You know, I'm Australian, and we have got the worst sense of

When Steve Irwin said, “You know, I'm Australian, and we have got the worst sense of humor. We are cruel to each other,” he was speaking not with shame, but with affection — describing a humor born from resilience, forged in the wilderness of hardship and camaraderie. His words carry the warmth of understanding and the grit of truth. For Irwin knew that humor, even when sharp, is the language of survival — the laughter that binds people who endure harsh lands and harder times. What he called “cruelty” was not malice, but the raw honesty of a people who have learned to love through teasing, to respect through jest, and to face life’s dangers with a grin.

In the ancient manner of wisdom, one might say that Australian humor is the laughter of the warrior and the farmer, the sailor and the wanderer — those who live close to nature’s edge, where suffering and triumph walk side by side. Such humor strips away pretense. It mocks the mighty, humbles the proud, and tests the heart. Like the jesters of old, who could speak truth to kings through laughter, the Australians use humor to reveal character. To be able to endure a joke — even a harsh one — is to show strength of spirit. For where the weak are offended, the strong simply laugh, knowing that laughter itself is proof of freedom.

Irwin, the Crocodile Hunter, embodied this spirit completely. He faced the wild with both reverence and playfulness, often risking his life not in recklessness, but in deep respect for the creatures he loved. Yet even in the most dangerous moments, he found joy. His humor — quick, earthy, and self-deprecating — was a reflection of his culture’s heart. He could wrestle a crocodile one moment and crack a joke the next, laughing at himself, never taking glory too seriously. This was the essence of his “cruel” humor — the ability to face fear without solemnity, to bring laughter into places where others would find only peril.

There is an ancient story that echoes this truth. The Norse heroes, before entering battle, would feast and jest, laughing at the very death that awaited them. Their laughter was not ignorance but courage. Likewise, the Australian humor Irwin speaks of is born from the same defiance — a laughter that meets hardship with irony, and danger with wit. It says, “We will not be broken, no matter how harsh the sun, the land, or fate itself.” Humor, in such a world, becomes both shield and sword.

Yet within this humor lies tenderness. Steve Irwin reminds us that the teasing and cruelty of such laughter are not meant to wound but to connect. To jest with a friend is to acknowledge them as an equal — to say, “I see you, flaws and all, and still I laugh with you.” This is the secret beauty of the Australian soul: even when the words are rough, the heart behind them is kind. Irwin himself was full of this warmth — loud, exuberant, unfiltered, yet endlessly compassionate. His humor was his bridge to others, his way of turning danger into delight, and isolation into fellowship.

Thus, when he says, “We are cruel to each other,” he is really saying, “We are honest, and we love through laughter.” It is a culture that finds intimacy in jest, resilience in ridicule, and healing in shared mockery. The humor he speaks of may seem harsh, but it is rooted in affection — the kind of humor that allows people to survive deserts, storms, and loneliness without losing heart. It is the humor that transforms pain into strength, and fear into fellowship.

The lesson, then, is eternal: learn to laugh, even when the world feels cruel. Do not be afraid of humor that exposes, for it also binds. Laugh at yourself before others do, and in doing so, you will discover freedom. Face life’s hardships with the courage of Irwin’s spirit — eyes bright, heart open, and a grin that says, “You cannot break me.” For as Steve Irwin taught by word and by example, humor is not cruelty when born from love; it is the wild laughter of the brave — the song of those who live fully, fearlessly, and free.