Donald Trump is very funny, often inadvertently, sometimes quite deliberately. For writers at Saturday Night Live, there are weeks when he almost serves up their script.
How often have we read commentary likening his Oval Office antics to an episode from Veep, a comparison I have doubtless drawn myself. His parades and military tattoos are tailor-made for mockery. His buffoonish Truth Social posts – especially those ending with his trademark sign off “Thank you for your attention to this matter” – frequently raise a laugh. “Donald is being ‘The Donald’,” has become a typical response in podcastland, that new media realm where journalism and entertainment are often entwined. “Classic Trump” is another go-to, delivered with a sardonic chuckle. Mea culpa on that one, too.
Humour acts as a masking agent for Trump’s authoritarianism.Credit: AP
For sheer comic value, there has never been a presidency like it. Not even a natural funnyman such as Ronald Reagan, that master of the self-deprecatory one-liner, can compete. The problem is that humour acts as a masking agent for Trump’s authoritarianism. Laughter detracts from the seriousness of his assault on democracy.
The storming of the US Capitol on January 6, 2021, is a case in point. This was one of the darkest days in American history. A sitting president incited an insurrection. Despite Americans being locked in fatal combat with fellow Americans, this horrific chapter was reduced to a memeable moment. The poster boy became Jacob Chansley, a bare-chested vegan and former actor better known as “the QAnon Shaman”. His outfit, which included animal pelts draped from his shoulders and a bison-horned headdress, could scarcely have been more comedic. But the attention he attracted spoke of a modern-day trait which has become particularly pronounced during the age of Trump: the tendency to turn even the gravest of events into comedy, whether in the form of a late-night monologue, a gag on social media or, months later, a hilarious Halloween costume. Blood had been shed, democracy had experienced a near-death experience, but, boy, did the QAnon Shaman make us laugh.
Our guffaws were even louder during Trump’s presidential debate with Kamala Harris, when he claimed Haitian immigrants in Ohio were eating cats and dogs. Instantly, it became a TikTok trend. Saturday Night Live had a ready-made sketch. The Republican high command was delighted, according to the new book from a team of Washington Post reporters, 2024: How Trump Retook the White House and the Democrats Lost America. The dogs and cats accusation made Trump’s mass deportation policy the talking point, a hardline stance of particular appeal to the young men who helped him win the election. Trump, you will forgive the near-obligatory pun, ended up having the last laugh.
The “QAnon Shaman” Jacob Chansley after storming the US Capitol in 2021.Credit: Getty Images
Humour acts as something of a Trumpian sliding scale. The more his critics mock him, the more his supporters rally round. Nowhere is the cultural power of liberal America quite so visible as the late-night shows which pillory his presidency. Yet MAGA world views this derision as elite condescension. It strengthens Trump’s visceral bond with his base, which has always been rooted in a shared sense of victimhood. Besides, for satire to be skewering, the target needs to feel a sense of embarrassment. This felonious president appears shameless.
Humour can also have a dampening effect on protest. Why take to the streets when you can sate your anti-Trumpism by getting a rise out of him on social media? Jokes become a feeble form of resistance, a substitute for rage.
For Trump, the laugh track accompanying his second-term is also usefully diverting. His new line in fragrances, which come in a bottle with a gleaming statuette of the president, is literally comedy gold. It veils the pungency of his presidential profiteering.
