If a stand-up comic tells a brilliant joke in a forest and no one is around to hear it, is it still funny?
Not really.
A joke without an audience is a bit like the koan of imagining the sound of one hand clapping. If there’s no one there to laugh, groan, or moan, they don’t like it, all you hear is silence and the sound of no hands clapping.
The proof lies in the paradox that if a comic tells a bad joke to an audience and they appreciate it regardless, a fun time can be had by all, but if the audience is not in the mood, even the most tried and tested gag can fall flat, however capable its teller.
Never regret a bad joke if it gets a reaction, is the lesson many performers take away from such philosophical pondering.
I think it’s a pity, then, that a spokesperson for Saifur’s coaching centres felt the need to apologise after the education minister announced he was taking legal action against the business for saying: “If you want to learn hacking, you will have to know English as well.”
Its ad printed in Bangla explicitly referred to the hackers in the Bangladesh Bank cyber heist tripping up because Deutsche Bank sought clarification of a instruction for $20 million to be sent to a Sri Lankan non-profit, after the fraudsters had written “fandation” in the NGO’s name.
According to the minister, Saifur’s advertisement should not be tolerated, as it is confusing, misleading, and apparently “trying to influence hackers” by claiming skills in “creating thieves.”
Which is plainly ridiculous. It was a joke. A bad, good, or ugly one, that’s a question of taste. But as an advertisement, it achieves its prime goal of getting attention.
It is willfully obtuse to suggest the ad was for a network of cyber Fagins training Bangladeshi hackers. Mind you, had that been the case, given doubts about the state of the nation’s cyber security measures, it could have been a good source of recruits for intelligence agencies, trying to catch up with the Philippines-based hackers who made off with $101m.
I can well understand why Saifur’s general manager feels the need to clarify the ad had no intention other than stressing the importance of learning English. After all, getting a legal threat from the Education Ministry was presumably not the reaction they had in mind.
But regretting any “misunderstanding,” when the meaning was so transparent, that was not necessary.
More to the point, it might undermine confidence in the very language skills the advertisement is trying to sell.
Be that as it may. Surely the minister’s priorities might be better focused on other matters, like, say, why do so many parents and pupils feel the need to shell out for coaching centres in the first place?
This joke itself, however, needs no explanation to be understood.
Unlike for instance, the remark reportedly muttered off-air last week by Aung San Suu Kyi, after an interview by BBC presenter Mishal Husain: “No one told me I was going to be interviewed by a Muslim.” One can only hope this was said in jest, the world has higher expectations of the Nobel Peace Prize laureate than it has of Donald Trump.
It would be remiss for a stand up to mention Myanmar without recalling that until amnesties for prisoners of conscience, two of the military regime’s most famous political prisoners were popular Burmese comedians Par Par Lay of the Moustache Brothers, and Maung Thura “Zarganar.”
Not that I’m suggesting the education minister’s foray into adjudicating advertising copy is a precursor to anything similar. Still, it’s a useful reminder that censorship is no joke.
Take President Francois Hollande for example, who failed to report recently he had privately awarded the Legion d’Honneur, France’s highest honour, to visiting Saudi crown prince Mohammed bin Nayef.
If the Saudi News agency had not afterwards praised the award, for “efforts in the fight against terrorism and extremism” (sic), he would not have had to justify the bauble to a sceptical public.
Satire is dead, ran the predictable headlines, which the president had presumably been trying to avoid. Oh, for a simpler world, where comics can get their material from mere trifles like the British competition to name a new 200m pound polar research vessel.
While that still has a few weeks left for voting, James Hand, the former radio presenter who suggested calling it “RSS Boaty McBoatface,” has already apologised profusely to the organisers after his idea stormed into a possibly unbeatable lead over more worthy suggestions like Sir David Attenborough, or my favourite, “Usain Boat.”
See, comedy can simply be silly. It doesn’t have to be all Daily Show satire and analysis. But it will, so long as politicians keep giving us material.
