beautiful monsters

Life is a comedy to those who think, and a tragedy to those who feel

Sometimes I cannot believe humanity. Our capacity to do evil. Our will to survive the unbearable. Our ability to laugh, even in the face of tragedy.

In my family, we used to summarise British humour as “a man is walking down the street and his pants fall down,” and American humour as “a man is walking down the street and a piano falls on his head.” Personally, I never found either brand of humour very funny. Perhaps I have an underdeveloped sense of humour? But I don’t think so, I laugh plenty. So what do I find funny? Wordplay, clever juxtaposition, unexpected absurdity, irony, intelligent playfulness, jokes that point out how ridiculous a situation is.

There are some jokes that just fail to be funny… and then there are jokes that feel like a punch in the stomach, that leave me wanting to retch over the toilet bowl. I’m not sure exactly what makes the difference… I think it is something to do with whether the person in the joke could laugh about it afterwards.

As someone living with a disability, I have found some jokes about disability that are so funny they leave me with tears streaming down my face and my stomach aching from laughing so hard. These are the jokes that point out the absurdity of situations that are painful to go through, but bizarrely humorous in retrospect.

On the other hand I remember, years ago, someone telling me a joke about rape. I still feel sick remembering it. The joke reinforced myths and stereotypes about rape, and completely discounted the pain that survivors experience.

While I was trawling the net, looking for things to write about, I came across a page of September 11 humour. The subheading said, “helping us to heal.” Humour can be a wonderful tool for healing, and I have no problem with people laughing together after a tragedy. But this site was filled with jokes about Afghanistan. All the jokes relied on the assumption that it was funny that people in Afghanistan were getting pounded with bombs. I read about three of the “jokes” before I felt too nauseous to continue.

Why aren’t these jokes funny? Because I can’t imagine a wounded Afghan child laughing at the jokes – now, or in ten years time.

The nature of comedy

“Comedy is tragedy plus time.”
-Carol Burnett

“Life is a tragedy when seen in close-up, but a comedy in long-shot.”
- Charlie Chaplin

“Through humour, you can soften some of the worst blows that life delivers. And once you find laughter, no matter how painful your situation might be, you can survive it.”
- Bill Cosby

“There is humour in the spectre of the worst disaster in our nation's history. All I have to do is sweep away the debris of shock to find it… Comedy is defiance. It's a snort of contempt in the face of fear and anxiety. And it's the laughter that allows hope to creep back on the inhale.”
- Will Durst

“And if I laugh at any mortal thing, 'tis that I may not weep”
- Byron

Why is it funny if an anvil falls on the head of a cartoon character? Maybe we laugh at the absurdity of it, the improbability of it ever occurring. Maybe we laugh out of nervous discomfort. Maybe relief or superiority, because it’s happening to someone else, not to us. Maybe we laugh when tension is suddenly relieved, or maybe we laugh to cause a release of tension. Maybe we laugh because the only other option is too cry, and we cannot bear any more sorrow. Humour changes the meaning, so the event has less power over us, and puts the situation into a different perspective. Maybe a sense of humour is a defence against the madness of the world overpowering us.

It’s just a joke, isn’t it?

“I think humour is a very serious thing. I use it as a way of weakening the reader's defences so that I can more easily take him to something more.”
- Billy Collins.

The following is one of my favourite passages from one of my favourite books, Dare, Truth or Promise, by Paula Boock (Longacre Press, 1997). The scene is a school hall at lunchtime. Students have turned up for a “Comedy Club” performance. They’ve just been told to tear up their tickets, which say PCC on them. One of the performers, Louie, has just told the students that they have torn up their “Politically Correct Card.” The performance begins…

‘What we want to know in the Comedy Club, is who first stuck their dirty great political boot into comedians? Humour is universal, right? It’s politics that causes all the trouble. If laughter was really the international currency, we’d have no – ’
‘Mogadishu!’ exclaimed Mo.
‘Bless you,’ replied Louie, and the audience laughed.
‘Croats and Kurds!’
‘A fabulous vegetarian dish, a traditional staple in the Middle East and Europe.’
‘Rwanda!’ cried Mo, in desperation.
Louie took off flitting around the stage singing, ‘The Famous Flying Fairy,’ in a falsetto.
‘Gaza Strip,’ accused Mo, hands on hips.
Music to ‘Hey Big Spender’ came over the sound system and Louie wriggled her body at the audience. ‘What a nightclub!’
‘I mean it, everything is funny, isn’t it? How many good jokes have our generation lost to political correctness? Like the one about the Irish abortion clinic – you know, the one that had a nine-month waiting list?’
The crowd laughed and Louie continued. ‘We want to reclaim those jokes, reclaim the days when humour was innocent and we could say the word cripple – woops, did I say that?’ She put a hand over her mouth. ‘I really meant physically challenged, of course. Like Mr Wallis is follicly challenged, and Mrs Lamont is, well, comically challenged.
‘I hate all this political correctness. Don’t you? It’s so phony. I mean, since when, to get into a government department did you have to be a black, crippled lesbian? Woops! I should say, a physically challenged, alternatively sexually oriented, woman of colour?
‘And what’s wrong with a few Irish jokes, or Catholic jokes, or Jewish jokes for that matter? What is it about Jewish jokes that so got up their noses? Oops – did I say noses?’
It went on like that for a while, and the audience laughed more and more at Louie’s jokes, often spluttering at how awful they were. Willa smiled at first, but she started to go cold after a while. She wished she hadn’t torn up her politically correct card. Then she was angry with Louie. Didn’t she see that it wasn’t going back to a more innocent time, it was going back to a more bigoted time? Didn’t she see that Kevin used exactly the same jokes at Burger Giant, only they were against blondes, or women with big boobs, or just about women in general? Willa shuffled her feet as Louie went on about how ‘Confucius say, No such thing as rape – woman with skirt up run faster than man with trousers down.’ It was unbelievable that the audience were all laughing at that. Even Geena was howling. It stank. She’d liked Louie, but now she thought she was a real jerk.
Willa stood up and started to move out of her row. Louie was talking about Africa now, and saying something about how their stomachs looked pretty big to her. Geena looked surprised she was leaving so Willa gave her a little wave and kept going. To get to the exit she had to pass right in front of Louie, who was saying ‘What’s the worst selling book in the history of the world? Huh?’ Halfway through it she caught Willa’s eye. Louie faltered in her words for a second, then continued. ‘The Rwandan cookbook!’ Willa didn’t smile. She had the feeling eyes were still on her however, and as she closed the door she saw Louie glancing that way. Tough…
…It was only fifteen minutes later that Willa noticed girls returning to the form room who had been at the Comedy Club. But they were talking quietly and intensely, and looked very serious, nothing like the audience she had left. She was puzzled, and although she tried to keep working on her maths equations, she was keeping an eye out for Geena.
Eventually she arrived, and made a beeline for Willa.
‘You missed it. You missed the most amazing thing, Willa.’
‘What?’
Behind her a group of girls followed. ‘You walked out, didn’t you?’ asked one of them, Vika.
‘Yeah, I did,’ replied Willa cautiously. She didn’t want to get into an argument about it.
‘Wow. I didn’t even think about it.’
‘It was spooky,’ said another.
‘What? What?’ Willa demanded of Geena.
Geena sat down on a chair. ‘Not long after you left Louie Angelou got really carried away, and the jokes started getting worse and worse. And just when everyone began to feel uncomfortable about them - ’
‘I was still laughing!’ admitted one of the others.
‘ – these pictures started rolling on the big screen behind her. Really ugly things like the bodies of dead Jews at Auschwitz and stuff, and soldiers ransacking villages in Africa. It was gross.’
‘And then,’ jumped in Vika, ‘there was this awful silence, like not a word, except for Louie saying “A jokes a joke, right?” and this soundtrack started up, of us laughing. It was us, they must have been taping us laughing at Louie before, and it was revolting, these pictures and the sound of our laughter. There was film of child prostitutes in Asia and all these mental patients left behind in war zones. I thought I was going to be sick.’
‘It was brilliant,’ said Geena, simply. ‘Just brilliant.’
Willa smiled down at her page. The maths equations smiled back.”

But sometimes, you’ve gotta laugh

“I'm the commander, I do not need to explain why I say things. That's the interesting thing about being the President. Maybe somebody needs to explain to me why they say something, but I don't feel like I owe anybody an explanation.”
- G. W. Bush

Sometimes George W. Bush makes me laugh. I’m not sure why this is. I think it’s the nervous, uncomfortable kind of laughter. Needing to relieve the tension, because otherwise I’ll be paralysed by fear.

Bush isn’t funny. He’s the ignorant, prejudiced, power-hungry president of the most powerful nation in the world. That’s not funny. The attack on Afghanistan, war on Iraq, that’s not funny. Terrorism is not funny. But sometimes, I just have to laugh. Sometimes I have to say, “this is so ridiculous, it’s funny.”

A while ago, the US Department for Homeland Security put together this helpful website. “Terrorism forces us to make a choice. Don’t be afraid, be ready.” The weird graphics and paranoid messages on ready.gov were just begging for spoofs. Lots of people wrote their own captions for the graphics, and posted them on the net. I thought some of them were really funny. Some people find them offensive. You be the judge. All the pictures are actual graphics from the government site.

If you spot a terrorist arrow, pin it against the wall with your shoulder.

If you’re travelling along a deserted road and you see a nuclear explosion, pull over to the side of the road and take photos. No one is going to believe you without evidence.

The state of Missouri has only three hospitals. Unfortunately we can’t remember the names of the towns we put them in. Sorry about that.

If you are sprayed with an unknown substance, stand still and think about a cool design for a new tattoo.

Hurricanes, animal corpses and your potential new tattoo have a lot in common. Think about it.

Time travel is an excellent option after a terrorist attack. Remember, you must reach exactly 88 mph and hit the dangling power line in order for the flux capacitor to operate properly.

If a terrorist arrow follows you home, try to act casual.

Carry your desk and an old computer with you at all times. That way, if the sky starts to fall, you can shelter under your desk.

If you see a radioactive terrorist, do not run, they can smell fear. Try to outstare the terrorist. Position yourself so that your groin will absorb as much radiation as possible. After exactly 5 minutes 12 seconds your penis will double in size. Hooray! Unfortunately you may also become sterile.

After exposure to radiation you may find you have mutated to giant proportions. Follow your giant penis to the nearest two-storey door – Careful, you may still need to duck as you go through.

If you hear the Backstreet Boys, Michael Bolton or Yanni on the radio, cower in the corner or run like hell.

And remember, stay the hell away from Texas.

Tragedy – the flipside of the coin of life

Some things are beyond laughter.

Jokes about Afghanistan and Iraq are sickening, because the attacks on those countries were so brutal they left no room for mirth.

Today is the Second International Day of Action Against Depleted Uranium. I thought I’d do some research, since I didn’t know much about DU.

Now I feel sick. My hands are shaking and my knees feel weak. I wish I could crawl away and hide. Images hover at the edges of my mind, too painful to view directly. I feel helpless. I want to get away, I want to find comfort in oblivion. I don’t want to be a part of a world that is so cruel, so awful.

In Iraq, the earth, water, air, plant and animal life is already contaminated after DU weapons were used in the 1991 Gulf War.

The aftermath of DU weapons has been a massive increase in cancers (including the rarest forms of leukaemia) and severe birth defects. The deformities are most common in areas where the use of DU weapons was the most intense.

In Basra, babies are born with no eyes, no brain, no limbs, or tiny twisted little arms and legs, or internal organs on the outside of their bodies. Iraqi health officials also recorded a 200 percent increase in cancers after 1991. Basra was close to the battlefields during the 1991 war.

US officials still deny that DU weapons have any lasting health or environmental effects. Experts at the Pentagon estimate that up to 2200 tons of DU could were used during the attack on Iraq earlier this year. In the 1991 Gulf War only 375 tons of DU was used. In 1991 most of the combat took place in Iraq’s southeastern tip. This time the fighting engulfed some of the country's most densely populated areas.

When confronted with issues like this, it is easy to feel despair and helplessness, but we mustn’t give in to these feelings. It’s so easy to think “what can one person do?” but there are millions of people thinking the same thoughts, and feeling the same helplessness. If we all join together, there is so much we can achieve.

Hamed Ameri’s skull won’t stop growing

( )
( )
This is the language of war.
Can you hear it?
Not trumpets or drums nor the
thrumming of machines nor the
thud of the big guns. Not the
soldier crooning to his sweetie
as he polishes his boots.
( )
( )
This is the sound a child makes
who is born with no head. This
is the sound a woman makes who
labours to bear a child without
mouth, without ears, without
fingers, a child whose head
swells like a pumpkin.
( )
( )
Can you hear it?
This is the sound of bone cells
in frenzy. This is the sound of
an eyeball rolling like bruised
fruit in the socket.
( )
( )
This is the sound the child hears
who has no ears. This is the sound
of war. This is the blaring of
trumpets and the clapping of
satisfied shareholders. This is the
whistling of the scientist in his
laboratory. This is the babble of
many tongues as they are
simultaneously translated in the
glass towers in the stone city.
This is the burping of fat men
and the scratching of their pens
signatory to all conventions.
( )
( )
Can you hear it?
The soft rush of water as the
babies slip onto the table,
crying though they have no mouths
listening though they have no ears
their tendril fingers twisted in
threads of meaning.

- Fiona Farrell

Sometimes we need to be confronted with the horror of what is happening in the world. As Stalin said “One death is a tragedy, one million deaths is a statistic.” Sometimes we need to be confronted with the small, personal tragedies. We need to be reminded that some things can never be laughed at. Sometimes we need enough of a shock that we actually make some changes, in our own lives and in the lives of others around us.

Shalom,
Fionnaigh.

Posted by Fionnaigh at May 28, 2003 05:12 PM