This chapter seeks to understand ‘legal science’ from the internal point of view of each tradition and society, in order to avoid a conception too heavily influenced by contemporary views. To do so, reference is made both to the set of activities carried out by ‘legal experts’ in the whole domain of law (legislation, adjudication, legal counseling and education), and to the legal experts themselves, as far as they were regarded as such by their own societies. This approach requires first to establish the extent to which, in each society under consideration, knowledge of law was considered as autonomous knowledge. A sociological perspective is then adopted, identifying who in each society were considered legal experts, i.e. persons deemed to possess the legal knowledge to such a degree that it characterized their social position and/or function. The chapter then proceeds in a progressively more content-oriented manner towards a comparative description of legal science, focusing on how legal training took place in each society under consideration and in what literary forms the legal experts expressed themselves, to finally arrive at the core question, namely the description of the respective forms of legal reasoning.

American politics has become sharply polarized. Partisan deadlock has prevented the addressing of critical public policy issues. A prime example is Congress’s inability to pass campaign finance legislation. Corporations spend unlimited amounts of company funds to promote management’s preferred candidates without disclosure. The distortive effects of large unaccountable corporate political expenditures are evident, and the opportunity for corrupting our politics is clear. In addition, large undisclosed corporate contributions pose a threat to a well-functioning marketplace and democracy. This chapter addresses the challenge of addressing corporate political spending through the informal, non-state suasion and advocacy of the nonprofit Center for Political Accountability. CPA is a case study in successful private ordering, prompting S&P 500 companies to disclose corporate political spending; develop policies that will ensure good compliance and governance; adopt codes of conduct to reflect and inspire pro-accountability behavior; and successfully compete with other firms for best disclosure and accountability practices.

The Albanian earthquake of 26 November 2019, which was especially devastating in the port city of Durres and environs, led to an international outpouring of humanitarian aid. Although considerably less affected, the capital city of Tirana, located only some 37 kilometres away, was also catapulted into chaos and panic. Yet this was short-lived. The invincible children of Skanderbeg rallied, and the country was soon vibrating with energy. There were only a few short months separating the earthquake from the arrival of COVID-19, and in this context, Albania once again proved itself to be rebellious in spirit, in many ways living on the edge. While most of the European Union closed its borders, the neighbouring land of the eagle remained defiantly open. The quake and the virus notwithstanding, Albania has welcomed foreign visitors even from countries whose citizens, at the time of the pandemic, were barred from most places.

Slightly over a decade ago, the Australian-based Lonely Planet guides picked Albania as the number-one tourist destination in the world for 2010. It announced that this country, which had once been considered ‘only for the brave’, is indeed one of ‘azure beaches, confrontingly good cuisine, heritage sites, nightlife, affordable adventures and the possibility of old-style unplanned journeys complete with [a welcoming populace] for whom travellers are still a novelty’. Lonely Planet asserts, ‘Sick to death of being dismissed with blinged-up crime-boss clichés, […] Albania won't be off the beaten path for much longer’ (Lonely Planet, 2010). Indeed, during the few years prior to the Lonely Planet homage, the Balkan outpost had exchanged armed for open-armed locals! In April 2020, Prime Minister Edi Rama announced his goal to make Albania the tourism champion of the Western Balkans (Semini, 2021). An emphasis on this transformation is not an exaggeration. Over the course of its history, Albania has arguably been the most remote and mysterious of all European nations in the eyes of both East and West. Depending on the period, it has been alternatingly exoticized or vilified, or both at once. Albania has conjured up the romance of Lord Byron and Ali Pasha's court, not to mention the remote forests of Harry Potter. It has further been a paradise for anthropologists with its ancient blood feuds and sworn virgins.

Perhaps it was the fact that my first United States passport, issued when I was only seventeen, bore the menacing inscription, ‘Not valid for travel to Albania, Cuba and North Korea’ that my attention was first drawn to this Balkan nation. It was, for me, who grew up in the west of the United States, terra incognita. I subsequently learned of its politics and isolationism in a secondary school class called ‘Current World Problems’, and I was at once daunted and charmed. Although my curiosity was aroused, I knew that Albania was not merely out of reach, but also forbidden. And hence it disappeared from my radar for seven years or so. During my unrelated graduate studies in Hispanic Languages and Literatures at the University of California, Los Angeles, in the late 1970s and early 1980s, my obsession with Albania was rekindled. At that time, an extensive bibliography project was required as part of my doctoral coursework. I opted to explore scholarly work on Brazilian literature in Eastern Europe. Although Yugoslavia was rather extensively represented, I was chagrined that I could not find anything at all published on the topic in Albania. During my doctoral studies, I quenched my thirst for all things Albanian by purchasing a typical 1970s audio-lingual method for the language at a small boutique for educational materials on MacArthur Park. This was the only course available at the time with an audio supplement that used the current spoken language. I further invested in a dated language course from the Defense Language Institute. More will be said to this effect in the ‘Introduction’ to this book.

I was determined to ascertain whether Albania was really all that inaccessible. Could Americans somehow get there? Through the kindness of a stranger, I was put into contact with Rose Dosti, a culinary writer for the Los Angeles Times, who dispatched me off to Ajeti's Albanian restaurant in Hermosa Beach, where I was able to meet my first live Albanian, Haki, a young gentleman born in Vlora. Also, through Rose, I entered into contact with the late Mary Romano, an Albanian-American, who had visited Albania multiple times. Although I never met Mary face to face, I was enthralled by her over-the-phone anecdotes on Albanian travel and culture. I learned that I was not alone in my interest.

This chapter explores the establishment of a socialist film industry in Albania following the birth of the communist state. It examines early works in the newsreel and documentary genres, which, for the country's first decade, constituted its sole film output. These years saw the consolidation of the People's Republic of Albania and the formation of the Warsaw Pact, of which Albania was a founding member. During this period, Albania had strong ties with the Soviet Union, which considered it a very strategic ally given its proximity to the West. The newsreels and documentaries produced by Albania gave strong voice to the triumphs of the young state, and this was framed in the context of Albanian-Soviet friendship. Films for entertain-ment were imported, a good number from the Soviet Union. Given that the new Kinostudio had few trained professionals, and moreover, was not yet in a position to provide its own training, future film artists and technicians were sent abroad to study in the Soviet Union, Hungary, and Czechoslovakia. This chapter will discuss the first cohort of these students. Although brief mention will be made here of Stalinist film practices, references to Enver Hoxha's views on the arts and cinema will be reserved for Chapter III, given that these topics stem from Hoxha's speeches and documents of the 1960s and 1970s, as well from a contemporaneous Kinostudio manifesto.

The foregoing discussion will primarily proceed in chronological order, though not exclusively.