#MeToo vs #ThemToo: Why we fail to critique our kin
The silver lining that differentiates a criticism from a satire is comedy. The moment you can add humour into an otherwise dark issue, it becomes more socially acceptable, easier to discuss, and catapults into a more public domain. And if things go horribly wrong, one can always turn around and say, “It was just a joke” or “Learn to take a joke.”
Now, I am a fan of socially responsible comedy and you will see me laugh from the bottom of my pot belly when it’s political satire. Or, when the joke is on Salman Khan’s driving skills, or the lack thereof.
The All India Bakchods and the East India Comedies of the world seem to have an opinion on everything under the sun — demonetisation, scams, the banning of Pakistani artists by the Hindi film industry, Sonam Kapoor’s wedding. I could go on, but you get the drift. Yet, their stoic silence when it’s time to critique their kin baffles me.
When Utsav Chakraborty of the AIB was accused of sexual harassment last week, there were no jokes cracked. Gursimran Khamba was next. Tanmay Bhatt and Khamba decided to quit the brand they co-founded, yet no satirical dig, or even a mere commentary, on the issue at hand by the kinfolk.
Funnily, this isn’t the first case of joke strike.
When AIB was under scrutiny for the infamous Roast of Ranveer Singh and Arjun Kapoor, featuring Karan Johar and Rajeev Masand, members of East India Comedy and other independent performers steered clear of making any comments. It took Tanmay over two years to appear before an audience and speak about the incident — how they were reportedly harassed by the Maharashtra police and how the media blew things out of proportion — in a surprise set he performed at Sri Shanmukhananda Chandrasekarendra Saraswathi Auditorium, Sion, Mumbai, a show that was headlined by Kanan Gill and Kenneth Sebastian. It was hilarious. We laughed and clapped like a bunch of retarded seals in the audience.
But until then, it was as if there was an embargo on the topic.
Poetry may be the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings, recollected in tranquillity — but is comedy the same too?
I wonder if there’s a sort of intranet that connects these few funny men and ever fewer women, and if there was actually a memo exchanged refraining all from joking about it. I wonder if their secret comedy society meetings were adjourned, vowing to never speak a word on it. I wonder if anyone from the close-knit comedy club would ever have the balls to do otherwise.
Many of us have been on both Aziz and Graces' side of the fence. Going where we are not wanted in the way that we want to be wanted. #showcompassion
— radhika vaz (@radvaz) January 22, 2018
Radhika Vaz did have balls. Or didn’t. Go figure.
When it was about a comedian from the far, far west, Aziz Ansari, that is.
“Many of us have been on both Aziz and Graces' side of the fence. Going where we are not wanted in the way that we want to be wanted. #showcompassion,” she had written on Twitter. In the current scenario of sexual harassment allegations, however, she wrote in a message: “feels too close to the situation and not (sic) be able to think without anger at this moment.”
When a panel of comedians pointed out the sexism in an all male line-up of a stand-up comedy show for Amazon Prime Videos on a talk show with Anupama Chopra, we nodded in agreement. That the panel of comedians who pointed this out was also predominantly male with a 5:1 ratio, is the subject of another story.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH No. https://t.co/x1GRbWCHkX
— Mallika Dua (@MallikaDua) October 30, 2017
When Mallika Dua pointed us towards Akshay Kumar’s sexist and borderline crass comments on the sets of Star Plus’ The Great Indian Laughter Challenge, we stood by every word she said — yet, when it is time to address an allegation against their own, there’s silence.
Sorabh Pant, a personal favourite, wants to Make India Great Again, and we’re with him on this. Yet, he is caught up for the next two weeks and is unavailable for comments.
After a day of chasing nothing, a short What’sApp conversation with a friend and ex-journalist helped put things into perspective for me. Why this collective moun-vrat? “Because they must be shit scared. Of having done the same thing.”
And it is this devil in disguise, the it’s-not-me-too-it’s-you-too attitude that has all the potential to make #MeToo crumble like a house of cards.
We seem more comfortable when the finger is pointing towards the other. ‘Him,’ ‘her,’ ‘them.’ But it pricks us in the neck when it is ‘Us.’ I wish I could say we, the media, are any different, but that would be a lie.
We’re guilty of protecting offenders and repeat offenders, putting what they bring to the organisations — clout? contacts? — over what they take away, living in a sense of denial for decades. But our pens can breathe fire when it is one Utsav, one Gursimran, one Alok Nath. We’re guilty of not admitting that #WeToo were at fault, and until we do that, it’s only a matter of time until #MeToo dies a horrible, premature death.