When we call someone a clown, we generally mean that they are silly and someone to be dismissed. Sometimes it’s said as a quasi-compliment, meaning that they’re funny and not taking things seriously. When we say it as an insult, we mean that they are foolish.
I’m not much of a comedian and when it’s been said to me, it’s always the latter—I’m not making a joke, I am the joke.
Clowns usually have a recognizable presentation. We may associate them with red noses, silly wigs, and oversize shoes. This is the circus clown. There’s also the harlequin who is known for their checked suit. There are other western versions of clown characters who may be happy or sad, clumsy, of unintelligent (always ableism creeping in).
To my knowledge, I’ve only been called a clown once. It’s not a common insult, but it’s the unusualness that makes it stand out.
I’m a pretty serious person. Something I wish people know about me is how deeply I reflect and how much I work to deepen my analysis and understanding of issues. I learn and reflect like it’s a competitive sport and I’m training for the Olympics. I sometimes I wish I was much more light-hearted. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy the spring-time flowers and will let out a cry of delight over a hummingbird. I have a lot of joy inside me. But people have never described me as easy-going or looking on the lighter side of life. As a kid, I was often described as an old soul.
My work is not a joke. Whether I am the joke depends on what you think are important issues, how you expect leaders to look and act, and how you expect women like me to behave. I’m a joke if you think the issues I advocate for are jokes. I’m a joke if you expect leaders to show up in a navy-blue suit without a peony in their hair. I’m a joke if you think the status quo is working and there’s not another way forward.
When I have posted online about things like equity, anti-racism, or sexism I have received the laughing face emoji. It’s funny if it’s irrelevant to you, because it doesn’t impact you meaning you benefit from the deficit of equity, from racism, and from sexism. Moreover, it’s funny if you don’t care about the people whom the current system isn’t serving.
I don’t find compassion or empathy funny.
When we’re talking about equity measures, we are talking about making people’s lives better in a material way. This might mean housing that is secure and doesn’t have mold. It might mean access to nourishing foods that are culturally appropriate and—dare I say it—yummy. It might mean the ability to get where you’re going in a reasonable amount of time in a way that doesn’t put your wellbeing at risk. It might mean shade during the summer heat, clean air, or opportunities to learn.
Again, I don’t find these things funny and I don’t find it funny that people in our community currently don’t have access to them.
Apparently, others do find it laughable. They find it silly and humourous and boorish to say that we could do things differently, that we could make different choices that would take care of everyone. If I have to put on a red nose and a polka dot suit to make these topics palatable, I certainly will.
Image description: a dark haired woman looks at camera while putting on red lipstick. A cursive font over her head says “what a clown”
PS. You better believe I have a polka dot dress at the ready.
