Saudi Comedy Fest: Stand-Up to Suppression

Hayden Won, staff writer

Saudi Arabia’s first international comedy festival has brought together some of the biggest names in stand-up — Dave Chappelle, Kevin Hart and Louis C.K. The sets are sold out, the lights are bright, the paychecks are generous — yet the crowd is… concerned? 

Officially called the Riyadh Comedy Festival, the event launched under the Kingdom’s Vision 2030 initiative, a state-driven plan to modernize and diversify Saudi Arabia’s image beyond its main oil export, which alone has cemented it as the powerhouse and largest economy of the Middle East. On paper, it sounded promising: a landmark gathering of American comics performing in the Middle East, framed as a celebration of a cultural exchange: the introduction of American culture and customs to a domain previously closed off to them.  Saudi media promoted it as a symbol of progress, lauding comedy as a bridge between East and West. 

But, behind the glossy headlines and big names, the festival’s purpose looks less about curating laughter and more about curating image. Reports surfaced that performers had to sign restrictive contracts prohibiting jokes about religion, politics or the royal family. The irony that many comedians known for testing the limits of speech in the U.S. performed under censorship in one of the world’s most repressive regimes did not go unnoticed by the public. As the event grew closer, more information about its tight management and questionable practices began to hit the press; so as the curtains continued to pull back, they revealed a furtive scheme that critics called “artwashing” a cultural version of “sportswashing,” in which entertainment is used to deflect from a country’s bad reputation, and in this case, restore its tarnished image. 

“It [artwashing and sportswashing] can definitely work for a while, especially when the global audience is more interested in the entertainment than the political motives behind it. But I think that eventually people start to notice the inconsistencies.” says Mr. Pace, one of Johns Creek’s World History teachers. 

Jessica Kirson, one of the few openly gay comedians on the panel, later apologized and pledged to donate her pay, saying she felt “deeply conflicted.” Tim Dillon said he was dropped after joking about slave labor and censorship. On the other hand, comedians like Chappelle and Burr doubled down on their decisions, claiming that they felt more comfortable to speak there than in the U.S., where they felt they might be “cancelled.” Ironically, this intended red herring served to further unravel the unethical workings of the Saudi Arabian regime. 

Human Rights Watch labeled the event “a calculated PR stunt to rebrand repression as renaissance.” In the midst of all of Saudi Arabia’s other announcements, this festival fits neatly into Saudi Arabia’s cultural rebranding pattern. Under Vision 2030, the government has poured billions into global sports and arts, from boxing and Formula One to soccer, tennis and golf, all designed to project a fresh modernity and openness. The Kingdom’s General Entertainment Authority promotes these events as evidence of reform, yet most remain heavily controlled and closely monitored. Upcoming spectacles like the Six Kings Slam, the Jeddah Grand Prix and the 2034 FIFA World Cup continue the same narrative: a country open for business and culture but not criticism. This kind of self-preservation isn’t new. Mussolini’s 1934 World Cup and Hitler’s 1936 Olympics both used major sports events to mask authoritarian policies. 

When asked on what makes cultural influence so effective compared to military or political power, Mr. Pace said, “You can disagree with a government, but still watch their movies, wear their brands or go to their concerts. That’s what makes powerful, it feels harmless.” 

In this context, the Riyadh Comedy Festival isn’t just about humor. It’s about optics. It’s a carefully contrived performance of progress designed for a global audience. Comedy, long seen as a tool for truth-telling, becomes part of a web of deceit; a performance of freedom in a place where free expression remains strictly regulated.