There’s something darkly mirthful about power. Not the kind of hilarity that leaves you breathless from laughter, but the kind that makes you exhale sharply through your nose and mutter, “You’ve got to be kidding me.” In all its forms, power seems to have a gravitational pull toward absurdity. Maybe it’s the unchecked authority, the isolation from reality, or the sheer confidence that comes with believing yourself untouchable—but history is littered with rulers whose decisions make less sense than a fever dream.
Take Emperor Nero, for example. The man is remembered chiefly for allegedly playing the lyre while Rome burned, but what’s less discussed is his relentless pursuit of a career in the arts. He forced senators to watch his performances and even competed in the Olympic games (which, shockingly, he always won). Then there’s King Ludwig II of Bavaria, who was so obsessed with fantasy castles that he bankrupted his kingdom trying to live inside a literal fairytale. Fast forward a bit, and we get world leaders whose policies read like rejected Onion headlines, giving us a surreal mix of self-parody and unchecked hubris.
The common denominator? The more ridiculous the rulers, the worse things tend to go for those under them.
The Long History of Laughing at Power
The absurdity of power isn’t a new revelation. People have been mocking their leaders for as long as they’ve been suffering under them. Contrary to their goofy, hat-with-bells image, court jesters often served a vital function: they were the only ones allowed to criticize the ruler without losing their heads (most of the time, at least). Wrapped in wit and nonsense, their jokes were a survival tactic—both for them and for the societies they entertained.
But rulers weren’t always in on the joke. Many stories of the past disguised political critique in fables and allegories, slipping subversion into tales of talking animals and cunning tricksters. Take Kalila and Dimna, a medieval collection of fables that served as a thinly veiled critique of authority. Its stories of deceitful foxes and naïve lions weren’t just moral lessons; they were blueprints for navigating the dangers of oppressive rule. If a king happened to see himself in the foolish monarch of a tale—well, that was between him and his conscience.
Fast forward to today, and the court jester has been replaced by late-night hosts, stand-up comedians, and political cartoonists. Figures like Jon Stewart, Hasan Minhaj, and Bassem Youssef have turned satire into an act of resistance, using humour to break down political hypocrisy in ways that traditional journalism sometimes fails to. The idea is simple: if power is absurd, laughter is a form of rebellion.
But Does It Work?
Here’s where things get complicated. Does humour challenge authority, or does it just help us cope with it?
There’s a long-standing debate about whether satire is a weapon against oppression or a pressure valve that prevents real resistance. Historically, laughter has been a survival mechanism—especially for the powerless. It allows people to process trauma, find community, and momentarily flip the script on those who hold power. But does it create change?
On one hand, satire exposes corruption. It forces people to confront reality in a more digestible way than cold, hard facts. Shows like The Daily Show and Last Week Tonight have influenced political discourse and, in some cases, even real policy change. Bassem Youssef’s satirical news show in Egypt was so influential that the government shut it down, proving that laughter can terrify the powerful.
But on the other hand, satire can also make oppression feel tolerable. People who laugh at their leaders might not feel the urgency to fight them. It’s easy to mistake a viral meme for political action, to feel like sharing a clip of a comedian eviscerating a politician is somehow the same as resisting their policies. The danger of satire is that it can lull us into passive amusement—watching, laughing, sharing, but never acting.
And let’s not forget the terrifying moment we’re living in now: when reality itself is often indistinguishable from parody. We’re at a point where world leaders are out-satirizing the satirists, where actual political speeches sound more unhinged than fictional dystopias. In a world where actual events are constantly outpacing satire, does humour still hold power?
The Thin Line Between Mockery and Change
The answer might lie in how humour is used. Satire isn’t inherently revolutionary or complacent—it’s a tool. And like any tool, its impact depends on who wields it and how.
Mocking authority can be a form of defiance only if paired with action. The best satire isn’t just about making people laugh and making them think. It’s about planting the seed of discomfort, exposing contradictions, and making power feel ridiculous enough to be challenged. And sometimes, it’s about keeping people sane in the face of the absurd.
Humour alone won’t topple empires, but it can shake them. It can remind people that no ruler, government, or system is too sacred to be questioned. It can turn fear into defiance, exhaustion into awareness, and, if used wisely, laughter into something sharper than words—something that cuts deep enough to leave a mark.
So, what do you think? Is satire still a force for change, or has it become another form of entertainment?
Anxious Thoughts 
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