By Valentina Leskaj
Ollga, the woman with deep black eyes, who appears so elegant in an old photograph wearing a hat, often comes to my mind whenever we discuss the Women’s Movement. Her portrait, as she spoke to me in that simple but beautiful house on Rruga e Kavajës, always reminds me of a proud history of Albanian women.
Albanian studies, due to the historical context the country has gone through—communism and the long transition afterward—have yet to fully elaborate on the early engagement of Albanian women in emancipation.
The women’s movement did not begin in the ‘90s but much earlier, as far back as 1891 with the Qiriazi sisters, who contributed to the opening of the first girls’ school in Korçë, with Urani Rumbo in 1891, who fought against women’s illiteracy by opening the first school for girls in Gjirokastër, continuing with Selfixhe Broja Ciun, Ollga Plumbi, Musine Kokalari, Mila Vangjeli, who used their talents and courage to challenge a conservative society regarding women’s rights.
Though more than an organized feminist movement, they were unique voices who used the press of the time to give voice to the voiceless. Nevertheless, their fate in communist Albania was similar to that of dozens of intellectuals who were exiled, imprisoned, or eliminated by the regime.
More and more often, I find myself recalling a woman whose encounter left a lasting impression on my memory. That woman is Ollga Plumbi. It was an afternoon when I knocked on the door of the villa where she lived. Her son, Emil Plumbi, a talented engineer who laid the technical foundations of Radio Tirana in its early days and later as well, opened the door. Ollga welcomed me at the entrance of the villa.
Even though it was our first meeting, it was immediately clear that she was a cultured and refined woman. This was reflected in her entire being, in her communication, in her rich and polished language, in what is known as “body language.” From what Ollga represented as a personality, she seemed distant, especially to a young girl like me at the time, yet she also felt close because of the relationship she built with those in front of her—a sign of accomplished individuals.
I was in front of a woman who dedicated herself when the country needed it most, becoming the voice of the voiceless, a fighter for human rights and for other issues concerning the fate of the country. She did this as a journalist, as an engaged individual, and even as an active participant in the Anti-Fascist War, bringing along her only son, 19-year-old Emil.
After being dismissed as President of the Women’s Organization, where she served for only two years, Ollga was left unemployed for some time. Later, she worked as Head of Foreign Relations at the National Library, thanks to her knowledge of foreign languages. Soon after, she was forced into early retirement. She returned home to her books, which were many and in various languages, and which held my gaze whenever I visited her home. I felt like my ears were with Ollga while my eyes were drawn to her rich library.
At that time, I was too young to fully judge what Ollga represented, also because I had heard very little about her and read even less of what she had written and done, as she had been pushed into oblivion. However, my curiosity to meet the journalist of the 1930s, the woman who had fought for human rights, the first President of the Women’s Organization in Albania, was immense.
This only heightened my interest in her. In fact, I wanted to write an article about her for the magazine Shqiptarja e Re, even though I was unsure how it would be received. Perhaps it would never see the light of day and would end up in the trash, as often happened at that time with people unwanted by the regime. Nonetheless, I wanted to write about the woman who was hidden within the walls of her house on Rruga e Kavajës, covered in silence. It was clear that public appearances were difficult for her due to the restrictions of the time.
There was a major reason why she silenced herself and set aside her pen. A woman of her caliber—could she have made this sacrifice for herself? Of course not. I have never believed that.
She had never hesitated to write against the mentality of the time in the 1930s, nor to fight as an anti-fascist. In fact, from that meeting, I understood that it was a difficult time for her, that she was worried about her family. Even though she never said it, it was easy to grasp from her self-restraint, which during our conversation felt more like self-censorship.
Those of us who worked in the few media outlets of that time understood this very well—we lived it every day. Ollga had vast knowledge, yet she remained modest. This was the impression she left on me, which I later came to call modesty in an era of brutality. The strength of her personality lay in her knowledge, in the calmness with which she faced challenges, even the most difficult ones. She believed in the power of women to change society, asserting that women should have the freedom to decide, especially to receive an education, because “society cannot develop without knowledge.”
I don’t know if she had always been this cautious or if the circumstances of the time had forced her to be, due to the blows she had endured. But her presence reflected a deep self-restraint.
For me, this could not have been a character trait—it couldn’t have always been this way for a woman who had boldly made a name for herself as early as the 1930s and who later became one of the first women to stand alongside men in the Anti-Fascist War for the country’s liberation. In fact, for this contribution, she was elected a member of the Anti-Fascist Council, even part of its leadership. After the country’s liberation, in the 1945 elections, she was elected a deputy of the People’s Assembly with an exceptionally high vote count. Ollga Plumbi was the second most voted deputy, after Enver Hoxha.
But this did not last long. Soon, she was removed from her positions and sidelined from politics, confined to her home, even though she was among the few women engaged at that time. She was one of the rare women who had advocated for women’s rights as early as the 1930s, when she was the first to speak about feminism in Albania through her article Feminism and Our Society, addressing the situation of women from a feminist perspective and the urgent need for change.
In 1936, in an article published in Bota e Re, Ollga wrote about women’s issues, stating: “We are still far behind in gaining human rights,” making her one of the first to frame women’s rights as human rights. She waged this battle by being highly active in the progressive press of the time, especially in the 1930s, contributing to Bota e Re alongside Migjeni and Selim Shpuza, in the magazines Rilindja and Përpjekja Shqiptare, in Vatra in 1940, and later in Gruaja Shqiptare, where she wrote under the pseudonym Zita, contributing both with her writings and in founding and managing the magazine itself.
Her ideas, especially on national progress, human rights, women’s issues, and family matters, were highly advanced for her time. Confronting an almost obscurantist public opinion on women’s rights and, especially, on their right to personal choice was a great act of courage—one that is still not easy even today, almost 90 years later.
I was fortunate to meet her when I was very young. And it was something beautiful, almost magical, unreachable…
More than fifty years ago, I was certain that I was meeting a fighter for women, for life, and for human and social freedom—a knowledgeable person and a beautiful mind. But now, more and more often, I think that Ollga Plumbi, whom I met back then, was a woman from the future. And I fear she will remain a woman from the future even for the next generation. What I say is not just a tribute to her but also an invitation to the next generation: Sometimes, the future is “back to the future.”
