Of the five Western Balkan countries currently holding EU candidate status — Albania, Montenegro, North Macedonia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, and Serbia — Albania has long been seen as the frontrunner in the race toward membership. But despite its formal progress, the country continues to grapple with high levels of corruption and only modest achievements in combating organised crime. Public trust in the rule of law and the integrity of the judicial system remains critically low.
In a surprising twist, Albania’s Prime Minister Edi Rama has turned to artificial intelligence in an attempt to boost anti-corruption efforts. At a press conference in late July, Rama floated the idea of establishing an AI-led ministry — a move he claims would eliminate nepotism and conflicts of interest. AI tools are already being used in Albania to monitor public procurement, tax and customs operations, and to detect irregularities. The country’s territory is also surveilled by AI-powered drones and satellite systems that track illegal construction and cannabis plantations in rural areas.
But opposition MPs have voiced skepticism, warning that AI is a tool — not a miracle. In the right hands, it could indeed help modernise governance. In the wrong ones, it risks becoming a high-tech disguise for the same old problems. They argue that clear accountability is needed: How will AI be used? How much will it cost? And — most critically — who will be writing the algorithms? If the same vested interests that once benefited from corrupt tenders end up influencing those coding the systems, Albania won’t be moving closer to Brussels, but will remain stuck in its entrenched corruption patterns. As the opposition points out, 80% of public spending in Albania passes through government contracts, with 20% awarded without any competitive process at all. Under these conditions, AI may not eliminate corruption — it could simply conceal it more efficiently.
Judicial reform, another pillar of Albania’s EU integration agenda, has also raised red flags. Proposed changes to the country’s criminal code have triggered a fierce backlash, with critics warning they would entrench authoritarianism rather than promote democracy.
One of the most controversial proposals is Article 235 — “Insulting the Republic and its Symbols” — which criminalises mockery of high-ranking officials, including the prime minister, president and cabinet members. Those convicted could face up to three years in prison. The term “insult,” however, is vaguely defined, opening the door to broad interpretation and potential abuse. Journalists and activists could be targeted arbitrarily, chilling free expression.
Other proposed articles — such as 865 (“Defamation”), 863 (“Insult”), and 536 (“Undue Influence on Judicial Independence”) — similarly tighten control over speech and judicial oversight. Article 865 strengthens criminal penalties for defamation while removing the requirement to prove that information was false — essentially turning investigative reporting into a punishable offence. Article 863 uses the ambiguous term “offending public opinion,” potentially enabling selective repression of dissent. Meanwhile, Article 536 would criminalise public commentary on court proceedings, undermining journalists’ and civil society’s role as watchdogs — especially in high-profile political cases.
Legal experts warn that these changes directly violate the European Convention on Human Rights, which guarantees freedom of expression, as well as Council of Europe Recommendation No. 13 (2003), which upholds the media’s right to report on judicial proceedings. The draft legislation also contradicts established European Court of Human Rights jurisprudence, which defends the public’s right to information on political and judicial matters and demands a high tolerance threshold from public officials in democratic societies.
Another worrying amendment would shorten the statute of limitations for corruption crimes — a move seen as a backdoor amnesty for powerful political figures currently under investigation. The government also proposes to equalise penalties for corruption offences committed by high- and low-ranking officials — a measure critics say dilutes accountability at the top.
So far, these changes are only proposals, but the ruling Socialist Party, in power since 2013, holds 83 of 140 seats in parliament — enough to push the legislation through. Should the reforms pass, Albania’s EU accession prospects could be seriously undermined. The opposition has accused Prime Minister Rama of masking authoritarianism behind the façade of reform, arguing that the proposed criminal code changes represent a direct assault on democratic governance, judicial independence, and press freedom — all key EU accession criteria.
A key test of Albania’s sincerity in fighting corruption will be the outcome of the ongoing trial of former Prime Minister Sali Berisha. On July 21, Albania’s Special Court for Corruption and Organised Crime opened proceedings against Berisha, his son-in-law, and three others. The case stems from allegations that Berisha used his position in the mid-2000s to pressure officials into facilitating a lucrative privatisation deal benefiting his family.
If Brussels concludes that Albania’s anti-corruption campaign is more cosmetic than real, the country risks losing its leading position on the EU path to neighbours like Montenegro or North Macedonia. The stakes are high — and so is the scrutiny.