While growing up, we were taught to never make a joke about people’s disabilities, illnesses, misfortunes or disheartening social standing. It was uncalled for to even mock a person about their physique, as that was something they couldn't change because they were born that way.
What was acceptable even though it was wrong was being teased for tripping and falling when nobody was chasing you. People would make you a laughing stock for being absent-minded and ending up at the doorstep of the wrong classroom.
That is how far we could go. It does not mean that people were not offended. But they were not teased about things that could possibly not be changed, like their height or the size of their heads.
I also remember vividly how the parents or siblings of the child that was ridiculed for their disability or illness would quickly step in. There is a childhood case where a parent hit another child for making fun of her son.
She told us that she is setting an example for all of us to know what will happen should we dare mock her son. It became a scuffle of parents, however, we learnt the seriousness of the "bad jokes" when the emotional mother reprimanded us harshly for laughing. It was a joke about the size and shape of his head.
I didn’t laugh. Perhaps what informed this was the pain of knowing how it felt to be mocked. I could also be next in the firing line of tasteless jokes about being tall. Speaking of height, this had been the biggest challenge of my childhood. I have been a victim of mockery for years as a child and this was done by both my peers and adults. But I could be accused of blowing things out of proportion because indeed I was, and I am still tall.
Did I have a right to take offence or were they even intending on offending me? I know the latter is in the affirmative, thus making the former acceptable. What I know is this: a lot of commentary about my height that got a lot of people laughing was appalling. It all happened more than 20 years ago but the scars only started healing in my late 20s.
I was burning with rage in primary school when a teacher of mine took a swipe at me for my height. The teacher walked in on us in class while some of us were standing at desks.
Instead of addressing all of us for our misconduct, she picked on me: “O le o mo telle soh, why o nametse tafola?” Loosely translated, “Why would you be climbing on tables when you are so tall anyway?” I was hurt. Pained.
She was indirectly implying that height comes with maturity. I was actually one of the youngest people in my grade. I had every right to do what my peers were doing. They treated my height as if it made me older and wiser to not do certain things. The other guys didn’t get reprimanded. It was OK for them to be jumping from desk to desk.
They made my height something I hated all my young life, especially in the teen stage. It took some time, right into my adulthood, for me to embrace my height. The repercussions of mockery are immeasurable and at times cause permanent damage. I was a victim of jokes that affected my self-esteem throughout my teenage years. And if those jokes did not erode my confidence and self-esteem as they did, I could have possibly had a better childhood.
As I reflect on what transpired between Will Smith and Chris Rock, I realise that we have a universal societal illness of not knowing where to draw the line as far as comedy is concerned. If we are going to hide it all under comedy or satire, then perhaps we should move from the conversation further. We ought to interrogate what constitutes fair comedy and satirical content.
Violence is violence, be it physical or verbal, and it is all unacceptable. Most importantly, I believe that stand-up comedy or satire must evolve and grow some sensitivity towards people and their conditions.
If we fail to do so, we might find ourselves living in a society where there is no right or wrong. In the words of Horace Walpole: “This world is a comedy to those that think, a tragedy to those that feel.”
And if you think either Chris Rock or Will Smith was wrong, you are right. It all depends on whether you choose to feel or think.










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