Abstract

hat's happened to American humor lately would be funny if it weren't so serious. Potshots have been fired at it from highest levels of government and academe; it's been unjustly accused, mangled beyond recognition, and in some cases outlawed. A recent potshot came from Harvey I. Saferstein, president of California Bar Association, after a gunman opened fire in offices of a law firm, killing eight people before shooting himself-and leaving a letter that railed against lawyers and others involved in a failed real estate deal. In response, Saferstein called a news conference to denounce lawyer jokes. Mean-spirited jokes about lawyers could lead to more violence like massacre, he warned, according to an Associated Press story dated July 6, 1993; such jokes could be the straw that breaks camel's back for a fringe person; Americans should stop lawyer-bashing... that sometimes can incite violence and aggression toward lawyers. Saferstein's plea was undoubtedly well intentioned, and he joins a long line of protesters who are tired of being butt of jokes. However, point he missed is that humor flourishes only when there's a moderate level of tension between groups. If tension becomes too high, then humor won't suffice, which is what Cicero observed two thousand years ago when he said that people want criminals attacked with more forceful weapons than ridicule. The man who shot up law offices was feeling a much greater level of tension than that felt by people who tell lawyer jokes. And although it's risky to guess about someone else's innermost thoughts, one could conceivably argue that if, over years since man's business dealings went awry, he had been able to relieve his tensions through laughter-even laughter at his lawyers' expense-he might not have resorted to violence.