Dame Edna `joke' went far too far

Houston Chronicle ^ | Feb. 23, 2003, 12:18AM | By ANA VECIANA-SUAREZ

[weegee]

We all know the medicinal value of laughter. A good chuckle clears the air, draws song from silence.

In my book, a sense of humor is one of the prime qualities I would look for in a mate. After all, how can we get through life, through this valley of tears, without a healthy bit of hysterics?

Sometimes the best satire is the one aimed squarely between our eyes. The one that elicits an ouch. The one that, between hiccups, makes us nod in recognition.

The ability to laugh at ourselves is a blessing. A blessing and an affirmation. Nothing like a joke to wring hope from despair, don't you think?

So I thought.

I've been musing about the purpose -- and the caustic sting -- of humor since one of my sisters forwarded me an e-mail about Dame Edna. Yes, possums, that Dame Edna, the one with the out-there glasses and the what's-that-awful-color tresses.

Those who have followed the Australian dame's meteoric rise in the humor factory know she skewers whatever and whomever she wants, and with lacerating delight.

This month, though, the self-described housewife, social anthropologist, swami, megastar and (for the uninitiated) alter ego of comedian Barry Humphries has gotten herself into trouble. A very American kind of trouble.

In her February column in the chi-chi magazine Vanity Fair, Edna dear Edna answers a letter from a fictional reader who wonders if Spanish is worth learning: "Forget Spanish. There's nothing in that language worth reading except Don Quixote, and a quick listen to the CD of Man of La Mancha will take care of that."

After dismissing poet Garcia Lorca to the intellectual back burner, she goes on to opine: "Who speaks it that you are really desperate to talk to? The help? Your leaf blower? Study French or German, where there are at least a few books worth reading, or, if you're American, try English."

A firestorm of outrage followed, including a letter from the president of the National Association of Hispanic Journalists, calling Dame Edna's column "an appalling display of bigotry."

In its regret, Vanity Fair officially responded that the comments "were offered in the spirit of outrageous comedy and were never intended to be taken to heart." In other words: What you so uptight about, man? Don't you get it?

Which brings me back to my original musings about humor. See, I do get it. I do, I do. Just hold the laughter until I get a tissue for my tears.

I get it because I -- and all those who bear my kind of surname -- have been the butt of so many demeaning jokes and such debasing stereotypes that we have a trigger-quick sensitivity to these things. It's not funny anymore.

On one level, I know that by its very nature humor is bound to stomp on some toes. But on another, on that level that has had doors slammed, backs turned, hopes dashed, I also understand that too often satire masks prejudice and a joke can be just another word for discrimination.

I wonder what kind of reaction the Dame might have garnered had she written about the dearth of African-American lit other than Toni Morrison's.

The sad part about Dame Edna's advice is not her words but Vanity Fair's decision to run them, thinking that the "patently absurd comments" -- the magazine's phrase -- wouldn't offend.

Are we so removed from each other, so ignorant of others' thinking, that we don't know when a swipe goes far too far?

Now, here's a real joke for you, if you like irony.

Guess who's on the cover of the magazine? Salma Hayek. Mexican.

Veciana-Suarez is a family columnist for the Miami Herald. She welcomes readers' responses at aveciana@herald.com

[Sonny M]

Your right, whats scary, is how many liberals disagree, and then go about implementing an agenda to make there sick prophocy come true. In new york, this would probably apply more to puerto rican then mexicans however. As I've seen more and more retail jobs asking for people who speak spanish as opposed to english only.