Saudi Buys the Laugh Track — While Activists Rot

So Riyadh has discovered the cure for criticism: import comedians, export conscience.

From Aziz Ansari to Dave Chappelle, the Riyadh Comedy Festival 2025 has lined up some of the world’s biggest names, showering them with cheques that would make even a Sri Lankan politician blush. Reports say some comics were offered as much as $1.6 million for a single show.

The dates? Couldn’t be more awkward. The festival runs smack over the seventh anniversary of Jamal Khashoggi’s murder — the Saudi journalist brutally cut down in his own consulate. And this while Saudi jails remain packed with dissidents, women’s rights activists, and journalists who dared to speak.

Human Rights Watch is pleading with the comics: don’t just take the cash, use the mic. Urge the Saudis to release people like Waleed Abu al-Khair, serving 15 years for human rights activism, or Manahel al-Otaibi, a fitness instructor sentenced to prison for promoting women’s rights online.

But what do we hear instead? Comedian Tim Dillon joked openly on his podcast that the Saudis were paying him “enough to look the other way.” Price tag? $375,000. For one night. Then — surprise, surprise — he was dropped after making a few too many quips about migrant workers.

Sound familiar? In Sri Lanka, we’ve seen it too. Governments hire international PR firms, roll out mega-events, concerts, and sports spectacles — all to polish an image while ordinary people struggle with the cost of living and critics are brushed aside.

The parallel is chilling:

Saudi Arabia: paying comedians to stay quiet about prisons.

Sri Lanka: paying millions to foreign PR campaigns while corruption scandals, IMF struggles, and cost-of-living protests rage at home.

And let’s be honest: the silence of these comics isn’t too different from the silence of many of our own local stars, who’ll sing at state-sponsored shows but won’t whisper a word about corruption, police abuse, or missing funds.

The biggest joke? Saudi Arabia wants the world to see punchlines, not prison lines. But every time a big-name comic lands in Riyadh, it only highlights the contrast: freedom on stage for foreigners, but a cell block for Saudis who dare to speak.

As one activist put it: “They bought comedy.”

In Colombo, that rings a bell — because we know all about buying silence.