Dear Charlie Hebdo

Dear Charlie Hebdo,

Thank you for defining what true disgust really feels and looks like. Lucky for us, your latest work of 'art' is full of it. Under the pretext of freedom of speech and sarcasm you have given life to moral degeneration in a remarkably refreshing manner. I am in awe. A full grown adult with such ignorance and lunacy, I won't say is unknown to this world, but definitely rare. Rarer in your case since you seem to be among the elites in that land. Say hi to Trump for me, by the way.

Aylan Kurdi, the (dead) kid whose destiny you played God to, depicting in this horrid cartoon as a potential 'groper'/sexual harasser, was a really smart choice to put your gun onto and fire. I mean, what could be more igniting than using an innocent kid, who died untimely and tragically because some powerful (both legitimate and illegitimate) actors decided to work their issues out with complete disregard to  human life. Not that you're doing anything different. Your disregard for human life is equally extraordinary. Except instead of big guns, you have your pen to bring harm with.

Your aura of filth is astonishing. Your work  has enabled me to feel sick sitting miles away from you. That's the magic of your work. I mean, this is just one final piece of your many works that got past the editors, your colleagues, and everyone in your office, and I wonder how much more filth your mind is capable of harboring. Just the thought of it made me puke a little in my mouth.
Aylan, as he laid face down with his feeble innocent self, embracing eternal sleep on the shores of the Mediterranean sea is a depiction of failure... of humankind, and your use of his memory in your cartoon a dark example of that failure. This kid's death failed what humanity or whatever the idea of humanity stood and stands for. Your cartoon's just a tip of the ice berg sadly. It is the desensitized souls and minds like yours that think the way they do that even hope finds little sense in existing. 

What's more is the way you took it upon yourself to top your own pathetic high. The ludicrous way in which you brushed the issue of sexual harassment with your bigotry is a shining example of why sometimes, or maybe more than sometimes, hate finds it easy to home itself.

Aylan is dead in the worldly sense, you however suffer from a kind of death even worse: the moralistic kind. And you live it everyday. Leeching on off a dead child's memory to feed your bigoted bloated ego must be a moment of pride for you. But it will never satisfy your heart, will it. Even dead, Aylan holds more power to you. He continues to live through us and you continue killing yourself with your ideas.

Rest in peace, sir.
Rest well in peace.


Rutaba Tariq.