In an apartment in Montreal, Koucha took the tune of "Ya Nabi Salam Alayka" — the melody that crossed continents and made millions cry — and stuffed it with whatever he wanted. He pressed publish. Crossed his legs. And waited.
He didn't wait long.
Fifty countries erupted. And the man in his apartment counted and calculated. Then he came out and said what no one had said with such indifference: I will delete — but only if the law on contempt of religion is abolished!
He did not hate the Prophet. He hated a law — and your injury was his bargaining chip!
Then Jordan came.
A father published one word from all of Arabic — "Al-Ruwaibidha" — then he fell silent. He didn't cry. He didn't call. He slaughtered his son with a prophetic saying in front of the people before the state could slaughter him. This slaughter was cleaner — because it did not require a court nor did it accept appeals!
But he stopped.
Who won?
The sheikh, who hadn't filled his mosque for weeks, returned with millions of views in one day. The account that used to sell slimming ads now auctioned zeal for the Prophet. The official, who was unknown, publicly disowned those who didn’t recognize him in the first place. The politician who had no program found a platform he had long desired.
They all entered the market. They all sold. And they all walked away winners!
Except you.
You who shared out of protest — and doubled the spread. You who commented out of jealousy — and raised the ranking. You who cried and screamed and rebroadcast — proved that the market is open and will be repeated!
The algorithm has no religion. It sells emotion as the butcher sells meat by the kilo. And religious anger is its most valuable commodity — and you have been its most loyal customer for twenty years!
From the Danish cartoons to Charlie Hebdo to Montreal to Amman — nothing has changed except the name. The offense grows. The audacity surges. The market expands.
Why?
Because they tested us. And found that we do not learn — so they raised the bar each time. And we lifted it with them with our hands, voices, and tears!
We do not confront the offense. We give it lifespan, a market, and an audience!
In Taif, blood flowed until it stuck to the sandals. Revenge was offered — and the response was construction, not inflammation. A nation was built — and the nation was the only response that history could not refute.
The most dangerous thing about offense is not its occurrence — but its ability to schedule you and shift you from a builder to an inflamer!
And they bet that we have not understood this yet. And in every round — they win the bet!
The melody is still sung.
In celebrations and mosques and throats that cry with it at night.
No one truly touched it.
It was us who touched ourselves — when we thought we were defending but were actually pushing!
Homelands do not die by wars. They die when the sacred becomes a market — and we still remain its most loyal customers!
And the strangest thing — that the bill of loss arrives every time in the name of victory!
