Hasan Minhaj's undoing: The deception beneath the laughter

To be upfront, I have never been a big admirer of Hasan Minhaj's comedy right from the start. It might not be important, but I wanted to make it clear. His brand of humour just didn't resonate me like it did with others. However, there was something touching about the emotional tales he incorporated into his stand-up routine. They felt personal, relatable, and authentic. That was my perception at least until it was revealed by a New Yorker exposé that these heartfelt stories were, in reality, utter lies.

It's like thinking you've stumbled upon a hidden gem only to discover it's a well-polished piece of costume jewelry.

The manner in which Hasan Minhaj employed his comedy has been met with a degree of scepticism by some observers, to say the least. Comedy, fundamentally, is centred around the pursuit of evoking laughter, the sharing of universally recognisable anecdotes, the playful examination of life's idiosyncrasies, and occasionally the delivery of poignant truths through a humorous lens. 

Also Read | Hasan Minhaj's comedy confession: Lies or creative exaggeration?

Minhaj, akin to numerous comedians, was aware that a touch of embellishment can enhance the flavour of a comedic tale. It is a customary practice in comedy to blend a modicum of truth with a sprinkling of fiction to amuse the audience. However, what distinguishes Minhaj is his utilisation of these fabricated stories to garner admiration and sympathy from his audience. He often portrayed himself as a fearless truth-teller who had the audacity to challenge powerful figures like Mohammed bin Salman, Saudi Arabia's Crown Prince. He tried to exude an aura of coolness that extended even to his wardrobe choices, presenting himself as a hip champion of social justice and an icon of contemporary wit. 

He didn't push the envelope; he tore it to shreds.

Consider, for instance, the concocted narrative regarding his purported role as an FBI informant. On the surface, it presents a compelling narrative that delves into the anxieties experienced by Muslim communities in the wake of 9/11 while simultaneously raising ethical quandaries. However, it was, like many stories that Minhaj told, entirely fabricated. His defence (something vague like a punch line is worth the fictitious premise) does not hold water. It is not based on what he calls an "emotional truth" (more on that later). 

Minhaj, despite his attempts to paint himself as a relatable figure within the Muslim community, is, in reality, a privileged individual. His background, upbringing, and career trajectory differ significantly from the average American Muslim. It is, therefore, extremely disingenuous for him to present himself as a spokesperson for a community that he may not fully understand or be able to accurately depict.

Also Read | Hasan Minhaj admits fabricating details in comedy: Hyperbole, exaggeration, fiction

Such deception is patently unjust.

Hasan Minhaj's 70-30 formula

And then there's the whole "70-30 formula" he talks about. Seventy per cent truth and thirty per cent exaggeration, he says. On the surface, it appears to be an ingenious method for harmonising reality and embellishment in his comedy. He posits a seventy per cent basis in truth, paired with a thirty per cent allowance for exaggeration. However, when that thirty per cent encompasses the creation of entirely fabricated narratives, particularly those involving potentially dangerous situations, which he then presents on stage as irrefutable truths, often with a touch of sentimentality... It's not just bending the truth; it's contorting it into a pretzel.

Authenticity is a big deal in comedy. You see the funny side to things only when you detect a kernel of truth within them. Audiences want to connect with comedians, to feel like they are sharing a moment of truth, even if it's wrapped in comedy. When a comedian engages in the practices exemplified by Minhaj, it erodes that trust.

Patriot Act, Minhaj's Netflix show, got props for tackling important issues with humour and did, I admit, annoy some powerful people, but now that we know he's been fudging the facts, its successes taste bitter now.

Emotional truths

Minhaj in the New Yorker piece returns again and again to this feeble defence that those stories were based not on "emotional truth", whatever that means. It's either the truth or a lie. He says and I am paraphrasing, "Yeah, maybe the events didn't happen exactly as I said, but the emotions behind them are real." If you are not accurately presenting the events or if it didn't happen to you at all, you are not the appropriate individual to tell these stories in the first place. When you're presenting these lies as if they are gospel truth — and Minhaj does that — it's misleading, plain and simple. It's not what your audience signed up for.

Although Minhaj's comedy may have brought laughter to many, it has also raised a significant question mark regarding the boundary between humour and truthfulness. Comedy should resemble a funhouse mirror, not a chamber of illusions.

(Disclaimer: The views of the writer do not represent the views of WION or ZMCL. Nor does WION or ZMCL endorse the views of the writer.)

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