playin' in de-banned

When i was a teen, my comedic hero was george carlin. His messages of anti-hypocrisy and anti-censorship resonated in me with clarion force, and he remains more brilliantly funny than any humyn i've ever heard. In all the subjects he took on, there was only one that made me pause - his contention that you can joke about anything. His example, rape, pushed the limits of my youthful idealism. I did my best to agree with him, even though i couldn't conceive of any context in which i would joke about rape. Over two decades later, i finally caught up. My brother, an ethical vegan, had decided he was going to eat shrimp again. Considering this, i asked whether he was going to take a toothpick and rape them first.
I recently moved to San Francisco, to offer the world my voice as a humorist, essayist, musician, and poet. I chose this city because my views on nature, politics, religion, and sex are so ahead of the curve, that i figured i needed the most famously progressive city in the world.
Within my first month, i got banned at an open mic for performing a piece that was labelled "racist". To say that i was stunned is an understatement - in my writings and personal life, i could roll out a parade of evidence attesting to my anti-racist cred. But i knew my writing could be challenging - indeed, i wouldn't give a spit for it if it weren't. Who said that if art doesn't make you uncomfortable, it's not art? And mark twain said (i paraphrase) that all the protesting, politicking, and proselytizing will never change the world one tiny smidgen as much as laughter.
The piece was one i'd never performed publicly. It's so audacious that when i'd finished writing it, i shook my head in giggling wonderment for a few minutes, not convinced it was even mine. I wasn't sure what it was, except perhaps subversively, ridiculously brilliant. The message was twofold - an indictment of how we let words control our emotions, and a grand attempt to pour humor on something horrible (racism), thereby taking away some of its power. I'd always been offended by the notion of "bad" or "titillating" words that automatically incite a certain feeling in us, regardless of context or intent. An intelligent person controls their words, not the other way around.
My piece centered on "the N word". Comedian/activist dick gregory might give me a dirty look for even uttering a phrase so apologetically wishy washy as "the N word". Whatever words you use, say them or don't, but trust your intent. In my piece, which on the surface has nothing to do with race, i never actually said the word. I walked right up to that hot emotional button, and enacted a dance of humor and freedom, circling the word relentlessly, never touching it, but never backing away. I offered up the piece as one possible anti-racist tool or tactic.
Part of the inspiration had been a dave chapelle sketch, a spoof of "Leave it to Beaver", which was even more in-your-face. If i danced around that six-foot button, dave stood next to it and kept dropping five-pound rocks.
Many in the black community have re-claimed that word, often coarsely...but sometimes eruditely or artistically, and the effort itself has noble parallels. You don't have to go far, especially in this city, to find a homosexual who decided that no one would ever again hurt him with the word "fag". "Cunt" has also been the subject of reclamation and empowerment.
I chose that setting, an anarchist bookstore, as the first and perhaps only place i'd do the piece. I didn't know whether it would accomplish what i wanted it to (or more to the point, i wondered whether only a black person could get away with it). I chose that audience as the most hip and progressive i'd find. I chose a night when there were both white and black in the crowd. I had total faith and fearlessness.
And in that performance, my instinct seemed right on. I knew i had the crowd...i could feel a vibration of uncertainty, but people were smiling and laughing and right there with me. When i finished, the reaction wasn't forced or faint. Over the crowd's applause, a black man in the front row stood up and hugged me (partly, as it turned out, because he wanted to protect me from any possible backlash).
And then when i got home, a text came banning me. I didn't get upset, or protest. If you're going to wear the shoes of a provocateur, you've got to be unafraid to take lumps. I had nothing but faith in the good intentions of the MC who banned me. I chose to believe that everything would work itself out. I didn't even approach people who'd been there to ask, "Were you offended?" When people approached me, i spoke openly. One fellow, not knowing i'd been banned, enthusiastically told me i should do the piece there again.
I realized that were i black, i probably never would have been banned. If so, there was tremendous irony - a non-racist performed an anti-racist piece, inciting another non-racist into a racist act.
Whether my piece was brilliant or crap, is beside the point.
Laughter is healing.
Art is dangerous.
Brilliance and fearlessness are two different things. When you have both, you might change the world.
Or get yourself shot. Could go either way.

Postscript: Four months later, i was unbanned...but not because of any conviction on the part of the MC, i fear. He's trying to re-establish goodwill in the artistic community, after two subsequent bannings have caused a backlash. I don't know whether i'll return, especially since it's conditional on my not making anyone uncomfortable. It's sad, as i'm quite sure that he believes in (and indeed practices himself) the disturbing imperative of art.