James Nokise’s guide to finding the funny in politics
Comedian, writer, podcaster, journalist, poet and, according to his friends, Sidequest King. After 25 years of making audiences laugh, James Nokise is still reluctant to package himself into one tidy introduction.
That feels appropriate for an artist whose work moves between stand-up, politics, poetry and journalism, finding humour in the places where power, culture and human absurdity collide.
In September, James joins a formidable line-up for Verb Wellington’s big-thinking (and sold out!) debate, Don’t Worry, Tech Will Save Us!, before returning to The Hannah in October to host Now Hear This: an evening of political comedy designed to offer audiences some collective, election-year catharsis.
We caught up with James to talk about comedy as a response to power, making room for political play, and why hope is no longer optional.
The Sidequest King
“You’d think after 25 years doing this I’d have some sort of definitive answer,” James says when asked to introduce himself.
“One of my mates called me a Sidequest King because I’m supposed to be this political comic from Wellington, but then I’ll go off and do a poetry tour in the UK, or be in Micronesia doing journalism for Australian media, which probably is the most ‘Wellington’ thing an artist from here could be doing.”
That restless movement between different forms is not a departure from James’s creative practice; it is the practice. Comedy, poetry, journalism and political commentary each offer a different way into the same questions: who holds power, who is affected by it, and how we make sense of the world around us.
Growing up in the capital provided plenty of source material.
“I grew up in Welly, and I think that inherently makes you invested in Parliament’s workings, because at least a few of your relatives are going to be employed by some ministry.”
Finding the comedy in power
James’s interest in politics began early, but reverence for political institutions did not necessarily follow.
“When I was a kid, the Prime Minister got drunk and called an election, and everyone went with it,” he says. “Winston Peters has spent 30 years using populist bigotry to hold election cycles ransom, and everyone still talks of him as though he’s a genius and not a grifter, based entirely on his dress sense and articulation.
“That sort of gives you a certain irreverence for the halls of power.”
That irreverence has become one of James’s most effective artistic tools. His comedy does not avoid the complexity or seriousness of politics; instead, it creates another way for audiences to engage with it.
As part of Verb Readers and Writers Festival, James will put that approach to work in Don’t Worry, Tech Will Save Us! – a fast-paced debate asking whether technology will solve humanity’s biggest problems or help to destroy us.
James appears alongside Chlöe Swarbrick, Toby Manhire, pip adam, Samantha Hannah, and Lyric Waiwiri-Smith, with Jerome Chandrahasen attempting to keep order as adjudicator.
“I'm the third speaker, so mainly I’m excited by the challenge of making material from the other team’s speeches,” James says. “I think comedy also allows you to do some deep cuts on serious subjects, so I’ll try to sneak a few in too.”
There is no emergency exit
Behind the debate’s playful premise lies an urgent question: can technology genuinely help us confront crises that are already unfolding?
James has recently returned from an atoll in the Pacific, where the consequences of climate change are not hypothetical.
“From my point of view, there is no emergency exit,” he says. “The environmental eradication of Pacific people is happening, and people need to figure out how they sit with it, because the Pacific has questions.”
The challenge for the comedian is not to diminish that reality, but to find an artistic frame through which an audience can face it.
“That’s not very funny, so I’ll try to frame it with some irreverent takes on climate denial and some Shane Jones jokes by Saturday.”
For James, comedy and hope are not forms of avoidance. They are ways of remaining engaged when the scale of a problem might otherwise feel paralysing.
“To paraphrase James Baldwin, ‘I have to be hopeful, I have to be an optimist, because I’m alive.’
“So I have to believe we can do something to save the Pacific countries in immediate danger, and I have to believe that it can be done now. I have to believe in New Zealand and the inherent want of Kiwis to be helpful global citizens; helpful people of and to the Pacific.
“There is no emergency exit, just nihilistic cognitive dissonance.”
A space to talk shit
James will also return to The Hannah with a new version of Now Hear This, a line-up show dedicated to political stand-up in an election year.
The format was first tested during the Comedy Festival, and proved there was a real appetite for it.
“The show was a real success,” James says. “It’s very simply a space for political stand-up, but in short sets, so comedians who might not normally do political comedy feel they can come and play too.”
For James, creating that space means resisting the idea that political comedy belongs only to a particular type of performer.
“I don’t like the idea that political work is exclusionary,” he says. “To be clear, that doesn’t mean I’m letting some right-wing rookie trial a set for social media clout. You’ve gotta bring the funny for a live audience.”
It is also about an honest relationship between artists and audiences. Rather than political material arriving unexpectedly in the middle of a conventional comedy bill, Now Hear This invites people into a room built specifically for it.
“It’s for an audience that wants political stand-up, so they know what they’re getting into and aren’t having it sprung on them. Everyone knows what the show is, and that makes it a fun space to talk shit.”
Taking the comedic detour
Political comedy carries a particular artistic balancing act. It needs enough substance to say something, but enough comedy to ensure the audience never feels trapped in a lecture theatre.
For James, the problem is not necessarily the lecture itself.
“It’s not the lecture… it’s the feeling of being bored in a lecture,” he says. “That’s the trick: keep the jokes coming, keep the laugh rate high, and don’t be afraid to take a little longer to make your point by going on a comedic detour.”
Those detours are where the form comes alive. Political stand-up can hold a serious idea up to the light, turn it around, wander somewhere completely ridiculous, and then return to the point from an angle the audience did not see coming.
In James’s hands, the joke is not an interruption to the argument. It is how the argument travels.
Bring all that energy
At a time when political news can leave people frustrated, divided and simply exhausted, Now Hear This offers the possibility of releasing some of that pressure together.
What kind of atmosphere does James hope to create at The Hannah?
“A sold-out collection of people frustrated, divided and simply exhausted by the news,” he says.
Then, more seriously: “Bring all that energy, and when I’m hosting, you can let it out. Then enjoy the acts and hopefully get revitalised with some fun material.”
That may be the particular gift of political comedy: not pretending that everything is fine, but transforming frustration into something shared, energising and, crucially, funny.
James Nokise appears in Don’t Worry, Tech Will Save Us! A Verb Debate (SOLD OUT) as part of Verb Readers and Writers Festival 2026, before hosting Now Hear This at The Hannah.
Join the waitlist for Don’t Worry, Tech Will Save Us! — 26 Sep
Get tickets for Now Hear This — 21 Oct