OMID DJALILI WAS BORN IN LONDON to Iranian parents. He is the first stand up of Middle Eastern Heritage ever to have his own comedy show on the BBC and the first to star in a prime time American network sitcom. Subject to harsh critism recently for agreeing to appear at the Riyadh Comedy Festival he responds to the western-centric naysayers.

After 15 years of turning down offers to perform stand up comedy in Saudi Arabia due to their human rights record, this time I took the gig. Why?

There’s a push for change in Saudi, and signs are discernible. Yet views expressed from the outside would rather comedians in the west stayed away. “British comics take Saudi coin” was one attention grabbing headline. But at a time when freedom of speech is under attack, the backlash against comedians who participated in the Riyadh comedy festival reflects our ongoing struggle to find consensus on this and many issues impacting humanity.

I am no stranger to cancel-culture. I was cancelled after 9/11 simply for being Middle Eastern, as Arab terrorists were behind the attacks on the twin towers, despite the fact that I am not Arab, nor am I, contrary to popular opinion, a terrorist.

In certain circles there are pleas to boycott my UK tour Namaste, a show where I try to explore the nuances of the complex geopolitical landscape of the Middle East. After explaining that the restrictions on performing in Saudi were exactly the same as in Dubai - basically no jokes about the royal family, no disrespecting Islam and no humiliation of the government - a concerned friend texted me “I think you’re at risk of invalidating your right to make jokes about anything important”. My show in Riyadh had a lot of material about the Saudis themselves. Some of it intensifying my worry that I’d “go home in a suitcase” (said more than once on the night) so in one sense what happened in Riyadh stays in Riyadh. The perception that we, as comedians, were all being paid to be silent was as laughable as the idea that Dave Chappelle, a hugely successful comic with an estimated worth of $70 million, was doing his show in Riyadh for the money.

This perception, it should be said, might have its roots in comments made by an American comedian/podcaster who, prior to the festival, mentioned a figure that he was apparently receiving. This led to him being uninvited. Whether it was his material about the regime or just mentioning money in public, we do not know. The online comedy guide Chortle erroneously reported that we were paid “between $375,000 (£278,000) and $1.6million (£1.2million) for those doing solo shows.” One thing east and west can agree on is don’t talk about your fee publicly, because it is likely to cause consternation amongst the other performers, most of whom received a significantly smaller amount than the American podcaster was purportedly set to receive.

It’s worth remembering that governments are not their people. Especially in Iran, where the chasm between the people and their regime - which has shown no signs of changing for the last 46 years - is perhaps the widest of any since the beginning of time. If I’d had an inkling of similar indications of change emerging in Saudi Arabia right now inside Iran, and a comedy festival was taking place in Tehran (and pigs were flying) I can assure you I would be on the first pig over. As it is, expecting behavioural change from the Islamic regime in Iran would be like being attacked by zombies and politely asking them if they would consider a vegan diet.

So, for those who are interested, some reflections:

Allowing international performances in Saudi, especially comedy, subtly broadens what’s thinkable and sayable in a society. Every laugh at a taboo subject shifts norms, albeit slightly. Bear in mind ‘slightly’ is a seismic movement in the Middle East. Dubai is a very different place now to what it was when I first performed there in 2008. I would offer the view that changes there are directly connected to the boom in arts and culture.

When artists perform in the Middle East they don’t just face “the regime.” They face real people, many of whom are reform-minded, quietly disillusioned youth who want to embrace new ideas without betraying their own culture and beliefs.

As an international performer I like to connect with local artistes. On this trip I collaborated on two videos with young Dubai comedians currently shared on my Instagram. I look forward to creating content with Saudi comedians, if there is a next time. As a Middle Eastern comedian I am of the view that a blanket boycott tends to dismiss and patronise ordinary Saudis, often those eager for exposure to diverse culture.

As I reflect on views expressed regarding artistes performing in Saudi Arabia as per instructions I have received from certain “highly educated elites” I wonder, doesn’t this risk creating a hierarchy of acceptable audiences? Do we in the west think that some people are too tainted to deserve our superior jokes honed in the pubs and clubs of southern England?

There’s a saying in the Middle East: “It’s not about what you hear, it’s about being here.” And the truth is, if you’re sitting behind a keyboard on the other side of the border lecturing on a social media site owned by a billionaire, then your capacity to contribute to positive change might be somewhat compromised.

One significant sign of progress in the Middle East is how women are treated. In Saudi, women were not even allowed to drive until 2018. Seven years later I am on stage in Riyadh doing jokes about it. A routine at the expense of the men who get frustrated with women who actually abide by the traffic laws went down well. Something I could never have imagined. But it happened (and you’ll have to come to a live show of mine to find out what else I said to them).

Going to Saudi Arabia is not about endorsing a regime. Performing is not selling out. Rather it is about sharing laughter and a chance for cultural exchange as a force for social transformation. Art often opens doors that politics slam shut. And we underestimate the transformative power of comedy at our peril.

So I went.

And the gigs were great. Packed houses, young crowds, popcorn, standing ovations, even heckling. At one point I said “when is Jimmy Carr’s show?” and without a pause “he has been axed!” was shouted out. Though that was a random British ex pat at a drinks event at the British Embassy. I’m not ashamed to say it was even funnier when I said it two nights later in Kuwait.

80% of the audiences at the Riyadh Comedy Festival were locals, many of whom had never seen a live comedy gig. I saw the northern Irish comedian Jimeoin speak about getting older and that he was suffering from varicose veins, but on his nether regions. After the show, a discussion broke out between Saudis next to me discussing remedies they could suggest to him such as pomegranate juice. If that’s not a step towards international peace and East/West relations then I don’t know what is.

Whatever the reason to put on this comedy festival, it was an ultimately an operation in diplomacy. Saudi Arabia wants to modernise, the west wants to help and also learn something in this process about the theory of change. But with their human rights track record, diplomacy is a covert business. Diplomats don’t work for praise or publicity, they work for results. Even explaining it undermines their efforts.

We’ve come a long way since comedy promoters put on clandestine shows in the desert in 2008 with a real fear of being shut down or imprisoned by the Saudi authorities. Now those same authorities are putting on a big comedy festival for all to see without fear of punishment.

I’ve waited years for something like this to happen - millions of us with links to the region see it as a miracle of change. And privileged individuals either privately or online instructing me on what I should or shouldn’t do regarding gigs in the Middle East is symptomatic of the worrying ignorance that continues to exist about the Middle East. Not all parts of the region are the same and should not be given the same blanket treatment. Respect for other cultures and freedom of speech cannot be determined on behalf of others solely through the eyes of the west. And no, before you start commenting, I am not a supporter of Sharia law.

One American comedian not invited to the festival wrote of the comedians who went to Riyadh “your hypocrisy will never be not noted”. Another American who turned down the offer was reported to have said “I said no because I won’t do a show in a country responsible for 9/11”. Two funny guys I like very much. But maybe go there first before judging the region, its people and the motives of those who choose to travel there?

Saudi Arabia - I’ll beheading back there soon.

Omid Djalili,
14 October 2024.

Click here for link to Guardian article.

IN THE 44 YEAR HISTORY of Iran’s “Islamic” Republic, one of the most heinous acts it has ever committed – from a preposterously large number to choose from – took place in the late hours of the 18th of June, 1983, when 10 Bahá’í women in Shiraz were hanged on the charge of refusing to renounce their religious beliefs.

One after the other, the women were forced to watch each other hang, supposedly to give a final opportunity to recant their faith and save their own lives. Each of them refused. The oldest was Ezzat, 57, hanged with her daughter aged 23, her husband executed two days earlier. Nosrat was 46, her son executed two days before. Most of the rest were in their 20s.The youngest, Mona, whose father had been executed three months before, was 17. She asked to go last so the others would not see her hang. When I initially heard the news. living my normal London life in leafy Kensington, the impact was strangely minimal.

I was also 17, born 20 days after Mona, but it was part of a stream of stories coming out of Iran of mass killings and executions. I was in a constant state of anxiety as a great many killed were friends and acquaintances of my parents.

Notable amongst these were the killing of the Bahá’í administrative body of the National Assembly members in 1980 and the Tehran Assembly, unceremoniously shot in 1981, all of them known to us.

By June 1983, without the internet being in existence then to give us any details to bring the story a little closer, the hanging of the 10 women of Shiraz seemed to get lost in the maelstrom. Iran was constantly on the TV news and my main concern was the social impact it had on me.

My school friends were aware but didn’t fully grasp what I was going through due to my lack of confidence in being able to explain to them an important nuance: that I was part of a persecuted minority, that I was going through the double pain of association with a country full of violent fundamentalists that brought me deep social shame, but who were also murdering members of my own community.

It was two years later when Mona’s story was captured in the pop song “Mona With The Children” that I began to connect. I attended a gathering at the Bahá’í centre in London with Jack Lenz & Doug Cameron, the song’s writer/producer and singer. We got to know Mona as an exceptional young girl, definitely not a religious zealot. She was just a young girl trying to build capacities within children. Her personality connected with me.

We watched the video. The impact of the music with the images was overwhelming. And impressive to see Alex Rocco playing a Mullah. A far cry from playing casino owner Moe Greene in The Godfather, famously shot in the eye while on a massage table. What was important was that they had created art to keep their memory alive. Even more so now.

Iranian women’s struggle for equality is older than many in the West may think. The 19th Century figure, Táhirih, a poet and scholar, exemplified the power of women to transform society. She was an early adherent to the Bábí movement, a precursor of the Bahá’í faith, and empowered by the teachings of her newly found Faith, she rose up to announce a break with the past. She notably caused profound shock when she removed her veil publicly at a conference attended only by men in 1848.

In 1852 she was put to death by the Iranian authorities. These words have been attributed to her just before being executed: “You can kill me as soon as you like, but you cannot stop the emancipation of women”.

Today, in the blood, tears, and wounds of thousands of young women in Iran seeking equality, we can see echoes of the injustice suffered by the 10 women of Shiraz 40 years ago. The same forces are still at work today deploying torture, mutilation and murder to deny Iranian women fundamental rights.

Many died within days of the best known victim of the wave of femicides in Iran, Mahsa Amini, beaten by morality police for not wearing her hijab correctly, dying in hospital on September 16 last year. Then it was Nika Shahkarami 16, Sarina Esmailizadeh 16, killed during protests. So many of the dead are young girls. Hadis Najafi 22, Mahsa Mogoi, 18. The list goes on.

The men of Iran also stand in solidarity with their mothers, sisters, wives and daughters and risk their lives. Many men have already been executed just for protesting. I am in awe of their courage. But we are all deeply connected. I am proud to participate in the #OurStoryIsOne project to keep the memory of the 10 Women of Shiraz alive and inspire real change not only in Iran, but for the whole world.

Omid Djalili,
2 July 2023.

Link to the article published in the Telegraph here.

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