Whenever tragedy strikes, I turn to comedy. Comedy has always been a coping mechanism for me to process news. Last week, when former President Donald Trump was shot at his rally in Pennsylvania, I dealt with my shock and sadness by posting a graphic on my socials of the instantly iconic image of Trump with blood on his face, pumping his fist. Under the photo, I wrote, “How long before this becomes merch?”
As expected, I received a mix of positive engagement and furious backlash. I had conflicting thoughts. On the one hand, this joke was making fun of Trump’s habit of turning everything he does into merchandise. On the other hand, I was trying to be funny after a former president was nearly killed. I ended up taking down the post and that caused my head to circle with questions: Does that mean I didn’t stand up for comedy? Where is the line? Did I cross it?
I’ve struggled with that question for my entire life. Growing up, at the dinner table, I was always saying something inappropriate. My mom would give me a look or a kick under the table. This is not my family dinner table. This is a moment in history where a former president was almost killed. But my question still stands: When can I make the joke?
