The Strongest Weapon We Have Against Fascism

I Learned This Lesson In 4th Grade

I know this might shock you, but I was a real nerd in school.

For whatever reason, the kids I went to school with didn’t like me so much. I could never really figure out why, but I always felt isolated, I was bullied relentlessly, and it made me hate going to school.

In fact, it got so bad that my 4th grade teacher stopped class one day after recess to call out the rest of the class and told them to knock it off.

That night, I told me older brother about it, who also had a tendency to bully me from time to time as brothers tend to do, and he told me something that always stuck with me:

“When they’re mean to you, make fun of them. It makes you look tough even when you don’t feel tough.”

I had no idea how to do that or even where to begin.

Learning To Laugh At The Powerful

It seems quite daunting at first. Taking those at the top down a notch can be so intimidating that it feels far safer to hide, to go along with what they want you to do so you don’t stand out and don’t become a target.

However, the powerful, especially those who are looking to wield that power against your freedoms, will end up targeting you whether you hide or not. Once they go after the low-hanging fruit, they’ll start searching for new targets, the new “other” they can identify as dangerous so their followers have someone else to focus on.

As the list of possibilities dwindles, the chances rise that those who sat idly by at the beginning will become the next one up. Hiding isn’t resisting, it’s just self-preservation which will never last long enough to save you.

To truly be safe there is only one option: take the power back from the powerful and make sure they can’t wrangle their way into such heights of influence again.

But how?

Every Achilles Has A Heel

One thing I knew about my brother was that he was way, way funnier than I was.

I’d seen his sarcasm and his wit first-hand, given how many times he’d used it on me.

I remember walking into our living room and asking him, “What’s up?”

“A two-letter word that means above,” came the reply.

I groaned. He’d gotten me. Again.

But it sparked a thought: if I could make those kids at school feel this way, I could finally come out on top for once! I could make them feel the way they made me feel!

My mind reeling, I wondered: Could a person learn to be funny?

Not long after this, we were visiting Atlanta. My dad and I were walking through a bookstore when I spied a joke book. When I told him I wanted it he lifted an eyebrow, “Why would you want that?” he asked me. After all I was the kid who was reading The Lord of the Rings trilogy in 3rd grade.

“Well, it’s funny,” I recall saying, not wanting to reveal my secret plan to become a comedian and save myself from the mean kids at my school.

He shrugged as parents often do when kids make strange but harmless requests. He did tell me I could get a book.

“Okay, sure.”

I remember reading it voraciously on the ride home, several times, doing all I could to figure out exactly what funny was. If I could solve this puzzle of why things were funny, I could employ it against my foes.

It Definitely Did Not Work

Reading a bunch of jokes can be amusing, sure, but this book was about the softest and the corniest book of one-liners you could imagine. It was like the person who came up with the “Why did the chicken cross the road?” line had filled 100 or so pages with the ones that didn’t make the cut.

However, I knew I was onto something. I needed to be able to catch those kids flat-footed and turn the tables. Comedy was going to be my delivery vehicle.

I asked for more books by people I found funny. Dave Barry, Bill Cosby (don’t @ me it was like 1991 okay), George Carlin (this one was a no), Richard Lewis, P.J. O’Rourke (I know, I know, don’t @ me about that one either). They were all funny, but I still didn’t understand why they made me laugh.

The next couple of years were full of getting every funny book I could get my hands and eyes on. We got cable and I watched Comedy Central relentlessly. They’d have blocks of stand-up comedians for hours. I learned the names Sarah Silverman, Elayne Boosler, Mitch Hedberg, Norm Macdonald, Chris Rock, and tons more.

But when I tried to be funny, I was a miserable, miserable failure.

I vividly remember sitting at a friend’s birthday party and watching him make a joke to another friend. They both laughed and I felt so incredibly jealous.

Why couldn’t I make people laugh?

The Day Everything Changed

I had been doing musical theatre since I was about 5 years old. First at my church and then with the local community theater. I enjoyed it but I wasn’t really sure I was any good at it. I never got the big parts, even though I worked and tried really hard to do so.

Then it was announced that a series of “magnet schools” were starting. One of them would be based around theatre, allowing students a chance to explore the arts in a space that was specifically tailored to them.

I learned studied the “Friends, Romans, countrymen lend me your ears” monologue from Julius Caesar. I practiced it incessantly. I learned one of the regular directors from the community theater would be a teacher. I was stoked.

When I learned I got in I was over the moon! I’d be with kids who liked what I liked instead of stupid stuff like baseball (I got hit in the face during a little league game and I’m still bitter about it). This was my big chance!

I got in.

My poor parents. I’m sure I didn’t shut up about it, at all, that entire summer. I watched a LOT of stand-up on Comedy Central and looked forward to the first day of school like I never had before.

That first morning, in my first class, I took the advice of my older brother (sit in the very back) and looked to my right. There was a kid beside me sizing me up.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“A two letter word that means above,” came my retort.

He laughed.

The thing was though that it just happened. I didn’t have to try or plan or carefully learn a script and timing and blocking. I just responded and this sardonic side of me suddenly roared into existence and caused the correct ripple in the space-time continuum! (I also started watching a lot of Star Trek around this same time, you’d never guess)

That day after school, I told my brother I made a kid at school laugh! All by myself!

“Oh,” he said, “Okay, good. Whatever. Get out of my room.”

The Power Was Mine, The Future Was Bright

Satire and ridicule work because of the mechanics of comedy.

The lowering of status is funny because it takes someone of a higher class and brings them down a notch. Or two. Or many!

If Darth Vader goes tumbling down the side of a hill while yelling, “Ow my bones!” then that’s amusing. If a washed up loser goes tumbling down the side of a hill, that just makes something sad even sadder.

When we employ this against fascists and oligarchs, the humor holds.

This meme is funny because it ridicules the richest man in the world (Whoopi Goldberg is a national treasure and this meme should in no way be seen as a knock on her of course). When his status is lowered to that of jumping idiot instead of celebrating fascist, it’s funny.

Satire gives us tools to equalize things with the powerful. Ridiculing a troll on Bluesky isn’t worth it. They aren’t powerful enough to give any attention to. Block them and move on.

Our collective satirical power should be aimed at those with the influence and ability to affect our rights.

Ridicule those with the means, motive, opportunity, and power to harm you.

The rest are just noise sycophants not worth listening to.

Lean into your comedy, lower some fascists down a few notches today.

Your country needs you.