Of all of the statements of solidarity, I haven’t been able to make myself say “Je suis Charlie.” I’m not, and you probably aren’t either. As a journalist, I’ve never covered the kind of people who would kill me. The cartoonists at Charlie Hebdo did. They did so knowingly. They were the sharp end of freedom of speech. Too sharp? Who gets to say? The most humorless person on the planet? Not everything in Charlie Hebdo was even funny, or even close. But they weren’t just aiming for schoolboy laughs. They understood that for a right to really be a right, it must not be couched in the language of “You have the right to offend, but you must never use it.” They offended, intentionally, to protect more important rights for the rest of us, understanding that if we let the zealots draw the line at Charlie Hebdo, they wouldn’t just stop there. The cartoonists drew the front line way out from where we are, so we could live safely well behind it. They died for that bravery. And I’ll intentionally borrow a term from the religious: they are martyrs, having died for their beliefs and ours. We are not Charlie, because Charlie was a lot braver than most people will ever be.