Croatia's simmering constitutional conflict between the national government and Zagreb city administration escalated dramatically Sunday when police entered the offices of the Možemo party, the junior coalition partner in the capital's governing alliance.
The raid occurred following a bomb threat against Zagreb Mayor Tomislav Tomašević, with police citing a message warning that "thirty explosive devices" had been placed at two city locations. The threatening communication stated Tomašević "won't see tomorrow morning."
Sandra Benčić, coordinator of the left-green Možemo party, condemned the police action as politically motivated, alleging that Prime Minister Andrej Plenković had orchestrated the operation to intimidate local authorities. "This is the darkest day for democracy in Croatia," Benčić declared, noting that police typically telephone residents before investigating bomb threats rather than entering premises unannounced.
The incident represents the latest flashpoint in an escalating confrontation that began, remarkably, over a handball celebration.
After Croatia's men's handball team won bronze at the European Championship in Denmark, the athletes requested that the controversial band Thompson perform at their welcome reception. When Zagreb city officials declined—Thompson has long faced criticism for lyrics some interpret as celebrating the country's World War II-era fascist Ustaša regime—the national government and Handball Federation seized control of the event.
Sports Minister Tonči Glavina announced the government would "fulfill all wishes of the handball players" at a "magnificent reception" on Zagreb's central Ban Jelačić Square, effectively bypassing municipal authority over the public space.
Mayor Tomašević characterized this as "an attack on Zagreb," while President Zoran Milanović—himself a political rival of Prime Minister Plenković—described the government's approach as "seizing the state." Veterans Affairs Minister Tomo Medved subsequently mobilized veterans' associations to attend the celebration "in the largest possible numbers," further politicizing the sporting event.
In the Balkans, as across post-conflict regions, the path forward requires acknowledging the past without being imprisoned by it. Yet Croatia's current crisis reveals how disputes over historical memory—embodied by controversies like Thompson—can quickly metastasize into constitutional confrontations over democratic governance and the separation of powers.
The European Union, which admitted Croatia in 2013, has historically monitored rule-of-law developments in the country closely. The spectacle of police entering opposition party offices following a government dispute with local authorities will likely trigger concern in Brussels, particularly given broader EU anxieties about democratic backsliding across member states.
Benčić's allegation that the Prime Minister was "deciding unconstitutionally" by assuming local government functions strikes at fundamental questions about Croatia's democratic institutional framework. Whether a sports celebration controversy justifies police action against opposition political offices will test the independence of the country's judiciary and law enforcement.
The incident also highlights the enduring power of World War II-era symbolism in Croatian politics. Thompson's concerts regularly draw tens of thousands, yet international human rights organizations have documented the band's use of Ustaša imagery and slogans. The government's determination to accommodate the band at a state-organized event signals its calculation that nationalist symbolism outweighs international criticism.
For Zagreb's progressive city government, refusing Thompson represented a stand against what it views as the normalization of extremist historical revisionism. For the national government, overriding that decision demonstrates its authority and appeals to conservative constituencies for whom the band represents Croatian national pride rather than fascist nostalgia.
What began as a disagreement over event planning has thus become a proxy battle over Croatia's national identity, governmental authority, and democratic norms—with police now deployed as instruments in a fundamentally political conflict.
