It is sometimes said that humor is at its best when a country is at its worst. So, in this time of No Kings protests, are we living through a golden age of comedy in America? Humor has always been at the heart of America’s culture wars, but those skirmishes have been more divisive and antagonistic during the Trump era than in any other in modern memory.
In August 2016, three months before the presidential election, I wrote an essay for PopMatters entitled “Can Trump Satire Take Down Donald?” In it, I engaged with satirist Michael Moore’s assertion that reason and rational argument had failed to prevent Trump from becoming his party’s nominee, and they would be equally unsuccessful in stopping him from becoming president. Moore said at the time, “It’s going to require something else. Personally, I hope satire brings [him] down” (qtd. in Ellis).
There was no shortage of satire raining down on the candidate back then, with a larger cast of late-night TV talk show hosts providing daily doses of much-needed relief. Fast forward nine years, and we are in the midst of another insurgence of critical comedy, this time in the context of a Trump term more resembling authoritarian fascism than the first. Few today are naïve enough to believe that the Portland frog, Robbie Roadsteamer, and Jimmy Kimmel will bring down the current administration; however, can their fighting wit offer more sustenance than just the temporary respite of escapist entertainment?
Laughter’s Sonic Power
Humor is the opposite of fascism, contrasting and countering its innate traits. Whereas fascism promotes closed thinking, reducing values to “us versus them” slogans, humor is creative, unleashing and expanding the imagination; whereas fascism instills anger and resentment of “others”, humor brings joy and debunks irrational prejudices; whereas fascism is anti-intellectual and manipulative of fears, humor values inquiry, insight, and reflection; whereas fascism cares little for facts that get in the way of its divisive narratives, humor tells truths, often uncomfortable ones that burst the bubbles of cult-like beliefs and worship. Humor scholar John Morreall discusses the “mental flexibility” required by humor, a state of being antithetical to fascism’s rigid demands and needs.
Armed with these characteristics, humorists become a formidable opposition to authoritarians, political or otherwise. Critical wits demystify autocrats, mocking their postures and exploitative motives, undermining their missions by laying bare the myths that gird them. A dictator relies upon fear and obedience from both followers and detractors, but humorists expose the con man behind the tough guy. Essentially, effective political comedians reveal that the emperor has no clothes.
The effects of this humor are unquantifiable, and the results are immeasurable. However, the fact that such wit(s) dates back centuries suggests that benefits have accrued from their efforts. Court jesters played this role in medieval times, special dispensation given to them to chastise and chasten over-reaching kings.
Such permission was denied during the heyday of fascism in the 1930s and ‘40s, when comedians ridiculing Hitler and Mussolini were censured and censored. Flüsterwitze (whisper jokes) was the term used in Nazi Germany for those quips you could not air in public. Trump is not there yet with his own anti-comedy campaign, but he no doubt salivates at the thought of the “joke courts” Hitler established to prosecute those who dared mock him.
A precedent to the current No Kings costumed protests comes from a time when America was actually ruled by a king. At the Boston Tea Party in 1773, patriots dressed up as “noble savage” Native Americans to symbolize their separate identity from the British oppressors. Humor was integrated into this combination of costumes and protest during the 1960s Vietnam War protests. The guerrilla theater of that time, with its mime troupes, agit-prop songs, and absurdist pranks, was similar to the expressions of “tactical frivolity” currently on display in Portland, Chicago, and Los Angeles.
An emerging hero of the contemporary movement, Rob Potylo (a.k.a. Robby Roadsteamer), channels the spirit of 1967—particularly the wacky but pointed wit of the Yippies and Merry Pranksters—with his “jest resistance” in the face of ICE agents. The Yippies didn’t bring down the Nixon administration when they staged a mock levitation of the Pentagon, and Roadsteamer won’t make ICE go away with his giraffe costume and satirical songs. However, such visual and sonic spectacles do attract attention to some harsh realities that the media often overlooks.
Perhaps the most pertinent prior example of this kind of public humor was that practiced by the punk performance group, Pussy Riot. Like our current costumed crusaders, Pussy Riot used colorful outfits, music, and performance art to protest the tyranny of the Putin regime in Russia. That autocrat’s over-reaction to the troupe’s pranks—landing some members in a Siberian prison camp—received international attention, prompting the free world to recognize Putin as part of a tradition that includes Stalin, Saddam Hussein, and Kim Jong-un: dictators intolerant of critical humor.
Trump’s perpetual petulant outbursts against America’s most beloved comedians qualify him to be a member of that exclusive club, too.
No King’s Gut-Busting Punch
Critics of No Kings humor argue that while it may provide temporary comic relief from the harsh realities of life under Trump, escapism and entertainment are no substitutes for confrontation and tangible political change. The relief theory of humor postulates that situations of restraint and control create pent-up energies in us that require venting or release. As the saying goes, if you don’t laugh, you’ll cry.
Morreall claims that humor can reduce anxiety for those who feel distress, a condition common when “forced to live under the heavy restriction of a dictatorship”. The level of repression often corresponds with the level of eccentricity we require to provide relief. Thus, as with the hippy humor of the Vietnam War era, No Kings humor is often outrageous, fun-filled, and full of buffoonery. Such humor gives us release and relief, but does it also bring political benefits?
There is much scrutiny of political comedy in America right now, particularly that emanating from the opening monologues of our TV talk show hosts. Trump’s character, corruption, and incompetence continue to provide comedy gold for them. Unlike most of his political opponents, these comedians land punch after punch, each cutting through the despot’s record of criminality, corruption, prejudice, lies, egotism, and general moral vacuity. Besides billionaires—and without needing to beg or bribe—one might argue that the comedian class has gained more from Trump’s time in office than any other demographic.
Have any of their punches knocked him out? No. Have any hit home? Clearly, judging by Trump’s reactions. Like every narcissistic leader before him, Trump, both personally and politically, cannot take a joke. Critical humor is his kryptonite, the bone spur in his Achilles heel, diminishing the power and credibility of his image as the father of the nation that all should have faith in. As with prior political (and religious) frauds, comedians provide an essential service in decoding, debunking, and demythologizing. In doing so, they become primary enemies of the autocrat.
As early as 2016, his first year in office, Trump’s press secretary, Sean Spicer, put out a public call for comedians to stop mocking the boss. More recently, we have seen how the president has used threats and shakedowns to force his nemeses Stephen Colbert and Jimmy Kimmel off the air. Their employers at CBS and ABC, respectively, know that their owners’ corporate ambitions will be thwarted if they refuse to kowtow to the president’s demands.
In Kimmel’s case, the silencing endeavor backfired, only calling greater attention to the authoritarian drift of the administration, as well as to the important roles comedians play as truth-tellers and fact-checkers in American society. The national outrage and mass cancellations that ABC’s owners, Disney, faced after suspending Kimmel not only showed how much American citizens value their comedians of conscience; they also signaled that, whatever their apparent powerlessness, citizens can still determine the destiny of their nation—if they are willing to act en masse.
No King’s Tactical Frivolity
Throughout 2025, comedy has also coupled with mass mobilization in the form of a wave of street protests, many related to the ongoing No Kings campaign. Part of this movement was precipitated by the administration sending ICE officers into American neighborhoods and National Guard troops into select American cities.
According to Trump and his cohorts, a military presence is needed in Democrat-run cities to reduce the crime and mayhem going on there. Many, though, see this maneuver as part of Trump’s retribution campaign, or, just as likely, as an early step towards scaring voters of color away from the polls during next year’s mid-term elections.
Whatever the reason, turning US cities into Stasi-style police states has certainly satisfied the president’s goal of intimidating citizens who vote Democrat. His hope of provoking those Americans into reacting violently—thus establishing a premise for further military incursions—has, though, so far failed. One can point to the use of performative humor by the protesters as a main reason why operations are (so far) not going according to Trump’s plan.
The Portland frog has taken—ahem—leaps and bounds around the nation since first appearing on the frontlines of rallies in June of this year. Now a primary symbol and celebrity of the non-violent No Kings movement, copycat frogs have since been joined by raccoons, pigs, giraffes, and chickens from the animal kingdom. “These fascist pigs give the rest of us a bad name”, read a pig’s sign, and “United we ribbit, divided we croak”, read one from a frog.
Costumed protesters also made up a visible portion of the seven million-plus that came out across the country and around the world for the second No Kings demonstrations on October 18, 2025. Their striking visual images have since gone viral, spreading across the internet and transforming into popular memes that circulate around the globe. Have all these fun-filled activists trivialized and distracted from the ruthless assaults on our nation that they are supposed to be fighting against?
It is easy to dismiss tactical frivolity as little more than venting or entertainment, a tonic for the resistance troops. However, that would ignore the serious purposes behind the unserious means. No Kings humor is primarily incongruity humor, its critical clout achieved through contrasts with the visuals of the oppressor. The government’s rationale for sending troops into our cities is that those urban areas are overrun by criminals and Antifa terrorists. A military presence is thus necessary to make the streets safe for regular citizens.
Nothing counters this apocalyptic scenario more bluntly, though, than a unicorn with a bubble gun and a raccoon roller skating down those same streets. How ridiculous do combat troops look when Robbie Roadsteamer stands in front of them in a giraffe suit singing his rendition of “Do You Think I’m Sexy?” with the words, “If you hate brown people / And you are a Nazi / Come on ICE, leave Portland?”. This is the comedic equivalent of 1960s hippies inserting flowers into the barrels of rifles held by National Guard troops.
These David and Goliath showdowns highlight contrasting values with visual clarity. When DHS [Department of Homeland Security] rooftop snipers pelted Robbie Roadsteamer with pepper-spray balls, or when a trooper sprayed chemical agents into the vent of an inflatable frog suit—both for no reason—it was not the government that elicited sympathy when those images were shown on the evening news. Viewers can see who is innocent and who is unjust, who is courageous and who is cruel.
When Black Civil Rights advocates marched against segregation in the 1960s, they were wearing their Sunday best when the police beat them down; when No Kings protesters face up to armed troops today, they are dressed in animal costumes. In both instances, viewers’ sympathies align with what their eyes tell them, not with what the state attempts to spin as propaganda and lies.
Today’s No Kings activists have learned much from the public’s responses to the Black Lives Matter protests of 2020 and the Occupy Wall Street ones of 2011. While most of the participants in these were peaceful, the optics were sometimes such that right-wing media were able to piece together anomalous images for partisan purposes. Optical manipulation, though, is not so easy when the camera is faced with inflated frogs and a giraffe troubadour.
As that giraffe, Rob Potylo, explained to The Daily Beast, “We don’t need to be dressed in black…blocking streets, or [causing] destruction. Let’s go back to community, culture, comedy, absurdism.” Anger and confrontation are natural reactions to the militarized aggression happening daily on our streets, but what the No Kings humorists understand is that such responses only play into the hands of despots itching to brutally oppress with their iron fists.
“This land is your land,” sang Woody Guthrie, and therein lies the essential worth of No Kings public humor. We the people have the right to occupy our public spaces without fear of being arrested for no reason, or pepper-sprayed for exercising First Amendment rights. In the land inhabited by the inflatable animal kingdom, a contrast of values and lifestyles is presented through the juxtaposition of visual imagery, one side symbolizing a life of joy, laughter, and freedom, the other one of intimidation, cruelty, and repression.
Works Cited
Ellis, Iain. “Can Trump Satire Take Down Donald?” PopMatters. 9 August 2016.
Lachem, Tom, “Comedian Vows to Sue Over His ICE Arrest While Dressed as a Giraffe”. The Daily Beast, 17 October 2025.
Morreall, John. Taking Laughter Seriously. State University of New York Press. 1983.