Refusing to Contract

Laughter as an Antidote to Authoritarianism

Photo by Kier in Sight Archives on Unsplash

[I wrote this essay a few months ago, but expanded upon it and wanted to share it again.]

Contraction is not the answer, even if your body wants to move in that way. Here’s why.

Let’s start by looking at a few things that are going on here in the U.S., most of which you all already know.

We’re engulfed by censorship in the U.S. Books have been banned; people have been fired for daring to refer to, to historicize, the very racist, misogynistic, Islamophobic, homophobic, and transphobic words that Charlie Kirk himself used freely when he was alive. If one is against genocide in Gaza, there are penalties for that, too. Furthermore, there has been the ongoing censorship of humor and laughter, but good luck with that, as I wrote about earlier (that piece refers to the cancellations of the Colbert Show and the Kimmel Show; the Kimmel Show has returned). And you know why? Because this regime knows it’s hated, and it knows the majority of Americans revile its policies.

Shamananda, on her Substack, Undistorted, Radical Clarity, has invaluable insights into what occurs when censorship of this nature engulfs society in her piece “Censorship and the Erosion of Sovereignty.” The response to these political events is not just emotional, but also neurological and spiritual.

She explains:

This [reaction to censorship] is not just a political event. It is a neurological and spiritual event. The body braces as if for impact. The breath tightens. The subtle field around the person shrinks. The nervous system shifts from openness to defense, from extension to contraction. In spiritual terms, extension is the natural movement of consciousness outward toward connection and creation. Contraction is the movement of ego inward toward survival and control. Suppression exploits this reflex and installs it as a background state.

She goes on to add that it isn’t that fear merely “silences” our voices. It also “edits” our imagination. We become smaller as a result, as our creative powers, along with our freedoms, are squelched. Before we realize it, we’re hollowed out, we’re infinitesimally less than what we had been before. The loss, or “editing” of imagination, especially collective imagination, has repercussions for generations in a society.

Shamandanda does a superb job in exploring the repercussions that this type of suppression has on the nervous system, and she also delves into how Russian writers during the Soviet period hid behind curtains, covered up the sounds of their typewriters using blankets lined along their doorways, and defied the State by writing under the cover of the night. We’re not quite there. Yet.

We’re still here on Substack and elsewhere, writing under our full names, and not doing it hiding behind pseudonyms. We’re still defiant in our act of writing and telling those in power to “fuck off” in various linguistic ways. Not all the satirists have been censored. Yet. There are still many people speaking truth to power, and fighting against them in the courts, like Democracy Docket. Of course, many are being punished, and examples are being set. And many more will come. I’m confident many are wondering, “Will I be next?” And that’s regardless of their profession or social status. That’s, again, where Shamananda’s essay comes into play. That’s when the tightening of the throat occurs, and the pursing of the lips happens. It’s when one decides to hold back on that thought that one wanted to share with a colleague or perhaps even with a close friend. That gnawing fear that one’s opinion, even if based upon facts and truth, may cross a line in a society that’s moved into full-blown authoritarianism. For facts and truth have become dangerous—they are liabilities—in the world that’s being foisted upon us now.

But remember, there are more of us than there are of them. This tyrannical minority wants us to be afraid. That’s how they can seize more power. Our fear allows them to take more ground from us.

That’s why I refuse to contract, at least the best that I can (I realize parts of my nervous system are probably betraying me as I make that declaration!). And so should you. While these assholes might think they’re winning now, we’ll have the last laugh.

Laughter, after all, is an antidote to helping the nervous system relax, rejuvenate, and fight back. It is also a way to fight back against these monsters in power. The good people of Portland are teaching us how to use laughter, satire, and the carnivalesque to resist authoritarianism. We would be wise to follow in their footsteps.