Through the Eyes of the Croatian
The first thing you hear when you wake in the valleys of Slavonia is the soft bell chime of the village church, mingled with the distant crowing of roosters and the rustle of wheat fields. That sound carries our story back to a time of sturdy farmers and ancient cities, where Croats lived for centuries along the Adriatic coast and in the inland hills. Our ancestors built stone churches with bell towers that seemed to reach the sky, wove damask and embroidered with golden thread, planted vineyards on the slopes of the Dinaric Alps, and fished in the blue sea. Cities like Dubrovnik and Split stood as free republics, with walls that withstood storms for centuries, with squares where traders from Venice, Ragusa, and Constantinople met. We lived in harmony with sea and mountains: fishers who saw the sea as a brother, farmers who honored the soil as a mother, families who sang while working and danced the kolo in circles that never broke. Every family knew the Glagolitic script, the legends of King Tomislav, the Mass that began the day. That was our golden time: a people of sea and stone, of trade and faith, free and proud in a world that often tried to dominate.
But then came the wave from outside, like thunder rumbling for centuries. The Ottomans attacked and held parts of Croatia for centuries, with border battles and bloody fields. Austria and Hungary later took power, and after the First World War we came into Yugoslavia – first as a kingdom, then as a socialist federation. But the real break came in 1991: the declaration of independence, followed by war. Vukovar in ruins, Dubrovnik under fire, mass graves in Ovčara, the siege of Sarajevo that also touched us. Every family knew the loss: a father who fought on the front line, a home that burned, a child who slept in the shelter while shells fell. The smell of smoke, the silence after explosions, the emptiness in the streets.
From that depth comes a pride that is quiet but stubborn. The stone of Dubrovnik rebuilt stone by stone, the kolo still danced on squares, the Dalmatian sea that always calls us back. Our wine from the islands, our olive oil, our klapa singing that touches the soul – that is us. We have found our voice again: a country that rose from the ashes, that welcomes tourists with open arms, that learns from pain but never gives up.
But the truth colors magenta like a sunset over the red roofs of Dubrovnik. The scars remain: the memory of war, the division that sometimes still whispers, the youth who emigrate because the future sometimes feels far away.
Yet we remember in silence: on the walls of Dubrovnik where the sea whispers, during Independence Day on June 25 when we raise our flag, in the churches where bells still ring – never forgetting who we were. We tell our children of Tomislav and the kolo, of the sea and stone, so they know: we were free and connected before we were broken.
And yet… the bell rings again in the morning light, a soft, persistent tone rolling over the hills. That is our secret: we suffered under occupation, war, and loss, but we were first a land of stone and sea. For our children we fold no walls, but a question: how do we rebuild that old connection, how do we let the bells ring again for everyone, how does Croatia become again a home of harmony and light?
January 2026
Manna Ori
43. Through the Eyes of the Croatian
Kroz Oči Hrvata
Prvo što čuješ kad se probudiš u slavonskim dolinama jest tiho zvonjenje crkvenih zvona u selu, pomiješano s dalekim kukurikanjem pijetlova i šuštanjem pšeničnih polja. Taj zvuk nosi našu priču natrag u vrijeme čvrstih seljaka i starih gradova, gdje su Hrvati stoljećima živjeli uz Jadransku obalu i u unutrašnjim brežuljcima. Naši preci gradili su kamene crkve s zvonikom koji su dosezali nebo, tkali damast i vezli zlatnim koncem, sadili vinograde na padinama Dinarskih Alpa i lovili ribu u plavom moru. Gradovi poput Dubrovnika i Splita stajali su kao slobodne republike, s bedemima koji su stoljećima odolijevali olujama, s trgovima gdje su se susretali trgovci iz Venecije, Dubrovnika i Carigrada. Živjeli smo u skladu s morem i planinama: ribari koji su more smatrali bratom, seljaci koji su zemlju poštovali kao majku, obitelji koje su pjevale dok su radile i plesale kolo u krugovima koji se nikad nisu prekidali. Svaka obitelj poznavala je glagoljsko pismo, legende o kralju Tomislavu, misu koja je započinjala dan. To je bilo naše zlatno doba: narod mora i kamena, trgovine i vjere, slobodan i ponosan u svijetu koji je često pokušavao zavladati.
Ali onda je došao val izvana, poput grmljavine koja je stoljećima tutnjala. Osmanlije su napadale i stoljećima držale dijelove Hrvatske, s graničnim bitkama i krvavim poljima. Austrija i Mađarska kasnije su preuzele vlast, a nakon Prvog svjetskog rata došli smo u Jugoslaviju – prvo kao kraljevina, zatim kao socijalistička federacija. Ali pravi lom dogodio se 1991.: proglašenje neovisnosti, praćeno ratom. Vukovar u ruševinama, Dubrovnik pod vatrom, masovne grobnice u Ovčari, opsada Sarajeva koja nas je također dotakla. Svaka obitelj znala je gubitak: oca koji je ratovao na prvoj crti, kuću koja je gorjela, dijete koje je spavalo u skloništu dok su padale granate. Miris dima, tišina nakon eksplozija, praznina na ulicama.
Iz te dubine dolazi ponos koji je tih ali tvrdoglav. Kamen Dubrovnika ponovno izgrađen kamen po kamen, kolo koje se još pleše na trgovima, dalmatinsko more koje nas uvijek zove natrag. Naše vino s otoka, naše maslinovo ulje, naše klapsko pjevanje koje dira dušu – to smo mi. Ponovno smo pronašli svoj glas: zemlja koja je ustala iz pepela, koja turiste prima raširenih ruku, koja uči iz boli ali nikad ne odustaje.
Ali istina boji magenta poput zalaska sunca nad crvenim krovovima Dubrovnika. Ožiljci ostaju: sjećanje na rat, podjela koja još ponekad šapuće, mladi koji odlaze jer budućnost ponekad izgleda daleko.
Ipak pamtimo u tišini: na zidinama Dubrovnika gdje more šapuće, tijekom Dana neovisnosti 25. lipnja kad vijorimo zastavu, u crkvama gdje zvona još zvone – nikad ne zaboravljajući tko smo bili. Pričamo svojoj djeci o Tomislavu i kolu, o moru i kamenu, da znaju: bili smo slobodni i povezani prije nego što smo bili slomljeni.
A ipak… zvono ponovno zvoni u jutarnjem svjetlu, tihi, uporni ton koji se kotrlja preko brežuljaka. To je našna tajna: patili smo pod okupacijom, ratom i gubicima, ali bili smo prvo zemlja kamena i mora. Za našu djecu ne savijamo zidove, nego pitanje: kako ponovno izgraditi tu staru povezanost, kako pustiti da zvona ponovno zvone za sve, kako Hrvatska ponovno postaje dom harmonije i svjetla?
Siječanj 2026
Manna Ori
43. Kroz Oči Hrvata