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So What’s Funny? Understanding Black Humor on the Web, A Folklorist’s Perspective

Ijeoma Ogbogu

Introduction

Storytelling, limericks, songs, puns, and many other face-to-face avenues of both

delivering and receiving humor are an integral part of the human experience. Part of the

utility of humor is its ability to reinforce social bonds and shared identities through face-

to-face interactional settings that are fundamentally embodied. With the recent and rapid

emergence of the Internet—alongside social media platforms—a new type of jocularity

has emerged that I term “digital humor.” This new form offers both opportunities and

limitations—mass proliferation and disembodiment, respectively. This paper explores the

relationship and tension between these two aspects of digital humor through the window

African-American humor. Humor has been a binding agent of the African-American

experience in ways that comment both directly and subversively on racial hegemony. It

has been an avenue for African-Americans to exert power, relieve frustrations, and

signify his or her position, attitudes, and stance in a hostile world. With this history in

mind, I explore digital humor on social media platforms in order to reveal how humor

changes once it goes beyond face-to-face interaction; beyond traditional settings that rely

on an embodied singular shared “Black” identity and ask: what happens in virtual

contexts that are disembodied? I contend that this sense of shared identity becomes

fractured along the lines of race, phenotype, class, and gender precisely because it is

disembodied, distanced, and therefore available for critical scrutiny that calls into

question what Black identity is and who gets to claim it.

Black Humor, A History

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I begin with a fundamental premise: laughter is embodied. Laughter is a visceral

bodily reaction to humor. Therefore, we cannot consider humor without embodiment.

This concern with embodiment becomes politicized if we turn our attention to the topic of

African-American humor because it implies the racialized black body. Black humor—

within the context of the United States—is intimately tied to the historical experience of

slavery: bodies in bondage. As author Glenda Carpio (2008) states in Laughing Fit to

Kill: Black Humor in the Fictions of Slavery, “Black American humor began as a wrested

freedom, the freedom to laugh at that which was unjust and cruel” (4). In a historical

context, humor was necessary for survival, it provided an expressive space where

“bodies—otherwise considered disposable bio-commodities—[enacted] and [laid] claim

to a life (bios) otherwise denied them” (Chávez 2015: 166). Often the institutions of both

race and slavery were the targets of such humor. For instance, Carpio (2008) cites the tale

of a black man that wanders into Mississippi and asks a white man, “Where do the

colored folks hang out here?” Pointing to a large tree in the public square, the white man

replies, “Do you see that limb?” (5-6). This tale, like many others, makes light of racial

violence and may have been used as a coping method for African Americans in the U.S.

South.

Given this potent motif, I use the concept “Black humor” in a dual sense. First, I

take it reference African-American humor, or in other words, humor from the African-

American folkloric tradition. Second, I take it to mean humor haunted by “the grim and

harsh reality of Black life in America” (Dance 1977: 125). The term black humor (from

the French humour noir) was coined by the surrealist theorist André Breton in the 1930s

to refer to a sub-genre of comedy and satire where laughter arises from cynicism and

skepticism, often relying on topics such as death. Returning to Carpio’s tale, the joke at
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the center of the story in her example shows, how black bodies are disposable, which

therefore means it is emergent from a tradition grounded in the African American

experience. His example also demonstrates Toni Morison’s concept of social death, or the

annihilation of human dignity. Literal death is the result of lynching, but I contend that

social death is just as serious because it is the equivalent of the killing of the soul.

Expressive culture—in this case humor about death, or black humor—allowed slaves and

their descendants to gain symbolic leverage over their oppressors as a way to avoid social

death. Therefore, the second meaning of black humor that I make reference to allows me

to speak directly to the symbolic functions of black humor in its first meaning as an

embodied aesthetic tradition of folklore created by black bodies. Traditionally, one

medium for expression of black humor has been through folklore.

Folkloristics is concerned with the study of folklore as expressive performance.

The discipline identifies three defining features that distinguish certain expressive

practices as folkloric: they are (1) aesthetic in scope (artful); (2) democratic (are shared

among a community); (3) enacted in face-to-face interactional settings. Therefore, one

central aspect of folklore, as performance, is embodiment. Embodiment has been

theorized extensively in sociocultural anthropology with respect to both material

experience and social affects. However, I turn to the work of José Limón (1994) and his

concept of the social body. In his book Dancing with the Devil: Society and Cultural

Poetics in Mexican-American South Texas (1994), Limón argues folklore that deals

explicitly with the body is often a symbolic representation of how society views the

body—from taboos about sexuality and human waste, to racism and violence. Limón’s

work therefore allows me to consider both: (1) the embodiment of African American

humor as folk performance; and (2) the symbolic cultural stance that African American
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humor takes vis-à-vis the racism wielded against black bodies, so as to avoid social death

historically.

Beyond skin color/race/ethnicity, black identity is the embodied experience of

discursive tensions that arise between white America and black America—an experience

part of the larger black diaspora, or a black global imagination conscious of its

displacement, experience of anti-black racism, and the vital role of creating new social

institutions outside of Africa. These tensions find release in various forms—in this case,

humor—that allow for the generative persistence of individuals and the vitality of

community. As Paul Gilroy (1993) states:

Because the self identity, political culture, and grounded aesthetics that

distinguish black communities have often been constructed through their music and the

broader cultural and philosophical meanings that flow from its production, circulation,

and consumption, music is especially important in breaking the inertia, which arises in

the unhappy polar opposition between squeamish, nationalist essentialism and a skeptical,

saturnalian pluralism which makes the impure world of politics literally unthinkable.

(102)

I dare replace the word music with humor. This sense of community—beyond

nation and essentialist assumptions—has relied on the fact that each African American’s

situation and reality was similar enough that things such as humor carried meaning across

contexts (i.e. different master, new place, etc..) A vital discourse of and in everyday life,

humor breathed life into the otherwise inescapable death in America—death of

personhood.

And as life slowly turns in America, moving from the tragic realities of slavery to the

crushing frustrations of contemporary urban life, humor has also transformed to highlight
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the absurdity of racial equality and freedom in America; and signifying has continued to

play an important role. Just as Alice Walker and Zora Neale Hurston Hurston equate

laughter with tears as cathartic treasures, then it is fitting that analyses of their works

metaphorize their combined expressions of Black humor as a vehicle for resistance to

power and domination (Woodard 1994: 432). It relieved the aches in their backs, dried

the tears on their faces, and forced laughter even in the bleakest of situations. However,

what happens when that humor circulates in mediated ways that are fundamentally

disembodied (i.e. internet social media)? And so I turn to the notion of what I term

“digital folklore” and the black body.

Everyday Moments and Soulful Humor

I present a humorous interlude at Notre Dame during an organization meeting that

exposes and makes light of broader tensions:

Woman 1

Leans slightly in and crosses arms: “Why—in my math course—is the class explaining to

the math Professor what they are doing wrong? Like bruh! Really!?”

Woman 2

Starts shaking her head and then makes a disapproving facial gesture and drinks

imaginary iced tea: “This is what I feel when all the students go after the professor and

T.A. with all types of disrespect as if they are experts.”

While the first woman’s statement is a quite literal observation of class tensions

between students and professor, the second statement involves both the embodied and

mediated forms of black humor. The ice tea gesture is a reference to the Kermit the Frog

“but that’s none of my business” meme, which began circulating in social media as early
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as 2013. The meme is intended as a sarcastic postscript to an insult. However, in this

case, the initial insult by Woman 2 is not verbal, but rather a facial gesture of disapproval

with “attitude,” which is then followed by the pantomiming of the meme. The physical

gestures coupled with the statement “this is how I feel” necessitates that Woman 1 have

access to the meme image and its meanings, but also to be attentive to the entire

performance frame as one of humor where the body is central—pantomiming, gestures,

etc. The discursive interaction continues:

Woman 1

“Nah, I just agree and keep my mouth shut. She ain’t gonna take points off my grade

cause she feel slighted.”

Woman 2

“Right. I’ll be like, ‘Yaaa’ll can argue with them, but I’ll be over here minding my own

business!’ Ya feel?”

If we recall the defining features of folklore as performance, they are all present

in this exchange: (1) the verbal interaction is occurring in a face to face setting; (2) the

use of language has aesthetic qualities; (3) the expressive resources that are being used

are part of a larger tradition of Black humor. Here, I will center on the use of feel, which
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brings all of these elements together. While these two women are not explicitly speaking

of instances of direct racism, they are performing in a safe space in which they can

express themselves in ways that would otherwise mark them as Black racial others. The

shaking of heads, expressive use of hands, these things are not insignificant. They are

common forms of Black expression that are used to convey disapproval. There is feeling

involved—the movement of bodies that feel, but also the face to face setting that allows

interactions to emerge based on presumptions and shared feelings already there made

possible by a physical coming together. This “happening” where people “feel” one

another is made possible by a sense of shared identity that is assumed because members

of the community have congregated to express and experience “the soul,” as Roger

Abraham discusses in his book Positively Black. This notion of “soul” refers to a cultural

space where all the unpleasant past of Black America, or racial trauma, is transformed

into a sense of shared history that must be overcome—one must have soul to survive.

And soulful expressions are often those of humor. But does the soul survive in forms of

expression disseminated online in ways beyond a physical community of feeling in each

other’s presence?

The Dark Web: Black Twitter, World Star Hip-Hop, Instagram, and the

Racialization of Social (media) Space

Before we explore the meanings attached to the social media presence of African

Americans on the internet, it is important to first note and examine where they are

mobilizing, what platforms they are using, and why. A 2012 Pew Research Center study

gives interesting statistics regarding the demographics of website visitors and social

media users. The Research group compared three racial groups—Whites, African

Americans, and Latinos—and separated them into spheres of young adult and older
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adults. According to their findings, about 16% of African Americans use social media,

which is larger than 15% for whites and 13% for Latinos. Perhaps even more surprising is

the high number of African Americans who use Twitter and Instagram—about 26% and

23%, respectively. Why favor some platforms over others? I believe that certain

platforms are more suited for the performative aspects of African American humor. In

other words, sites like Vine, YouTube, and Instagram allow one to create videos and thus

put on display the aesthetic competence of a “performer”—in this case video editor or

meme creator—and the social media audience enters into an evaluator role, much like

one does in person. Twitter seems to recreate a chain of discourse that is also suited for

signifying and the dozens, in other words (pun intended), 140 characters are good for

efficient speech play.

The increase use of social media among minorities, especially African-

Americans, is a phenomenon that should not be overlooked, for this rise of social media

use among minorities may be considered alongside the rise of internet activism.

Groups are able to mobilize like never before and, more importantly, they are able to

document instances of discrimination and violence. Twitter is especially suited for this

because it allows topics to trend—like instances of violence or discrimination—and

individuals can experience together a sense of awareness and solidarity even if they are

physically apart. For instance, here at the University of Notre Dame a trending topic and

hashtag in the fall of 2015 was #NDforMizzou, which allowed students to stand together

with the African American students at the University of Missouri facing discrimination

and personal attacks.

Using Twitter effectively requires three basic components: “A culturally relevant

hashtag (cultural specificity), network participation (either a comment or a retweet) by

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tightly linked affiliates (homophily), and a viral spread to reach ‘rending topic’ status

(propagation)” (Brock et al., 2012: 534). These criteria also make twitter suited for much

more than online activism. As Brock states “Twitter’s discourse conventions, ubiquity,

and social features encouraged increased Black participation; Black Twitter is Twitter's

mediation of Black cultural discourse, or ‘signifyin’” (Brock et al., 2012: 530). Given this

dynamic, we may consider Black Twitter as a signifier for a sense of black sociality that

is signified, and the sign vehicles are the tweets themselves. However, as already

discussed, signifying is as much an interactional embodied experience as it is symbolic

wordplay. In this way, being in the presence of others allows jokes to be responsive in the

moment, allowing one to make better or wittier comments, puns, and the like. Twitter and

other online platforms, however, are highly mediated, distanced from face-to-face

interaction, and therefore humor is circulated in a disembodied way. One must now make

inferences about the body solely on this distanced representation. Having said this, if the

origins of African American humor are tied to physical spaces of congregation in the face

of racial terror, what do we make of humor in the cyberspace of social media, particularly

when these supposed safe spaces—like Black Twitter—are ghettoized in the mainstream

much like actual urban spaces of color that have been abandoned by public policies and

withdrawal? In other words, if the “racialization of space… is the process by which

residential location and community are carried and placed on racial identity” (Calmore

1235, 1995), how are African American spaces of social media coated with racial

meanings and racism?

Who’s Black?
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Face to face interactions can allow the suspension of judgment because of the

level of comfort implied in exchanges guided by “feeling.” However, ideas or thoughts

shared online or via social media gives us a chance to retrace and pull apart statements.

These two women at my university did as such when they were going through their

Twitter feeds.

Woman 1:

“Ya’ll seen some of these comments? It got me bent like, ‘Why fam, Why?’” She scrolls

through her phone looking hurt.

Woman 2

“You know they white, you know.”

Woman 1:

Continues to scroll through the comment section and shakes her head. “This one said

she’s black!”

Woman 2

“Ya’ll liars. All damn liars! How can she say she’s black and write that!”

Face to face interactions enable a slight suspension of reflexive judgment by both

listeners and speakers because the exchange is fleeting, it is not archived and available

for scrutiny later. However, this is precisely the dynamic of social interactions online.

While the “speaker”—person tweeting, posting, or otherwise—may be performing in the

present, those “listening” are displaced temporally and spatially from the utterance. So,

one can scrutinize verbal play and humor after the fact with a fare more critical eye.

Furthermore, the “speaker” is ultimately invisible: their sex, gender, and race are

anonymous and therefore their African American identity is up for question. This is what
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these two women were in fact doing. When it comes to humor, the online world seems to

decenter senses of solidarity and cohesiveness based on assumed shared racial identity.

However, I am not saying that there exists no continuity between social media and the

offline “real world,” for this is where social media derives its content. As Florini (2013)

states, “‘signifyin’, dissing prioritizes verbal dexterity, wit, and wordplay” (229). This

cultural tradition informs the construction of Black identity online, especially in the

twitter-verse and thus in a way is a marker for a sense of Black authenticity. This is to

say, those who are literate in African American humor can signify with the best of them,

allowing “users to perform their racial identities 140 characters at a time” via Black

twitter, for instance (ibid: 224). Here are a couple of examples that play on Black radical

politics.

Ultimately, what these example demonstrate is that in order for race to function

online as a symbol of solidarity, “racialized users must make those identities visible
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online” because in “social media, those signifiers can be obscured or even imitated (e.g.,

by a deceptive avatar)” (Florini 2013: 224). Recall the two women in the ethnographic

example above. Michael Warner’s (2002) concept of the counterpublic is useful to think

about this. He writes:

The subordinate status of a counterpublic does not simply reflect identities formed

elsewhere; participation in such a public is one of the ways its members’ identities are

formed and transformed. A hierarchy or stigma is the assumed back. (37)

Although the power of the counterpublic is something to consider, the web has another

danger—anonymity and therefore textual and visual statements are taken out of context.

One example of this tension is World Star Hip Hop (WSTHH), which has mixed

responses and views. While many people see it as a detriment to Black identity because it

circulates unfortunate stereotypes, it could also be seen as a hallmark of self-deprecating

Black humor as a way of dealing with extreme circumstances. Unlike Black Twitter,

which is anonymous, the identities of WSHH users are known. In fact, WSHH has been

dubbed the Black YouTube. Often one encounters the shared view and celebration of

what it means to look Black and have Black features. For instance, movements like

embracing natural hair, dark skin, and full lips have created a repertoire of photos

dedicated to such features and beyond.

Going Viral—“I’m not Black, but I find it Funny”: Black Humor, Racial Humor,

and When Jokes Fail

Viral: This phenomenon is defined by the circulation and recirculation of a social

media visual or textual representations at an incredibly fast and massive rate because

“highly mediated and highly capitalized forms of circulation are increasingly organized

as continuous (“24/7 Instant Access”) rather than punctual” (Warner 2022: 69). One
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common example of this propagation is the popular image known as a “meme,” some of

which circulate stereotypical ideas about being Black. These are types of circulating slurs

that attain a virtual life online. Typically, no one knows the identities of those who create

these images. Such memes such as these rely on a familiarity with African American

bodies, style, and aesthetics, but such humor may descend into the realm of racism once it

begins to diminish human dignity. In other words, at times this humor can rely on a

racialized fantasy of what it means to Black and therefore reminds us of the first form of

American popular entertainment—minstrelsy. The popularity of minstrel shows has much

to do with the way people consume back identity today. These “images of Negroes were

shaped by white expectations and desires not black realities” (Jones 2003: 29). Here are

few examples:
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Final Post: Black Identity, the New Media Age, and 21st Century America

The binding agent of Black identity, according to Paul Gilroy, relies on a

historical sense of social trauma and how cultural practices congeal through that

experience as a way of getting on with living, perhaps with soul. Therefore, the folklore

that emerged from that experience spoke to it as a way of both coping and creating bonds.

Ultimately, social media is an interesting forum to explore in a very real sense what

Black identity means for Blacks and non-Blacks in todays 21st century America. What do

people think about Black folks, specifically? How do Black folks see themselves? Here,

expressions that circulate in social media, as I have demonstrated, can be self-

deprecating, stereotypical, racist, humorous, and the list goes on, but they all say

something about how Black identity is being constructed and how Black lives matter.

This area of inquiry is of importance, particularly given the recent emergence of

movements such as Black Lives Matter, Unapologetically Dark, and other race-centered

initiates that have strong digital components and that are entirely about the experience of

black bodies and black expression. It is my opinion that those on social media can choose

to be mindful of what gets propagated and what gets left behind, particularly in an era

when most people have a digital life that they constantly curate. What is lived in the

moment and what is consumed after that moment is passed? And how do these fluid

boundaries impact the everyday? For me, the focus has been folklore—African American

humor, specifically —and I have demonstrated different types of humor that emerge in

the space of social media. However, the importance of any identity is that it’s dynamic,

fluid in nature, and is always reconfigured. Social media is a tool to do this in the present.

Black humor, thus, may be taking different forms, but I feel certain it will continue its

discursive ingenuity.
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