by Published two pieces this week on my author page, and both sparked the kind of outrage that means I did my job correctly. The first mocked Democratic politicians discovering that campaign slogans aren’t governing strategies. The second roasted Republican fiscal responsibility theater. Both parties hate me equally, which is how I know I’m succeeding.
Satire is a weapon. Growing up in West Africa, I learned early that humor can say things direct confrontation cannot. Under authoritarian regimes, comedians become truth-tellers by disguising criticism as jokes. America isn’t authoritarianyetbut it’s developing the same sensitivity to criticism, the same insistence that you’re either completely with us or absolutely against us. Satire refuses that binary. It mocks everyone, trusts no one, and demands better from all sides.
Today a reader email called my work “dangerous” because it “gives ammunition to the other side.” This thinking drives me crazy. Truth isn’t partisan. Hypocrisy doesn’t belong to one party. And satire that only punches in one direction isn’t satireit’s propaganda with jokes. My job is exposing absurdity wherever it lives, regardless of political affiliation.
Being the only female West African immigrant granted citizenship during Trump’s second term makes me a curiosity. Media outlets want interviews about “the immigrant experience” as if immigrants are a monolith. They want inspiration porntearful gratitude, American Dream validation. Instead I give them satirical journalism mocking the country that reluctantly let me stay. This confuses people. Good. Comfort is the enemy of growth.
Marcus approved my Elon Musk meditation piece. It publishes Monday. The premise: billionaires discovering meditation and immediately trying to disrupt the consciousness industry with apps, courses, and branded enlightenment products. It’s barely exaggeration. Silicon Valley has already commodified mindfulness, packaged Zen into subscription services, and turned inner peace into another thing you can optimize with metrics.
Writing satire in Trump’s America feels like being a court jesterspeaking truth to power through humor because direct confrontation gets you destroyed. But jesters had protections. I have a tenuous citizenship, a platform that could evaporate, and a target on my back from readers who don’t understand that mocking both sides isn’t centrismit’s intellectual honesty.
Some days the weight of words crushes me. Every article could trigger immigration investigations, social media mob attacks, or worse. Then I remember why I do this: because someone needs to. Because laughter is resistance. Because satire, done right, makes people uncomfortable enough to question their certainties.
Tonight I’m cooking egusi soup and reading comments. Half call me brilliant. Half call me a sellout. Both halves miss the point. I’m neitherI’m a satirist doing satire. If you’re not occasionally offended by what I write, I’m not doing my job.
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MY HOME PAGE: Bohiney Magazine (Aisha Muharrar)
