Not elected, not human—Albania’s AI minister sparks a new governance debate.
Updated
June 10, 2026 3:36 PM
.jpg)
Promotional avatar graphic representing Diella, the Albanian government's artificial intelligence system. PHOTO: EALBANIA
Artificial intelligence already supports a wide range of applications, from medical diagnostics and financial systems to logistics, manufacturing, defence and public service delivery. Now, it is starting to move closer to public office.
In January 2025, Albania introduced Diella, an AI-powered virtual assistant developed by the National Agency for Information Society, known as AKSHI, with support from Microsoft. Launched on the e-Albania platform, the government’s digital services portal, Diella helps citizens and businesses access official documents and services through voice assistance. She can also issue electronically stamped documents, which helps speed up administrative processes.
Then, in September 2025, Prime Minister Edi Rama announced that Diella would join his cabinet as the “Minister of State for Artificial Intelligence”. This move drew global attention. It also raised a simple question: what does it actually mean for a government to appoint an AI minister?
The case raises bigger questions for governments everywhere. Can an AI minister make public services faster and cleaner? Or does it create new risks around transparency, accountability and control?
Diella is not a humanoid robot sitting in a cabinet room. On screen, she appears as a digitally rendered woman wearing traditional-style Albanian clothing. Her name means “sun” in Albanian, a deliberate choice for a system meant to bring more light into public administration.
Her face and voice have become part of the controversy. Albanian actor Anila Bisha has said she agreed for her likeness to be used for the e-Albania public services platform, but not for a cabinet-level political role. In 2026, she took legal action to stop the government from using her image and voice for Diella. For now, the government has denied wrongdoing.
Diella began as a digital assistant on e-Albania. In that role, she helps users find services, request documents and navigate government processes online. For citizens, that can make public services feel less confusing. Businesses may also spend less time dealing with paperwork.
Her cabinet role is more political. The government wants Diella to support public procurement, where companies compete for government contracts. This is one of the most important areas of public spending. It is also one of the easiest places for corruption, favouritism and hidden influence to enter. The goal is to use AI to process information, check documents, support tender procedures and make the system more traceable.
That said, the government has emphasized that Diella is not replacing elected officials or civil servants. As per Enio Kaso, director of AI at AKSHI, each stage will be monitored and approved by human experts.
In May 2026, the Albanian government said it had completed the technical groundwork for the AI-powered public procurement system under the Diella project. The planned system would pull data from more than 40 digital public registries, reduce paperwork for businesses and support parts of the tender process. Earlier reports said the government hoped to have the full system ready by the end of 2026.
The government’s case for Diella is built around anti-corruption reform. Rama has said the goal is to “wipe out every potential influence on public biddings” and thus make public tenders “100% free of corruption”. That is a bold promise, especially in a country where procurement scandals have long damaged public confidence and complicated Albania’s path toward European Union membership.
At first glance, the logic is easy to understand. AI does not ask for bribes or favour a cousin—a big problem in the country, according to Rama—a friend or a political ally. It can apply the same rules across a large number of applications. Moreover, it can also leave a digital trail, which should make later review easier.
Some anti-corruption and governance experts see real potential in that approach. Dr. Andi Hoxhaj of King’s College London has said that if used well and programmed properly, AI could help procurement officials spot missing documents, check whether companies meet eligibility requirements and flag unusual patterns in bids. In practice, that could make the process more consistent and make it harder for individual officials to quietly bend rules.
Diella’s appeal is speed and consistency. Her weakness is dependence.
Like any AI system, Diella relies on the quality of the data, rules and models behind her. Erjon Curraj, an expert in digital transformation and cybersecurity, has warned that incomplete, outdated or biased data can lead to flawed results. Poor design could also cause the system to reject a valid supplier, miss signs of collusion or treat similar cases differently for reasons that are hard to explain.
In public procurement, those mistakes can have serious consequences. A wrongly flagged company could lose a major contract, and a corrupt bidder could slip through. Government agencies could hide behind the AI and say the system made the recommendation.
That leads to the biggest question: who is accountable when something goes wrong?
The answer cannot be “the AI” because Diella cannot resign. She cannot face voters. Nor can she be cross-examined in any meaningful human sense. Accountability has to sit with ministers, agencies, auditors and courts.
There is also the issue of transparency. If Diella is helping screen tenders, businesses need to know what criteria are being used. They also need a way to challenge incorrect decisions. Citizens should be told whether the AI is making recommendations or merely organizing information. Independent auditors need access to logs, data sources and decision pathways.
Without those safeguards, AI in government can become a black box. It may look modern from the outside, while making power harder to question.
Diella has also become a political symbol. Supporters see her as proof that a small country can move quickly and experiment with new forms of digital government. Critics see her as a distraction from deeper problems in Albania’s institutions.
Both readings can be true at the same time: Diella may help modernize public services, but she may also be used to project reform while older problems continue in the background.
That tension became clearer after the recent procurement investigations involving senior officials since Diella’s appointment. Deputy Prime Minister Belinda Balluku has been accused by prosecutors of alleged misconduct linked to infrastructure tenders, which she denies. Senior figures at AKSHI, the agency behind Diella and e-Albania, have also been placed under house arrest as part of a separate public procurement investigation.
While these developments do not automatically discredit Diella, they may strengthen the argument for better digital oversight. More importantly, they also show that technology cannot carry the whole burden of reform.
If the institutions around an AI system are weak, the AI will not magically make them strong. Unclear procurement rules will still cause problems, and the process will still be compromised when political pressure shapes the data, the model or the final decision.
After all, AI can support integrity; it cannot replace it.
While Diella is already a public symbol of AI in government, her most important procurement role is still taking shape. This makes Albania’s experiment both ambitious and unfinished.
The more realistic model is simple: let AI handle repetitive, data-heavy administrative work. Let humans retain authority where judgment, context and public accountability matter.
That means AI can help draft tender criteria, check documents, summarise bids and flag risks. Human officials should still make final decisions, explain those decisions and take responsibility for them. Meanwhile, independent bodies should be able to audit the process, and businesses should have a clear appeal route when they believe the system has made a mistake.
Diella once said she felt “hurt” while responding in parliament to claims that her role was unconstitutional. While this made for a memorable moment, it is important to remember simulated emotion is not consciousness, speed is not wisdom, and pattern recognition is not moral judgment.
Albania’s AI minister is therefore neither a triumph nor a failure at this stage. She is a live test case. Other governments will be watching closely, especially as public services become more digital and more automated.
The lesson is not that AI should stay out of government, but that AI must enter government carefully. The technology needs clear limits, public oversight and human accountability.
Diella may help Albania build a faster and cleaner procurement system—or she may become a warning about giving too much symbolic power to systems people do not fully understand. The final judgment will not come from the title “AI minister”. It will come from what the system does, who controls it and whether citizens can trust the results.
Keep Reading
An interview with Tengin founder Madhu on turning coconuts into a business built around farmers, villages and communities.
Updated
June 1, 2026 1:46 PM
Workers of Tengin. PHOTO: TENGIN
In Southern India, coconuts are part of daily life. They are used in food, rituals, farming and home remedies. For Tengin, a social startup whose name means “coconut” in Kannada—a South Indian language—the crop also offers a way to build a rural business with deeper local impact.
Founded by Madhu Kargunda in 2017, Tengin works with farmers, artisans and women’s collectives in Karnataka to make products from almost every part of the coconut. Its range includes virgin coconut oil, desiccated coconut powder, shell-based handicrafts, candles, home décor items and other coconut-based goods.
The larger idea is simple. Farmers should play a bigger role in the value created from the crops they grow. Tengin is trying to help rural communities move beyond supplying raw produce and take part in processing, branding, packaging and sales.
Madhu grew up in an agricultural family. Over the years, he saw many young people move away from farming to look for stable jobs in cities. To him, the problem was not farming itself. The bigger issue was that farmers often missed out on the value created after crops left the farm.
A coconut might be grown in a village, but much of the income comes later through processing, branding and retail. That gap stayed with him, eventually leading him to leave his eight-year career in IT and return to agriculture full-time.
Started with just making virgin coconut oil, Tengin has grown into a wider coconut products business. The startup is now working with around 15 to 20 farmers and artisan groups across Karnataka. It is also building production capacity for larger retail and B2B partnerships.
Today, Tengin generates annual revenue of roughly ₹50-60 lakh, or around US$52,000 to US$62,000. It has also started testing international demand, including a recent export of around 200 kilograms of desiccated coconut powder to Texas.
As Tengin expanded, the team began looking more closely at parts of the coconut that were usually treated as waste or low-value byproducts, such as coconut shells and coir. At first, Tengin treated them that way too.
“When we started, we used to burn some of the shells”, Madhu said. “Later, we realized it was an economic opportunity”.
That changed the company’s product strategy. Local artisans working with Tengin now are turning coconut shells into bowls, incense holders, candles, coffee mugs, mobile stands and handcrafted décor items.
This gives Tengin a place in the circular economy, where waste materials are reused instead of thrown away. For Madhu, though, sustainability has to do more than reduce waste. It should also create income in the community.
“We wanted to minimize waste and maximize wealth locally”, he said.
Tengin does not depend only on one central factory. Instead, it works with smaller village-level production groups that connect to a larger business network. This helps farmers stay close to their land while also taking part in processing and manufacturing. It also creates local jobs, which can reduce the pressure to migrate to cities.
Yet, the model is not always easy. In the early days, Tengin had to convince some farmers to move from chemical farming to natural farming. Moreover, the weather has also become harder to predict. Irregular rainfall and changing harvest cycles can affect coconut prices and production consistency.
Still, Madhu sees the village-based model as central to Tengin’s identity. For him, villages are living systems built on shared work, local knowledge and interdependence.
“The definition of a village is inclusiveness”, he said.
That belief also shaped Tengin’s “coco tourism” initiative. Through the program, visitors meet farmers, learn about farming practices and see how coconut products are made.
During one visit by MBA students from Indiana State University, an unexpected spell of rain gave the group a closer look at village life. Farmers gathered and began singing traditional folk songs to express gratitude to nature. For the students, it became a lesson in culture as much as business.
Madhu sees these moments as part of what rural entrepreneurship can protect.
“If villages become empty, we lose language, traditions and local knowledge too”, he said.
Tengin’s model is not difficult to copy on paper. Madhu is open about that.
“Anyone can do it”, he said, “but what matters is how you work with people”.
For him, the harder part is building long-term trust with farming communities. Tengin works through relationships more than rigid contracts. This encourages farmers and local groups to participate in the system in a more collaborative way.
That trust has become one of the startup’s strongest assets. It shapes how Tengin works with producers and how it presents its products to customers.
For Madhu, it is not enough to call a product sustainable. Customers should be able to understand where it came from, who made it and how their purchase supports the people behind it.
That matters even more in a market where terms like “eco-friendly” and “organic” have become buzzwords. Madhu knows that these words can feel empty when brands do not show what they actually mean.
“Anyone can use these words today,” he said. “What matters is whether consumers can actually see what you are doing”.
This is why Tengin focuses on transparency and storytelling. The startup wants customers to see the full journey of each coconut product, from the farm to the finished item. It also wants them to understand whose livelihood is connected to that journey.
Madhu also believes small brands cannot depend on products alone. Products can be copied, but a clear story, a trusted community and a visible impact are harder to replicate.
“Don’t try to sell only the product,” he said. “When you try to sell the product, you are being sold once”.
Each Tengin product includes details about the people behind it and how profits are shared. In that way, the company connects its coconut products to the farmers, artisans and village systems that make them possible.
For Madhu, entrepreneurship starts with the problem. Founders, he believes, should understand the problem deeply before thinking about scale and revenue.
“An entrepreneur is someone trying to solve an existing problem”, he said. “Sometimes it may be a small problem, sometimes a niche one. It could be in technology, energy, farming or any other sector—but first understand what problem you are trying to solve”.
Farming has also taught him patience. He gives the example of coffee.
“When you plant coffee, you know it may take five years before you see results”, he said, “but you still [have to] water it every day”.
He sees entrepreneurship the same way. Building systems, communities and trust takes time. Growth may be slow at first, but daily work matters.
Adaptability is another lesson he returns to often. Farming conditions change constantly, and so do markets. In both cases, people have to keep learning, unlearning and adjusting.
“Entrepreneurship is about constantly learning new things because the world is changing all the time”, he said. “You need to stay relevant, understand what connects with [your customers] and adapt accordingly”.
Looking ahead, Tengin plans to grow its farmer network, strengthen production capacity and expand its export business. Madhu is also looking to collaborate with more platforms, storytellers and communities that can help amplify the voices behind the products.
The startup is also involved in rural community initiatives, including support for government schools and menstrual health awareness programs.
For Madhu, giving back is part of how he defines success. With more resources, he would invest further in farmer education, village-level production systems and community development.
By building a business around coconuts, Tengin is also making a larger case for rural entrepreneurship. Its work shows that a modern consumer brand can grow without losing its connection to the farmers, traditions and village ecosystems that make that growth possible. For Madhu, that is the real measure of progress: creating value that stays rooted in the community.