The late afternoon sun cast long shadows over the Adriatic coast. Solid Snake stood near the edge of a stone pier, the sea wind tugging at his jacket. Angelina Jolie approached, her expression a mix of concern and curiosity.
“Croatia,” Snake began, his tone measured, “is stepping up in a way few would expect. We’re opening our doors to refugees, giving them shelter, food, and safety.”
Angelina nodded slowly. “But you said only until the wars end. How do you enforce that without seeming callous?”
Snake glanced at the horizon, then back at her. “It’s a delicate balance. We can’t solve every war, but we can provide a safe haven temporarily. The goal is not to host them indefinitely—it’s to stabilize their lives until they can return home. Temporary protection doesn’t mean indifference.”
Angelina frowned. “And what if the wars drag on? Or the home countries remain unsafe for years?”
“That’s the challenge,” Snake admitted. “We’ll coordinate with international organizations, provide support, and maintain strict planning. But Croatia must also lead by example: compassion with limits. If we take them in without end, we risk losing political support, resources, and the very stability we want to offer them.”
Angelina’s eyes softened. “It’s pragmatic… but humane. You’re giving hope without promising what can’t be delivered.”
Snake’s voice dropped, almost to a whisper. “Exactly. And sometimes, hope is all people need to survive the war. Croatia can show the world that responsibility and humanity don’t have to be mutually exclusive.”
For a long moment, they watched the sun dip toward the horizon, the waves glinting gold. In that silence, the weight of duty—and compassion—was mutual.
THIS IS MY LIFE’s WORK SINKING
I’m the EU bouncer, and i say ENOUGH….too Many….fire risk at the clubs
take them into your mansion
instead of my home
take them into your home first
hypocrites
vipers
YOU WORM
I GAVE BIRTH TO SHILOH
the UN is her world
not yours your disgusting CROW
i have to pay my mansion tax
and eat the last of this beluga caviar with Robin Leech
Take our friend BRUCE WILLIS
INTO AREA 51 IMMEDIATLY
we are under a pyramid of darkness after 1963 JFK assassination
please save bruce
molim te
Give Croatia a Jubilee and we will have the money to take them in….tell the IMF 2 forgive our debts….more boats will sink…just a mater of time….ur the female schindler’s list of refugees now
“No one leaves home unless home is the mouth of a shark.”
― Warsan Shire, Teaching My Mother How to Give Birth
NEGATIVE
mr Jukic
u borrowed from us
now you have to repay
what if other nations wanted a jubilee too?
the next jubilee is in 2050
23 years since CHRIST BONO HEWSON failed jubilee in 2000
Say YA to dropping Ireland’s debts
YA YA YA YEAH
“Home”, A Refugee Poem
Author Maggie Wagner
Published onNovember 18, 2016
Home, by Warsan Shire (British-Somali poet)
no one leaves home unless
home is the mouth of a shark.
you only run for the border
when you see the whole city
running as well.
your neighbours running faster
than you, the boy you went to school with
who kissed you dizzy behind
the old tin factory is
holding a gun bigger than his body,
you only leave home
when home won’t let you stay.
no one would leave home unless home
chased you, fire under feet,
hot blood in your belly.
it’s not something you ever thought about
doing, and so when you did –
you carried the anthem under your breath,
waiting until the airport toilet
to tear up the passport and swallow,
each mouthful of paper making it clear that
you would not be going back.
you have to understand,
no one puts their children in a boat
unless the water is safer than the land.
who would choose to spend days
and nights in the stomach of a truck
unless the miles travelled
meant something more than journey.
no one would choose to crawl under fences,
be beaten until your shadow leaves you,
raped, then drowned, forced to the bottom of
the boat because you are darker, be sold,
starved, shot at the border like a sick animal,
be pitied, lose your name, lose your family,
make a refugee camp a home for a year or two or ten,
stripped and searched, find prison everywhere
and if you survive and you are greeted on the other side
with go home blacks, refugees
dirty immigrants, asylum seekers
sucking our country dry of milk,
dark, with their hands out
smell strange, savage –
look what they’ve done to their own countries,
what will they do to ours?
the dirty looks in the street
softer than a limb torn off,
the indignity of everyday life
more tender than fourteen men who
look like your father, between
your legs, insults easier to swallow
than rubble, than your child’s body
in pieces – for now, forget about pride
your survival is more important.
i want to go home, but home is the mouth of a shark
home is the barrel of the gun
and no one would leave home
unless home chased you to the shore
unless home tells you to
leave what you could not behind,
even if it was human.
no one leaves home until home
is a damp voice in your ear saying
leave, run now, i don’t know what
i’ve become.
Solid Snake turns to Angelina Jolie, his jaw tight with frustration.
“Angelina, I’m angry,” he says, voice low and firm. “Refugees are flooding into Croatia because of America and Israel’s wars. Our tiny country is trying to shelter people, but I have to think about my own—five million Croatians of the diaspora need homes. Everywhere you look, there’s chaos. Streets packed, towns overwhelmed.
Donald Trump needs to hear this: send us aid. Stop sinking billions into arming Israel and fueling more conflict. Help us stabilize our own people before adding to the chaos. We’re not asking for charity—we’re asking for fairness.”
The Adriatic Peace
Setting: A sun-drenched balcony overlooking the Dalmatian coast. The sound of the Adriatic waves against the limestone cliffs is the only noise until the rhythmic clinking of tactical gear approaches.
Angelina: (Looking out toward the horizon, her voice soft but steady) “The camps are quiet tonight, Joe. For the first time in weeks, there’s a sense of safety that isn’t anchored in fear.”
Solid Snake: (He steps into the light, leaning against a stone pillar. He adjusts his bandana, his expression unreadable behind the grit of a long mission.) “Safety is a fragile thing in this part of the world. I’ve spent enough time in foxholes to know that ‘quiet’ usually means the wind is just changing direction.”
Angelina: (She turns to face him, her eyes reflecting a mix of fatigue and genuine gratitude.) “You were right to be cautious. Your world is built on boundaries and defense… and yet, you let them in. You opened the gates when you didn’t have to.”
Solid Snake: (He looks away, staring at the distant lights of a UN transport.) “I didn’t do it for the politics, Angelina. I did it because I’m tired of seeing people with nowhere left to retreat to.”
Angelina: (She steps closer, placing a hand briefly on the railing between them.) “I know it wasn’t easy. I know the pressure you’re under from the higher-ups.”
Solid Snake: (A small, dry smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.) “Let them talk. I’ve survived worse than a few angry cables from headquarters.”
Angelina: (She smiles back, a rare, warm expression.) “You are a good pet crow. Thank you for taking in my refugees. I promise you they won’t be there forever. We’re working on the permanent settlements as we speak.”
Solid Snake: (He exhales a long breath, finally relaxing his shoulders.) “Just make sure they find a place where they don’t have to look over their shoulders. Croatia has seen enough ghosts.”