2026-05-01
One of my clown teachers used to delight in using the word (pardon me) ‘stupid’ to describe joyful bits of human folly. In his workshops, you knew you did well on stage if you heard him exclaim…
“Dat was so ess-tu-pede!”
The words would fill the theater in his outrageously thick and geographically impossible-to-place accent. He was charming, and the whole thing felt ridiculous and fun. It became a badge of honor to be called “stupid” in his class.
After only barely earning my badge, I took the practice home to my own workshops. There we enjoyed profound discussions about how we had “successfully reclaimed a bad word”. When new students joined us, explanations were made about how clever we were all being. Eventually, the word started to feel like an important part of what we were exploring together in the clown lab.
In hindsight, that’s a really scary idea.
The problem was that we weren’t considering the meaning or origin of the idea. Without that all-important bit of thinking, nothing was being “fixed” with this choice. No matter how good our intentions might have been, it was naive and ultimately still harmful.
We weren’t doing anything important. We were punching down, and not admitting it to ourselves. Our actions normalized ableist language, and that’s not OK.
Looking back, I’m annoyed with my past self for dying on this pointless ideological hill so many times. I wasn’t being clever. I was repeating what was repeated to me, and trying to pretend it wasn’t cruel. Worse still, I was doing so for the sake of something I consider meaningful: Silliness.
I’m grateful for wiser friends, Who took me aside for different profound discussions. Ones where they gently pointed my nose at the problem until I could see it for myself.
This is not a virtuous story about how I became a better person. It might be the story of how I discovered that I needed to bring my actions in alignment with my values. Mostly it’s an apology to rooms full of people who listened to me when I didn’t know better.
So now I’m actively and consciously changing my language, the tool I use to express myself to others, to something which hopefully doesn’t include needlessly punching down. The interesting part is that this actually does feel like a tiny way to improve my corner of the world.
Another great clown teacher, the one who taught the teacher from the beginning of this story, used to shout “THINK!” at his students. I can’t help wondering if that might be better word for impressionable young clowns to adopt, despite (and perhaps specifically because of) all the questions it raises.