Al Franken was my hero. The operative word being “was.” I was proud of the work he did on behalf of Minnesotans — in particular, the fight he put up for marginalized groups including Native Americans, LGBTQ+ individuals and the economically disadvantaged. When I tore through his autobiography this past summer, I was particularly impressed with the way he wrote about the provocative and offensive jokes he’d made in his past, and how he argued that satire presents a meaningful way to confront difficult issues. I completely agree with his definition of satire, and that’s why I can no longer call him my hero.

As a Political Science student working as a writing tutor, I have a unique vantage point on the crossover between rhetoric and political efficacy. I’ve learned in college that logic and reason can be very convincing, but sometimes other forms of communication can be more effective.

Enter comedy. Comedy — even dark comedy — presents an engaging and personal platform on which people can connect in a relaxed environment. Making light of tough topics in the form of satire can transform the unapproachable into something palatable. The comedy club can allow us to examine the taboo in a way that doesn’t work in the boardroom. But there is a line, and it’s not a blurry one. When he sexually harassed and assaulted a colleague, Sen. Franken was not engaging in satire — he was being manipulative, abusive and derogatory. Not only was what he did not funny, it also served no other purpose than to get a cheap laugh at the expense of another human being’s dignity.

Al Franken was 55 years old when he assaulted Leeann Tweeden. He had been a professional comedian for more than 30 years. If he really knew what satire was, I’m damn sure he learned it before 2006. But that didn’t stop him. The revelations about his sexual misconduct negate any claim that his funnyman shtick existed solely to serve a higher purpose.

Finding out your heroes aren’t who you thought they were is not easy. And it’s definitely not funny.