It has been a year since Melita Vrsaljko, a journalist with Faktograf and the Climate Portal, was brutally assaulted—first while on assignment filming an illegal waste dump with a colleague, and then again the following day in her own home. Despite the severity of the crime and the fact that it targeted a journalist, no one has been convicted to this day, nor has an indictment been filed.
Instead of answers and justice, our colleague and her family continue to face institutional inaction and silence from the authorities. We speak with Melita Vrsaljko about her experience, and about the price journalists often pay when they dare to report on issues deemed undesirable by those in power.
One year after the attack, where does the investigation stand? Has there been any meaningful progress, or have you been left to pursue justice on your own?
The Zadar Municipal State Attorney’s Office has been conducting a preliminary investigation for a year now, yet it has not issued a decision on whether to file an indictment or dismiss the criminal complaint. I’m not permitted to disclose details of the investigation. Still, given the slow pace at which statements are being collected from those involved, I can only conclude that this case is not a priority for them.
Meanwhile, two proceedings are ongoing at the Municipal Court in Zadar. In one of them, I am the defendant—alongside the man who, while intoxicated, assaulted me on the street for doing my job. He failed to appear at the last hearing and offered no plausible explanation for his absence.
In the other case, which concerns his daughter, Iva Perić—who came to my home uninvited and began strangling me—I am a witness. As such, I have no insight into the current status of that proceeding. I gave my testimony in court at the beginning of January, but since then, I have received no official updates.
Have you ever received any official explanation from the State Attorney’s Office or the police as to why no indictment has been filed? Or is silence all you get?
Since the State Attorney’s Office is still conducting preliminary investigations, we cannot predict the outcome of our criminal complaint. From my experience covering local issues, I know that the Zadar Municipal State Attorney’s Office often prolongs preliminary investigations for years after receiving a complaint and frequently misses deadlines for issuing decisions.
As for the police, they concluded that the attack on me in my own home constituted a disturbance of public order and peace—because the front door was open during the assault, allegedly causing public alarm. As a result, they are not charging the attacker with violating the inviolability of the home, assaulting an official person, or committing an act of violence. Instead, they are treating it as a case of disturbing the public. And for them, that appears to be the end of the matter.
Do you have the impression that your case is a matter of simple unprofessionalism or of deliberate political pressure to cover things up?
It’s a combination of both factors. It would be easiest to say, “Let the institutions do their job.” But I’m not naive—I know where I live and how deeply institutions in this region are intertwined with the ruling caste. It’s also a matter of police ignorance. I’ve had to explain repeatedly that, as a journalist, I have the right to film anything visible from public spaces—especially when it involves waste dumped in the middle of a populated area.
I’ve gone to great lengths to explain the purpose of my assignment, how editorial decisions are made in a newsroom, and that I did nothing wrong. Yet, a year later, I still find myself standing in court, repeating the same story: that I was simply doing my job.
Has anyone from the government, Parliament, or relevant ministries ever contacted you, at least to ask how you are, or do they consider the attack on a journalist to be your private problem?
No one has ever contacted me, nor do I expect such a thing. The state only deals with protecting journalists in theory and on paper — in practice, not so much. The state also contributes to creating a hostile atmosphere toward journalists. For example, Prime Minister Andrej Plenković regularly belittles and insults journalists and their work. It’s enough to remember how the relevant minister, Nina Obuljen Koržinek, attacked the excellent journalist Dora Kršul from Telegram simply because she didn’t like what Kršul was writing about her scandals.
How can one expect sincere support from people like that? These are people who either fundamentally don’t understand what journalism and the public interest are or, even worse, know very well the power and importance of journalism and want to silence us out of fear.
Besides, what would we even talk about? Everything they need to know is contained in the police reports and video recordings of my case. I don’t need nice words and empty promises from the minister or anyone in the government; I need the rule of law to function.
How hard is it to keep working after such an experience? Can a journalist in Croatia be truly free?
A journalist is only as free as the media outlet they work for—and unfortunately, such outlets are becoming increasingly rare. More than my own case, I’m deeply concerned about the deteriorating media landscape in Croatia. Over the past year, many journalists have lost their jobs, and the number of quality media outlets continues to shrink.
I’ve been working as a journalist for ten years, and throughout that time, the situation has steadily worsened. Sadly, that leaves little room for optimism.
Do you feel that society has left you alone? Do you feel a sense of solidarity, or has indifference prevailed? Could we all, including our journalistic organisations, have done more?
When it comes to journalistic organisations, I received all the support I could have asked for, and I’m grateful for that. However, that support, as important as it is to me, cannot protect me in this small community where everyone knows—or can very easily find out—where I live, where I go, who I spend time with, etc. I’ve felt the greatest solidarity and empathy from journalists who have gone through similar situations, as well as from colleagues in my newsroom and other media outlets. As for the local community, a portion of people think that I brought this upon myself because I “meddle” where I shouldn’t. That says a lot about how citizens perceive journalists but also about the lack of awareness of what journalism is actually for and what the journalist’s job entails.
What message would you send to your fellow journalists who are afraid to tackle topics that upset local power brokers or those on the national level?
It’s hard to tell someone, “Go cover important topics in a small community—it matters.” Because in reality, that advice means knowingly sending someone into a potentially dangerous environment, where they—and their loved ones—may face pressure, threats, or even violence, with little assurance that institutions will protect them. The fear is understandable.
But as George Orwell said, “Journalism is printing what someone else does not want printed; everything else is public relations.” Covering these kinds of stories—at least in my case—brings a sense of inner fulfillment, because they serve the public interest. Especially now, when the world seems to be spiraling into chaos, it’s up to journalists to stand up for decent, honest citizens and work in their interest.
If a topic a journalist is covering makes a politician uncomfortable, it likely means that politician should be worried about what might be uncovered.
Looking back, is there anything you would have done differently, or would you do it all the same?
I wouldn’t have done anything differently, nor will I change my approach to work because of this case. Our silence and fear would be a victory—a desired outcome—for those who want to silence us. And that’s something I refuse to give them. If I were to give in, I would consider it both a professional and moral defeat.