By Jason Zinoman
Tony Hinchcliffe’s comedy, recognized for its sharp wit, thrust itself into the spotlight during the presidential campaign on Sunday after his racially insensitive jokes at a Donald Trump rally generated immediate criticism, notably from Tim Walz, the Democratic vice presidential candidate.
True to form amidst controversy, Hinchcliffe didn’t back down. On the social platform X, he claimed that Walz had “analyzed a joke taken out of context to appear racist.” However, Walz did not do that. If there is a pertinent context to Hinchcliffe’s provocative punchlines, it is that they were made at a Trump campaign gathering just nine days before the election.
Recently, many have pondered why conservative comedians are scarce or why there isn’t a right-wing equivalent of shows like “The Daily Show.” These inquiries have always carried a hint of naivety. Comedy has historically embraced a conservative aspect, and anyone familiar with middle school knows that humor can just as readily uphold the status quo as it can challenge it.
Comedy has steadily become more politically charged; the shift in late-night television from a neutral figure like Johnny Carson to openly anti-Trump hosts exemplifies this trend. In this election cycle, a robust new pro-Trump faction has emerged, predominantly consisting of male comedians, many linked to Joe Rogan. While prominent figures in pop music have rallied in support of Vice President Kamala Harris, those amplifying support for Trump have largely been comedians.
Trump and his running mate, Sen. JD Vance, have routinely participated in comedy podcasts aimed at appealing to disenchanted young male voters. Just last week, Vance featured on Tim Dillon’s podcast, known for its fervent nihilistic humor, and the somewhat poetic comic Theo Von. After much anticipation regarding whether Trump would join Rogan, the leading comedy podcaster who has helped many comics gain exposure, the meeting occurred. (Trump has also been a guest on podcasts with Von and with New York standup Andrew Schulz, a podcaster who drew massive crowds at Madison Square Garden this year.)
This does not even include Greg Gutfeld, who, as Fox’s top-rated late-night host, has also welcomed Trump on his show.
The stars of these podcasts often contend that they resist being politically categorized. Rogan has expressed discomfort with labels of conservatism, describing himself instead as a bleeding-heart liberal, although he criticizes the left more vigorously than the right. These discussions sometimes feature mild pushback against Trump’s statements; for example, Schulz chuckled when Trump asserted his truthfulness, while Rogan playfully critiqued Trump’s rambling explanations and sought evidence about claims of a rigged 2020 election.
Nevertheless, a review of the numerous lengthy interactions between these comedians and Trump largely showcases unabashed admiration and a shared camaraderie. Harris enjoys a comparably warm reception on Howard Stern’s Sirius program or “The Late Show With Stephen Colbert,” and she has a few comedian supporters like George Lopez, who recently addressed a public gathering. However, the Trump campaign is leveraging far more comedians to convey its narrative, clarifying their mutual interests more distinctly.
Trump and his hosts exhibit a mutual disdain for the media, a reflexive apprehension regarding supposed cancel culture, a relish in transgression, and a passion for biting humor. These podcasters may see themselves as cynical purveyors of truth, yet in matters of comedy, they are undeniably idealistic. Therefore, when Rogan remarked to Trump during their three-hour chat, “You possess comedic instincts,” it emerged as the highest praise.
Discussions of policy or the implications of derogatory statements regarding immigrants are scarce here. For these comedians, Trump’s barbs are indicative of his genuineness.
Currently, the conservative movement places significant importance on comedy, particularly concerning free-speech discussions. Take Elon Musk, a prominent Trump supporter, who shortly after acquiring Twitter—partly motivated by the platform silencing The Babylon Bee, a conservative counterpart to The Onion—tweeted: “Comedy is now legal.”
A similarly vague fixation emerged during Hinchcliffe’s comedic presentation at the Madison Square Garden rally on Sunday, where he claimed, “Censorship is among us, folks. It’s a very, very, very serious issue” and urged, “Let’s restore free speech.” This statement lacks humor; the reality that voicing nearly anything, including the most insensitive or inaccurate remarks, to a global audience has never been easier is overlooked. This notion of comedy suffering from censorship has been so frequently asserted across various podcasts that it has become accepted as fact.
This sentiment aligns with the conservative media’s obsessive narrative of their silenced voices. It’s a compelling concept, and its resonance with male audiences who feel pressured to become overly sensitive to the feelings of others should not be underestimated.
Hinchcliffe’s performance appeared to backfire on Sunday. His infamous comment equating Puerto Rico to garbage prompted several major Latino figures, including Bad Bunny and Ricky Martin, to voice their support for Harris. Strikingly, even the Trump campaign deviated from its typical stance by saying Hinchcliffe’s remarks did not align with their views.
However, this controversial performance was no mere error; his comments were premeditated and visible on a teleprompter. The appeal of this type of trolling insult comedy hinges on the backlash it provokes, subsequently setting up the narrative around free speech and giving rise to a new cycle of media attention. Harris has generally opted for dismissive reactions to such provocations, suggesting she grasps that this serves as bait. In contrast, Walz, possibly sensing an opportunity to engage Puerto Rican voters in pivotal states, robustly criticized the comic.
Will more individuals be deterred by crass jokes grounded in outdated stereotypes than those who revel in a campaign vowing to confront authority? I cannot say, but the evolution in the role of comedy since Trump’s initial presidential run is notable.
Reflecting back, one might identify a pivotal moment during his appearance on “The Tonight Show” in 2016. Jimmy Fallon faced widespread backlash for soft questions, friendly banter, and, most infamously, for tousling Trump’s hair. Many contended that he was “normalizing” Trump, a view that now seems naive.
The reality is that Trump had long been normalized through decades of popular culture, influenced by everyone from the tabloid press to “The Apprentice” producer Mark Burnett to late-night hosts like David Letterman. However, for various reasons, Fallon became a convenient target for public ire. The lasting effect has been that late-night comedy programs, once a welcoming space for Trump, ceased inviting him and transformed him into their near-nightly punchline.
Since then, a new framework for comedy and media has developed on the internet, with Trump capitalizing on it. The stars of these emerging platforms are not concerned with normalizing the candidate; they not only accept but amplify Trump’s most extreme tendencies. It’s a new norm.
