Editorial: Monty Python, is that you?

Amidst the brouhaha surrounding the controversial jest made in bad taste by podcaster Ranveer Allahbadia, it might be appropriate to take a detour and jog one’s memory, to 1979. It was the year that the British comedy troupe Monty Python delivered their epic send-off of organised religion with a pitch black period comedy titled Life of Brian. It’s the story of a young Judaean man born on the same day, and right next door to Jesus, who gets mistaken for the Messiah. At the time of its release, the film was levelled with accusations of blasphemy, leading to boycotts by various religious groups, leading to decade-long broadcast bans in Italy and Ireland. In Sweden, the feature was pitched as ‘the film that is so funny that it was banned in Norway’.

Fifty years on, we in India, are engaged in a collective, medieval act of witch-hunting, attempting to pin the blame of everything that’s gone wrong with society on a group of podcasters, YouTubers, and influencers, with millions of followers. Those who have taken offence to the crass remarks include Maharashtra Chief CM Devendra Fadnavis, lawyers and activists who have filed cases in Indore and Guwahati, the Women and Child Development Minister Annapurna Devi whose ministry will seek a report from the National Commission for Women (NCW).

In a classic case of locking the barn doors after the horse has bolted, the episode of India’s Got Latent on YouTube, which featured Allahbadia’s comments, has been blocked following orders from the government. This, after the video went viral across social media and messaging platforms. Twitter and Instagram were rife with reactions that stoked the sentiments of any and every special interest group. There were human rights advocates who decried the systematic objectification of women and underserved communities by tone-deaf podcasters. Some of them pointed out the manner in which such hip youngsters were employing dark humour to punch down on minorities and push right wing narratives into the mainstream.

But here’s the deal. Podcasters like Allahbadia’s and comedians in the vein of Samay Raina are all products of a system that rewards privilege, which opens doors to avenues unavailable to the common man and woman on the street, who eke out a living. Sensibilities of the upwardly mobile, urban comedians/podcasters are shaped by the wellspring of insult comedy-centric content delivered by stand-ups in first-world nations, readily available on OTT. In their set-pieces, the American or Brit comics tear into their audiences with lacerating precision, disarming and skewering them with comedic repartees that take no prisoners — everyone from parents to spouses, children, bosses and the audience member in the next seat are fair game. And double entendres, as well as off-colour humour encompassing scatology and sex are par for the course.

The comics call this a safe space, a sanctuary of sorts unfettered by concerns of self-censorship or public disapproval. And for all practical concerns, it’s the byproduct of a relatively liberal Western approach to art, minus consequences. It’s a rarity, or rather, non-existent in India. And the fact that we have had the time, print space, and online bandwidth to sharpen our pitchforks and target the likes of Allahbadia depicts our poverty of discernment, and our muddied focus that distracts us from the real problems.