Romania’s evolving political satire reveals what jokes can say and what they can’t
In this thoughtful and subtly sharp essay, Romanian writer Dan Panaet traces the country’s long, awkward relationship with political comedy. Starting with Divertis, the subversive sketch troupe that became a household name in the 1980s under Ceaușescu’s Communist dictatorship, and ending in today’s meme-driven satire economy, the essay is about more than just laughter. It’s about the changing thresholds of freedom, fear, and what can still be said when so much has become unspeakable.
“Comedy,” Panaet writes, “is like a rabbit’s foot. It’s not always effective, but it’s good to have around when you’re scared.” This uneasy comfort sets the tone for a reflection on humour’s role in Romanian society – past and present. In the 1980s, Divertis relied on metaphor, ambiguity, and plausible deniability to mock the regime. Audiences read between the lines, laughing both with and against power. But in today’s Romania, where there’s ostensibly more freedom of expression, satire faces new paradoxes: jokes go viral but rarely provoke; comedians have followers, but not necessarily impact.
“Now, humour risks humanising the very politicians it should be skewering,” Panaet argues. With populism on the rise and scandals multiplying, comedy often cushions rather than confronts. “It’s easier to make fun of someone than to hold them accountable.” The essay points out that in a country where politics already verges on self-parody, satire can feel redundant. When reality itself becomes absurd, what is left to exaggerate?
He doesn’t idealise the past. “Divertis didn’t overthrow the regime,” one former member of the troupe admits. “But we made people laugh in dark times. That counted for something.” Yet Panaet is suspicious of how that legacy is consumed today: nostalgia without critique, subversion turned safe. It’s a concern echoed in his brief foray into documentary filmmaking, a project he ultimately abandoned, unsure how to capture comedy’s evasive politics on screen.
Online, political humour has splintered into memes and micro-punchlines. TikTokers mimic ministers, stand-ups poke fun at mayors, and satire sites offer rapid-fire takes. But while the speed and reach of these formats is unprecedented, so is their ephemerality. Panaet wonders: can satire that disappears in 24 hours still leave a dent?
And then there’s the audience. “What if people aren’t angry anymore?” he asks. “What if they just want to be entertained?” The laughter that once punctured fear has become ambient noise. Or worse: a coping mechanism for cynicism. At its best, humour can provoke, reveal, even mobilise. But more often, it dissipates tension without resolving it.
Still, Panaet insists that humour remains vital, not because it changes the world, but because it reveals its contradictions. “In the gaps of laughter, something political can still grow,” he writes. “The laugh isn’t always against someone—it’s sometimes a recognition of what we don’t yet have the words to say.” His final thought is not one of despair, but of quiet insistence: that even in a post-truth, post-irony, post-everything moment, comedy still gestures at something true.
Original article (“Legalizați comedia! Umorul politic și lucrurile care nu se spun.”) by Dan Panaet was first published in Romanian on 19 May 2025.
It’s available here.
Scena9 is a Romanian online cultural magazine known for its interdisciplinary essays, reportage, and visual storytelling across art, politics, and society.
Summary by ZN
