Tuđman’s Croatia was on the brink of international sanctions and complete isolation, primarily because of the camps for Bosniaks in Herzegovina. It was only because then newly appointed Minister of Foreign Affairs Mate Granić took seriously the warnings about what was to come, and because Croatia, despite Tuđman’s fundamental rejection of Western values, still cared about not being cast out by the West, that these camps were eventually closed. This happened only after many Bosniaks from Herzegovina had gone through Golgotha there, and even the closure of the camps reflected the peak cynicism of Croatian politics, which conditioned the prisoners’ release on their signing statements agreeing to leave for so-called third countries, that is, to accept being ethnically cleansed from their homeland. This was the occasion for the establishment of transit camps on Badija near Korčula and in Savudrija, among others.
I am writing all this because a large number of Bosniaks from Herzegovina ended up in exile in Scandinavian countries, including Sweden, and as a reaction to the information we received from the European Handball Federation that the scandal involving the playing of Thompson’s song Ako ne znaš što je bilo (“If you don’t know what happened”) will not be repeated. At the same time, we learned that part of the audience objected, that members of the Croatian national team persistently insisted on the song, but that the song does not reflect the values upheld by European handball.
This is, incidentally, one of the better pieces of news in recent times, and it shows two things. First, that it is impossible to maintain a structural lie about historical events, not even within the nationalist party-state itself, let alone beyond its borders. And second, that today’s Croatia has sunk so deeply into its own provincialism, self-sufficiency, and narrow-mindedness that members of the national team evidently have no understanding whatsoever of what the problem is.
If we momentarily set aside the militarism and the complete undermining of the idea of reconciliation and new life that stem both from the song’s lyrics and from Thompson’s entire body of work, what remains is his glorification of the Ustaša regime, which cannot be concealed by any double meanings for anyone capable of thought. And what remains are the following lines from the song: “Did Our Lady of Herzegovina cry her tears? / Ask that, my dear, on the road to Mostar.”
Now let us try to imagine how Bosniaks, who have in the meantime become citizens of Sweden, feel when they hear such falsification of the past and of their own suffering. And then let us try to imagine to what extent the Croatian national team, as well as a large part of Croatian society, is not only devoid of any sense of humanity and justice, but also completely inoculated against any critical distance from nationalist mythology, and seemingly utterly unable to place themselves within an international context.
This absence of any feeling or understanding of the world is on the same level as Šimunić’s lawsuit before the European Court of Human Rights over his suspension for chanting the Ustaša salute.
Incidentally, it would have been nice if “Our Lady of Herzegovina”, if she existed at all, together with the clergy, had truly wept over the fate of neighbors who were expelled from their own homes solely because of their nationality. But we will evidently have to wait a long time for any kind of confrontation with that fact, if it ever happens.
Long ago, there was a time when Bob Dylan and Marko Perković Thompson held concerts on the same evening in two neighboring halls in Frankfurt, and Croatian nationalist media rejoiced over the fact that Thompson’s concert was far better attended. From that event grew Dylan’s interest in that man, followed by his correct conclusion about Thompson’s Ustaša leanings, then hysteria in the Croatian media against “the Jew Dylan,” even censorship of his songs on Radio Split. But from this also emerged an almost complete ban on Thompson’s concerts across Europe, which served solely as a platform for the expression of nationalist sentiments within the diaspora. And a brilliant parody song was also born, which Predrag Lucić and Boris Dežulović performed for years as part of their cabaret repertoire.
As we can see, time passes, the world changes drastically and all too often for the worse, but Thompson and his followers, together with the HDZ members, do not change at all. Always the same thing, over and over again, stubbornly banging their heads against the wall. If it weren’t so socially destructive, it would actually be amusing.
Translated by Marijana Simić
Peščanik.net, 22.01.2026.
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