If You Can't Take A Joke...
when it comes to satire, we just don't get it.
2007-11-13
By Patrice Evans

Last month The Boondocks returned. The animated show -- originally a comic strip written and illustrated by Aaron McGruder, now a show produced by the same -- had been off the air since its first hit season in 2005. And after a summer filled with nooses, nappy-headed hoes, and other samples of brow-furrowing racism-gone-wild it's no surprise that most are inhaling the show's return like a welcome breath of fresh air.

But while it's nice to have an old friend back, The Boondocks return underscores the dearth of well-executed black satirical voices on a mainstream level. This year, other than the controversial "Read A Book" video, can you think of a popular tv show, movie, cartoon, book, magazine, website that gives black folks a respite from the sobriety of The Struggle?

In fact, forget the summer, one could look back to the turn of the century, and find only a handful of mainstream popular voices/shows/programs that somehow respect the reality of Institutionalized Oppression, but still manage to help us find the funny, and have a laugh at our foibles, faults and failures along the way. Chappelle, Chris Rock, Ego Trip, McGruder ... have I forgotten anyone?

What's odd is this black hole for black satire exists in contrast to a seeming boom in the satirical sensibility at large. White folks are skewering themselves (and us) across all mediums, and in some cases have been doing it for some time. From the Comedy Central shows like South Park, The Daily Show, The Colbert Report, to movies like Borat and the Christopher Guest mocumentaries, to news and mags like The Onion, or Cracked. On the flip side black people have The Boondocks, Soul Plane, and ... The Source?

Granted, lumping everything together does muddy the strict definition of satire: the use of humor, irony, exaggeration, or ridicule to expose and criticize people's stupidity or vices. But fudging aside, this broad spectrum of "Satire" has become the gold standard for comedy, both artistically and commercially. We are making an industryof exposing the folly of our logic. For the tasty 18-34 demographic, satire has become the voice of choice. It's entertaining, but not mindless. It allows us to laugh, think, and improve. And it allows us to do all of that without being all existentially depressed. It's a formula that makes sense, right?

Then why does it seem like black people are missing the boat -- treating the SS Satire like a slave ship?

Sometimes it feels we only get the joke if it's the lowest common denominator, otherwise we have to put on our suits and let Oprah or Tyler Perry hold our hands and make sure there's a heavy Maya Angelou
level of respect.  Paul Beatty, in the intro to his anthology on African-American Humor, discusses his
disinterest in the prevailing trend of "sobriety" in black literature. All our guard dogs are stuffy, from the NAACP, to Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton.   If it's a joke about us, we won't laugh until we're walking the red carpet after the million man protest.

So is that about us or them? Where are the black branded satirists? Maybe we don't get it. Maybe we don't care to get it. Are there no satirists because of the lack of demand? It can't be for lack of opportunity. Every week we get a new race-event begging for lampooning: Watson, Jena 6, OJ, Imus, Michael Richards, Vick .... all present unique opportunities to make a joke that might mean a little more to someone with melanin. But even aside from the opportunity to make a buck off a joke, the cachet value we place on satire -- the relation of satire to "highbrow" and "intelligence" -- makes this an imperative issue for black people. We risk classifying ourselves as too slow or dense for elevated humor if we choose to blindly ignore our faults and foibles in the interest of protecting our pride. I can see John Stewart riffing now on "we tried to make some jokes about black people, because, you know, that's how we party these days. But all they did was want to protest everything we said. So now we'll just ignore them."

Which leads to some speculative armchair psychology in explaining why satire hasn't been for us. There are three elements of satire that give us trouble:

1. Critical: Criticism is a complicated game. One one side, it's the only way one can improve. On the other, it's a slap in the face. In general, we still don't like being slapped in the face, even if there's "noble intent" behind it.

2. Literary: Satire comes from a literary tradition, and it's not to say black people don't read, but ... well maybe that is what I'm trying to say. We're not educated enough to appreciate the history of satire.

3. Detatched: Satire these days consists of people playing characters/roles, basically trying to lie and give off an impression. But what's lost in translation is the point. Black people are too caught up in the grind to appreciate this sort of "detached observational" humor. Especially if the joke's on us.

 The biggest thing in getting a joke is knowing it's a joke. And satire – especially nowadays -- consciously tries to blur that line to enhance the message. If you don't get it, it very likely the reason is because you're the butt of the joke. If you're skinny, and someone makes fat jokes, it's easier to laugh it off than if you are, in fact, fat.

This is the red flag with regards to this issue. If everyone is getting skewered, our inability to find a comfort level implies we might be the fat person. In a room of skinny hipsters. We're not feeling the jokes, because they hit too close to home.

But we're not fat, dammit! Maybe a little pudgy, or whatever. But we don't need to get all depressed and humorless about fat jokes. A good fat joke finds a funny angle on being fat, and also, hopefully, makes you realize that it's not the end of the world. Laugh, then go on a diet, or acknowledge that you don't care.

Satire at the highest level is practical art; content that can impact a bottom line through money as well as productive criticism. When we laugh at our literacy rate, or the ridiculousness of Flavor of Love, or how we can use race-events to get us on the red carpet, we are making light, but also setting the groundwork for raising the bar. After we laugh, we can settle into the reality of making the punch line dated. Then we can look for something new to laugh at and do it all over again. But until we loosen up and stop taking ourselves so seriously on everything, I fear we won't be taken seriously about anything.

Patrice Evans (aka The Assimilated Negro) is a writer, blogger and EbonyJet.com contributor whose work has appeared in Gawker, Time Out New York and The New York Times. His blog is www.theassimilatednegro.blogspot.com.