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By Marisa Hirschfield ‘27
Last year, for a comedy show on campus, I wrote a sketch about the fictional Society to Lessen Unamerican Teaching (note the acronym), a group that wants to rewrite history textbooks in Florida. In the skit, the characters pitch ridiculous falsehoods about American history (e.g., Hillary Clinton wrote the Communist Manifesto and also brought smallpox to the New World). My intention was to satirize classroom censorship of historical injustice and expose the absurdity of legislation like the “Don’t Say Gay” bill, which shapes curricula in a politically-pointed way.
The sketch was rehearsed and staged, but the night before the opening performance, it was cut from the show. I was told: “it reads poorly due to global events” – the global events were not specified to me.
As much as I’d like to wallow in resentment, I understand the decision: jokes are inherently ambiguous, and when misinterpreted, they have the potential to cause harm. A joke meant to ridicule some stereotype may inadvertently perpetuate it, depending on the set-up and delivery, the sensibilities of the audience, and, yes, recent global events.
But I believe censorship is still the wrong choice.
Comedy is inherently edgy and disruptive, and when done well, it can elevate consciousness by way of controversy. It’s a unique form of expression because it has a built-in feedback mechanism. Joke-tellers instantaneously know how their speech lands by whether or not the audience laughs, making third-party censorship (producers, the government, et. al) less needed as speech czars. If a joke is not well-received, the comedian is disincentivized from trying it again. An audience's reaction to a bad joke – in-person or online – can moderate speech that appears too transgressive.
By parsing funny from offensive jokes, everyone involved in the comedy experience has the opportunity to refine their moral palette. When a comedian tells a joke, he or she tacitly takes a stance about what is permissible to say. The audience, then, has the choice to endorse the joke and its underlying message, or hold the comic's feet to the fire – by not laughing, by tweeting in disdain, or by taking their business elsewhere. In this way, comedy is an implicit exchange of ideas about right and wrong. Together, the audience and comic create a make-shift moral barometer.
But what if this barometer is faulty? What if an unambiguously problematic joke does elicit laughter because of the moral twistedness of the audience?
There are people who enjoy what scholars call disparagement humor, a strand of comedy that aims to denigrate and mock individuals or social groups in ways that are unequivocally harmful. Bad jokes like these, when left unchecked, have adverse effects: social psychologists have reported that exposure to sexist humor creates tolerance for sexist events when the viewer already has antagonist attitudes towards women.
“By communicating derision of women in a light-hearted or jovial manner,” writes researcher Thomas E. Ford, “sexist humor expands the bounds of appropriate conduct in the immediate context, creating a social norm of tolerance of discrimination against women.”
Given these risks, should we permit – that is, not censor – sexist humor? Why keep Dave Chappelle’s transphobic stand-up special on Netflix in the midst of an epidemic of violence against trans people? Why allow Tony Hinchcliffe, who spewed racist jokes at Donald Trump’s Madison Square Garden rally, to have a platform?
I believe that censorship in these cases is still short-sighted and inapt. Though bad jokes might promote behaviors that are inimical to an outgroup’s welfare, censorship can be equally harmful. Suppressing certain speech is fundamentally an undemocratic act, and our democracy’s erosion endangers everyone’s welfare – even if it’s harder to see in real time. Permitting offensive jokes is an unfortunate sacrifice we have to make in order to promote democratic ideals of dissent, critical thinking, and protest without retribution. In the long run, upholding these liberal principles will make us freer and safer than silencing a joke ever could.
Look no further than famous comic Lenny Bruce, who was repeatedly jailed for the “word crimes” of being anti-establishment. His sets fearlessly explored the taboos of the '60s – political corruption, race relations, homosexuality – and for this transgression, he faced criminal charges in four cities. Yes, these audiences were spared his provocative ideas, but at the cost of free speech. That’s a dangerous, misguided trade-off.
In the spirit of Bruce, and at the risk of sounding self-serving, I believe my sketch should have been staged, even if there was a concern about audience misinterpretation, which is always possible with satire.
I don’t know if my jokes were funny, but I know that free expression is a serious matter, and in my case, it was surrendered for fear of offence.
Marisa Hirschfeld ’27 studies History and Creative Writing and is a Princetonians for Free Speech Writing Fellow.
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Since the start of President Donald Trump’s second term, top colleges and universities have faced an onslaught of federal attacks: slashing grant money for research, pressuring schools to end diversity, equity, and inclusion programs, cracking down on visas for international students, and ending graduate program sponsorship for active duty military at top schools. However, some Ivy League universities — the center of many of Trump’s ongoing attacks — have decreased messaging on the potential consequences of these federal directives.
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