I wish I could be more articulate. I wish I could be brave enough back up the “Je suis Charlie” sign I held aloft with a pen last night at a vigil in Toronto. This is the best I can muster.
On January 7, 2015, twelve people were murdered because three people didn’t like what nine of them wrote; because they ridiculed Islam. Twelve families suffered at the hands of three people. Twelve circles of friends suffered. The staff at Charlie Hebdo suffered. Readers of Charlie Hebdo suffered. Writers and illustrators suffered. We all suffered because three small cowardly people believed what a bully pontificated; because their beliefs took precedence over twelve lives. Perhaps they think they will have salvation or that a million virgins await them in heaven. I think they’re wrong. I think they’ll be worm food just like the twelve people they murdered. They’re no different, except for the fact that Frederic Boisseau (custodian), Franck Brinsolaro (body guard), Jean “Cabu” Cabut (cartoonist), Elsa Cayat (columnist), Stephane “Charb” Charbonnier (editor-in-chief), Philippe Honore (cartoonist), Bernard Maris (journalist), Ahmed Merabet (police officer), Mustapha Ourrad (proofreader), Bernard “Tignous” Verlhac (cartoonist), and Georges Wolinski (cartoonist) will be remembered.
To coin a phrase: Charlie Hebdo is dead. Long live Charlie Hebdo.
