Even people that I agree with can do something that would be a

The artist and satirist Jonathan Shapiro, known for his sharp wit and fearless honesty, once said: “Even people that I agree with can do something that would be a target for a bit of humor.” In this simple sentence lies a timeless truth about integrity, humility, and the sacred purpose of laughter. Shapiro speaks not only as a humorist, but as a moral observer — one who understands that true humor does not serve factions, but truth itself. His words remind us that laughter, when honest, must never be chained to allegiance or blinded by agreement. For the comic spirit, like the light of the sun, must shine on all things — on the righteous as well as the foolish, on friend and foe alike.

To say that even those we agree with are not beyond laughter is to proclaim that no human being is above error. In every heart, no matter how noble, lives imperfection. To deny this is to worship idols rather than seek truth. Shapiro’s wisdom strikes at the heart of modern life, where loyalty often blinds judgment, and conviction hardens into dogma. He reminds us that humor, when it is true, acts as a mirror — reflecting our follies with gentleness but without partiality. It does not mock to destroy; it laughs to reveal. And in that revelation lies redemption.

The ancients knew this power well. In the great city of Athens, where democracy was young and fragile, the playwright Aristophanes dared to mock not only tyrants but also the very citizens and leaders who shaped his world. He satirized Socrates, the philosopher he admired, not out of hatred but out of love for truth. Through laughter, he showed that even wisdom can wander into absurdity, and even virtue can become vanity. This is the spirit that Shapiro invokes — the spirit of humor as equalizer, as a guardian against pride. For when laughter ceases to touch the powerful, or the righteous, or the self-assured, it ceases to be truth and becomes propaganda.

There is a rare courage in this kind of humor — the courage to laugh at one’s own side, to hold even allies accountable. In every age, there are those who mistake loyalty for blindness, who protect the ideas they love by shielding them from criticism. But Shapiro reminds us that the ideas most worthy of reverence are those strong enough to withstand a jest. Humor tests integrity, much as fire tests gold: what burns away was never real to begin with. To laugh at the faults of those we admire is not betrayal; it is proof of our sincerity. The truest friendship, whether between people or between citizen and cause, is that which welcomes truth in all its forms — even when it comes dressed as a joke.

In this, Shapiro’s words carry an echo of Abraham Lincoln, whose wit disarmed enemies and humbled allies alike. Lincoln’s humor was impartial, cutting through political loyalties to reveal human frailty. Once, when accused of being two-faced, he smiled and replied, “If I had another face, do you think I’d wear this one?” His laughter was not aimed at cruelty, but at clarity. He showed the nation that to be wise is to laugh at oneself, to face imperfection with honesty rather than pride. So too does Shapiro call us to this ancient humility — to let humor keep us honest, lest we grow blind with righteousness.

The lesson of Shapiro’s insight is simple but profound: never make an idol of agreement. Whether in art, politics, or friendship, do not let shared belief silence your sense of humor or your sense of justice. Laugh at the absurdity of all sides, including your own. For in doing so, you remind the world — and yourself — that truth belongs to no one. The fool who cannot be laughed at is already lost to arrogance; the wise man who can laugh at himself is forever free.

And so, dear reader, remember this: humor is the voice of honesty wrapped in joy. Use it not to wound, but to illuminate. When you see folly, even in those you love or in causes you hold sacred, let laughter cleanse it like rain upon the dust. For laughter, when pure, is a form of mercy — it reveals our weaknesses not to shame us, but to heal us. Jonathan Shapiro’s wisdom reminds us that truth wears many faces, and one of them — perhaps the kindest, perhaps the most divine — is the face of laughter itself.