Amnesty International’s Felix Jakens on why comedy has always belonged alongside human rights campaigning

A priest, a nurse and a student all walk into a protest. 
They were arrested. 

It's a terrible joke. 

That's the point. 

We've been workshopping a few anti-jokes ahead of Amnesty International's return to the Edinburgh Fringe this August. 

Here's another. 

Knock, knock. 
Who's there? 
The police. 
The police who? 
The police who arrest peaceful protesters. 

Or this. 

What do you call a pensioner holding a placard? 
A terrorist. 

None of them are especially funny. 

They work because they land just a little too close to reality. 

That, perhaps, tells us something about the moment we're living through. 

This August, Amnesty returns to the Fringe with Stand Up For Freedom, bringing together Nish Kumar, Deborah Frances-White, Rosie Jones, Larry Dean, Grace Campbell and many more. 

On paper, Amnesty and stand-up can look like an unlikely pairing, but perhaps the relationship has always made more sense than it first appears. After all, misery loves comedy. 

There's a reason every society develops humour. It's one of the oldest ways human beings have found to make frightening things feel survivable. 

Britain laughed through the Blitz. Soldiers have always relied on gallows humour. Doctors and nurses joke with one another because sometimes laughter is the only thing standing between resilience and burnout. Even at funerals, it's often the funny stories that help us make sense of loss. 

Comedy isn't the opposite of seriousness. Sometimes it's how we survive it. 

Perhaps that's why Amnesty and comedians have always found one another. 

From The Secret Policeman's Ball onwards, comedians have stood alongside Amnesty not simply because they care about human rights, but because they understand something fundamental about freedom of expression; the freedom to make jokes is inseparable from the freedom to criticise those in power. 

Around the world, Amnesty continues to campaign for comedians, writers and artists targeted for speaking out or mocking those in power. From Lebanese comedian Nour Hajjar's arrest to the jailing of Russian comic Artemy Ostanin, and even Donald Trump's repeated attacks on late-night hosts and comedians, the lesson is always the same: power hates being laughed at. 

But censorship by thin-skinned governments isn't just a problem somewhere else. In recent years, the conversation around protest and free expression has become more contested here in the UK too. 

A decade ago, it would have seemed extraordinary to wonder whether a comedian might think twice before walking on stage wearing a T-shirt that simply read: 

I OPPOSE GENOCIDE. I SUPPORT AMNESTY INTERNATIONAL. 

Not because we think comedians are about to be arrested for wearing one, but because the question itself no longer feels entirely absurd. 

We've seen peaceful protesters arrested in their thousands, many of them elderly - the ‘pensioners of conscience’ we’ve endearingly termed them - campaign groups proscribed and the right to protest become one of the defining civil liberties debates of our time. 

People can disagree passionately about particular causes. That's our right. But what should concern all of us is becoming nervous about whether we're allowed to speak at all. 

Comedians have always occupied that uncomfortable space. 

The best stand-up doesn't simply entertain. It notices things. It exposes hypocrisy. It punctures certainty. It asks awkward questions before anyone else dares to. 

Sometimes comedians make us laugh because the world is ridiculous. 

Sometimes they make us laugh because the world has become ridiculous. 

Every August, Edinburgh becomes one of the few places in the world where almost anything can be said on a stage, challenged by an audience and answered with another joke. 

That's worth celebrating. It's also worth protecting. 

Which brings us back to one final joke. 

Why did the chicken cross the road? 
To protest the misuse of anti-terrorism powers in the context of a genocide. The chicken is serving 14 years. 

It isn't funny. 

We'll leave that to the professionals. 

• Stand Up For Freedom returns to the Edinburgh Fringe on Friday 21 and Saturday 22 August at Underbelly, Bristo Square at 11.30pm. Tickets. 

Published: 16 Aug 2026