Trevor Noah: A Fine Touch of Humor in Humorless Times
After reading Trevor Noah’s Born a Crime, I found a vague sense of loss as I grappled with his presence as a no-non-sense comedian of unending wit and a child of color raised under South Africa’s ferocious Apartheid that tore so many families apart.
Throughout the pandemic, company becomes the one piece of solace we sought for. Trevor Noah, with his daily lines of banter, brought us that sense of connection long lost.
Politics is no casual topic, especially in the year of 2020: a frantic presidential election, an aggrieved world grappling with racial and social injustices, an ever-more menacing climate reality — all against the backdrop of a ravaging pandemic unwinding decades of precedent. As we all appear smothered by an inconceivable reality on display before our eyes, I found myself turning to a late night comedian whose delicately satirical yet fitting humor brushed away the qualms of my soul, glimmering like light beams festooned in an unending tunnel engulfed in darkness.
With a range of segments from interviews to news briefings, Trevor Noah’s intermittent lines of jest, regardless of circumstances, always ushered in rays of hope as his listeners were left bursting in laughter. Donald Trump launched “shockwaves of stupidity,” he would scoff, in an accent mimicking the president, sitting behind a virtual banner reading “Pandumbic” — a testimony to President Trump’s laughable suggestion of the injecting disinfectant. Critiquing everything in such blunt but prudent style, his ability to bring indescribable occurrences into words touched our minds — in a subtly proper manner while never compromising his distinctive humor — and resonated with his audiences’ expressions. He spoke the unspeakable.
Other instances, his episodes came with a heartwarming bliss — a plain clip recording of himself talking, letting out his authentic thoughts to an iPhone camera, unscripted, unfiltered, with no special effects nor technical edits — shortly after the appalling killing of George Floyd as protests flared up around the nation and across the world. At that moment, he was part of us; he was us. “Society,” he analogized, “is like one domino piece after another after another […] How one gets knocked and would create a giant wave [of outcries].” He struck a fine line, preached unity, breaking with his customarily witty self — so mundane yet so powerful.
No matter what, Trevor always, with great delicacy, managed to poke fun at current affairs without making any group or individual left feeling uncomfortable — a quality many comedians fail to master. As the virus marched down the world, his voice grew more and more intimate; his show was a haven for our heavy hearts in the midst of so much plight.
All in all, amid a year laced with anxiety and despair, Trevor’s comical nature — a trait he inherently possesses — was even more pronounced despite the conspicuous absence of his cheering audiences. In his eyes, his utterance, even his pure presence in front of a camera — whether on stage or at a couch in his apartment — we see a caring man who turned grief into joy, sought optimism in every adversity and, as always, delivered the scarce remedy we craved — a quick, unrepressed morning smirk of glee.