NOT LONG ago, I was speaking at a high school in Ottawa, one that focussed on the arts. I was there to chat about being a professional Native playwright/writer/humorist because several of the students had read and studied my material. Overall, my talk went well, and I was deep into the question-and-answer section of my presentation when, at the prodding of a teacher, a young Caucasian teenager put up his hand. He didn’t know exactly how to phrase his question, and there was substantial hemming and hawing, but in the end he managed to articulate something that had been bothering him.

“How can you get away writing what you do about white people?”

A fair enough question. In my writing, I often poke fun at the dominant culture, in what I believe to be a kind-hearted, inoffensive way, as any satirist might. As one example, I’ve come up with alternative names for people of the Caucasian race: people of pallor, pigment-denied, colour-challenged and melanin-deprived, to name just a few. Evidently the teenager, as a member of this community, felt that my comments were politically incorrect and wondered why there hadn’t been more of an outcry about them.

A few years earlier a similar concern had been expressed in Vancouver, albeit in a much more dramatic fashion. A production of my play alternatives, a sort of intellectual satire, received a bomb threat; somebody phoned in to say, “If this theatre continues to produce plays that are racist against white people, don’t be surprised at what we leave behind.” Luckily the bomb squad didn’t find anything, though I’m sure a few plays have bombed, rather than been bombed, at that theatre. alternatives takes place at a dinner party. It pokes fun at Native/non-Native relationships, with one of the more contentious (I say that sarcastically) and explosive (no pun intended) jokes occurring when one of the white guests gets angry and says she’s going home. To which a Native guest replies, “Home? To Europe?”

After spending fifteen years writing humour, researching the topic and visiting more than 120 Native communities (not including those in urban environments), it’s my observation that Native humour often crosses the tenuous and ambiguous boundary between the politically correct and the politically incorrect. Native humour pushes the envelope. It asks questions. It makes statements. It goes places polite and civil humour won’t go. It reflects injustice and anger. It showcases observation and commentary. And it’s located somewhere between the heart, the belly and the crotch. Although it may not be politically correct to say so, I do think it’s possible to have a Native sense of humour without being Native, just like a Native person can have a Mercedes-Benz (complete with authorized ownership papers and everything!) without being white. But both these things are rare.

Native humour comes from five hundred years of colonization, of oppression, of being kept prisoners in our own country. With legalized attacks on our culture, our languages, our identities and even our religion, often the only way left for Native people to respond to the cruel realities of Fourth World existence was in humour. Humour kept us sane. It gave us power. It gave us privacy. Whenever two First Nations people got together, something magical was sure to happen: there would be laughter. Whether it was children in a residential school, or people on the trapline, or a bunch of guys working high steel, Native humour was a little bit of home tucked away for when we needed it. Sort of like spiritual pemmican.

A good portion of Native humour springs from a sense of survival. Frequently, it’s a reaction against the world. And anything born of survival will have barbs and sharp teeth attached, to provide protection and refuge. Humour can also take the bruises and scars of depression, oppression and suppression and act as a salve or tonic to take the pain away. It often works as an antidote, even. As I once heard an elder from the Blood Reserve say, “Humour is the WD-40 of healing.” So Native humour is multi-purposed: it can cause pain as well as heal it.

But not all Native humour is aggressive. A large portion of it comes from the desire to share good times and happy thoughts and the need to deal with the absurdities of everyday life. For people travelling on the trapline, living in tepees or spending days out fishing, the only entertainment available was humour, whether in jokes or in storytelling. Stories that could make people laugh were respected indeed. Humour and storytelling are kissing cousins.

Over the years, the concept of political correctness has developed into a double-edged sword. Originally seen as a way of instituting equality and respect among people of different races, economic groups, genders and religious backgrounds, it has evolved into a rigid construct with specific boundaries and rules. Some people argue that in its attempts to liberate, political correctness has created restraints. Accusing someone of being “politically incorrect” means they are inconsiderate, rude, insensitive, brutish and anti-social. This is usually because they have made a comment or joke at the expense of a person different from themselves.

Introducing the First Nations identity into this environment, or the identity of any other oppressed, marginalized population, sets the normal perspective of what is allowed a little off centre. Humour, by its nature, is often at somebody’s expense. Rare is the joke that has no victim. That immediately makes it a potentially “oppressive” medium.

“What do you call a politically correct comic? Boring.”

Add to that volatile mixture the teasing and survival humour common in First Nations humour, and conflict with political correctness is bound to happen.

As any first-year academic will tell you, nothing is real or can be studied until it’s been deconstructed. So let’s do that with political correctness. We can begin by picturing a graph with an x-axis and a y-axis. On the x-axis are people from marginalized backgrounds, with the most oppressed or suppressed at the bottom, gradually working their way up the “socially accepted” ladder—let’s call it the Ladder of Status—to the top. The list includes “niggers,” “kikes,” “chinks,” “fags,” “dykes,” “dagos,” “micks,” “chicks,” etc., on up to the top, where the male honky proudly surveys the graph, no doubt complimenting himself on discovering and culturally appropriating it. Part of the fun of this graph is trying to figure out the rankings—who is more oppressed on the Oppress-o-meter.

On the y-axis are jokes dealing with race, ethnicity, religion or some other aspect of culture. Now the fun begins, working from the bottom up. That is to say, on this social ladder, those situated at the top cannot make jokes aimed at those towards the bottom. In this instance, being part of the privileged elite is a limitation. Successful jokes are filled with helium, not lead. Those at the bottom, however, can make those higher up the social ladder the butt of their jokes. Witness the comedic material of African-American, Asian or Native comedians. A large part of their act often consists of making fun of the dominant white culture. It should also be acknowledged that humour can work sideways. Native people can make fun of each other and of anyone who is better off than they are, or who has the same approximate position on the Ladder of Status.

For instance, take a joke like:

“How many Indians does it take to eat a rabbit? Two—one to eat it, the other to watch for cars.”

If a non-Native person told that joke, there would be some serious scalping in store. Yet that joke was told to me by Thomas King, the well-known Native humorist and author. I reciprocated by telling him one:

“How can you get twenty-four Indians into the back of a Volkswagen Bug? Simple: throw a case of beer on the back seat.”

A mutual friend of ours, a Cherokee university professor from the States, added to the mix:

“What do you call a seven-course dinner in Lakota country? One dog and a six pack.”

Natives and alcohol, a testy subject. Not one you’re usually expecting a joke about. And again, not a joke a white person could tell. But I can, courtesy of my status card (which, ironically, is closely linked to the previously mentioned Ladder of Status).

As described, the Ladder of Status allows some lateral movement. I once attended a party with several noted Indo-Canadians. I was there with another Native person. As often happens at parties, we all started telling stories and jokes and it wasn’t long before the confusion began regarding the term “Indian.” So before you knew it, people were starting their stories with “There was this Indian guy, a dot Indian” (putting a finger to our foreheads), “not a feather Indian” (sticking two fingers up behind our heads to indicate the feathers frequently seen on pseudo-Native headbands). There were peals of laughter from everyone in the room, and nobody felt insulted.

There are some exceptions to the Ladder of Status rules. I have seen many white comedians (as well as black ones) make fun of the lack of rhythm or dancing ability inherent in the Caucasian race and how supreme this ability is in the black community. But you will notice a joke like that is not a criticism but a “compliment” to African-Americans. Same with the innumerable penis-size jokes. Because these are supposedly complimentary, they are excused from the “politically incorrect” rule. Sometimes, though, a “compliment” can go over the top—for example, a joke from a white comic about Asians having the natural ability to understand and deal with anything electronic. It does get complicated.

Now let’s go back to our graph. On its flip side is a pyramid. Like the graph, the pyramid illustrates social status in North America. But the pyramid represents the theory that racism works only from the top down—racism is filled with lead, not helium. Only those at the top, the few in a place of privilege, are able to be racist. For instance, white people can be racist against Native, Asian or black people, but it is not technically possible for a black person to be racist against a white person. Wrong direction. The pyramid also works for sexism. A man can be sexist, but it’s difficult for a woman to be. It all boils down to power, or the lack of it. (I’m not sure I completely agree with the hypothesis this pyramid presents, but I’ll save that discussion for another day.)

The argument over the political correctness of Native humour can also be explored via the more common discussion revolving around the concept of cultural appropriation. This is an issue that has befuddled and angered both the Native and the non-Native arts communities for years. Should non-Natives write, create or tell anything Native? A simple enough question, with a not-so-simple answer.

To my way of thinking, it all has to do with spheres of knowledge. Consider it Aboriginal geometry. Within your sphere of knowledge is your life. Everything you have learned, everything you have experienced, everything you have participated in, everything you have come to understand lies within your sphere. Everybody has one. Some things in it are positive, some negative. In relation to cultural appropriation, it can be argued that you should write only about something within your own sphere of knowledge. Otherwise, you’re intruding on another person’s (or culture’s) sphere. Once outside your personal sphere of knowledge, you are in danger of ramming into another sphere, potentially causing great damage to both spheres—and I’m not sure what the deductible is on spheres of knowledge.

The same principle can be applied to the world of politically correct humour. When you’re making a joke, it is prudent to ensure the subject you’re making fun of lies within your sphere of knowledge. If not, then it becomes politically incorrect. For example, if you’re a white person, it is logical to make fun of white people. Venturing outside that sphere of knowledge can reveal your ignorance and affect the nature of your humour. What does a white person know about life on the reserve or in a poor black neighbourhood? Yet there are exceptions. When people take the time to acquire additional knowledge, to do their research—yes, even white people—then their spheres of knowledge grow. I have come across many non-Native people who have either lived in Native communities or worked extensively on an equal basis with Native people. Their spheres of knowledge can encompass the Native community. So it is possible, in some circumstances, for a white person to tell a Native joke without the charge of political incorrectness being thrown at him or her. Admittedly, the very colour of their skin places them in a more advantageous position on the Ladder of Status, but if they have put in their time and done their fieldwork on the same rung as Aboriginal people, a special visa can be issued. Nevertheless, it is a purely subjective situation. Each sphere of knowledge has definite boundaries, and woe betide those who cross those borders uninvited.

Native humour has two primary characteristics. That’s saying a lot, considering that there are over six hundred Native communities across Canada and that the details of the humour can change from nation to nation, let alone reserve to reserve. First, Native humour can be extremely self-deprecatory. We love to make fun of ourselves as individuals or as a group. Second, teasing is universal in rez country. Oftentimes you don’t know you’ve been accepted into a community until you’ve been teased. It’s even got an anthropological name: permitted disrespect.

Perhaps nobody is better at self-deprecatory humour than Cree funnyman Don Burnstick. Coming out of the windswept prairie of Alberta, Don became famous (as famous as a Canadian Cree comedian can get) by culturally appropriating a routine made famous by American comedian Jeff Foxworthy. Foxworthy made a name for himself as a “redneck” comedian— often a derogatory term for American southerners. It should be noted that he is a southern man making fun of other southern people. One of his most well-known and funny jokes:

“If you go to family reunions to meet women, you just might be a redneck.”

Now, if somebody outside his sphere of knowledge were to make that joke, it would undoubtedly be deemed politically incorrect. But because Foxworthy is from the South himself, it is legitimate. Burnstick takes that line of humorous thought and indigenizes it. Except this time, it’s the pejorative “redskin” instead of “redneck.” A subtle but distinctive difference. And again, it’s well within Burnstick’s particular sphere of knowledge.

“If you know how to fillet baloney, you just might be a redskin.”

“If you list your probation officer as a reference, you just might be a redskin.”

If a non-Native person were to make either of these jokes, there’s a good chance a complaint would be made to the Human Rights Commission, even for simply using the term “redskin.” On a similar note, African-Americans retain the right to use the term “nigger,” and very few outside that specific sphere of knowledge could get away with using it. It’s highly unlikely that even somebody on the same level of the Ladder of Status, like a Native person, could legitimately use that term.

Occasionally, the concept of political incorrectness does rear its head within the confines of the Aboriginal sphere of knowledge. Several years back, in that politically incorrect town known as Winnipeg, a Native community theatre company called Red Roots produced a play entitled Those Damn Squaws, which dealt with the issue of being a Native woman in Canada. Evidently the play was quite successful; both Native and non-Native audiences thought it was funny and insightful. All except for one Native man: he filed a complaint with the Manitoba Human Rights Commission. He objected to the word “squaws” in the play’s title. He found it derogatory to Native women, and he couldn’t understand why a collective of Native women would use it.

How can Natives make fun of white people, though, if their spheres of knowledge are different? Again, keep in mind that humour moves up the ladder, and it’s often based on invisible observation (the ability to look without being seen, to observe without being acknowledged). Since there are so many more non-Natives floating around in the world, and non-Native society surrounds us, it’s not difficult to come away with at least a superficial knowledge of the dominant culture. By contrast, unless specifically inclined, white people have a limited concept of Native or Chinese or Hindu life, outside the occasional restaurant meal or movie.

A similar model might be Canadians in Hollywood. It’s often been asked why there are so many successful Canadians in the American comedy business—witness the careers of former cast members of Saturday Night Live or SCT V and individual comedians like Jim Carrey, Mike Myers and Leslie Nielsen. One theory has it that by coming from Canada, these comics have the opportunity to observe American culture from the outside. Because of American cultural dominance, their sphere of knowledge grows to include the United States. By contrast, the American knowledge of Canada remains constant at the level of Mounties, hockey players and polar bears.

In the past fifteen or so years I have written more than two hundred articles on various aspects of being Native in Canada. I’ve written about a dozen plays that comment on Native/non-Native interaction. White people, the dominant culture, the colonizers—however you want to put it—often come under my magnifying glass. (Being half white gives me a certain advantage, though ironically I know practically nothing about that side of my heritage. My sphere of knowledge has a wedge missing.) In the four published volumes of my articles can be found some of my most satiric and critical comments—the kind, no doubt, that the young man in Ottawa found offensive.

Paraphrasing F. Scott Fitzgerald’s famous quote about the rich being different from you and me: “It’s been my Ojibwaytainted observation over the years that middle-class white people are different from you and me. Yeah, they’re insane.”

“And on the white hand, there’s the concept of breast implants. Darn clever, them white people. That’s something Indians would never have invented, seriously. We’re not ambitious enough. We just take what the Creator decides to give us, but not the white man. And let’s face it, we know it was a white man who invented them, don’t we?”

On why I’ve been known to date white women: “Let’s face it. White women are easier to find in the dark. And white goes with any outfit. But I never, ever date a white woman after Labour Day. It’s simply not done.” (Substitute “white men” in this joke if desired.)

Are these jokes politically incorrect? That’s a good question. I wrote them based on observation and participation. My sphere of knowledge enveloped them. The first comment grew out of an article I wrote about white-water canoeing and sea kayaking. It dealt with how so many white people like to taunt death using traditional Native equipment like canoes and kayaks. Most Native people don’t do quasi-suicidal things like that. I spent a weekend engaging in these sports as research, so I knew whereof I was writing. The second joke also comes from years and years of observation. In all my travels, I’ve only met one Native woman who had breast implants. She also had platinum blonde hair, so I think it might have been an overall look she was going for, one that’s too high-tech for most Native women. And as most Native women know, having oversized boobs can make you tip the canoe.

Several years ago I wrote a play called The Bootlegger Blues. It’s about a fifty-eight-year-old good Christian woman who, through a series of circumstances, finds herself in possession of 148 cases of beer that she has to bootleg to buy an organ for the church. The premise itself might be considered politically incorrect—a comedy about Native people bootlegging beer? In fact, one of the jokes dealt with a young man named Andrew, who everybody called Blue because of an embarrassing childhood accident. Another character, a burnt-out partier named Noble, comments when he hears Andrew’s nickname: “Hey, cool, you named him after a beer!” Native people roared with laughter at that joke, but white audiences were reluctant. Given the well-publicized alcoholism problems many whites believe exist in every Native community, it was unfathomable that somebody would write something funny about such an issue. And then expect them to laugh at it. During intermission I heard one woman say, “I guess it’s funny. But if a white person had written that, he’d be in deep trouble.” Again, that sphere of knowledge. That time around, the sphere of knowledge was even bigger than you’d normally expect, because the story was based on an incident that actually happened (or for legal reasons, may not have happened) on my reserve.

Despite all the thinking I’ve done about graphs and pyramids and spheres of knowledge, there are still times I have to grapple with an ambiguous “politically incorrect” moral dilemma. One occurred recently in my own house. I caught an intriguing episode of The Simpsons, a show no stranger itself to skateboarding the line of political correctness. In the episode, for some reason I forget, local children had been polarized into two competing groups. For some reason that escapes my memory, one group, headed by Homer Simpson, were little Indians, dressed appropriately. The other group, headed I believe by Ned Flanders, were little cavalry scouts, also dressed appropriately.

It was a cute episode, especially to a Native person. During one of the challenges, Ned’s group wins and one of the kids yells victoriously, “Yeah, the cavalry wins one for once!” The irony was not lost on me. But it was another joke that gave me pause. Homer, dressed as an Indian chief, is sitting on the couch in the living room, watching television, with a beer in his hand. The kids are getting restless. They want to do something and they are trying to convince Homer to lead them. He relents. As he does, the ever-observant Marge says something to the effect of, “Good, I didn’t think Indians just sat around watching television and drinking beer.”

I was amazed. One thing The Simpsons is famous for is comically inverting a statement, saying one thing but meaning another. And that’s the impression I got from that line. I didn’t know if I should be outraged and insulted. Then I realized I was sitting there on the couch, watching television, with a glass of wine in my hand. I later contacted my friend Don Kelly, a Native comedian and rabid Simpsons fan, to see if he had seen the episode.

Don told me he had indeed seen the episode. He remembered the line I was referring to. He too had had a moment of indignation at the implication—until he realized he was sitting on the couch drinking a beer. He had to decide whether to be outraged or amused, and since it’s always more fun to be amused, he enjoyed a good belly laugh.

You can always be politically correct tomorrow.

— NOTES —

1 Quotes by Paula Gunn Allen and Ward Churchill are taken from Indi’n Humor: Bicultural Play in Native America by Kenneth Lincoln (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993).