Croatia is playing England in the World Cup semi-finals tonight. I’ve been seeing posts on twitter by young English people pondering how last time England got this far in the World Cup, Croatia didn’t exist. ‘Architecture in Yugoslavia’ exhibition opened last night at MoMA. Several of my friends were there, all born in Yugoslavia and all now from different countries. I’m wondering if the ambassadors of all of our new countries were at the opening, all lined up for a photo opp, celebrating the design of a country they all used to be from. I’m thinking of my niece and nephew and young people of their generation, and how small these places they are from are. I’m writing invitation letters to people to join me in an action in a week’s time, where I will stand next to a 1965 statue of a man holding a ship in front of the now pretty-much-destroyed shipyard in Rijeka. I’m asking people to join me standing there, holding something that’s important, in solidarity with the stone statue. Srebrenica happened on today’s date 23 years ago. Pompeo, Trump’s Secretary of State, issued a letter of support praising tolerance and prosperity everywhere and for all, and saying we must “work harder to strengthen democratic institutions” so that terrible things wouldnt happen any more. And I’m sitting here, thinking about these things – in English, and writing, and then not writing any more, but crying, and not thinking any more, but saying out loud, into an empty room and my sunny London garden, pička im materina.