Happiness

Why Ukraine Is the Best Place to be a Comedian

Late final month, a few days after Russian missiles hit Kyiv, killing a Ukrainian journalist; just a few weeks after Russian forces laid siege to this metropolis, my hometown; two months after Vladimir Putin’s forces invaded my homeland, I went down right into a transformed bomb shelter and laughed. Lots. And it felt nice.

“It sucks that so many of us have to live in evacuation with our parents,” Anna Kochehura informed the group round me. “It’s like being a teenager again: Your mom keeps asking you to clean your room. You never know when a Russian rocket is going to hit your apartment nowadays. Do you really want the whole world to see your mess?”

I burst into laughter. So did the folks subsequent to me, and everybody else too. For a second, I forgot about concern. Surrounded by so many younger Ukrainians, all of us laughing regardless of all now we have seen, all now we have gone by, I felt highly effective.

The previous few months have been horrifying. Russia has introduced us a lot grief, demise, and destruction. More than 2,000 Ukrainian civilians have been killed. Millions have fled their houses. Russian troopers have dedicated surprising atrocities in locations comparable to Bucha. Tens of billions of {dollars}’ value of injury has been brought on to our infrastructure, to say nothing of the cities which were worn out, the territory that has been occupied. We haven’t felt protected for a very long time. At any second, a missile may finish our days. The struggle is current and throughout us. The fledgling comedy membership I visited—the Underground Stand-Up Club—was till lately a subject kitchen the place volunteers cooked meals for Ukraine’s Territorial Defense Forces.

And so, that night, in a basement, we laughed.

I believe there are two forms of folks on the planet. There are those that cry after falling, and those that choose themselves up and chuckle. We Ukrainians are the second kind. Our humorousness is particular. We elected a comic to be our president, in any case.

But our humorousness is darkish—it needs to be, given what we’ve been by. We chuckle when Russian troopers accidentally detonate their very own mines. We chuckle at Chechen fighters filming TikToks in our destroyed metropolis of Mariupol, solely to be killed by Ukrainian snipers. We chuckle at Russian propaganda that claims we practice birds to establish Russians and infect them with ailments we’ve created in our U.S.-sponsored biolabs. “Ukrainian soldiers say the Russian invaders are brainless,” Sviat Zagaikevich, one other comic who carried out on the night time I went to the comedy membership, stated, “because a bullet goes in one ear, and comes out the other.”

In reality, to a point, our humorousness has at all times been darkish. Eneida, an 18th-century poem by the Ukrainian author Ivan Kotliarevsky, which parodies Virgil’s Aeneid, commemorates the siege and destruction of Zaporizhian Sich by reworking Virgil’s Trojan heroes into Zaporizhian Cossacks. The parallels with right this moment are placing: Then, it was Catherine the Great’s forces attacking Ukrainian land; right this moment, it’s Putin’s.

Modern Ukraine’s humorousness might be outlined by our election in 2019 of Volodymyr Zelensky. His political-satire present and his Servant of the People sitcom have been all-time tv favorites. Of course, his election wasn’t a joke: Zelensky has proved a critical, succesful president. Perhaps naive at first, he’s now a contemporary wartime chief whom many Western international locations admire.

He appears, nonetheless, to have introduced his comedic sensibilities to authorities. Whereas the comedians in that basement stand-up membership helped us use laughter as a protection mechanism, our leaders have used it for offensive functions, attacking and undermining Russia’s efforts. Our nation now sells stamps emblazoned with the phrases Russian warship, go fuck your self, commemorating our troops’ unimaginable response to the invaders. Our nationwide Twitter account jokingly captions {a photograph} of our prime minister standing alongside the president of the European Council—two males who look startlingly alike—with “Our PM on the right.” When the flagship of Russia’s Black Sea fleet, the Moskva, was sunk after sustaining harm from Ukrainian forces, our protection minister tweeted a photograph of himself diving, together with the textual content “We have one more diving spot in the Black Sea now.”

How are you able to not chuckle, particularly when Russian propaganda is so absurd? When the Moskva sank, the nation at first denied that something had occurred, then claimed that the warship had not sunk, that it had suffered a localized hearth but “retained buoyancy.” Even when Russia acknowledged the reality, it insisted that the sinking had been brought on by a hearth, after which a storm. Clearly, admitting that Ukraine might land such a blow was too painful.

Or what concerning the reported Ukrainian assaults towards Russian territory? Moscow can not formally blame us, provided that it claims to have destroyed our aerial capabilities, so as an alternative, Russian shops describe explosions brought on by our rockets and helicopters as loud bangs of unknown origin. (“Russian propagandists are stealing my job,” Kochehura joked to me. “After five years in stand-up comedy, I still can’t make up such funny shit.”) Ukrainian officers, for his or her half, blame karma—karma that they are saying will proceed to have an effect on Russia till its forces depart Ukraine.

The struggle has even created its personal set of weird suggestions loops. Among the folks serving within the armed forces is Serhiy Lipko, a comic whose routine facilities on the desperation of the struggle’s first days, when so many Ukrainian males have been keen to hitch the army that he needed to finagle his means in. Once his comrades found that he was a stand-up, they’d always ask him to make jokes. “They think that if you can do it onstage, you can fire off jokes every two minutes in real life as well,” he informed me. Upon studying that he’s a reasonably critical particular person in actual life, they have been upset. Still, he would attempt. Laughter, he stated, devalues concern. “If you can write a good joke, it becomes your weapon,” he stated. “I can, and that makes me a double threat—because I also have a gun.”

All of the comedians I watched that night time, and all these I’ve spoken with for the reason that invasion, informed me concerning the cathartic impact of comedy, of laughter, in such miserable instances. “A stand-up night in a basement is a good way to get people to ignore air-raid sirens, come to a shelter, and spend a couple hours in a safe space,” Zagaikevich informed me. “A good joke is the best way to reduce stress and fuel your fighting spirit. There’s no better way to cope with all the horror of our day-to-day news.”

In that, these comics carry a way of obligation. “During the darkest of times, humor helps us to stay sane and return to normality,” Anton Tymoshenko, one other comic, informed me. “It is the cheapest form of therapy.”

Tymoshenko is definitely extra than simply one other comic. In 2016, he received a Ukrainian TV competitors through which contestants needed to make Zelensky—at that time not but president—chuckle out loud. He made our comic in chief chortle.

So he maybe has a greater grasp than most of what’s at stake. “Ukraine is the best place to be a comedian nowadays,” he stated throughout one other bomb-shelter stand-up gig. “Your career can rise very high. If you are a good comedian in the U.S., you can have a late-night show. If you are a good comedian in Ukraine, you can destroy Russia.”



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