If I did not laugh, I should cry

EDITORIAL | ISSUE NINE | WHAKAKATA / HUMOUR

Written by Tashi Donnelly (she/her) | @tashi_rd | Editor

With everything going on in the world, it feels like there isn’t much to laugh about. We’re staring down the barrel of climate collapse. Fascism is more fashionable than it’s been since World War 2. It costs $50 to leave the house, late-stage capitalism is probably as bad, if not worse, than Marx predicted, and World War 3 feels like it’s one Donald Trump tweet away. But it’s in times like these that I return to one of my favourite little phrases: If I did not laugh, I should cry. 

I like it far better than the phrase, “Laughter is the best medicine”. The best medicine for what, exactly? Are my painful emotions an illness in need of a cure? “If I wasn’t laughing, I’d be crying” understands something the other phrase does not: laughter isn’t the opposite of grief. It's a joke, of sorts, but it’s also a confession. It says, laughter isn’t evidence that everything is okay; it’s evidence of our choice to face hard times. 

Of course, climate change won’t be reversed by a good meme, and food prices stay high even when I joke about surviving off Mi Goreng. A sense of humour can’t lower the price of butter, but it can make us feel better. We see gallows humour from healthcare workers for the same reason. Human suffering and death aren’t funny to them. Humour just helps them carry the immense emotional weight that their jobs demand. It’s the reason we made memes about lockdown, and why we tell funny stories at funerals. Humour is one of the few ways we can hold what is otherwise unbearable.

That isn't to say every joke is worth laughing at. The best jokes reveal an element of truth. We call it “punching down” to make fun of someone whose socioeconomic status is below your own. It’s ratshit for a few reasons. Firstly, because of the power imbalance. If the target of the joke is a minority, they’re likely not in a position to defend themselves or call you out. Secondly, if the only thing holding a joke together is the bigoted belief that a particular group is inferior, the joke is as lazy as it is unfunny. It isn’t revealing a truth. It’s asking us to accept a lie. 

Of course, jokes can be both offensive and hilarious. “Punching up” means making fun of people, institutions or groups with greater social power than your own—whether that power comes from wealth, status, political influence or cultural hegemony. That’s why jokes about white people aren’t inherently racist, and jokes about straight people aren’t “heterophobic”: making fun of a dominant group is not the same as discriminating against a marginalised one. When a joke punches up, it brings the powerful down to our level. It’s why dictators have historically hated satire. When we poke fun at those in power, we chip away at the pedestal they’ve built for themselves. We turn fear into laughter.

Some people fear that comedy can’t survive if we’re no longer allowed to punch down with our jokes. On The New Yorker Radio Hour, Jerry Seinfeld claimed “the extreme left and P.C. crap” and “people worrying so much about offending other people” have killed TV comedy. This sudden shift must be especially tragic for Seinfeld, whose estimated 1.1 billion dollar net worth makes him the wealthiest comedian who has ever lived. Adding to the pile, Elon Musk (richest man in the world) tweeted “Make comedy legal again,” with an excerpt of Seinfeld’s interview. “Comedians” like Joe Rogan, Bill Maher, Ricky Gervais, Dave Chappell, and Chris Rock (with a combined estimated net worth of $720 million USD) have all, in their own uniquely terrible ways, made similar claims. I guess people are just too sensitive nowadays, and the “fake woketivists” (Dave Chappelle on The Joe Rogan Experience, 2021) are trigger-happy executioners. Imagine being so thoroughly cancelled that you become a millionaire.

Few things funnier to me than an exorbitantly wealthy, adult man foaming at the mouth because a pierced-up, blue-haired, they/them pakeha told him his joke isn’t funny.  The irony is that these men portray their critics as both extraordinarily fragile and extraordinarily powerful: apparently unable to take a small joke, yet somehow capable of bringing down an entire industry and financially devastating comedians worth tens or hundreds of millions of dollars. We might not be able to take a “joke”, but they’re incapable of accepting criticism - arguably one of the most important skills to have when working in the arts.

At its best, humour challenges power.  That’s why we should be suspicious of humour that punches down. Jokes rely on a cycle of creating tension (the setup) and offering relief (the punchline). There is an unfathomable amount of tension in the world, the kind that would make us cry if we didn’t laugh. So with everything going on, all the ridiculous people who’ve accumulated wealth and power, there are more funny things to joke about than there are minority groups to pick on. 

I am aware that I’ve spent this editorial literally explaining a joke, which we all know makes it even funnier. Although much of this issue is filled with sweet, delectable New Zealand International Film Festival content, we hope you find something that makes you laugh. If I leave you with anything from this editorial, let it be this: be suspicious of anyone who defends their right to discriminate against others for the sake of a joke. Keep laughing, laugh in the face of power, and laugh because you’d cry if you didn't.