How to be a comedian while the world burns

Of bread and laughs

Mid-Town Bakers, in Sacramento, doing what they do.

How do we make jokes when things are so heavy and people are suffering?

I used to teach stand up comedy to young people experiencing homelessness or housing insecurity. I frequently made fun of myself for this, sarcastically adding “because of course that’s what they need” whenever I described this effort. Eventually I stopped saying this, stopped dismissing what I was doing, stopped belittling this bigger effort to bring art to people who, in fact, DID need it. When you’ve spent the night someplace uncomfortable, where you didn’t feel safe, wondering if you’d find enough to eat the next day, being able to take a break from these stresses, and focus on telling your story, on being creative, on sharing laughs with your teacher and classmates, is so valuable. Being able to laugh at your problems is valuable. It’s also a great way to process the hard times you’re experiencing.

The Creation District, where I taught, also has instruments, recording equipment, clay, paints, craft supplies, and people to help put all of these to use and it is a beautiful thing that I learned to be proud of being associated with, and that I learned to cherish and celebrate.

And, the audience needs this too. We need to hear these stories, to laugh, and dance, and sing with our unhoused neighbors, to share that spark of humanity with them, as it too often feels like they live in a very different reality than we do.

Thinking about it in this context it makes sense that among the first American stand up comedians you find so many jewish people, and black people, and as the art form grew and evolved it continued to have strong representation of minority groups (not to discount the times comedy has failed on this part, Hi women!). The first gay people I was aware of on television as I grew up in the seventies were comedians. Comedy is often a salve for struggle, and a celebration of survival.

What we do as comedians is important and valuable during hard times more than ever, whether we’re speaking truth to power, sharing our struggles to allow them to be laughed at, sharing our struggles to allow our fellow struggling humans to feel less alone, or providing a few oh so valuable minutes of distraction to remember what it means to laugh and feel joy.

I am so glad I follow comedians on social medial.

Myq Kaplan

’s puns, haikus, and moments of zen break up the doom scrolling so nicely. Sammy Obeid bounces between math, puns, and his very sincere and personal connection to those suffering in Gaza in a way that makes the headlines real and close to home. Sarah Silverman, W Kamau Bell, Hari Kondabolu, Greg Proops, all fill my timeline with laughs, thoughtful calls to action, and a sense of community, whether they’re giving me a respite from the headlines, or helping me make sense of them, or letting me know I’m not alone in feeling broken and terrified at times.

Again, I’m not calling on us all to be topical. Do what you do, puns, stories, observations, or a combination of these, and know that it has value. The bakers needs to keep making bread, for us and for themselves, and the comedians needs to keep generating laughs, for us and for themselves.

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