من خلع قبعة صديقي؟ وماذا كان تحت القبعة؟!

I had a Sudanese friend who was one of the old journalists. He always told me that his sarcasm in articles was not just writing humorously, but rather a professional behavior that requires the courage and precision of a surgeon.

In his opinion, a true satirist is the most serious person; he does not make jokes, but rather points his finger at the source of pain, then wraps it in a smile so that the recipient can swallow it.

That’s why his daily column "Under the Hat" was one of the most present and exciting columns.

It did not target individuals as much as it pursued the behaviors that provoked him: bureaucracy, his wife’s dominance, his bad luck, arrogance, the haughtiness of celebrities, and the chronic fear that some officials have of outstanding employees.

He wrote about phenomena and situations, but he suffered from those around him who thought they were the targets.

Here lies the paradox in satirical writing; the more general it is, the more it exposes the specific. The further it distances itself from names, the closer it gets to faces.

One day, he wrote about a manager who was more troubled by the success of his subordinates than by their mistakes.

He did not name or intend anyone in particular, nor did he refer to an institution or sector, and he left no clue leading to a specific person.

Yet, his direct manager at the time felt that the article was written about him!

He did not discuss the idea, nor refute it, nor write a response, but exercised his authority in the easiest way: he stopped the column that was titled "Under the Hat." On the surface, the decision was part of editorial development, but underneath it was nothing more than a personal feud ignited by suspicion.

Here lies the difference between someone who writes to fill space and someone who writes because he believes that an article is a stance.

The colleague refused to let his article be buried under an administrative decision; he defended his column, argued, discussed, and insisted on the right of the text to be read, not on the writer's right to triumph.

The matter reached the editor-in-chief at the time, who realized that the crisis was not in the article but in the way it was read. He reinstated "Under the Hat" to its place, in fairness to the writer and admiration for his satirical skill, with one condition: no insinuations or veiled references.

However, my friend, the satirical writer's addiction to the style of sarcasm in his writings did not prevent him from it, and thus he returned in the first issue after the suspension with a title that teaches the art of response: "Who Took Off My Hat?"

The title was neither a protest nor a revenge; it was a sarcastic smile that said everything without saying anything.

It revealed the incident, preserved the dignity of the profession, and left it to the reader to fill in the gaps themselves.

This is the professional finesse that we miss today, the beauty of critical style, and the art of writing a satirical article, after the platforms of social media have spread posts of insults and harshness, and the digital presence has lost the sobriety of many and exposed the level of others...

Perhaps the most dangerous thing facing satirical articles today is not the naivety and chaos of social media platforms, but the reader who reads with their personal complexes.

For those who fear the truth see themselves in every mirror, and those who are suspicious of criticism think that every metaphor is an arrow aimed at their chest.

That’s why "Under the Hat" remained a lesson that transcends the name of a journalistic column to a lesson that a good article may be stopped, but it is never defeated, and that the word which defends itself with argument always returns, and perhaps it returns even more brilliantly, even if its title is: "Who Took Off My Hat?".