“Whimsy” columnist CLIVE WILLIAMS says politicians are losing the art of using humour to amuse an audience, defuse criticism or break the ice.  

THERE’S not much humour in public life these days. Prime Minister Menzies and President Reagan used humour as a stock in trade. 

Both men were liked by the public in a way that few modern politicians are – largely because of their ability to use humour to amuse an audience, defuse criticism or break the ice.  

Menzies was once addressing a noisy meeting of coal miners when an interjector yelled: “Tell us all you know, Bob – it won’t take long!”  Menzies looked up at the man and said: “I‘ll tell you everything we both know – it won’t take any longer.” The meeting erupted in laughter, making Menzies’ pitch a lot easier. 

Reagan’s age (73) was often the subject of snide remarks by political opponents during his run for the presidency. In a famous moment during the October 28, 1984, presidential debate with former vice-president Mondale, Reagan turned the issue in his favour, deadpanning, “I want you to know that I will not make age an issue of this campaign. I am not going to exploit for political purposes my opponent’s youth and inexperience.” 

President Obama also had a sense of humour. On Stephen Colbert’s late-night show, Colbert chided the ex-president for not having received a promotion in eight years. “Honestly, there wasn’t a lot of room for advancement in my last job,” Obama observed. “The only one with a powerful position was my wife.” 

Obama also poked fun at Trump for his pursuit of conspiracy theories involving Obama’s birthplace. Obama reluctantly released his birth certificate to counter Trump’s claims he wasn’t born in the US, and joked that Trump could now focus “on the issues that matter — like, did we fake the moon landing?” 

It’s hard to imagine Trump being amusing – or President Biden telling one and getting the punchline right. As far as I know, Trump only had one attempt at humour, and that might have been inadvertent. It came at a formal dinner in March, 2018, when he said he would be open to a one-on-one meeting with North Korean leader Kim Jong-Un. 

“As for the risk of dealing with a madman is concerned,” Trump said, “that’s his problem, not mine.” 

Sadly, the same humourless situation is true of our bureaucracy. When I was writing Australian diplomatic cables from Washington, I used to insert relevant amusing incidents (as is done in British diplomatic reporting) to add to their readability. 

The anecdotes were removed by my ambassador who said that a cable should just report the facts and our analysis of them. However, back here at the blunt end those who read my occasionally unamended cables said how much they enjoyed them. 

Men in public life are more likely to use humour than women. Apart from Amanda Vanstone, I know of no professional women who tell jokes. There are, of course, many professional comediennes, but none that I know of in government service.  

Humour may also be a generational thing; not many young people use humour to their advantage. When I give a long presentation, I often try to start it off with humour to get the audience onside. The safest bet is to use a one-liner or tell a joke against oneself, but it has to be done in a way that doesn’t make you seem an idiot. 

Clearly you need to be careful about what you say, so as not to offend others. When I was in the army, we were told that contentious issues were politics, women and religion; they were never to be discussed in the mess. 

The list of dangerous topics would now be longer, with the addition of topics such as racism, transgender issues, bullying, refugees etcetera. 

I don’t have a problem with any of that, but I do think some people have become a bit precious, as for example the “outrage” when a politician recently said that crocodiles were low on calories but high on humans. When it comes to humour without malice, perhaps it’s time those of us who are not offended stopped pandering to the few who are? 

Clive Williams is a Canberra columnist