Well, it's a humor strip, so my first responsibility has always

The words of Garry Trudeau—“Well, it’s a humor strip, so my first responsibility has always been to entertain the reader... But if, in addition, I can help move readers to thought and judgment about issues that concern me, so much the better”—speak with the calm conviction of an artist who understands both the duty of laughter and the burden of truth. Beneath their simplicity lies a profound philosophy of art and conscience: that humor, while meant to delight, can also awaken; that laughter, when guided by purpose, can become a mirror for the soul of a nation. Trudeau’s words remind us that entertainment and enlightenment need not be rivals—they are, in their highest form, companions.

In his statement, Trudeau, the creator of Doonesbury, reveals the dual nature of the humorist’s calling. The first duty, he admits, is to entertain, to bring joy and levity into a world that so often bends under its own weight. But the second, nobler duty—one that he pursues with subtlety and courage—is to stir thought, to make the reader not only laugh, but reflect. For true humor does not only amuse; it illuminates. It takes the shadows of society and dresses them in jest so that even the fearful dare to look. This balance between laughter and conscience is what elevates comedy from mere play to art that endures.

The origin of these words lies in the turbulent decades of modern America, when Doonesbury first began to speak truth through satire. The year was 1970—a time of protest, war, and awakening. In that age of upheaval, Trudeau’s comic strip became a quiet revolution. Its panels carried the pulse of politics, the moral dilemmas of youth, the contradictions of power. Yet, despite its depth, it remained humorous—a living paradox of wit and wisdom. Through this balance, Trudeau followed the tradition of ancient satirists—Aristophanes, who mocked the folly of Athens, and Juvenal, who scourged Rome with laughter. Like them, he understood that humor, when wielded with insight, becomes the gentlest yet sharpest form of truth.

Consider, too, the example of Voltaire, that fiery philosopher of the Enlightenment, who wielded satire as a sword of reason. Through his wit, he dismantled superstition and tyranny, but he did so with laughter, not with hate. His famous Candide was, on the surface, a tale of absurd adventures—but beneath its humor lay a piercing critique of blind optimism and corruption. In this, Voltaire lived the very truth that Trudeau voices centuries later: that laughter can move the heart toward judgment, and that the jest, though soft in tone, can shake empires.

What Trudeau teaches us is that the artist’s responsibility begins in joy, but ends in truth. To entertain is to open the door; to enlighten is to invite the reader in. A comic strip that makes one laugh and forget is pleasant—but a strip that makes one laugh and remember is powerful. This is the alchemy of his art: he turns mirth into meaning, humor into humanity. For laughter, though fleeting, can plant the seed of wisdom; and in the quiet that follows, thought begins to bloom.

In his humility, Trudeau does not claim to be a preacher, only a storyteller. He accepts that his craft’s first gift is delight. But his greatness lies in the hope that through that delight, the reader might begin to see—to judge the absurdity of war, the hypocrisy of politics, the frailty of human pride. This humility itself is ancient wisdom: for the teacher who does not force truth, but reveals it through laughter, achieves what no sermon can. He allows the truth to arise within the listener, freely and joyfully.

Let this be the lesson for all who seek to create, to speak, to teach: begin with laughter, but aim for understanding. Let your art or your words bring lightness first, for the human heart opens more easily through joy than through scorn. Yet once that heart is open, let your message carry something of worth—truth, compassion, reflection. Whether you write, paint, lead, or love, follow this sacred order: first touch the heart, then awaken the mind.

So remember the wisdom of Garry Trudeau, who made the world laugh—and think. Humor is not the enemy of seriousness; it is its most graceful ally. The jest that entertains may fade by nightfall, but the jest that enlightens endures like fire in the soul. Therefore, if you must speak, speak with laughter—and if you must laugh, let it lead to thought. For in the union of the two—humor and judgment, joy and truth—lies the highest art, and the noblest purpose of all creation.