Pic: Ustashi (WW2 Croatian Nazi collaborators) villan Mishko Ratkovich, from Trilj, Dalmatia, with fellow ustashi member, stained in fresh human blood, 1941. Image and article taken from:
Article (translated to English, badly)
When I first saw this photo, it reminded me of Pishonja and Zhuga, Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn, and the beautiful moments I've spent with friends. I remember those barbecues and drunk nights, going out, field trips and camping. I love happy, smiling people, I enjoy hanging out with them, but most of all I love being like that, because you'll agree, such moments don't come often. A guitar always on hand, and my friend Lemmy, who always starts with a washed out old hit song, like "Fratello" from Aerodrom. We were very happy and fulfilled those days, a bit like the youths from the photo, who look a lot like our parents on old photos from work actions, or from their time in the army. Cute and beautiful, full of life. However, that which differentiates their smile from ours, is that their faces and hands are literally covered in human blood. They are members of an ustashi formation, which in 1941. performed indescribable crimes, on those they thought to be unworthy to live, and the results of a mistake in God's creation.
It seems unreal, that someone who slaughtered a man, woman or child, mere ten minutes ago, can be laughing and seem happy. I do not doubt that it is impossible, for they say that a man feels indescribable power while killing another. They say that feeling is much more potent than orgasmic ecstasy, so it is without a doubt that they enjoyed "playing gods".
Look once more on their faces. I do not wish for you to see Croatians in them, so do not start with the story of who started and who finished what, whose history is true, and whose isn't. I simply imagine myself on my knees, in front of the feet of one of these youths, with a knife under my neck. Just like that, without any euphemisms. Luckily, I cannot feel the pain, or the fear of death, but I can certainly say that I cannot see the past, grandfathers glorious battles, nor am I any longer a Jew or a Gypsy. I only feel the powerlessness of my body, and the cold, the blinded young man, with bloody hands, killing me for sport and fun. This must be what a man feels, only moments away from death.
Feel free to stop reading, if you are here to confirm for yourself how Croats are a disgusting horde of child eating cannibals. I do not want to talk about that, nor do I believe in it, and I know that non-humans exist, of all nations of this world, whose actions are demonic, as it would be cruel to animals to call such men beasts. It would benefit every man, especially those with hot heads, if we ask ourselves, does a similar demon live in our soul? An imp wishing revenge, drinking lemonade and preaching about enemies that do not exist. If we remember that demon, than we will realize why many of our neighbors, regardless of who's they were, changed their faces over night, and became ruthless murderers. Gentlemen, every one of us has the potential to be that "neighbor". So this has nothing to do with Croats, nations, creeds and tribes, as this is exclusively about man, moral and ethics, his empathies and principles. Therefore a genocidal nation does not exist, but only a genocidal individual.
Nazism, fascism and their close relative nationalism, are all wrapped together in patriotism, they will forever remain in the minds of men, as an inexplicable occurrence in mankind's past, present and future, proving that we do not have issues with those different from us, but with the evil lurking within us. So if we do not work on that, our demons will frolic for centuries, with bloody hands and faces, and we will be all, but not living, laughing youths from the photo.
Who are you? Where from? I do no know, but the warmth I cherish
On your light. Sing. For I am silent,
Only now to live, though I will perhaps perish.
I feel the coming of Holy Freedom and Vengeance so violent,
Your song brings back the twinkle to my eye,
A forceful as the people, as the sun up on high
Ivan Goran Kovačić – Jama