The Throne and the Bull: When the Palace Becomes a Barn and Power Becomes an Illusion

In moments of collapse, when the walls crumble and the faces fade, the truth is revealed as shame is exposed in the middle of the market: glory is not in the crown, nor greatness in the palace, but in what the heart carries in terms of morals and what the soul is inhabited by in terms of dignity. And here, Damascus, the mother of cities, witnesses a tragic play that repeats itself with new faces and borrowed clothes, where the bull entered the palace twice—first with heavy steps hidden behind the smoke of tanks, and second, draped in a fake cloak, wearing religion as a mask for a coup. Bashar al-Assad, who fled from confronting his people to Russian and Iranian havens, sat on a throne built on the ruins of homes and the blood of children. Then came Abu Mohammad al-Julani, walking in palaces not built for him, wearing the "garb of salvation" while behind him lies destruction—of hunger and fear.

But the bitter truth, which cannot be hidden from those who look with clear eyes, is that the bull s entrance into the palace does not turn the bull into a king, but turns the palace into a barn. It is not the places, no matter how high their ceilings´-or-how decorated their walls with marble, that grant their inhabitants honor´-or-legitimacy. On the contrary, the human being is the one who elevates the place´-or-brings it down. If a prophet sat in a barn, the barn would become a sanctuary, and if a tyrant sat in a palace of gold, the palace would remain a prison, and the tyrant a slave to his vanity.

Is there any difference between al-Julani and al-Assad except in the form of betrayal? One raises the banner of religion, the other calls for the unity of the homeland, but both suffer from the same disease: a corrupt conscience, and a complete detachment from the concerns and hopes of the people. Assad ruled with iron and fire, and then fled when there was nothing left to burn´-or-destroy, while al-Julani invested in chaos, turning the revolution s march for freedom into a new form of power, which he calls "liberation," while people are killed, their dignity violated, and their bodies mutilated—not for any sin they committed, except that they did not belong to the sect imposed by the new revolutionaries’ palaces. Thus, what was built in the name of change and salvation turned into yet another oppressive system, no different in essence from what came before, except for a longer beard and deceptive words cloaked in piety.

If we browse the digital space, we find echoes of this reflection in hundreds of articles and analyses, in painful tweets, and in popular songs sung in secret. Some wrote: "The revolution did not topple a regime, but replaced one bull with another," while others said: "Power does not change a person, it reveals what is inside him." Even in world literature, we find the echo of this principle: in "The Lion and the Bull" by Indian writers, and in Shakespeare s plays, where the traitor wears the king s crown, but falls because he has nothing but fear. The wisdom is the same, even if the languages differ.

What is happening in Syria today is not merely a change of rulers, but a bitter revelation about the nature of power: it does not grant legitimacy, but borrows it from the people. And once it loses this legitimacy, it becomes nothing more than an empty palace inhabited by ghosts, with flies circling around it. For al-Julani, no matter how much he speaks with the tongue of jurisprudence, and no matter how many meetings he holds, he will not -restore- the palace s dignity as long as he does not possess the heart of the martyr´-or-the conscience of the revolutionary. And Assad, no matter how much support he receives from Moscow and Tehran, will remain nothing but a fugitive in a palace that has turned into a museum of shame.

In the end, greatness is not measured by where one sits, but by the worth of one’s actions. People do not remember the palaces, but remember who administered justice within them,´-or-who oppressed. And Syria, which has lived for thousands of years, will remain, but the names of the rulers will be erased from memory like morning vapors. Because history is not written by tanks´-or-speeches, but with blood, with truth, and by those who -restore- dignity to humanity—not by those who turn the palace into a barn and call it "victory."

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