“Wrapping up evil in something funny”: Is mocking Trump now just “slapstick”? | comedy

During Donald Trump’s first term, as his lies distorted reality and gaslighted Americans, Stephen Colbert said his goal was to remind his audience: “Hey, you’re not crazy.”

But watching political comedy during Trump’s second term — whether it’s a confused impression of a Cabinet member on Saturday Night Live, or a quick late-night monologue full of ICE jokes — it’s hard not to wonder: Are we appeasing ourselves by the enormity of the horror Trump is causing?

This is not a new concern, of course. Perhaps the weak mockery of Nazi leaders allowed the Germans to “vent their anger” while the regime worked to consolidate its power. Decades later, as The Daily Show took off, some critics feared it was encouraging apathy by casting its eyes toward the political sphere. As the United States moves closer to authoritarianism, how can comedy work against oppression, rather than sanitizing its targets—call it “clownwashing”?

“We’re in a consumer culture that’s hyper-individualistic and transactional,” says Jenny Yang, a Los Angeles-based comedian, writer, and former political organizer. “So, for us, entertainment is something that should be consumed.” “Sometimes it might spur you into action, but more often than not a good laugh seems to be a safety valve” — a way to relieve discomfort. “There is a normalization when you take the clownishness of something that is actually malicious and evil and turn it into something funny.” But it doesn’t have to be this way. “The job of a comedian and a clown is to say that the emperor has no clothes,” Yang says. “The power of humor and a bad joke is the ability to say, ‘No, this person is not as important or as powerful as you think.’ If a joke can make the ruler smaller, that may ease the path toward a response.”

Perhaps this is why Franklin Roosevelt encouraged Charlie Chaplin to produce a parody of Hitler called “The Great Dictator,” which came out in 1940. Anat Schenker Osorio, a political strategist and messaging consultant, says the comedy “discounts the image of the strongman as invincible.” She argues that an authoritarian regime relies on that image: it leaves other pillars of society – big corporations, law firms, universities – too afraid to oppose it.

Comedy also derives its power from its ability to reach people in ways that polemical discourse cannot. “Comedy is a way to get people to let down their defenses,” says comedian Sasheer Zamata, who recently hosted Brave of Us: How to Ridicule a Ruler, a comedy fundraising show in Los Angeles that benefits immigration organizations. Comedian Zainab Johnson agrees: “Comedians have the ability to penetrate people’s psyches, hearts, minds and souls, because humor disarms them.”

Shenker Osorio, who organized the Brave of Us event, says comedy creates a “window of persuasion” — a rare opportunity to change someone’s mind. One of the hardest elements of persuasion is making people “realize that the opinion they hold may be wrong” – whether it’s about washing dishes or ICE. If you criticize Trump’s evils in front of your MAGA uncle, he’ll likely get defensive rather than change his mind, she says. But comedy creates a structure that allows people “to feel safe when they’re willing to reconsider their opinions, including the ability to save face,” she says. “It is very difficult to laugh and be inside more calcified beliefs.”

Take, for example, the costumes worn at anti-ICE protests. “When you see that image of inflatable frogs and masked, armed, camouflaged ICE agents, it’s a little hard to maintain the narrative that these are the key people in law enforcement dealing with a crime-filled hellscape,” says Schenker-Osorio. Instead, it looks like “a place where people drink a lot of kombucha.”

Another way to reach those who may not agree with you, Zamata says, is to get personal. “The comedy I do usually comes from a personal place, and talks about my experience as a woman or a black woman, and that has become inherently political,” she says. “Just being in this country and talking about my experience can be foreign to some people.” She recalls a Trump voter approaching her after the show and telling her he had blown her away; He did not know her work beforehand. “I didn’t feel like I was talking to anyone,” she remembers him saying. “I have to learn in a safe place and not feel like the enemy.”

If she had “ripped Trump to shreds,” his reaction might have been different. “I feel like it isolates people, because no one wants to be told they’re wrong. I don’t think that’s the best way to get people to change their minds.” Instead, her comedy often focuses on her private life and concerns, which cut into social and political life: a discussion of car lashes and truck nuts raises questions about gender in America; Witnessing a scary situation in Central Park leads to thinking about criminal justice.

Context is also important; The Brave of Us event was an example of this. The comedy sets were punctuated by calls for action: Representatives from the nonprofit Haiti Bridge Coalition, the indigenous communities of Ledersgo, and the National Day Worker Organizing Network gave compelling accounts of their work, and Jane Fonda took the stage to warn of the growing threat to democracy. (“Comedians are the most important people when you have a dictator, because tyranny and humor can’t be in the same room,” Fonda said, citing historian Timothy Snyder’s phrase “tactical humor.”) This summer, Yang plans a comedy tour of immigrant grocery stores. While pessimistic scrolling may not offer much hope, social media comedy can be effective.

Cassie Wilson’s videos use familiar social comedy formats—often two characters, played by Wilson, in serious conversation or street interviews—to mock the billionaire class and the systems that support it. In one clip, a billionaire offers advice: “You can’t afford groceries? Have you tried renting a vacation home?” In another clip, she reflects on what she wishes she could tell herself when she was younger: Always wear sunscreen, and turn off NBC’s The Apprentice before it rehabilitates the image of a failed businessman, with disastrous consequences.

“I think if I can point out some of the ridiculous things that are going on in our government, in our economy, in our culture, and make my audience laugh, that can make them feel, ‘OK, there’s room for me in this,'” Wilson says.

Another example comes from Iran, where another repressive regime appears to be beating Trump at his own social media game. Using AI-generated Lego figures and fake images of Trump himself, Iranian accounts post clips depicting the US president as incompetent and self-obsessed — with far more impact than the president’s posts of himself spilling feces into a crowd or dressed as the pope.

Of course, comedy works both ways politically; Just look at the comedians who helped lift Trump to victory in 2024, from Joe Rogan to Tony Hinchcliffe, who performed at Trump’s concert at Madison Square Garden that October. At Trump’s victory celebration, his ally, UFC CEO Dana White, thanked comedian Theo Vaughn and praised “strong and powerful” Rogan, both of whom endorsed the incumbent. Trump “may also be one of those people who wishes he were a comedian himself,” Johnson says. His rallies can seem routine, whether he’s dressing as a garbage collector or mocking Joe Biden. “I think Trump has been very effective in using his stardom for nefarious ends,” Yang says.

Even well-intentioned humor can do more harm than good, as British comedian Stuart Lee pointed out in a recent appearance on Pod Save the UK. He added that “character-driven sarcasm” – mocking the Prime Minister’s voice, for example – is “a side effect of what’s going on. It’s a useful distraction, if anything.” It gives the impression of demonstrating the right to freedom of expression – without having any effect. “Instead of having a funny Keir Starmer vote, it should be about Palantir and it should be about Amazon,” he said. “It has to be about Jeff Bezos. It has to be about Elon Musk” – addressing existing systems and the people who support them.

Rudolf Herzog, author of Dead Stooges: Telling Jokes in Hitler’s Germany, came to a similar conclusion. Jokes can distract us, be “mistaken for real resistance” or simply serve to reassure people that things are okay. However, he wrote in Foreign Policy: “Satire and comedy can help halt the slide toward totalitarianism — but only as long as they target politics ruthlessly, not just the egos or quirks of the powerful.”

In 2024, right-wing comedians’ elevation of Trump has arguably been far more impactful than the mockery of late-night hosts. However, Trump’s actions suggest that he is seriously threatened by liberal humor. His management approved the Paramount-Skydance merger shortly after Paramount canceled Colbert’s Late Show; FCC Chairman Brendan Carr has put pressure on media companies to stop Jimmy Kimmel. As Yang says, “He’s threatened by anyone who can attract attention and love, and that’s artists and comedians.”