Ed Gillespie is a writer, speaker, sustainability professional and co-host of the podcast Jon Richardson and the Futurenauts. 

Existential crises don’t tend to make for easy comedy. Make a sharp joke in the immediate aftermath of a catastrophic event and you’ll likely be on the receiving end of a ‘too soon’ response. Good reason trumps poor taste. And yet when it comes to climate change and humour, the two are more entwined than you might think. Humour is one of our most powerful reactions when it comes to dealing with ‘difficult stuff’ – and, let’s face it, there’s plenty of that around in the world right now. 

So much of what is unfolding makes us feel helpless, our outlook bleak. Whether it’s the relentless rise of global temperatures and the drumbeat of subsequent meteorological extremes – hurricanes, floods, heatwaves and fires building in frequency. Or the conflicts, from Ukraine to Gaza, the Democratic Republic of Congo and Sudan. Or the disruption of ‘zone flooding’ from across the Atlantic in the form of trade tariffs, immigrant snatch squads and disdain for the rule of law. We feel powerless in the teeth of the world’s maw. 

Weird though it may seem in the context of all this seriousness, humour actually helps. Laughter has long been considered the best medicine. Although comedian Hannah Gadsby would disagree, she’d argue stories are the best medicine (as her show Nanette surely proves) and that laughter just makes the bitter medicine easier on the tongue. 

When we laugh, our defences are momentarily lowered, we become more relaxed and open, potentially responsive to new ideas. Laughter lowers levels of the stress hormone cortisol and releases feel-good chemicals like dopamine and endorphins, short-circuiting those reflex responses. We stay more present and unguarded. 

We are therefore more receptive, more willing to explore unfamiliar ideas without rejecting them. Stand-up comedy nights prime the audience with a compère whose job is to get them in the mood. Even at corporate events, a host’s ice-breaking joke puts the room at ease and sets the tone. 

Laughter makes the unbearable bearable. Bad news can become more easily digestible. It’s cathartic, a way of expressing and achieving emotional release. Laughter is the safety valve that releases some of the pressure. That can start as nervous laughter and lead to full-blown snorting in direct proportion to the relative embarrassment of the context. I can recall unstoppable fits of laughter in sombre settings, where the self-humiliation added to the hilarity. Even recalling a fit of these misplaced giggles can restart them. 

And when we laugh together, we create connection. We laughed with each other before we could speak languages. Neolithic humans likely loved physical comedy and sensed the ridiculousness of life even then. They had a very different relationship with the wild in those days, with humans ‘on the menu’ for large carnivores. As Barbara Ehrenreich put it, “they knew they were meat, and they also seemed to know they knew they were meat – that could think. And that’s almost funny.” 

So laughter is a primal communication, and the oxytocin released builds bonds and trust. Humour is a great leveller, a cultural force that, used well, is inclusive and transformative, building bridges. 

Perhaps most cathartically, humour reveals the absurdities of the world. When we recognise our flaws and foibles in a joke, it appeals to our sense of commonality. Humour invites us to step into one another’s shoes, encourages empathy and gives us agency and power, which is why authoritarians hate satirists. Great comedy undermines ‘othering’.  

I’ve spent almost 30 years in the sustainability movement practising what I call ‘insultancy’ – being strategically, and playfully, rude to get clients to raise their goals. I do that with humour, precisely because it allows me to say the unsayable. You can’t stand on a stage and insult everyone, but using jokes to uncover our ‘wilful blindness’ can disarm people, sugar the pill of uncomfortable truths and make them memorable. 

Sometimes one image can do the heavy-lifting. For years I’ve used Tom Toro’s brilliant New Yorker cartoon in my talks, where a ragged-suited businessman tells kids by a campfire: “Yes, the planet got destroyed, but for a beautiful moment in time we created a lot of value for shareholders.” This garners guaranteed laughter because it pokes at an uncomfortable truth. People laugh awkwardly because they recognise it. 

We also deploy humour quite deliberately on the podcast I do with comedian Jon Richardson and Mark Stevenson. Jon Richardson and the Futurenauts was conceived as a show about ‘systems change for people down the pub’, where we ask three questions: how in trouble are we? Why are we in trouble? How do we get ourselves out of trouble? It’s seriously funny, sweary and often silly too. The humour enhances the content, keeping it accessible even through the tough bits. Not many podcasts combine rigorous analysis of systemic challenges with live audio of a top UK comedian washing his essentials in a Testicuzzi. 

That same blend of awkward truths and disarming comedy turns up in some unexpectedly brilliant places – like tourism campaigns. I once gave a talk at the European Cities Marketing conference, where I shared examples of what happens when destinations lean into discomfort or controversy to grab attention. 

Take Vilnius’ campaign branding itself as “The G-Spot of Europe – nobody knows where it is, but when you find it, it’s amazing!” Visitors were invited to create their own pleasure maps of the city. Naughty but clever. 

For sheer audacity, Albanian tourism takes the crown. Their campaign, “Are you ready to be taken by Albania?” leans into the infamous film Taken, where Liam Neeson’s daughter is abducted by Albanian traffickers. It’s staggeringly bold and unforgettable – and that’s the point. 

Humour is essential in business for building emotional connection. Used thoughtfully, it can break down formalities, encourage authenticity and create shared moments of bonding. Humour should always ‘punch up’ at power, not down on the vulnerable, ensuring everyone feels included. No one wants to be David Brent from The Office – used poorly, humour can be cringe-worthy or even lead to disciplinary action. When used well, it humanises, pricks the pomposity of hierarchy and makes ideas more memorable. It must be handled with care. But when done right, it fosters connection and makes the workplace more relatable.