Trevor Noah and our need to laugh

I have a confession to make. This week’s column has been one of the hardest to write in the past couple of months. I feel weighed down with a type of emotional exhaustion for which I do not fully have the words.

Last week the world heard the verdict in the Derek Chauvin case, as the former Minneapolis police officer was convicted of murdering George Floyd. Many celebrated and rejoiced; I was surprised by my own tears. They were not tears of joy, but felt more like a mixture of relief, weariness and resignation, because so little seems to change.

Barely a week before the verdict, police officer Kimberly Potter shot and killed 20-year-old Daunte Wright after stopping him for expired licence registration tags. It happened barely 10 miles from the courtroom where Chauvin was on trial. Then, not even 12 hours after the Chauvin verdict, Americans heard that 16-year-old black child Ma’Khia Bryant had been shot four times and killed by police officer Nicholas Reardon in Columbus, Ohio. And last week we heard the stories of two more victims of police shootings: Anthony Brown Jr, and Isaiah Brown. An investigative report by National Public Radio revealed in a special series on race injustice in America that since 2015, police have shot and killed at least 135 unarmed black men and women. Whether the victims are armed or unarmed, it still seems fair to call this a crisis.

But this is not what I want to write about. I want to write about laughter. Isn’t it funny — in the “peculiar” sense — to begin an essay about laughter with stories of police killing black citizens in America? But it’s those stories that have led to my need to write about laughter, as a necessary and powerful salve. By the end of last week, I think many people were yearning for some momentary reprieve from the pain. I felt this heavy longing to laugh. It was like my brain was slipping into autopilot to avoid an emotional crash landing. “Respite.” It seemed to say. “Seek respite.”

What makes such comedians so brilliant is their ability to use humour to show us what is painfully wrong with the world

So I did. I curled up on the couch, flipped to Netflix and searched for stand-up comedy sets. For most of the pandemic, despite the terrible circumstances, one of the few spaces I could count on to draw some laughs were the social media accounts of The Daily Show, hosted by South African comedian Trevor Noah. As host of the Emmy- and Peabody Award-winning programme since 2015, Noah has never shied away from sharp social critique about current national and global events.

In a video posted just a few weeks ago, he said: “America is a place where white people who are coming to storm the Capitol are given the benefit of the doubt. But Black people just going about their lives are treated like they’re about to storm the Capitol.” But his penetrating commentary is interspersed with just enough humour to make you laugh as well as reflect.

Noah is no stranger to despair and social injustice. He was born in Soweto in apartheid-era South Africa, from the then illegal union of a black mother and white father. In his 2016 autobiography Born a Crime, he relates his experiences growing up in poverty and in a racially segregated nation.

I had never seen his comedy specials, so I watched 2017’s “Afraid of the Dark”. And yes, I laughed. Out loud. For an hour I was consumed by Noah’s storytelling about his travels, his reimagining of different historical events, his ruminations on culture, and his impersonations.

He managed to cover colonisation, Brexit, immigration, racism, patriarchy, sexism, films and politics. I laughed so hard that I texted my mother and told her she had to watch it. Yet I also found myself nodding my head a lot, reading between the lines of his jokes. Maybe it is because of the intensity of the past week — actually, the past year, in which global questions of justice and equity have risen to the top of our minds — but I realised more fully that laughter can be a powerful way of disarming people, just enough to open them up to hearing difficult but necessary truths. What makes comedians such as Noah (or the late Richard Pryor, or Chris Rock, or Dave Chappelle) so brilliant is their ability to use humour to show people what’s still painfully wrong with the world.

In one of his acts, Noah imaginatively retells what the first meeting must have been like between an Indian in south Asia and a British coloniser. By the end of his skit, he has essentially suggested the utter senselessness to any rational thinking person of the idea of colonisation. “Colonisation is the strangest thing. You go to a place, and you don’t just take over, you force the people to become you.” He then circles this back to modern issues of immigration and the rise of nationalism, and from there into issues with the US. All while people are roaring with laughter.

His comedic routine, with its warm-up, pacing, timed deliveries and resting points, is both an art form and well-crafted and thoughtful argument. He manages to tap into something universal about the human experience that enables everyone to see what he’s pointing to, revealing the absurdity of certain accepted givens about the way of the world.

I did get the slight respite I was aching for. When you laugh really hard, it releases endorphins in your brain, and you can’t help but feel better. Laughter also triggers release of serotonin which, among other things, helps to stabilise your mood and regulate anxiety.

The show didn’t entirely take my mind off the pressing social issues of today: even though the show was recorded four years ago, Noah was reflecting on race relations, diversity and immigration. But through humour was a less painful way to digest them, at least for the time being. There can never be enough ways to tell important truths and to offer people alternate perspectives, allowing them to see the world from different vantage points. And to use a way of communicating that also has calming physiological effects on the body and mind seems like an advantage. It got me wondering about the art of comedy and the power of laughter.

So often the cause of any number of ills can be boiled down to our believing false stories about one another

Genuine laughter is uncontrollable. You don’t see it coming. It disarms you, and naturally releases tension. I remember my childhood fights with my brother. One of the worst things that could happen was for him to make me laugh, something he was really good at. I hated when that happened because it immediately diffused my petulant rage.

This is not to deny that there is room for righteous anger. As adults, anger can propel us to face necessary issues. But I think one of the many gifts of humour is that it invites us to receive challenging ideas by connecting with our emotions. When we feel good, we are naturally more receptive. And when we laugh together, we are also more likely to create social bonds with others, which can help us more readily recognise our shared humanity, an essential prerequisite for any true work towards social equity and justice.

The people who can make us laugh while telling us hard truths also tend to become people we are continually willing to listen to and contemplate their perspectives. Comedians become cultural critics who can help alter how we see the world and, in effect, how we are then willing to participate in it. There’s a reason why The Daily Show under Noah has been nominated for countless Emmys, and why the Dave Chappelle special 8:46, which he made last June in response to the murder of George Floyd, has more than 30m views on YouTube. Chappelle has earned the respect and trust of millions of people because of his unflinching willingness to tell necessary truths and to explore difficult issues.

I’m not suggesting that laughter and comedy are the answer to the current policing system crisis in America or issues anywhere else. I’m simply taking a moment to acknowledge that this world we live in can sometimes feel like too much to bear, and so often the cause of any number of ills can be boiled down to our believing false stories about one another, and failing to see the humanity of others. Comedy, when executed well, is one more resource that has the power to remind us of the work still at hand, and the collective responsibility we share, while also offering some of us a moment to catch our breath. A life graced with restorative laughter, even in the midst of deep pain, is not a luxury for some, but a human need for all of us.

Enuma Okoro writes weekly for Life & Arts

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