"Man has been given freedom and an ideal. Freedom, to feel himself master of what is his, freely to seek truth and new paths. An ideal, to climb towards it, to have a goal towards which he moves."

Ivo Mašina was born in Preko in 1927 to his parents Ivo and Marica.  He came from a large family of nine children. He lived, as Mladen Dorkin puts it, "for a world in freedom, for a world in beauty. In his heart there was no room for selfishness, darkness, hatred or revenge. He lived for the ideal of Love and Freedom. In his vision, that ideal was Jesus Christ, perfect God and man. That is why he strove to offer himself as a perfect sacrifice, one he would offer with a pure heart for the freedom of the Homeland, for the right to dreams and to a faith that can and must be fulfilled, as a victory of good over evil, of light over darkness. Ivo Mašina’s dream is of a whole and happy man, free in his thoughts, longings and desires, divinely upright in dignity, within a nation equally free and happy, sovereign and proud in its dignity".

He was educated in Dubrovnik and Zadar, and finally, in 1948, enrolled to study history in Zagreb. In Zagreb, together with his colleagues from Preko, he launched and edited the journal Parapet. From 1954 he worked as a history graduate at the State Archive in Zadar. That same year he was arrested and sentenced to a year and a half in prison. After that he returned to Zagreb to finish his studies, but was arrested again and sentenced to 11 years of strict imprisonment. He escaped from pre-trial detention and went into hiding; he fled across the border but came back, unwilling to leave behind an injured guide who was on his own. He was sentenced again, this time to 15 years. He served his sentence once more in Stara Gradiška, where, in solitary confinement, he died in 1961, before a full year had passed. His remains stayed in Stara Gradiška until 1998, when they were transferred to his native Preko. An authentic interpreter of the Gospel, he bore witness to Christ through his life and work; true to his ideals, he was powerful and astonishingly brave, the conscience and consciousness of his time in the struggle for the universal integrity of the human being and of his beloved people, for its natural right to be free and to be itself, at home, in work, in creativity, in honesty, in dignity, in progress, equal with other peoples in its human and divine calling".  

Fra Rudi Jerak, who had the strongest influence in shaping Ivo Mašina’s character and his patriotic and Christian ideals, and who himself shared the fate of imprisonment, speaks thus: "I pray every day to Ivo, our martyr, as to a saint. I gave him a rosary from the Holy Land, long before his imprisonment. And one day, when they were beating me too, and then opened Ivo’s cell as well, I heard Ivo loudly protesting: "You have no right to take my rosary from me, and, by law, I have the right to profess my faith." They took the rosary from him, and then the guard unlocked my cell: "Do you know what this is?" – "I know," I answered, "it is the rosary you took from Ivo a moment ago." In giving that rosary to Ivo in particular, my intention had been to deepen his faith, because, being such a man, he would give the most to his people, even in the political struggle. At night I heard the guards coming who tortured Ivo; I heard his sobs, but never a scream, just as I myself never screamed or wept. But I did weep, I wept when they tortured Ivo. Ivo also died because of the method of starvation, but above all from the beatings; he was utterly battered, his ribs broken, his kidneys ruptured…

He met him on the day of his First Holy Communion, on the little island of Školjić. All the children were present except one. In an overly large little boat for a boy, one small lad in white was rowing, who, at my call, came alongside the shore, exhausted but cheerful: "Young man, you are still too small for those oars, but when you grow up, I can see it, you will fight even harder than you do today, and in a bigger boat, and you will overcome, I know it, the winds and storms that await you."

In everything he showed love for his family, his native place and his homeland. That love was compassionate, deep and active – tender towards his mother and father, caring towards his brothers and sisters, warm towards close relatives and friends. His native Preko "will remain forever deeply etched in our hearts, for that landscape is part of our personality, part of ourselves. Here we were born, here we first saw the world and began our lives. We sprang from this karst, and all of it is ours, and we are living parts of these stones, this shore and this sea. Of these gentle hills, - of this sun and this sky, which nowhere else is quite so attractive and beautiful.

Mother – the dearest being – like the Homeland – a symbol of piety, peace, self-sacrifice and happiness, and that is the essence of life, that is what he would wish to live and die for". The warmth of the family hearth, mutual  love and  attachment, can be felt in every letter, in every word:

"My dear little mother, I am hurrying to wish you a happy birthday, my dear one. How I would love to be beside you now, to kiss you and hold you tight! Even though you cannot see me, I am beside you, mummy, and I pray to Jesus for your health, for your peace and for your comfort. I would like to bring you joy!, but I do not know how, so I pray to Jesus to send you His joy. I shall receive Communion on your birthday; I know that will be a dear gift for you. I am well and healthy; spring has already come, and I have somehow been renewed by it. I cannot, unfortunately, come home for Easter, but summer is not so far off either. I am studying. I have now enrolled in the last term of my studies, so that I shall finish attending lectures in June. That means I shall be done with sitting in lectures. About a year after that I shall, I hope, graduate, and so finish my studies and all this to-do. There is a chance that in the end I shall get Zadar, which would please me greatly, since we would also be close to one another. My dear little mother, I know you have many worries, but leave them now to the younger ones, and wait for the better and more beautiful days, which are not so far off. Of course, we shall still have to go through a great deal, but after every Calvary comes a Resurrection. Look ahead cheerfully, little mother, and do not fear for us, your children, for you taught us to walk the path that promises Life. A thousand thanks to you for that, and may God bless you! I kiss your forehead and your hands, mummy." Your Ivo

"My dear little mother, I am writing you a joyful letter for Christmas. Do not weep that I am not there. That Davor and I are not decorating the crib and the tree together. Here, in my heart, I have made a great, golden tree and a crib for the little Christ Child. The Righteous One will come into the heart of the righteous, for so it has been said. All the bells are ringing within my being; my soul is a nightingale singing in the bush. Thank you, little mother, for this feeling which surpasses all feelings. Thank you, and thanks to Grace. For there is no more sublime idea than the idea of Love. Behold, Love is being born into the world, behold, Love is being born within me. What harm can my enemy do me, when I love him? My cross is sweet, and my burden is light, so light that I feel it as nothing other than happiness. So how could you be sad for your son? Rejoice with me, for it is written: I shall turn your sorrow into joy, your sighs into shouts of gladness, your tears into laughter. Here I am, in the little dining room, beside the tree, and I am singing. Little candles glow on the tree, and their glow is reflected in your eyes. The light of Christ glows within us. The torch of love has scattered the darkness, for God so loved the world that He sent His Son to earth, to suffer and to endure hardship. Is there a greater example of love; can the human imagination conceive a similar example? The shining example of Christ, like a lighthouse before us. Let us love, so that tonight we may be happy in the presence of our Lord, carrying out His full commandment. And may His grace be upon us. Having these two things – Love and Grace – we are rich enough, and we seek nothing more. Rejoice, little mother, in this Christmas, and do not weep that I am not there to decorate the crib and the tree with Davor. Here, in my heart, I have made a great, golden tree and a crib for the little Christ Child. The Righteous One will come into the heart of the righteous, for so it has been said. " (Written in prison – Zagreb, Đorđićeva Street, District Court – just before Christmas 1954.)

"My dear little mummy. I know that spring has come, as always, to your garden and to our little garden, and that means, here is your birthday too! Your time, dear mummy, filled with pain and courage! Your years, in which we grew up, your wonderful image, which we shall never be able to outgrow! That is how I see you, and that is how you will remain. Your birthday is on Sunday. I have your little photograph with me too; you are always beside me. I also have some biscuits, those very fine little squares, and sweets from a parcel. I shall treat myself at your expense, and I shall toast you with lemonade (which you love) instead of vermouth. I hope you will now find a little time for your little grandson too, and not just potter about the garden the whole time, and I hope, too, that your garden is flourishing and that everything is blooming beautifully. I keep thinking about your health, and whether you can still eat anything besides those watery "specialities" of yours. There is no news with me. I am well and healthy. I read, I play chess, I sleep well, and sometimes I dream: usually of the sea, of steamships and of gajeta boats. My glasses recently broke, so I am expecting you to send me my other pair, the ones I brought back from the army. I wish you all the best, dear mummy, for your birthday, and above all health, peace, and God’s blessing. " Your Ivo

From his earliest childhood he lived inspired by the Gospel, growing up in a harmonious, patriarchal home in which his father lived the life of a man "with an open hand, with an open heart for everyone":

"Five years ago, on this May day, my father died. I remember: he was pure goodness. His gaze was so gentle and noble, his smile always cheerful and tender. Even though he could have become a rich man, he preferred to be a poor man with an open heart for everyone. Even today, almost complete strangers meet me and, remembering him, praise him as a saint. He remained in the fondest memory of all of Preko and its surroundings. In my very first school composition I described my parting from my father at the start of the school year, when I travelled by steamship to the town to study. Then he embraced me and said: "Study, son, and be a man!" I wrote that looking vividly, in my mind, at my good papa, just as I still see him today: his noble eyes, his optimism, the joy and seriousness on his face. I did not know I would never see him again. I was 17 years old when I lost my father. Those were hard days of war. It was May, and I know that on that day I wrote in my diary how the roses of May had bloomed for my papa. The earth put on its most beautiful garment, to receive his good heart into itself. We were far away (Ivo was in Zagreb), separated, father, when you left us. My mother told me how you left us. She, our sufferer, suffered just as you did. She wept as she told me about you, and I wept with her, though I wanted to comfort her. She wept, and through her tears wanted to show me your last look, the one you turned upon her. A look full of pain. It pained you that you had to leave her, and all of us, alone. But that look, knowing you, surely still wanted to say: "Be brave, Maria! Be brave, children!" My father, we too shall come to you. How wonderful is this faith of ours, which you taught us, and which promises us that we shall come to you, that we shall be together. And until then, may good God grant that your children have such a heart, such gentleness, such love in their eyes, as you did, our papa."

"I always loved to write, even as a boy. In the happiest moments of my youth I wrote joyful words, full of exhilaration. And when my heart was sad, I wrote and wept whole nights through. Then dawn would bring me relief, and, a new day. I have long been thinking how to begin writing this diary, unable to find any head or tail in the chaos of my feelings and thoughts. But that is exactly what compels me to write. After all, if a man wishes to live sensibly and honestly, he must also concentrate, must gather himself at least for a moment, so as to be able to judge accurately the position in which he finds himself and the path he is following. I have noticed that my previous diaries have helped me little in this. My intimate, my most intimate feelings, and the problem of building my own character, must be the primary thing in this diary. From now on, through it, through my own personal diary, I want to keep watch over myself, to try to judge accurately both my faults and my virtues, and to fight against the former while cultivating the latter. My diary will always be able to tell me: this is what you set yourself as a task, this you accomplished, this you did not, here you lost, and here you won a battle. And only in that way shall I be able to move forward in building my character…"

"Whenever I look within myself, into my own inner being (and I do this often, because I wish to know myself as well as possible), I always come upon something new. That new thing grows and comes into conflict with the old. I feel that I am a drama. A drama over which the curtain does not fall even when I sleep. Something wakes me in the middle of the night or at dawn, and I feel myself a new man. And when I now look back at my past "self", I see the rapids of a river flowing violently, one that is different and new in every second. Every day I stand before my Rubicon, and every day I cast the die. This time I shall cast it before you.

What am I to say to myself on my twentieth birthday? I have no words. I only remain silent and feel the blood boiling within me – the blood of my twentieth summer. Dreams, my dreams! We are arriving in harbour. We draw ever closer to it. In my third decade my dreams will begin to become reality. We have passed our first youth, and we shall go boldly into life. I shall climb tirelessly towards my dear stars…Like a new Columbus I shall conquer new worlds. The first star will shine with freedom. My Croatia! The second star will shine with the warmth and love of one’s own hearth. And the third star, which already shines even now, will shine still more brightly. On the crucifix, the sorrowful face of Christ! And what more do I need? I have everything. Like a traveller from distant lands, I shall carry with me all the weariness and suffering I meet along the way. And I shall know how to value life. For it is worth exactly as much as its ideals are worth. I love life, and I shall give it up for no one. And precisely because I love life, I would rather fall than bow my neck and become – an ape. Because I love Life, which He gives me, I shall not die. Life – that is Eternity, and Eternity is in Him.

Although for the time being I have set my official rising time at 4 o’clock – that does not mean I have to lie awake in bed if I happen to wake earlier. The rule reads: 1. Get up as soon as you wake. 2. Study conscientiously and diligently. 3. Do not laze about or idle away time. 4. Check yourself daily through the diary. I am aware of the fact that a strong and firm character is the fruit of a young man’s ceaseless and painful struggle with himself, and with a hundred "objective" difficulties. I am also aware that the acquiring of knowledge is my first and greatest task, for only in that way shall I be able to contribute as great a share as possible to the fulfilment of my ideals. From now on I shall strive to make every month of my life a whole in itself. Let every month have its own motto, its own programme, its own obligations. I shall also try to draw up a monthly column in which I would note down my results and my work, and in that way I could also compare the results of individual months. This diary, I am certain, will help me in this, if only I remain consistent in checking myself through it…"

The more he reflected on conditions in the world, on the society in which he lived, on the surroundings in which he moved – the more he came to the conclusion that the path along which faith and Christianity led him was the only right path, "and that I must be truly inexpressibly grateful to God for the great grace He has given me, that I was born a Christian, and that, despite all upheavals, I nevertheless managed to preserve in my soul faith in Jesus Christ, faith in God, and the ideals of the Gospel", which gave him a realistic view of the world and of the people he encountered:  "It is generally difficult to talk with you Communists at all. All revolutionaries possess a certain degree of intolerance, and without tolerance a normal exchange of ideas is impossible. I have noticed, comrade, in our conversations, that you personally, though perhaps a brilliant Communist, possess a minimal degree of intolerance. An unjust society measures with an unjust measure, while a just one measures with a just and understanding one".

And he always begins anew – "Amici, diem perdidi", quoting the young Roman emperor. "Enough of excessive gentleness! I must be cruel and savage, in order to be able to be kind (Hamlet). Such is the age we live in today. But I must, above all, be harsh with myself, and root out my faults and vices. Dear to him was the sentence from the Gospel: "Be wise as serpents, and harmless as doves." Everything interests him: from conditions in world and domestic politics to football, skiing, films, social conditions, socialising and food. That is why he is not alone. Around him is a countless number of people. On frequent occasions he composes and delivers toasts, the so-called "vrabac" [sparrow toasts], in which he often liked to joke at the expense of those present.

At the foundation of his character was, perhaps, the desire to live out the ideal of humanity and faith: "Yes, we human beings are often dissatisfied with ourselves precisely because we settle for being what all ordinary people are, because we do not love, with full strength and with our whole will, to strive for great goals. That makes "small people" of us, creates in us a feeling of inferiority and faintheartedness, and everything is justified by the phrase: others are no better either. As a small person you can do everything that others do. But if you wish to become a great figure – there is much work, much that is forbidden, and much effort is required… And that is what we fear. Then we console ourselves: that one need not be ambitious, that it is best to be small, an ordinary person: simple and modest. No! – "Ou Chateaubriand ou rien" ("Either Chateaubriand or nothing"). So wrote the young Victor Hugo. He too could have been a modest, simple little man. But he wanted to be Chateaubriand, and he became Victor Hugo. Oh, Victor Hugo, tonight I have gazed upon your soul! How close our souls are – love, goodness, forgiveness! That is what man creates, and that alone can create a more beautiful, better, more just society. There is nothing I would wish for more than to reveal the truth to myself and to people, a truth that will improve people and their society. There is nothing I would wish for more than to have written such a truth. One need only wish it. One must, in fact, raise one’s head; we must work tirelessly, we must struggle, we must strive steadfastly for great achievements – to arrive at Chateaubriand. Will you do it, Ivo? Yes, I will. Either Hugo, or nothing.

In woman, as in the Homeland,  he saw what we might call a potential of the heart, which, if a woman lives it out, leads to true and genuine freedom and happiness: "I am hurrying, though already very late, I am hurrying so that this white sheet of paper may bring you, as soon as possible, my sincere congratulations on your birthday. What can I say to you, what can I wish you that would be most beautiful? I wish you happiness! That true, that genuine happiness which, in fact , all people long for, and which brings not unrest into the heart, but peace and contentment. You are a golden girl in your appearance – I wish that your heart, too, be golden. You are not frivolous (I know that from experience, and it pleases me) – I wish that your good sense always be the helmsman of your heart. For that alone is the path to happiness: to go towards it wisely. I wish you much more besides, things I could tell you if you were here beside me, but as it is, on paper, they would come out as nothing but meaningless words. And on that day I thought of you, even though I did not know it was your birthday. I knew you would receive a letter. I also thought, at that time, of my good mother, who celebrated her own birthday the following day. I tell you…, there is nothing in my heart as close to me as you and my mother. That is what I now call my Homeland, for that is precisely its essence. That is what I love most, and what I would wish to live and die for. Yes, I wish you one more thing. May your soul be as beautiful as you yourself are… It is for woman to choose her path. It is easier for her than for us. If modern technology and progress demand that woman abandon the family – let us halt such progress, for that is progress towards catastrophe and evil. Let our girls truly be girls, let our women truly be mothers. For the world cannot live without a heart. Only they can bring the world what it lacks, what it is most in want of: love and warmth. And it is easier for them to choose this than it is for us to devise "saving ideas", for it lies, so to speak, statically in their nature, and that is why "they are closer to the common good than we are."

And in conclusion, we bring a poetic letter he wrote to his family about his days spent in prison, where every day he prayed the Mass, which he knew by heart. In everything, even in the bars of his prison cell, he saw a deeper meaning and the fullness of Life, awaiting it at any moment and in any place: "My dear ones. It seems to me that today is Holy Thursday, though perhaps it is not, perhaps I am mistaken. That is how it is, you see, when a man is without a proper calendar. And the Easter feast is somewhat capricious, since it follows the moon rather than the sun. But tomorrow I shall know: if it is Good Friday, then the cathedral bell will not be heard, whose ringing so masterfully overcomes, every day, these poor iron bars, and whose sombre voice fills every corner, even of this room, like the scent of incense, like a balm of peace. Iron and iron. The cathedral bell and the bars on the window. And while the bell, full of song, swells and grows ever greater, I watch how the consumptive bars grow more withered with every passing day. For three days Jesus Christ lay dead in the tomb, and on the third day He rose. That is why, every morning since these bright spring days have set in, I peer through the bars at the Sun, shining triumphantly in the clear blue sky; I smile at it and say to it, good day, sir, please, do come into this room, it makes no difference, it can even come through the bars: who can hold you back, when you are, sir, the Sun. And it comes in, in broad cascades, in rivers of light, into my small dwelling, which, of course, is not, and cannot be, what people usually call a "prison". And so the Sun and I fall to talking, and it, in passing (which I find very amusing), pats me on the head and lays its rays upon my shoulders. Embraced like that, my sun and I, we shall sing, on Easter morning, the psalm of the Resurrection: "I have risen, and I am with You. Alleluia!" It occurs to me now: how wretched these bars on my window will look at that very moment, when the Sun and the pealing of the Easter bells come triumphantly through their openings, and I feel ever more sorry for my poor bars. So now I sit here looking at them from the table (and outside it is dark, for supper has already passed) and I think: do not be ashamed, little bars, that you are bars! Do not torment yourself, only stand firm! You, too, perform your duty, so perform it honestly and faithfully. We must, little bars, together glorify the wisdom of God, together with the Sun glorify that wood of the cross on the summit of Golgotha, and the great stone that covered His tomb. For it was only through the cross that salvation came, and only through the tomb, the Resurrection. Your Ivo