Opinion / Andrew Tuck
Going on the offensive
The February issue of Monocle, which is about to hit newsstands, looks at the dangerous world of satire, comedy and cartooning – especially the people who tug the tails of the powerful. But as we put the issue together, another topic kept surfacing: where the hell has the office joke (and joker) gone? We tried asking many serious folk – business leaders, academics and politicians – to give us their favourite rib-tickler; while some obliged, others panicked. “The minister does not know any jokes and would rather not be asked about this matter ever again,” was the gist of many a reply. Asking for a naked picture would have likely garnered more positive responses.
It would be easy to dress this up as a matter of a new generation of people having no sense of humour or who have been silenced by wokery. But people still like a risqué joke or a story so shocking that it makes them squeal. What has happened is that we have outsourced the right to be truly funny to the professionals: Ricky Gervais, the Saturday Night Live team, Katherine Ryan (pictured), Bill Burr. The same people who will happily quote whole scenes from these shows and acts cannot be persuaded to repeat as much as a knock-knock joke of their own. Professionalising humour also allows for the cop-out, should anyone be offended by the use of, say, the C-word, of: “I didn’t say that! It’s a Gervais joke.”
Sigmund Freud, the old funster, said that there were two types of jokes: the innocent and the tendentious. And we need the latter, often a bit obscene or hostile, because it changes the way we think about the world. While it might be easiest just to go for the innocent variety, something is lost when the dangerous jokes stop. And, dear reader, you also become complicit in protecting the status quo. So exercise the right to make people cackle until they cry (in a good way). It’s the grown-up thing to do.