Are We Too Woke to Joke?
Humor’s discomfort is a pathway to social progress
Is this meme funny to you?
When it rolled upward into view on my social feed, I snorted. My cheeks bunched into a smile so big it squeezed the corners of my eyes. I felt my face and neck let go of something I didn’t even know they’d been holding, and I bathed in simpleminded joy.
Then a notion appeared: my name is David too, and I’ve been at home indulging in food and sloth since social isolation started. I cropped the image around Fat David’s belly and bust, then uploaded it to my Facebook profile with the caption, “One month of quarantine been like…”
Within minutes, I got a comment:
Fat jokes are really hurtful, and a global pandemic isn’t an excuse to use them.
Really? If not a global crisis that challenges the foundational assumptions of our society and forces me to be still with my demons, when can I make fun?
Hard as it is for my friend to believe, jokes — in which I include memes, visual gags, comedy writing, and stand-up — aren’t only made for hurting others’ feelings. The impact of a joke depends on who hears it and where their head is at. A joke might sting or only tickle. It could fall flat, landing short of its target with a flop onto the pavement…
