From Valletta to Hollywood: Maltese Comics Decry Kimmel ‘Censorship’ and Fear Local Chilling Effect

Valletta’s open-air piazzas may feel a world away from the Hollywood Walk of Fame, but when ABC pulled Jimmy Kimmel’s late-night segment last week after pressure from the White House, Maltese stand-up comics felt the chill all the same. “If a superstar like Kimmel can be muzzled, what hope do we have in a country where the arts budget is smaller than the police fireworks allowance?” asked comedian Chris ‘Krisu’ Pace during a raucous open-mic night at Strait Street’s Comedy Knights club.

The gag that triggered the backlash—Kimmel joked that newly announced U.S. tariffs sounded “like they were written by a drunk Gozitan goat herder”—was barely a footnote on CNN. Yet in Malta the reaction was swift: local Facebook groups lit up with memes of Kimmel wearing a fez, while Tourism Minister Clayton Bartolo weighed in, calling the quip “lazy stereotyping” but urging calm. By Monday, the Malta Comics Guild had issued a statement warning that “censorship anywhere is censorship everywhere,” and organisers of the annual Valletta Comedy Festival reported a 30 % surge in ticket sales as audiences rushed to “support the right to laugh.”

For a nation whose most famous cultural export is a falcon that never actually existed, satire has always been a survival tool. From 1970s theatre troupe MADC poking fun at Dom Mintoff’s Labour government, to contemporary TikTokers ridiculing passport-sale scandals, humour has been Malta’s unofficial opposition party. “We’re a small island; everyone knows everyone,” explains comedian and TV writer Claudette Abela Baldacchino. “Satire is how we keep power in check when institutions feel cosy.” The Kimmel incident, she argues, strikes at the heart of that tradition by showing how economic pressure—ABC fears advertiser boycotts—can trump artistic freedom.

The timing is awkward. Malta is lobbying UNESCO to recognise Ġbejna cheese and the art of the Maltese joke (żaħfa) as intangible heritage. “We can’t campaign to protect our humour globally while staying silent when a foreign comic gets silenced,” says Culture Parliamentary Secretary Omar Farrugia. Meanwhile, University of Malta media law lecturer Dr. Marthese Borg points out that the island’s own 2016 removal of criminal libel was hailed as a victory, but civil defamation suits remain a cudgel used by politicians against journalists. “Malta knows how soft power can silence,” Borg notes. “We’ve seen it with Daphne Caruana Galizia’s assassination, we’ve seen it with SLAPP suits. Kimmel’s case is just a Hollywood flavour of the same ice-cream.”

At the Comic Con Malta convention last weekend, cosplayers dressed as Spider-Man and Wonder Woman queued to sign a giant banner reading “Jokes Are Not Crimes.” Among them was 19-year-old Sliema student Lea Camilleri, who clutched a handmade placard of Kimmel wearing the Maltese eight-pointed cross. “If Americans let politicians decide what’s funny, our tiny scene will be next,” she warned. Her fear is not abstract: local streaming platform Lovin Malta recently removed a sketch mocking a minister’s traffic fine u-turn after receiving a legal letter. The video was re-instated following public outcry, but the self-censorship scar remains.

Yet the furore is also sparking opportunity. Producer Roberta Briffa just secured crowdfunding for “Isle of Laughs,” a bilingual web series showcasing uncensored Maltese humour. “We’re pitching it as ‘Kimmel without the corporate leash’,” she laughs. Even the Malta Tourism Authority is sniffing potential, discreetly surveying cruise passengers on whether a “freedom of speech comedy cruise” would appeal. Back on Strait Street, Krisu Pace finishes his set with a new closer: “In Malta we don’t pull jokes—we pull pastizzi. And the only thing that should be censored is the calorie count.” The crowd erupts, half in solidarity, half in relief that—for now—the mic is still on.

Conclusion: Whether the Kimmel furore fades or escalates, Malta’s comedy scene has tasted both fear and opportunity. In a country where the tallest building is still a 18th-century cathedral, the tallest barrier to free expression may be self-censorship. By rallying around a Hollywood host most Maltese will never meet, local comics are reminding the island that laughter is not just entertainment—it’s the canary in the democratic coal-mine. If the canary stops singing, the tunnels of power become darker for everyone.