I once wrote a column that was so offensive (to someone) that they ended up calling my house to tell me how upset about it they were. Luckily for both the caller and myself, my husband was the one who answered the phone, and his response, after listening to a long rant about how “inappropriate,” “offensive,” and “thoroughly unpleasant” I was was a heartfelt “Yeah? Try living with her, pal,” followed by hanging up. And that was the end of it. Of course, this story could have had a very different ending: I’m sure that the offended caller could just as easily have found my address as they did my phone number.
Don’t get me wrong: I’m not so conceited as to compare what I do with political satirists like the artists and writers at Charlie Hebdo, but as a fellow humorist and satirist I couldn’t help but experience a frisson of sympathetic fear upon hearing about the attack that left twelve people dead at the offices of the Paris publication.
All because of a joke.
Predictably, as time has passed people have started to water down their shock and outrage over the incident with qualifiers, typically expressed as “I’m not saying anybody deserves to die, but…” (This might be most familiar to fans of the “I’m not saying she was asking for it, but what was she doing wearing that skirt, anyway?” trope.) These qualifiers completely miss the point. The point is not whether or not Charlie Hebdo is offensive (Is it? Maybe. Probably. At least to some people—obviously), but whether or not it is the role of the satirist to offend.
I am of the firm belief that it is the role of the satirist to point out the flaws in our deeply held beliefs so that we may re-examine them with new eyes. In fact, satire is one of the most powerful forms of social commentary I know, because using the guise of humor allows the speaker to say things that go much further than ever would be tolerated in a simple op-ed piece. We’ve known this to be true since medieval times—the jester wasn’t there to entertain, he was there to speak the truths no one else could. Even when those truths were offensive.
Here’s the thing about humor: jokes don’t work when they’re watered down. There’s a reason people stop telling knock-knock jokes past the age of eight: the older we get, the more it takes to make us laugh. Which is why a good humorist always tries to get as close to the edge as possible. And, as anyone who likes to live life on the edge can tell you, every now and then you are going to fall off.
I don’t remember what I had written about that was offensive enough to make someone call my house. But I don’t dispute that it probably was offensive. It was, at the very least, close to the edge of offensive, if not not a few toes over it. And while my husband and I appreciated the laugh we shared over the phone call, a better way for the reader to get her point across would have been to simply stop reading. Because that is what really tells us when we have gone too far.
I read a recent interview with Chris Rock where he talked about how necessary it was for comedians to be able to try out new material in front of an audience, because the only way a comic knows if something is working if it makes people laugh. There is no other gauge. He also spoke about how when comics find the jokes that don’t work—that instead offend the audience—they take them out. Every time. Because if no one is laughing, it isn’t a joke.
Isn’t that funny?