Pete Davidson, the 31-year-old comedian and former "Saturday Night Live" cast member, is no stranger to controversy. But his recent decision to perform at the Riyadh Comedy Festival in Saudi Arabia has sparked a particularly heated debate, one that cuts to the heart of global politics, personal tragedy, and the complex intersection of entertainment and human rights.
The Riyadh Comedy Festival, which kicked off on September 26, 2025, and runs through October 9, is being billed by the Saudi government as the "biggest comedy festival in the world." The lineup is a veritable who's who of stand-up, featuring not just Davidson but also comedy titans like Dave Chappelle, Kevin Hart, Bill Burr, Louis C.K., Jimmy Carr, Sebastian Maniscalco, Aziz Ansari, Andrew Schulz, Whitney Cummings, Hannibal Buress, and Gabriel Iglesias. Saudi Arabia’s ambitions for the festival are clear: it’s a centerpiece of the kingdom’s Vision 2030 plan, an initiative launched in 2016 to modernize the nation and diversify its economy through cultural, social, and economic reforms.
Yet, the festival’s glitz and star power have done little to quell international criticism. As NPR reported, the event has become a lightning rod for those concerned about Saudi Arabia’s ongoing human rights abuses, repression of free speech, and the unresolved legacy of the 2018 murder of journalist Jamal Khashoggi. Human Rights Watch, in a statement released on September 23, accused Saudi authorities of using the festival to "deflect attention from its brutal repression of free speech and other pervasive human rights violations." The organization’s critique echoed through the comedy world, with several prominent comedians voicing their own objections.
Comedian David Cross, for instance, lambasted his peers for agreeing to perform in Saudi Arabia, writing on his website that he was "disgusted and deeply disappointed in this whole gross thing," and accusing participants of condoning "a totalitarian fiefdom for … what, a fourth house? A boat? More sneakers?" Marc Maron, who was not invited to the festival, referenced both 9/11 and Khashoggi’s murder in a recent stand-up set, quipping, "I mean, how do you even promote that? Like, ‘From the folks that brought you 9/11, two weeks of laughter in the desert. Don’t miss it!'" Zach Woods, another comedian, mockingly promoted the festival on Instagram, suggesting that comedians regularly "whore themselves out to dictators."
Some comedians, like Shane Gillis, reportedly turned down lucrative offers to perform in Riyadh. Gillis explained on his podcast that he declined a "significant" paycheck, even after organizers doubled their offer, saying, "I took a principled stand. You don't 9/11 your friends." Others, such as Jim Jeffries, argued that participating in the festival could be seen as a step toward progress, a view that has found limited traction amid the broader outcry.
For Pete Davidson, the criticism is especially personal. His father, Scott Davidson, was a New York City firefighter with Ladder Company 118 who died responding to the World Trade Center attacks on September 11, 2001. Pete was just seven years old at the time. The memory of that day—and the fact that 15 of the 19 hijackers were Saudi nationals—has shaped much of Davidson’s life and comedy. Lawsuits have alleged links between the Saudi government and the attackers, though Saudi officials have consistently denied any involvement.
During a September 23 appearance on Theo Von’s "This Past Weekend" podcast, Davidson addressed the controversy head-on. When asked about the conspiracy theories swirling around the festival and accusations that comedians are being paid to whitewash Saudi Arabia’s image, Davidson responded candidly: "I've heard there's subreddits of like, ‘I think all these people are in bed with that.’ I just, you know, I get the routing, and then I see the number, and I go, ‘I’ll go.'" He acknowledged the backlash, especially given his father’s death in 9/11: "I’ve been getting a little bit of flak just because my dad died (in) 9/11. So they’re like, ‘How could you possibly go there?'"
The pain of that loss is never far from Davidson’s mind. Over the years, he has spoken openly about how his father’s death has affected him, from his struggles with mental health to his use of dark humor as a coping mechanism. In a 2015 interview with The New York Times, Davidson recalled, "It was overwhelming," describing how he would "rip his hair out until he was bald" in school. In a 2020 appearance on "CBS Mornings," he reflected, "One of my best friends is forever gone." On Jon Bernthal’s "Real Ones" podcast in 2023, Davidson recounted how his mother, Amy, withheld the truth of Scott’s death for several days, telling him, "You’re just grounded, you’re not allowed to watch TV." He only learned the truth when he saw his father’s face on the news.
Despite—or perhaps because of—this trauma, Davidson has channeled his grief into his work. His 2020 semi-autobiographical film, The King of Staten Island, is a tribute to his father and explores the long shadow cast by 9/11 on his life. "I think when you're able to share a story like this at this magnitude and with so many people, it really allowed me to be as open and honest as I could be, and it helped me deal with a lot of my personal demons," he told E! News.
The legacy of Scott Davidson and Ladder 118 is etched in the annals of New York’s history. On the morning of September 11, 2001, Scott’s crew was dispatched from Brooklyn to the World Trade Center, a journey captured in an iconic photograph showing their firetruck crossing the Brooklyn Bridge toward the burning towers. The crew reported to the Marriott World Trade Center Hotel, where they helped evacuate guests and staff. When the North Tower collapsed at 10:28 a.m., the hotel was destroyed, killing all six firefighters from Ladder 118, including Scott.
Davidson spoke about this famous photo with Von, saying, "They were the first truck over there….and pretty much the whole house died, which is pretty sad but at least he died with his pals." He remembers his father as having a great sense of humor: "My memories are, you know, few and far between because I was seven but I just remember laughing a lot and him being pretty jacked and smoking a lot of cigarettes and driving a Subaru Impreza. Always had a big smile on his face."
For Saudi Arabia, the festival is part of a much larger strategy. As Andrew Leber, a nonresident fellow at the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, explained to NPR, Vision 2030 is designed to shift the monarchy away from religious conservatism and toward a more modern, entertainment-friendly society. The government has recently acquired a stake in video game giant EA Games and is investing heavily in cultural events to boost tourism and reshape its global image. However, Leber notes that these efforts have not succeeded in erasing the shadow of Khashoggi’s murder or the country’s ongoing human rights abuses. "I don't think that these investments have been particularly successful in cleaning up Mohammed bin Salman's image, especially where it relates to Jamal Khashoggi," Leber said. "It's brought up pretty much anytime the Saudi government has invested in ventures like this."
Ultimately, the Riyadh Comedy Festival is more than just a gathering of comedians—it’s a microcosm of the tensions between art, commerce, and conscience in a rapidly changing world. For Pete Davidson, the choice to perform in Saudi Arabia is fraught with personal and political meaning, a decision that continues to spark debate far beyond the stage lights of Riyadh.
