The government could just change the law without any public consultation
On the forty-fifth day of continuous protest in Albania's capital, a global pop star with Balkan roots added her voice to a movement asking an ancient question in modern form: who holds the right to reshape a nation's land, and by whose consent? Dua Lipa's public support for the so-called 'flamingo revolution' — a six-week uprising against a €1.6 billion resort backed by the Kushner family on Albania's only island and surrounding nature reserves — drew international attention to a conflict between economic ambition and ecological stewardship. At its heart, the dispute is less about a single development than about the fragility of democratic process in a young democracy still finding its footing between poverty and promise.
- For 45 consecutive days, Albanians have filled the streets of Tirana to protest a resort project they never voted for, on land they consider a national inheritance.
- The Albanian parliament quietly amended environmental protection laws in December 2024 to permit construction in sensitive ecological zones — with no public consultation, no debate, no warning.
- Conservationists say the damage on the Zvërnec peninsula is not hypothetical but already done, calling it an environmental crime that demands accountability rather than assurances.
- The European Union has signaled that Albania's 2030 accession ambitions could be jeopardized if the country is seen dismantling environmental standards to accommodate foreign investors.
- Dua Lipa's intervention — calling the protests 'inspiring' and questioning the government's unilateral rewriting of the rules — has galvanized younger Albanians and amplified the movement's reach far beyond Tirana.
On the forty-fifth day of continuous protest in Tirana, Dua Lipa — born in London, shaped by Kosovan Albanian heritage — called the demonstrations against a €1.6 billion resort project 'inspiring' during a podcast conversation with academic Lea Ypi. The protests, known as the 'flamingo revolution,' had been building for weeks around a development backed by investors including Jared Kushner and Ivanka Trump, and had become a referendum on something larger than any single building project.
The resort's scope was immense: ten thousand villas planned across Sazan, Albania's only island, and the Zvërnec peninsula — both uninhabited, both designated nature reserves, both home to rare Adriatic ecosystems and bird species. In December 2024, parliament had amended environmental protection laws to allow construction in these sensitive areas. There was no evidence Kushner had pushed for the change, but the speed and secrecy of it had become the movement's defining grievance.
Lipa named the principle plainly: a government that rewrites environmental law without public consultation, however promising the investment, has broken a covenant with its citizens. Prime Minister Edi Rama had called the development 'a gift to Europe' and refused to yield. But conservationists told a different story — that environmental impact studies were only now being conducted, that works had already altered the Zvërnec peninsula, and that accountability, not developer reassurances, was what the moment required.
The European Union, which Albania hopes to join by 2030, had warned that accession talks could be endangered if environmental standards continued to erode. On day forty-five, with protests showing no sign of fading, the deeper question remained unresolved: whether a nation emerging from poverty could welcome transformative outside investment without surrendering the landscapes — and the democratic principles — that define it.
On the forty-fifth day of continuous protest in Tirana, Albania's capital, a pop star with roots deep in the Balkans lent her voice to a movement that had already captured the country's attention. Dua Lipa, born in London but raised partly in Pristina by her Kosovan Albanian parents, called the demonstrations against a €1.6 billion resort project "inspiring" during a podcast conversation with academic Lea Ypi. The timing mattered. The protests, which had come to be known as the "flamingo revolution," were fighting a development backed by investors including Jared Kushner and Ivanka Trump—a project that had become the flashpoint for a broader argument about power, transparency, and who gets to decide what happens to a nation's land.
The resort itself was massive in scope. It would sprawl across Sazan, Albania's only island, and extend along the Zvërnec peninsula opposite, a strip of white sand beach where developers planned to build ten thousand villas. Both sites were uninhabited, designated as nature reserves, home to ecosystems and wildlife corridors that sustained rare bird species and other creatures across the Adriatic. The scale was staggering, but so was the speed at which it had been cleared for construction. In December 2024, the Albanian parliament had amended environmental protection laws—laws that had been stringent—to allow building in sensitive ecological areas. There was no evidence Kushner had pushed for the change, but the move itself had become the symbol of what protesters saw as a government willing to rewrite the rules to make a deal happen.
This was what troubled Lipa most. Not the resort itself, necessarily, but the principle. "What I actually find concerning is the principle that the government could just change the law to remove the environmental protection without any kind of public consultation," she said on the podcast. She was naming something that had animated the protests from the start: the sense that decisions about Albania's future were being made in rooms where ordinary citizens had no voice. The country, more than three decades into democracy after decades of communist rule, remained among Europe's poorest. Prime Minister Edi Rama had framed the development as "a gift to Europe" and "a blessing," a transformative investment that could reshape the nation's economy. He had refused to back down despite the opposition.
But the protesters and conservationists saw something different. Aleksander Trajce, who heads Albania's leading environmental protection group, told reporters that Lipa's intervention was "fantastic but well-timed." He noted that younger Albanians, many of whom saw her as an idol, had been energized by her words. Yet Trajce also carried a grimmer message: the government was now conducting environmental impact studies it should have done from the start, but on the Zvërnec peninsula, he said, the damage had already been done. Works had taken place. There had been, in his words, an environmental crime, and people should be held accountable. The European Union, which Albania hoped to join by 2030, had warned that accession talks could be endangered if environmental standards were not upheld. The developers, for their part, insisted they would proceed responsibly, focused on environmental enhancement and creating value for local communities. But on day forty-five of the protests, with no sign of them stopping, the question remained open: whether a nation could be remade by outside investment without losing something essential in the process.
Notable Quotes
I find it so inspiring to see how much people really care.— Dua Lipa, on the protest movement
The government is now beginning to do what it should have done from the start, such as conducting an environmental impact study, but on Zvërnec the damage has already been done.— Aleksander Trajce, head of Albania's leading conservation group
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why did Dua Lipa's statement matter so much at that particular moment?
Because she had an audience that the conservation groups didn't. Younger Albanians saw her as one of their own who had made it globally. When she said the protests were inspiring, it wasn't abstract—it was permission to care about this publicly.
But she's not an environmental scientist. Why should her opinion carry weight?
It shouldn't carry weight on the science. The science is clear—these are vital ecosystems. What her voice did was translate that science into something that felt culturally relevant, less like a lecture from Brussels and more like a conversation between Albanians about what they wanted their country to be.
The prime minister called this a blessing for the nation. Isn't there a real tension there—between development and conservation?
There is, absolutely. Albania is poor. Investment matters. But the tension isn't really between development and conservation. It's between development done with the public in the room and development done to the public. The parliament changed the law without consultation. That's what Lipa named.
Do you think the protests will actually stop the project?
On day forty-five, there was no sign they would. But they've already forced the government to do environmental studies it should have done first. That's not nothing. Whether it's enough depends on what those studies find and whether anyone is willing to act on them.
What happens to Albania's EU ambitions if this goes wrong?
The EU has already signaled that environmental standards matter for accession. So the government is caught between wanting the investment and wanting to join Europe. Those two things might not be compatible.