How I imagine Trevor Noah would respond to defamation threats

SO, I HEAR a very famous, very powerful, very … litigious gentleman is considering adding me to his extensive collection of lawsuits.

I am honoured! Truly. I did not get a Grammy for Song of the Year, but I might get served with a Subpoena of the Year! That’s a rare accolade.

Now, for my South African family who might be worried: Ah, shame, do not stress. Let me explain this in terms we all understand.

This is like if, at a braai, I told my uncle his new haircut made him look like a confused meerkat.

He might get blerry upset or threaten to disown me. But can he sue me? For what?

‘Defamation of character’ in the high court of the braai?

‘No!’ The aunties would just say,

‘Ag, Trevor, do not be cheeky,’ and hand me another chop. It is a joke. Everyone knows it is a joke. Even the meerkat knows.

You see, in America, they have this beautiful, chaotic thing called the First Amendment. It is like the constitutional version of my last year at the Grammys: ‘What are you gonna do about it?’

It protects silly comedians saying silly things about powerful people. The legal defence is basically, ‘Your Honour, come on, man. Be serious.’

To win a defamation case, a public figure, like, say, a President who wants Greenland, has to prove I told a literal, provable lie with the malice of a Sunday taxi driver.

He would have to prove in court that my joke was a sworn affidavit claiming he and Bill Clinton are currently shopping for islands on Property24.

He would have to prove I said it as fact, not as the obvious, glittery nonsense it was, packaged between awards for Best Pop Duo.

My legal team’s argument writes itself: ‘Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you seen my client’s job?

He tells jokes. The only ‘actual malice’ here is the malice I have for my own punchlines sometimes.’

(Leans back, adopting a more reflective, but still amused, tone).

But here is the beautiful, ironic twist, my friends. Let us talk about the value of this moment.

My people, I tell you, my manager is crying. Tears of joy! We did a whole Grammy hosting gig, worked for months, and the biggest publicity spike came from … this.

From a few lines in a monologue. You know how much an advertising campaign that gets this much global news coverage costs? Millions of dollars! And I got it for free, just for pointing out a man’s strange real estate fantasies. I should be sending a thank you basket.

A fruit basket from the ‘Trevor Noah Worldwide Publicity Tour, Sponsored By An Unprompted Presidential Reaction.’

The Return on Investment is insane.

And that is not even the best part. Let us talk about the cultural exchange happening here.

Think about it. Me, a comedian from Soweto, with my mom’s Xhosa clicks still somewhere in my accent… I’ve somehow managed to get under the skin of a man who has … let’s say … interesting sources of information about my homeland.

(Pauses, let the audience connect the dots, with a knowing look.)

Yes. That is the real sore point my satire hit, is it not?

It is not really about islands. It is about the nerve. The nerve of a kid from the townships, now on a world stage, using the very tools of free speech to poke at someone who has, let’s be diplomatic … parroted some truly spectacular fiction about South Africa. Fiction inspired by, you know, those cheerful fellows who believe in ethnic supremacy.

The kind of talk that makes our real South African president have to take a deep, diplomatic breath and calmly explain reality to the world, like a patient teacher with a very loud, misinformed student.

And here I come, not with a diplomatic memo, but with a joke about Epstein’s island and Greenland. And it works! It is like throwing a tiny, perfect stone. Tok! Hits the exact nerve.

Because satire does not just mock the powerful; it exposes the fragility of the narrative they stand on. You can spread all the malicious, ignorant misinformation you want, but you can’t stop a joke from landing right where it hurts. You can’t sue a punchline for telling the emotional truth.

President Cyril Ramaphosa has to be careful, measured, statesmanlike. And he is, brilliantly so.

But my job, in the comedy ecosystem, is different. I am the mosquito at the braai.

The one that buzzes in, takes a little bite from the giant, inflated ego, and flies away. And the giant swings wildly, drawing everyone’s attention to the very spot he was bitten.

So, to the concerned fans: I appreciate the love. But do not worry. The only thing getting locked up here is that joke in the annals of award show awkwardness. In fact, this whole saga is a masterclass. It is a lesson in how a few words, spoken in jest, can reveal more than a thousand press conferences.

It shows the value of free speech, the priceless publicity of a thin skin, and the undeniable power of a South African kid, armed only with a microphone and some nerve, to stir the pot on a global scale.

Now, if you will excuse me, I need to go workshop my next ‘defamatory’ bit. I’m thinking about his relationship with … maps. Ooh, now that could be a lawsuit. Or, even better, a marketing goldmine.”

(He gives a triumphant, cheeky smile and a slow wink before the screen fades).

Jerald Vedan is an attorney, community leader, and social commentator based in KwaZulu-Natal. 

** The views expressed do not necessarily reflect the views of IOL or Independent Media

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