practices, clarifying how specific plots, characters, and outcomes reflect an environment where writers faced continuous political pressure.

The corpus of primary materials consists of novels, novellas, and short stories published during Albania's socialist realist period (1945-1989). These works were selected for their explicit treatment of the "enemy of the people"-including kulaks, bourgeois elements, and clerics-and for their representativeness of the era. Authors such as Ismail Kadare, Fatmir Gjata, Nasho Jorgaqi, and Bedri Dedja provide a diverse range of perspectives, despite varying degrees of official endorsement or suspicion.

Regarding data collection and analysis, the study combines close readings of pivotal passages-focusing on explicit references to enemies, their characterization, and the use of metaphors or recurring tropes- with an overarching assessment of how these portrayals evolve or remain consistent across multiple works. Key representations are then linked to broader sociopolitical initiatives, such as collectivization, anti-religious campaigns, and Party purges, to demonstrate how literary discourse worked in tandem with official ideology to mold public perceptions.

Finally, it is important to note that this study does not provide an exhaustive review of all socialist realist texts published in Albania. Instead, it foregrounds representative works that illustrate the Party's directives most vividly. While the approach highlights the powerful role of discourse, it also recognizes the complexities of literary production under strict authoritarian scrutiny, acknowledging that some authors exercised limited but genuine creative agency within this constrained environment.

4. Analysis: In the Service of Ideology- Literary Constructions of the Class Enemy

4.1. Categories to Be Attacked: The Clergy

What were the chances that, among the multitude of characters populating a literary work, a particular character would have the "misfortune" of repeatedly appearing from one work to another as the enemy, fated to come to a bad end, to be hated by the reader, or, worse still, to be signaled from the very beginning of the work as an enemy of the people, simply by virtue of his or her position, origin, or even through the description of their physical traits?

Drawing on Hannah Arendt's (1979 [1948]) concept of a permanent revolution, one can see how the clergy-whether Christian, Muslim, or Bektashi-had little choice but to be cast perpetually in the role of villain in Albanian socialist realist literature. Arendt's notion suggests that totalitarian regimes require a constant enemy to maintain a sense of ongoing revolutionary struggle; the clergy served as an obvious, recurrent foil. Claude Lefort (1986) adds that totalitarian societies view themselves as cohesive bodies, perpetually ridding themselves of perceived "impurities." Within such a worldview, religious authorities could be framed as a contaminating influence that needed to be eliminated.

In a report delivered at the Fourth Plenum of the Central Committee of the Party of Labor of Albania on October 17, 1945, Enver Hoxha commented:

The Catholic clergy is a well-organized entity with traditions and close ties to the Vatican; therefore, we must confront its organization with our own healthy organization. ... There have been occasions when the Catholic clergy openly fought against us, waging even armed conflict. We responded and struck it. ... Since the clergy is our enemy, it knows how to engage in politics not for the good of the people, but to strengthen its own positions. ... Around the clergy's maneuvers will gather all the reactionaries, the chieftains who have fled to the highlands, the discontented, and the unclarified. ... The wealthy merchants and the rich beys and agas, directly affected by the just laws of our people's government, are swelling the ranks of the malcontents. (Hoxha 1986: 162).

Through the lens of Pierre Bourdieu's (1991) notion of symbolic power, one can see how Hoxha's words fashioned a collective "common sense" wherein the clergy was deemed an intrinsic adversary. This approach remained unchanged over time and culminated in the destruction of religious institutions and the ultimate prohibition of religion in 1967. Literature's role was to prove that the ban was warranted and that the clergy personified depravity-greedy, immoral, a parasite on society-all of which aligned with Lefort's description of how regimes justify social "prophylaxis" against unwanted elements.

Such is the role of the dervishes in the novella Dasma or Lëkura e daulles (The Wedding), as it is otherwise known. They symbolize greed and exploit naïve believers seeking help. In addition to being portrayed as swindlers, they appear morally depraved, abusing young girls and women who seek their help to solve their marriage crisis or get pregnant (Kadare 2000: 63, 69). Their physical repulsiveness - "Their beards burned my face like a brush of flames" (Kadare 2000: 63) - intensifies the rhetoric of dehumanization. Echoing Michel Foucault's (1977) insights into discourse as a vehicle of discipline, such descriptions train the reader to view these figures not merely as flawed individuals but as embodiments of corruption, worthy of eradication.

However, the clergy is not presented merely as greedy and immoral; it also appears as the guardian of the old reactionary system, which offered no window of hope to its "flock." Again, in the novella Dasma, the priest serves coffee below his knee to a highlander who has come to his home to share his sorrows. The highlander, married and with a just born baby was bound by a blood feud. He goes to the pries to ask for his assistance in delaying the revenge, since it would mean that the highlander once the revenge was taken would hide in his home, thus leaving the burden of the house to his young wife. Under pressure from the community for the delayed blood revenge, he seeks comfort and support from the priest, who is presumably more worldly and knowledgeable and would surely understand his plight. Kadare (45) describes the scene as follows:

No one knew the Kanun better than the priest. He had studied in higher institutions abroad. He was smart and learned. ... The priest welcomed him warmly, and the man's heart was lifted. They spoke about the weather, about the corn, about the livestock. ... In the small brazier, coffee was simmering. His heart was beating heavily. The priest was smart, learned. ... He would say something good. Now the child was nine months old, and the wife couldn't work on her own. What would they eat in winter? ... The priest would understand better than anyone. Just until the grain was harvested, until the last sheaves were gathered. ... The coffee swelled like a monster. ... The priest sat down on the wooden throne, facing him, took one cup in his hand and, looking down at the floor with a pained expression, slightly raised his right knee, carefully passed his hand-cup and all-beneath it, and handed it over.

With this gesture, the priest legitimized the blood feud by aligning himself with all those who used the Kanun-the law of the mountainto legitimize their power in the region. Rather than offering spiritual counsel, the cleric reinforces archaic customs. In Foucauldian terms, such portrayals reveal how the stateimposed discourse frames the clergy as obstructing progressive socialist values-an adversary that the regime can justifiably target.

The same strategy aimed at provoking hatred for the clergy surfaces in other works as well. In Kolë Jakova's Fshati midis ujërave (The village between the mountains) both the Catholic and the Muslim clergy appear as fascist collaborators. We learn in the text that "the priest had ties with Italy and ... he treated the house of Consul Meloni in Shkodër as if it was his own home" (Jakova 1977: 32). In the mouth of the imam are placed the words: "We will pray in our mosque for the great Duce of fascism-may Allah grant him a long life and great power. We Albanian imams have always been fascists. Even our Prophet ... he was the first fascist in the world. We were overjoyed when the great Duce took the sword of Islam in his hand" (Jakova 1977: 31). Beyond servility, the clergy is shown as wealthy and exclusionary. The main character, Prengë Sherri, says: "Religion, said Prenga, teaches us that it is very difficult for a rich man to enter paradise. Then why are the priests much richer than the peasants? Why, when Archbishop So-and-So in Shkodër holds a feast, does he invite all the big shots, while the poor people remain outside the door?" (Jakova 1977: 33). These representations further illustrate Arendt's principle of a regime continually identifying new enemies-here, the clergy stands guilty of both economic exploitation and moral betrayal.

Published in 1977, a decade after religion was banned, Fshati midis ujërave ridicules all groups labeled as enemies by the Party: from King Zog to local elders, fascists, collaborators, and naturally, the clergy. Literature, in this sense, acted as what Foucault would term a disciplinary instrument, shaping how the populace understood and internalized Party directives. By demonizing religious leaders, authors legitimized earlier legal and political actions against them and facilitated the ideological "brainwashing" of a new generation-a generation that lacked access to alternative depictions of faith or moral life.

Even children's literature was not exempt. In Kalamajtë e pallatit tim (The children of my building), religion is portrayed as a relic of the past that must not be forgotten:

Ten years have passed since that time when the people, led by the Party, lit the torch of war against religion... Was it easy for the predecessors of these young pioneers to fight the terror inflicted by the fictitious God?! Yet how many pioneers were slapped and had bloody noses at the hands of certain religious fathers, when the group posted its second public notice in the main square of Aliban, denouncing their parents' fasting during Ramadan and the women being burdened like animals?! ... Pioneer Shaban, now a member of the BRPSH, held out until the belt of his father's pants tore as he was beaten for telling his father: 'I could till the fields for you, too!' His father prayed five times a day. And Shaban never gave in, nor did he seek help. After a few beatings in private, he again said to his father: 'Dad, are you with the Party or against the Party? Are we going to do away with these carnival-like fasts or not? (Dedja 1979: 143-144).

The text depicts how children, aligned with the Party, question and ultimately reject parental religious practices, suggesting that the "fictitious God" is a source of misery. This resonates with Lefort's argument that totalitarian regimes aim to annihilate competing social ties, ensuring that Party dogma supersedes familial or spiritual bonds.

Finally, the clergy is also presented as serving Western expansionism and imperialism. In the satirical short story "Kardinali i Pentagonit" (The Cardinal of Pentagon), Spiro Çomora employs terse language to illustrate a prelate gathered with believers in the Pentagon, delivering not a sermon about Christ but an anticommunist tirade. This direct association of clergy with Western intervention reinforces the Arendtian logic of permanent siege: a conspiracy from abroad that justifies continual vigilance and mobilization at home. By placing these tensions in a literary narrative, the regime's anti-Western stance acquires cultural legitimacy, ensuring readers remain wary of both foreign influence and the religious figures allegedly serving it. The author concludes with the words "Even in the Middle Ages, the Vatican mobilized Europe with the Crusades, supposedly to free Christ's tomb from the perfidious Ottomans, but all that demagoguery aimed at allowing the Catholic princes of Europe to plunder Eastern Europe and Asia Minor! ... The Holy Spirit has once again proved that it is... an old spirit!" (Çomora 1989 [1960]: 25)

Overall, this portrayal of the clergy as greedy, archaic, conspiratorial, and morally bankrupt fits neatly into the discourse of permanent revolution. By combining dehumanizing language and dramatic vignettes that show clerics upholding feudal or fascist practices, these works highlight precisely why the regime could claim it was protecting the "health" of the social body. Literature thus fulfilled what Bourdieu calls the shaping of a doxa: it naturalized anti-clerical hostility as common-sense truth, leaving no space for dissenting or alternative viewpoints on faith's role in Albanian society.

4.2. Categories to Be Attacked: The Kulak

The kulak is another figure relentlessly targeted in Albanian socialist realism literature. He personifies cruelty, cunning, and greed - traits, that reflect the Party's narrative of "enemy production," echoing Hannah Arendt's (1979 [1948] notion that totalitarian regimes continuously seek adversaries to maintain a perpetual revolutionary fervour. In a speech delivered at the First Congress of Agricultural Cooperatives on February 15, 1949, Enver Hoxha said:

Let us also not forget that in our countryside there is a resolute and fierce enemy of cooperative farms, of poor and middle peasants. This is the kulak. ... The kulak is a speculator; he runs the black market, tries to avoid paying his obligations to the state, opposes the laws and ordinances, and is the ally of the city trader and the profiteer. The kulak is also identified by his recent and distant past, by his views at that time, his relationship with the bey and his stewards, by his old wealth, by his means of production, by the trade he used to engage in, speculating and running the black market. The past weighs on the kulak-this should not be neglected in identifying him.(Hoxha, 1986 [1949]).

Such guidelines left no ambiguity. As part of what Claude Lefort (1986) would call a "social prophylaxis," the Party-State required these literary works to portray the kulak as intrinsically hostile-forever stamped by a "wrong" past. Consequently, Albanian socialist realist writers knew exactly how to cast him: vicious, crafty, and insatiably greedy. In Kalamajtë e pallatit tim, for instance, the kulak character spares no one; he even kills children or tests his weapon on an innocent young man, underscoring an ultimate savagery that legitimizes the Party's campaign against him (Dedja 1979: 234). This draws on the same dehumanizing language that Lefort (1986) described as central to totalitarian logic, which seeks to portray enemies as subhuman threats to the social body.

In similar fashion, the novella Në gjurmë të të tretit features Zaho the saboteur-"His life is full of murders and rotten deeds" (Jorgaqi 1973: 72)-who not only carves up his victim with knives but also exhibits other vices, such as chronic drunkenness. This rhetorical layering of evil ensures the audience's unequivocal revulsion, reflecting Michel Foucault's (1977) concept of discourse as disciplinary: the text instructs readers whom to fear, distrust, and condemn.

Another vice attributed to the "enemy of the people" is immorality. This appears in characters like Zyraka in the novel Këneta (Gjata 1973) or Bukuria in Dora e ngrohtë (Jorgaqi 1983). Both women, adorned in provocative silk dresses, attempt to divert the virtuous socialist hero from the righteous path-yet inevitably fail, underscoring that the Party's ideological champion remains incorruptible. Their inability to succeed corroborates Arendt's view that totalitarian regimes demand simplified narratives of good (the loyal worker) versus evil (the kulak or bourgeois).

Generally, these literary enemies display an array of vices, occupying comfortable or lucrative positions without performing hard labor. Through a Foucauldian lens, such depictions reinforce how the state, via official discourse, justifies repression of individuals who exploit loopholes or resist integration. For example, Saliu is a merchant and shopkeeper-described as greedy, a thief of collective property, and neutral during WWII. Selmani is a warehouseman found "deficient" in his accounts; Bexheti supplies the mine; Dalipi is the village miller. All aided in the disappearance of Qazim Beluli (Jorgaqi 1973). Vasili, once impoverished but later enriched in the West, allegedly "erased the word honesty from memory" (Jorgaqi 1973). In line with the Party's directives, authors like Spiro Çomora and Ali Abdihoxha label these "toppled classes" with pejoratives-terms that illustrate the rhetorical aim of demonizing them as irredeemable (Çomora 1980; Abdihoxha 1984).

Likewise, in the short story Këngë të reja mbi Urën e Lashtë, Lilo Beu is described as a pig with a head as large as a cheese tub, while the spy Zyhdiu is portrayed with a nose like a withered eggplant (Bushaka 1981;139, 143). Descriptions of these figures often involve bestial or grotesque imagery, resonating with the totalitarian penchant for dehumanizing foes. From "barku kacek" (potbelly) and "qafëzorra" (skinny-necked) to "pig with a head as large as a cheese tub," such language fits Lefort's zoo-political framework (1986) by reinforcing the notion that the kulak is an aberrant creature warranting expulsion.

In terms of historical behavior, these declassed individuals-now labeled enemies-allegedly possessed the same cruelty and rapacity when they were the ruling class. Ali Abdihoxha's Këngë të reja mbi Urën e Lashtë (in Bushaka 1981: 139) illustrates a scene in which child laborers are short-changed by a steward, highlighting the old social order's brutality. This both justifies the present system's mission to uproot such exploitation and assures readers that eradicating "kulak culture" aligns with moral and socialist imperatives.

Overall, the portrayal of the kulak in Albanian socialist realist texts points to a systematic effort to shape public consciousness-an endeavor that aligns with Foucault's observation that discourse itself can be a form of social control. By attributing to the kulak every form of corruption, violence, and perversity, these narratives amplify the need for his destruction, confirming the Party's authority as the guardian of collective well-being.

4.3 Categories to Be Attacked: The Bourgeois

A sinister past, a bourgeois origin-this is yet another attribute unifying the enemies of the people. Born into a once-dethroned class, their fate is sealed at the outset: they have no choice but to become (willingly or unwillingly) enemies of the people. In line with Arendt's (1979 [1948]) notion of a permanent revolution, the regime's rhetoric repeatedly underscores how the bourgeois, like other targeted groups, remain irredeemably tied to a reactionary past. Authors, therefore, consistently remind readers of the dark history of these characters to rationalize their elimination. For example, Spahiu in the novella Dora e ngrohtë is a formerly "toppled" figure seeking to overthrow the regime through sabotage and by fomenting public discontent. Similarly, in Këneta, Zyraka, Vasil Minga, Abdi Sharra, and Kujtim Shaqiri represent the declassed stratum-individuals nostalgic for the pre-communist era or "entangled" with the Balli Kombëtar. To cement their villainy, each possesses some stain of misdeed: Vasil Minga is unintelligent and the son of a wealthy merchant; Abdi Sharra once advocated for brothels to curb immorality; Kujtim Shaqiri was involved with the Balli Kombëtar; and Qehaja Stavri (Bushaka 1981: 140-141) is shown as a "bloodsucker" withholding wages from a toiling youth, all the while fraternizing with the Germans.

The struggle against the bourgeoisie is thus fierce, offering room even for wry humor in service of ideological aims. In one scene, a youth who fails to catch a fish sneers, "Ah, it slipped away, that filthy bourgeois! But I'll twist its neck" (Gjata 1973: 157). Likewise, in Kalamajtë e pallatit tim, slogans such as "Let us think, work, and fight as if under siege," "Whoever stands idle is like a bourgeois," and "The anvil of class [struggle] is medicine for everyone" (Dedja 1979: 17, 28, 37) amplify the perpetual alertness demanded by the regime's totalizing rhetoric. These examples align with Lefort's (1986) perspective on totalitarian societies deploying "social prophylaxis," wherein the bourgeois, by virtue of their past, must be extirpated like a contaminant.

Any effort to expose the bourgeois is portrayed as valuable. In a critical discourse analysis sense, one sees how authors use negative labeling and emotive language to sharpen the distinction between "us" and "them." For instance, when Kujtim Sharra tries to recruit Abdi into a sabotage network, he exclaims:

We're living like dogs! Our education and knowledge are good for nothing. Look at you, who's your boss at the ministry? A mountain shepherd, an illiterate in every sense of the word, who can't even sign his name! Enough tolerating this, enough! ... On the surface, life has been taken over by dark forces, the dregs of society, ignorance. They're the ones leading us, and we trail behind them! That's what has happened. This cannot be endured! ... Do you think you'll always hold the position you have today? [He addresses Abdi Sharra.] Tomorrow, when they train their own cadres, they'll knock you aside and leave you copying projects." (Gjata 1973: 91-92).

Here, we see the strategy that Reyes (2011) terms "legitimation through emotions," wherein the speaker casts the bourgeois as disdaining the working class-thus kindling resentment. This device constructs a binary between a "we-group" (the pure, hardworking masses) and a "they-group" (the degenerate bourgeois). Indeed, this we-versus-them paradigm, as explained in the methodology section, emerges repeatedly under the Party's directives, confirming the totalitarian imperative to define-and then eliminate-opposing categories.

The novel Këneta provides a further illustration of this rhetorical divide when Abdi's former chauffeur laments: "That's how it is, Dalip. The rich folks are at fault here, too. They had schools for their sons, not for you or me. You say we're thick in the head. No, brother, that's not true. Only those we've knocked down and are crushing like rats think that way. May the damned bourgeois with all their culture go to the devil!" (Gjata 1973: 158)".

Such passages exemplify Foucault's (1977) view of discourse as a disciplinary force, shaping and reinforcing social hierarchies. By repeatedly framing the bourgeois as a perpetual antagonist, the text enlists readers in the Party's broader project of sustaining a permanent revolution (Arendt 1979 [1948]). As a result, literature becomes an instrument of ideological policing: it rallies citizens against an imagined, ever-present danger. Consequently, in the realm of socialist realism, efforts to perpetually craft and uphold a we-versusthem worldview are not incidental but fundamental-an outgrowth of the Party's proclaimed mission to protect the socialist order from any "contamination" by former elites.

5. Conclusions

This paper set out to explore how the ideology and rhetoric of the Party of Labor of Albania (PPSH) and its leader, Enver Hoxha, shaped Albanian socialist realist literature. Through a critical discourse analysis of selected texts, it became evident that the Party's directives not only categorized specific social groups as "enemies of the people" but also provided the rhetorical blueprints for depicting them as irredeemably hostile. By applying Arendt's (1979 [1948]) notion of permanent revolution, we observed how an enduring sense of siege was maintained: no matter how often an "enemy" was exposed or eliminated, a new one swiftly took its place, thus rationalizing the regime's calls for perpetual vigilance.

The literary works analyzed focus on socialist construction-introducing new work fronts, forming cooperatives, draining marshes, seizing wealth from the rich, and describing fascist occupation. Within these narratives, the clergy, kulaks, former wealthy traders, beys, bailiffs, and the once-"toppled" class reappear as targets. By tracing Lefort's (1986) "social prophylaxis," we observed a consistent portrayal of these categories as agents of contamination or obstruction who had to be ejected from the socialist body. The texts examined used vivid-even grotesque-physical descriptions and highlighted acts of sabotage to accentuate the supposed dangers such enemies posed. These depictions also drew on Foucauldian dynamics of discourse and discipline: painting the enemy in lurid detail helped normalize state surveillance, denunciation, and punitive measures, all justified as safeguards of the collective good.

Women from these vilified backgrounds similarly assumed roles of seductresses or morally bankrupt figures attempting to lead the socialist hero astray. Yet, in alignment with the Party's didactic goals, they invariably failed-reinforcing the moral infallibility of the model socialist worker. Such patterns resonate with the critical discourse analysis findings, revealing how language, tropes, and narrative structures operated as tools of ideological enforcement.

Underlying these fictional conflicts is the regime's fundamental requirement that literature contribute to a "permanent revolution." Even though the Party repeatedly claimed to eliminate enemies, it perpetuated the notion that potential foes existed everywhere-among neighbors, colleagues, even within one's own family. This climate of suspicion legitimized unremitting purges within Party ranks and, more broadly, supported the oppressive apparatus of constant spying, reporting, and fear. By casting recurrent adversaries in literature, Albanian socialist realism effectively sanctioned the regime's authoritarian reach, demonstrating how, as Foucault (1977) argues, discourse can function as a powerful disciplinary mechanism.

In sum, the Albanian communist regime used literature as a discursive weapon-its weaponization of cultural production served to naturalize the Party's total control over politics, the economy, and the arts, while fortifying the country's isolation from outside influences. As the analysis showed, Arendt's concept of permanent revolution, Lefort's insistence on expelling perceived impurities, and Foucault's view of discourse as shaping norms all converge to explain why these socialist realist texts consistently demonized the same groups. The continuity of these rhetorical strategies ultimately upheld the Party's ideological narrative and sustained the totalitarian structure. Literature thus became a critical agent in the cyclical invention and eradication of enemies, ensuring that the state's program of vigilance remained unchallenged and unending.

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