What message does it send that American comedians are neutering their sets at the behest of a foreign frenemy?

I f an American stand-up comedian agrees to perform in the quasi-authoritarian country of Saudi Arabia for boatloads of money, is he selling out free speech? Sebastian Maniscalco, Pete Davidson, Andrew Schulz, Bill Burr, and Dave Chappelle are popular comics who are participating this week in the Riyadh Comedy Festival, a Saudi-sponsored event, for allegedly big checks.

It should go without saying that Saudi Arabia is not a free country. Our relationship is complex. We’ve done economic and defense agreements with the Saudis, imported oil from them, and even entertained inviting them into the Abraham Accords, which normalized relations between Israel and Arab states. But given the Saudis’ horrific record of human rights abuses and crackdowns on speech, it should strike the signed comedians as at least ironic that the government now wants to explore, superficially, an art form that is supposed to smash sacred cows.

The comedians are allowed to accept whatever business they like, as long as they’re in compliance with U.S. laws. But in predictable fashion, the Saudis asked the comics attending to sanitize their content to avoid offending their leaders or covering topics deemed touchy to them. Comedian Atsuko Okatsuka, who turned down the festival’s offer, posted what she said are the censorship rules.

ARTIST shall not prepare or perform any material that may be considered to degrade, defame or bring into public disrepute, contempt, scandal, embarrassment, or ridicule:
A) The Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, including its leadership, public figures, culture or people;
B) The Saudi royal family, legal system, or government, and;
C) Any religion, religious tradition, religious figure or religious practice.

One could argue that the festival gives America the opportunity to spread Western values by exporting the American art form of stand-up comedy abroad. But it’s hard to do that when the jokes are on the Saudis’ terms.

Comedian Tim Dillon was disinvited after he mocked the regime’s tradition of forced labor and draconian punishments. He revealed that the organizers had originally offered him $375,000. Many of the comics who accepted the gig are already wealthy and famous. They didn’t need the foreign audience, but the compensation appears to have been extremely compelling. Comedian Louis C.K. said the festival was a “good opportunity,” noting the liberalization of Saudi Arabia’s entertainment recently, while admitting that the two topics he couldn’t talk about on stage are “their religion and their government.”

While it’s evidently forbidden in Saudi Arabia, America laughs at itself and welcomes those who would laugh at its expense. At the Al Smith dinner last October, comedian Jim Gaffigan pulled no punches in roasting Kamala Harris, then vice president, and candidate Donald Trump. Gaffigan wasn’t arrested or jailed by the Biden Justice Department for challenging the government. Because this is America.

Comedian Dave Chappelle claimed that comedy is “easier” in Saudi Arabia, citing cancel culture in America. While he’s right that America has a modern custom of peer-policing language, it’s a far cry from the harsh top-down censorship in Saudi Arabia. If he wanted, he could point to the U.S. government’s cooperation with social media companies during the pandemic to suppress Covid dissent or even the Hunter Biden laptop story as evidence that America is going down a dangerous road. But he wouldn’t be imprisoned for pointing that out, which in Saudi Arabia is quite possible.

Some American comedians, such as Okatsuka and Shane Gillis, had the good judgment to reject the Saudi offer, seeing the obvious ethical red flags. Comedic actor David Cross, of Arrested Development and Mr. Show fame, slammed his peers for their willingness to take the deal.

“I am disgusted, and deeply disappointed in this whole gross thing,” Cross wrote on his website. “That people I admire, with unarguable talent, would condone this totalitarian fiefdom for . . . what, a fourth house? A boat? More sneakers?

“We can never again take seriously anything these comedians complain about (unless it’s complaining that we don’t support enough torture and mass executions of journalists and LGBTQ peace activists here in the states, or that we don’t terrorize enough Americans by flying planes into our buildings),” Cross continued. “I mean that’s it; you have a funny bit about how you don’t like Yankee Candles or airport lounges? Okay great, but you’re cool with murder and/or the public caning of women who were raped, and by having the audacity to be raped, were guilty of ‘engaging in adultery’? Got any bits on that?”

Not only are the participating comics turning a blind eye to the cruelty of the regime, they’re accommodating its censorship requests, likely because the bag is just too good to pass up. What message does it send that several American comedians — who at least in theory uphold a standard of stripping emperors of their clothes without discrimination if a good punch line can be had — are neutering their sets at the behest of a foreign frenemy? It shows tolerance for the regime’s anti-speech practices, such as penalizing people under highly subjective and vague accusations of sowing national discord.

I think of dual American-Saudi citizen Saad Ibrahim Almadi, who before his eventual release was sentenced to 16 years in prison for allegedly trying to destabilize the kingdom and supporting terrorism . . . through 14 tweets. I think of Nourah al-Qahtani, a mother of five who was sentenced in 2022 to 45 years in prison for “using the internet,” via an anonymous account, “to tear the social fabric.” In her posts, she condemned Saudi human rights violations and called for the release of political figures. Saudi Arabia extensively uses capital punishment, including for drug crimes. The regime reportedly leads the world in the use of the death penalty for drug offenses.

There’s a bigger geopolitical question with this comedy festival: What is Saudi Arabia’s long game? It appears to be trying to buy a better image for itself through influencing Western recreation. In 2022, the Saudi kingdom launched LIV Golf, a rival alternative to the PGA Tour. In 2022, the Public Investment Fund (PIF), the Saudis’ sovereign wealth fund, purchased the English Premier League soccer club Newcastle United. PIF has also invested in Saudi luxury resorts to attract affluent Western tourists, including golf courses where one LIV tournament is hosted. In the arts, the Metropolitan Opera has signed an agreement with the Saudi Music Commission to become the resident winter company of the Royal Diriyah Opera House.

Similar to the generous payment the comedians received, it seems there is a pot of gold for American sports competitions, music institutions, and other industries that agree to help make the kingdom look like an oasis of freedom and fun. Except in reality, while Saudi Arabia is adopting Western activities and manners, it’s still executing people to crush dissent, according to Human Rights Watch.

There’s a slippery slope to legitimizing Saudi Arabia beyond the level we already have. During the Nixon administration, then–Secretary of State Henry Kissinger wanted to integrate China into the global diplomatic system and open up trade as it started to implement pro-market reforms. Today, the CCP still leads a repressive regime, but U.S.-China trade deals over the decades have toxically and inextricably linked our economies.

The comedians going to Riyadh might excuse their decision, citing the regime’s recent embrace of certain Western pastimes, but it doesn’t reflect well on their morals — and makes America look like a fool.