Ten years ago, a stunned France gathered in the cold January air outside the offices of Charlie Hebdo. Journalists, editors, and citizens of every political stripe stood shoulder-to-shoulder, holding placards that read “Je suis Charlie” as they observed a solemn minute of silence. Their pens and press cards were held high, a symbolic defiance against the terrorists who had murdered 12 people – including some of France’s most famous cartoonists – in one of the deadliest attacks on the press in modern history.
That moment became a turning point. The slogan “I am Charlie” quickly went viral across the world, a rallying cry for free expression and resistance against extremism. People who had never picked up a copy of the irreverent magazine felt compelled to defend the principle that no cartoon, however provocative, should cost its creator their life.
Fast-forward to today, and the phrase “I am Charlie” has returned — but with a very different resonance. Following the assassination of American conservative activist Charlie Kirk earlier this month, mourners and supporters have invoked the same phrase as a call to action against what they describe as political violence and censorship.
Both incidents, though separated by an ocean and a decade, share a common thread: the transformation of tragedy into a symbol of free speech. “They were killed by the same bullet,” said Nicolas Conquer, spokesperson for the American Republican Party in France. “You can’t be Charlie yesterday and not be Charlie Kirk today.”
But not everyone agrees with that comparison. Gérard Biard, Charlie Hebdo’s current editor-in-chief, told CNN he sees “enormous confusion” in equating the two. “Charlie Kirk was an influencer and above all a political figure,” Biard said. “What we do is satire and cartoons — it’s not the same thing.”
Experts on free expression argue that both killings created “martyrs for freedom of speech,” but that the ideals they stood for were starkly different. Anna Arzoumanov, a scholar at Paris’ Sorbonne University, noted that Charlie Hebdo fought for the right to blaspheme and lampoon religion in service of public debate, while Kirk’s rhetoric often challenged abortion rights, criticized diversity initiatives, and targeted marginalized groups — speech that would sometimes be classified as hate speech under European law.
In 2015, millions of people flooded the streets of Paris, lighting candles at the feet of Marianne — the personification of the French Republic — to mourn and reaffirm the nation’s commitment to liberté, égalité, fraternité. “Je suis Charlie” was less about endorsing Charlie Hebdo’s controversial cartoons and more about rejecting violence as a means of silencing ideas.
Today, “I am Charlie” in the U.S. is more politically loaded. It is not merely a defense of expression but a battle flag in America’s culture wars. “In France, there was the idea that we just don’t kill people for drawings or writings,” said Thomas Hochmann, professor of public law at Paris Nanterre University. “In the U.S., those saying ‘I am Charlie’ often mean they agree with the substance of Kirk’s arguments, not just his right to say them.”
The contrast extends to how leaders responded. France’s then-President François Hollande urged unity in 2015 and insisted on distinguishing between terrorists and the broader Muslim community. By contrast, former U.S. President Donald Trump blamed Kirk’s murder squarely on his political opponents, accusing the “radical left” of creating the climate for violence.
In the decade since the Hebdo attack, the very idea of free speech has evolved on both sides of the Atlantic. Younger generations, shaped by movements like Me Too, Black Lives Matter, and growing debates about online harassment, tend to be less absolutist about the right to offend — especially when that offense targets minorities. Polling suggests that fewer young French citizens believe one should be free to say “whatever one likes” without limits, compared to older generations.
Meanwhile, in the United States, free speech has become a cornerstone of partisan politics, often used as a rallying cry by conservatives who feel deplatformed or censored by mainstream media and tech companies. Corporate decisions to suspend comedians or talk-show hosts who mock conservative figures are framed as proof of a broader assault on expression — a perception Trump has embraced and amplified.
In France, some far-right media outlets have attempted to capitalize on Kirk’s death, framing it as evidence that Europe, too, is in danger of silencing dissent. Analysts warn that this narrative risks transforming the phrase “I am Charlie” from a unifying statement into a partisan one.
And yet, a deeper truth remains: whether in Paris or Phoenix, the killing of a writer, cartoonist, or activist for what they say strikes at something fundamental. Survivors of the 2015 massacre, like Riss — Charlie Hebdo’s director, who still bears the scars of that attack — insist that the principle must hold.
“We don’t shoot people who don’t have the same opinion as us,” Riss said in a recent interview. “Because the moment we accept that, we lose everything.”
