“The true measure of a nation’s liberty is not what its comedians say, but what they are forbidden to say.”

You can tell almost everything about a country by listening to its comedians. Not the jokes they make about everyday life—relationships, bad weather, airport security—but the jokes they dare to make about presidents, priests, and sacred cows. A free society is not proven by the laughter it tolerates, but by the offense it endures.

When a government is confident in its legitimacy, it can survive a punchline. In fact, it benefits from it. Satire forces leaders to see themselves through the eyes of the governed. Comedy can puncture arrogance faster than any white paper or policy memo. Every joke about hypocrisy, corruption, or absurdity is a small pressure release valve that keeps frustration from building to an explosion.

But when jokes are banned, punished, or carefully “curated,” liberty is already in retreat. That is why authoritarian regimes always go after comedians first. Laughter is dangerous: it delegitimizes fear. A nervous laugh at a dictator’s expense is the first step toward seeing that the dictator is not invincible.

Of course, offensive comedy is not comfortable. It bruises egos, insults tradition, and often stumbles into the grotesque. But the alternative—a nation where jokes must first be cleared by bureaucrats or priests—is far worse. A society that fears mockery already fears its own citizens.

The health of a democracy can be measured not by the laws in its books but by the jokes on its stages. If a comic can lampoon the president, parody the pope, and ridicule national myths without fear of prison, that nation still has a pulse of freedom. If a comic can only make jokes about traffic and marriage, the patient is already in the morgue.

Liberty has many barometers—free press, fair courts, open elections. But perhaps the simplest is this: listen for the offensive joke. If it’s still out there, unpunished, your nation is still free. If it has fallen silent, you should start worrying.