Allow me to paint you a picture; one that may be more familiar to you and I than either of us would like to admit. You’re standing at the bar in the IOE waiting for your next pint, and you see a familiar face from one of your lectures. You start talking, laughing and a funny anecdote or joke pops into your head. But before you even open your mouth, you ask yourself; is this offensive? Is this okay to say? Could this somehow be the catalyst for a tsunami of outrage, disgust and hatred; strong enough to wash away even the sticky substance that coats every inch of the IOE’s floor? So you swallow it, take your pint and walk away; having left yet another honest human interaction permanently stuck to the floor behind you.
Humour has been a way for people to express themselves for hundreds of years. It is a way for us to bond with others by pointing out our own flaws or sharing experiences, in the hopes that the other person can empathise. A joke about one’s self is not just a vulgar expression of self-depreciation; it is a gift. A sincere part of ourselves that we offer in exchange for a smile. We have completely lost sight of the intended purpose of humour, and have made a sport out of finding ways to be offended by every little quip. Imagine how much easier socializing at this university would be if we channeled the energy we currently use to compete in this pointless game, into finding common ground instead and maybe even cracking a smile.
Of course, respect is an important aspect of any conversation between two people; respect for another’s culture, background, and experiences. But isn’t listening to others express these aspects of themselves – within reason – one of the main ways we show respect? If someone cut you off every time you started to speak, it would only take a matter of time before you told them to shut it. So why do we accept this invisible force muting us each time we want to express parts of ourselves through humour? UCL itself has identified “openness and inclusion” as one of their main values on their official website. While, let’s be honest, most of us don’t live our daily lives with the goal of abiding by the university’s PR doctrine; we all chose to come here for a reason. For me, and many others, it was largely the international and open ethos of UCL. It is an undeniable tragedy that we, the students who give substance to these inflated PR claims, are the same people who perpetuate this closed-minded attitude that contradicts our own values.
We’ve given ourselves too much power to be offended by other people’s jokes. The majority of the time it has little to do with the humour itself, and more to do with the grain of truth that lies beneath it. Every day, thousands of students walk around campus with an inner treasure trove of potential social connection and laughter, too afraid to share it for fear of being ostracized. No wonder our University, and generation at large, is weighed down by an epidemic of loneliness and isolation when we have to filter every joke through a fine-mesh sieve before we can share it with anybody else. Humour is the antidote to all of these problems, and instead of embracing it, we choose to weaponise it.
For many, forming new friendships and human connections is hard enough already without stripping them of one of the easiest and most light-hearted ways to bond with others.
In a gargantuan university like UCL, it is so easy to feel like you’re drowning in a sea of unfamiliar faces; we cannot afford to miss any chances for human connection.
So next time you’re standing in front of an acquaintance at the IOE, I encourage you to not let that interaction become another grave in the cemetery of social connection.
