I’m writing this blog post in response to a news story in Croatian, and if you’re interested, you can find the link to the original newspaper article in the blog post.
Though the incident happened in Zagreb, Croatia, the place itself is just geography.
What truly matters – and what hurts – is something that crosses all borders: the violence inflicted on a child, and the silence that surrounds it.
This is not just a local tragedy. It concerns us all, no matter where in the world we live.
Some news stories you hear and forget. In the rush of daily obligations, they’re just background noise.
And then you come across a story that hits you where you thought it no longer hurts.
The news that a boy was brutally beaten by his peers – right here in Zagreb, near Bundek – belongs to that second category.
Anyone who has ever experienced violence – whether from familiar faces or complete strangers – who has endured punches, insults, and humiliation, felt fear, or even just endured a demeaning look, cannot remain indifferent to this kind of news.
Every time the media reports on a brutal attack – especially when it involves a child – it feels like we all hold our breath.
We criticize a society that’s becoming increasingly aggressive, blame the state for failing to protect its most vulnerable members, and ask ourselves who is raising such monsters.
Then we label the person a “victim,” maybe share the post, and keep scrolling.
We move on to the next story, the next gossip, the next video of someone acting silly for likes.
We tuck away other people’s pain into isolated drawers of our daily lives.
The truth is, we don’t know what to do with that pain – and that’s dangerous.
It makes it easier for the attack to happen again, maybe even more brutally next time.
Meanwhile, the wound remains.
In society. In memory. In conversation.
I know what it’s like to stay silent while being insulted.
To be mocked for being different.
I know how much it hurts when no one says anything.
When no one stops it.
And the worst is when those who were supposed to protect you don’t believe the wound exists.
In my case, the wound wasn’t visible, but it still hurt.
What do you think a mother or father of a boy beaten until he bled feels like?
They didn’t just lose a sense of safety.
They lost faith in the system.
In the school.
In other people’s children.
In the adults who were supposed to prevent this.
When your child ends up in surgery because of content on social media and peers who nearly beat him to death; nothing is normal anymore.
What does the attacked boy’s friend feel?
The teacher who noticed nothing?
The passerby who assumed it was just kids roughhousing and walked away?
Guilt.
Shock.
Silence.
And the question we all carry: Could I have done something?
Of course we condemn the attack.
Quickly.
And quickly forget.
Most of us say to ourselves: “What does this have to do with me? Let the institutions do their job.”
But that silence – that inaction – makes us complicit.
It’s the fifth face of violence. The one staring back at us from the mirror.
Every day we’re bombarded with images of violence through movies, TV shows, video games – and now, more than ever, through social media.
A new generation is growing up believing that violence is a normal form of communication.
Brutality comes in entertaining packaging.
It’s not just an act. It’s a symbol of status.
It gets attention, likes, power.
What happens when someone who’s been labeled a “victim” grows up and tries to prove their worth to society with the same brutality?
And the attackers?
What if they had to look into the eyes of the peer they beat up?
Without arrogance.
Without masks.
To see the pain they caused.
To feel the shame that burns.
The guilt that squeezes your insides and doesn’t let you escape.
Not as punishment – but to face the consequences.
To understand that what they did wasn’t strength, but weakness.
A reflection of their own insecurity.
I agree, that’s unlikely to happen.
And without it, we remain stuck in a vicious cycle where violence becomes the rule, and silence the norm.
The boy who survived this attack is now living through the hardest days of his young life.
I don’t know him.
But I feel for him.
The feelings of rejection, vulnerability, and fear won’t go away overnight.
And the worst part?
Those feelings aren’t his.
They were forced on him.
Violently.
Heartlessly.
This needs to be talked about.
It’s not just a news story.
He is a real person.
I don’t want to live in a society where children’s pain becomes viral content.
Do you?
When you see violence – react.
When you hear a whisper – listen.
When you recognize pain – don’t look away.
What kind of society are we building?
What kind of young people are we raising?
What we don’t stop – will repeat. Maybe to the one you care about most.