When Qatar ‘won’ the rights to host the 2022 Fifa World Cup, its leaders experienced what addicts describe as ‘a moment of clarity’. Recognising that a country governed by sharia law might appear a bit ethically dubious on the international stage, they sought to enhance their image. So, to appease those silly bleeding-heart liberals who don’t like seeing blasphemers executed by firing squad, they turned to the one man they knew could help: David Beckham. ‘Goldenballs’, as he is known to middle-aged wine mums, received $150 million to serve as the event’s global brand ambassador.

Beckham presented a corporate video extolling the virtues of Qatar in one of the most shameless and hypocritical acts ever committed to film. The 30-minute video is a stylish Hollywood propaganda piece. In the opening scene, the crystal clear waters of Doha Bay are framed against an aerial shot of a revving motorbike. Our leather-clad hero races through empty streets as a voice-over describes the variety of experiences in Qatar in just 48 hours. The visit to the spice bazaar surprised me because I expected to watch hummus-tasting with Ismail Haniyeh. In his trademark falsetto, he tells us, ‘It’s one of the best spice markets that I have ever been to.’ Yes, David, I’m sure it is.

Whether he knew it or not, he became the socially acceptable face of ‘sports-washing’. This is the term for the way dictatorial regimes attempt to sanitise their global reputations by gaining an endorsement from a sporting legend. It is done in an attempt to divert attention from their own, often dreadful human rights record. A world-famous sports star is used in this case to promote an international sporting event held within a tyrannical sand-swept satrapy in the Middle East.

Beckham was not the first celebrity misled by a tyrannical regime. In 1934, Stalin extended an invitation to George Bernard Shaw for a carefully orchestrated visit to the Soviet Union, including a strategic tour of Ukraine. Upon his return, Shaw publicly refuted the existence of the Holodomor. Following a meticulously planned meeting with North Korea’s Kim Jong Un, which arguably made him the first American to have direct contact with North Korea’s supreme leader, NBA legend Dennis Rodman informed George Stephanopoulos that the country’s brutal prison camps are no different than those in the United States. Which is why I was not surprised to see so many useful idiots lining up to board a plane and fly to Saudi Arabia. Under Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman, Saudi Arabia has attempted to transform itself into a world-class entertainment destination. As part of the Vision 2030 program, the Islamic kingdom has spent at least $6 billion on hosting major sporting events to help boost its reputation. It’s now focusing on comedy in an event I can only describe as Python-esque. The Riyadh Comedy Festival features renowned comedians such as Dave Chappelle, Bill Burr, Louis C.K., Pete Davidson,and Australias Jim Jefferies.

While I personally feel comedians don’t have to make edgy jokes, I don’t think it’s right that they should follow rules that ban them. A performer’s contract reads as follows: ‘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.’

I don’t want to come across as self-righteous. Comedians can do whatever they want. In the wake of years of cancellations, they are more in need of a gig now than ever before. But comedians are the ones who constantly brag about how much they enjoy saying the unsayable and slaughtering sacred cows. In editor speak, it leaves many red lines. Just a few days after the Anthony Joshua and Oleksandr Usyk’s Jeddah bout in August 2022, the Guardian reported on the case of Nourah bint Saeed al-Qahtani, a Saudi woman sentenced to 45 years in prison for ‘using the internet to tear [Saudi Arabia’s] social fabric’. Translation: criticising the country’s absolute monarchy. In August, Saudi Arabia executed Jalal Labbad, a 30-year-old man, for allegedly participating in anti-government protests as a teenager. As a result of posting critical tweets about the Saudi government, Turki al-Jasser was executed in June. Then there are alleged extrajudicial killings of journalists, such as the heinous 2018 murder of Jamal Khashoggi. The Washington Post columnist was suffocated and dismembered with a bone saw at the Saudi consulate in Istanbul allegedly at the behest of bin Salman. Then there’s Saudi Arabia’s suspected involvement in 9/11. Declassified FBI documents indicate connections between Saudi operatives and several of the hijackers, fifteen of whom were Saudi nationals. Shane Gillis declined an invitation to the Festival, saying scathingly, ‘You don’t 9/11 your friends.’ This must weigh heavily on Pete Davidson’s conscience, given that his firefighter father died on 9/11.

On his podcast, Bill Burr sounded a lot like Rodman, describing his guilt for believing the ‘myth’ about the Islamic kingdom; apparently, it was a wonderful place. Bill, I’ve heard that gay people love the country so much that they shout it from the rooftops. Jeffries said a similar thing, drawing a comparison between the Saudi regime’s human rights record and that of the United States. Yet nothing about the 15,000 civilians blown apart in Yemen by Saudi-led coalition air strikes.

One comedian voiced some criticism. Tim Dillon said on his podcast that he was fired after organisers heard his jokes about Saudi slave labour. He claimed he was offered $375,000 for a single performance, while bigger names were expected to earn around $1.6 million. ‘They’re paying me enough money to look the other way,’ he explained. At least, he has some integrity.

Comedy is supposed to be about making people laugh and speaking truth to power; not buying people’s principles.