Paths Magazine

By Oliver Giraud

Every August, when first-year students arrive at Kenyon, they sing. Since 1965, when acting President Frank Bailey started the tradition, new students have stood on the steps of Rosse Hall to perform three or four Kenyon songs—while seniors sing along, laugh, heckle, and jeer. Recently, however, the First-Year Sing has undergone controversial changes. Instead of a rowdy rite of passage, it’s become a sentimental goodbye moment for parents and a polished, coddled performance for the college. In reality, this isn’t what the first-year sing is meant to represent. It should mark the beginning of a new chapter, when first-years take their first steps toward becoming comfortable with discomfort. It should be awkward and daunting to sing in front of the seniors, alongside people you barely know. Students should be allowed to jeer and make fun of the wording of the songs; they should be able to scream ‘ASS-phodel’ during the off-pitch but simultaneously harmonic rendition of ‘The Kokosing Farewell’. Kenyon students should be allowed to participate in traditions that encourage laughter and growth.

Why should we be able to heckle, jeer, and laugh?

Kenyon is a liberal arts college, a beautiful one at that, where students should be able to sing, study, yell, and discuss anything, above or below the earth. To be fair, the alteration of the first year sing may not be entirely the school’s fault. In an interview with The Collegian, Professor Ben Locke, director of the Chamber Singers, shared his view on the recent changes: “Don’t fault us for trying to destroy fun. You know, that’s not the point. We’re trying to protect Kenyon.” Regardless, if you ask around campus, it’s clear that not all responsibility can be shifted onto administrative pressures. 

Regardless of where the fault lies, Kenyon and the United States overall find themselves facing a deeper turmoil than simply the loss of heckling first-years. This is about one of, if not the biggest, fears all Americans should have about our future: the death of comedy. These subtle changes, such as those made to the first-year sing, are occurring all over the country. In our art, our media, our jobs, everything is affected. Just a couple of weeks ago, the beloved Jimmy Kimmel, known for his late-night comedy show, was shut down by the Federal Communications Commission (FCC) chair Brendan Carr, after poking fun at the way that Trump’s “MAGA gang” was trying to characterize Charlie Kirk’s shooter as anything other than one of them. After Kimmel’s cancellation, Trump suggested that networks that bash him should“ be allowed to” do so. The president’s arguments are incredibly contradictory to the agenda he pushed during his 2024 campaign, when he vowed to “immediately stop all government censorship and bring back free speech to America.” Thankfully, the American people spoke out against the FCC’s media censorship, and the attempt to end Kimmel’s show after twenty-two years was stopped.

Why is the death of comedy so terrifying?

Let’s turn to history to answer this question, specifically to 1939 Germany, when the man who oversaw all German media, Joseph Goebbels, forbade five prominent German comedians from performing after they mocked Adolf Hitler’s actions. Will the FCC follow in Goebbels’ steps, or will Trump back down from his threats of censorship?” To get an idea, we can examine why dictators like Hitler try to ban comedians and, more widely, control the media.

Laughing is like hiccups in that the two are almost uncontrollable. Laughter is a natural reaction to awkward moments and life’s absurd nature; an attempt to ban comedy suppresses what makes us human. Moreover, the nature of laughing over something like crying or the hiccups is what distinguishes it, making it the most effective and helpful form of expression to get others to think about the world and its politics. When you hear something terribly sad, you are inclined to be unhappy with whatever piece of media you are engaging with. If you are engaging with something that has a comedic objectivity about it, you laugh, you smile, and you can reflect. Laughter is intoxicating, but not in the same way that sadness is. Laughter is lighter in the way that you can laugh and still go about your day; if you cry, it might ruin your day or maybe even your week. Politicians know this; they know that people engage with comedy because –breaking news: people love to laugh, especially with others. And laughing with others is what politicians who want to suppress our freedom of speech are so afraid of. When you’re laughing at something that you feel weird laughing about, you stop and reflect. When Kimmel made his controversial joke about Charlie Kirk’s killer, people laughed, but then they paused and realized how messed up this whole situation really is, and how people are trying to suppress our freedoms for their control. 

Americans and students at Kenyon alike need to keep laughing. Without comedy, we risk losing a fundamental tool for reflection and critical thinking. Yet, as laughter grows rarer, we have to ask whether humor can still do the work. Maybe what we need isn’t just a good joke, but something deeper, a reminder of how fragile our democracy really is. Hopefully, humor can make a comeback, genuine humor that makes us examine ourselves and our community. Humor that keeps us human. Humor that keeps us alive.