Jamal Khashoggi, the Washington Post, and the Cost of Speaking Out

As Saudi Arabia hosts comedians and courts gamers, the silenced voice of Jamal Khashoggi still echoes.

Jamal took this selfie while I was showing him around the Washington Post newsroom in 2017.

Seven years ago today, Saudi journalist Jamal Khashoggi went into a Saudi consulate in Istanbul, Turkey. He was trying to get papers to proceed with marrying his then-fiancée, Hatice Cengiz.

He never returned alive.

At the time, he was one of my writers for the Global Opinions section at the Washington Post. He was already a famous journalist and writer in Saudi Arabia and the Arab region, But in 2016, he was banned from writing for Saudi papers after criticizing Donald Trump and the burgeoning relationship between Trump and the Saudi Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman (MBS). In 2017, he broke his silence by speaking out in the Washington Post, and warning of the increasing authoritarian crackdowns in the “modern” Saudi Arabia, saying that the country was not always so repressive— that the conditions for writers, academics, and mild critics such as himself were becoming “unbearable”.

He managed to leave Saudi Arabia and was attempting to build a new life for himself in Virginia. All he wanted to do was write— and writing for the Washington Post, especially when we translated his work into Arabic, meant the world to him, even as he came under great pressure.

Instead, he was murdered— and reportedly dismembered by Saudi agents dispatched to Turkey to dispose of him. The CIA determined that the murder was approved by Saudi Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman.

This piece about Jamal should have been in the Washington Post. The paper accepted international glory, Pulitzer finalist recognitions, and all manner of accolades for keeping the story of his murder alive in the months after his death.

I did my personal and professional best to carry on Jamal’s memory and legacy in the pages of the Washington Post, even after the Global Opinions section, which I founded to be a place for challenged and banned writers around the world, was dismantled in 2023. The Jamal Khashoggi Fellowship, established to give challenged writers a platform in the Washington Post, is no more. The Arabic translations, which Jamal cared so much about— as a way to let Arabic speakers feel seen and heard by the Washington Post, have also stopped.

Instead, on the anniversary of Jamal’s murder, I am forced to write this column here, not in the Washington Post, the paper he loved so much. And a paper I was once proud to work for.

I was unjustly fired after 11 years, for doing my job, expressing the truth about race and violence in America.

As Jamal found himself forced out of Saudi media, I find myself being forced out of the Washington Post, the very same paper that championed Jamal’s voice while he was alive, and crusaded for global press freedom after his death.

But this doesn’t mean the end of Jamal’s legacy. My firing from the Washington Post doesn’t mean I’m done reminding the world of who Khashoggi was and the journalistic values he ended up standing for— and ultimately being killed for.

The dark turn that Jamal warned about in Saudi Arabia, as well as his silencing and murder, should be an alarm bell for us in America, especially for journalists, academics, and writers. Those who think that being quiet and subservient to global authoritarians means they will be safe— well, they should think again.

Jamal thought he was safe. He thought being in America would keep him safe. Jamal and I both thought that his working for a high-profile paper like the Washington Post would keep him safe. Maybe I thought I would be institutionally safe.

We were wrong. Dead wrong.

In violent, authoritarian regimes, no one is safe. When money and power trample values and principles, everyone is at risk. And the truth-tellers are the first casualty.

As I write this, A-list comedians are gathering in Riyadh for a comedy festival, featuring some of the biggest sellouts names in American comedy, including Dave Chappelle, Hannibal Buress, Mo Amer, Wayne Brady, Jeff Ross, Tom Segura, Jo Koy, Sam Morril, Andrew Schulz, Sebastian Maniscalco, Louis C.K., and Mark Normand.

It makes sense that we want our celebrities to use their platforms and voices for good. Some comedians have spoken out against the festival.

But these are few and far between. We remember what happened to comedian Hasan Minhaj after he dedicated an episode of his show Patriot Act to critiquing Saudi Arabia after Jamal’s murder — Netflix pulled the episode from the lineup in Saudi Arabia.

The comedians who have agreed to perform in the Riyadh Comedy Festival are just global court jesters, willing to sell some yuks to the highest royal bidder— even if said Royal, Mohammed bin Salman, has billions in one hand and a bone-saw in the other. They are high-paid pawns in a scheme for Mohammed Bin Salman to use American celebrities to enhance the image of his country— even while his government continues its bloodletting.

It was just last month that Saudi Arabia executed high-profile journalist Turki-al-Jasser, whom the Kingdom accused of threatening national security. Al-Jasser was behind an anonymous Twitter (now X) account that was critical of the Saudi government. In 2014/2015, Saudi agents infiltrated Twitter and gained access to user data, which activists say led to increased arrests and targeting of Saudis at home and abroad.

The playbook should be clear now. We see the alignment of tech billionaires, social platforms, and oppressive regimes. It’s not just comedy— Saudi Arabia has been using sports and tourism to try to wash its image— even as it silences critics

And now, video games are the new frontier: Jared Kushner and the Saudi private investment fund, in partnership with Jared Kushner, are set to buy gaming giant Electronic Arts for a staggering $55 billion.

The tragedy of this is that Jamal would have welcomed the opening of Saudi Arabia to the world. Coming from a family with roots older than the Saudi family, I imagine Jamal would have written in the Washington Post about the history of Saudi Arabia beyond the one MBS is selling to the world. While not perfect, he wanted the best for Saudis and a chance to speak his mind.

Instead, Jamal’s murder and memory speak differently. now. The Washington Post’s abandonment of Jamal’s ideals for press freedom will cast a dark shadow over the paper.

And no matter how many billions Saudi Arabia spends, no matter how many deals are brokered with the Kushners and Trumps of the world, Khashoggi’s memory will forever be a stain over the Crown prince’s “new” Saudi Arabia.