Standing Up for Freedom

“I wish to register a complaint...” it began. In 1976, John Cleese opened Amnesty’s first major comedy event, Pleasure at Her Majesty’s, alongside Michael Palin and a deceased Norwegian Blue. It’s hard to underestimate the significance of that late-night show, cementing the position of the dead parrot as one of British comedy’s greatest ex-muses, and single-handedly kick-starting Amnesty International’s meteoric rise in becoming one of the most significant human rights NGOs in the world.

Indeed, the numbers are impressive by any standards. In 1976, when Amnesty staged the first show that would later become known collectively as the Secret Policeman’s Balls, UK membership languished at around 3,000. Within three years of Pleasure at Her Majesty’s this figure had shot up around 700 per cent. Others couldn’t fail to follow suit, hence the string of copycat charity galas which flowered—most famously in 1985 with Bob Geldoff’s Live Aid—and “sowed the seed” of humanitarian activism in the mind of singer-cum-campaigner Bono.

And yet it’s an odd task, embarking upon an interview when one can’t shake a sneaking suspicion that it might be tasteless to do so. On the day I’ve arranged to speak to Amnesty’s head of events, Andy Hackman, Iran’s supreme leader, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei has lashed out during Friday prayers, throwing his weight behind President Ahmadinejad and issuing veiled threats against those protesting against the election result. While Iranians are beaten—and, later, shot dead—on the streets, I’m getting ready to chat about Amnesty’s major comedy gala at the Fringe, and I'm struggling to see how the two are entirely connected.

“The whole association between Amnesty and arts and entertainment I suppose started with the Secret Policeman’s Balls,” explains Hackman. “The thought, really, was that freedom of expression is such a powerful thing. It moves us all and gives us all such joy and laughter. And it’s terrible when that’s taken away.”

Indeed, it’s somewhat unfair to treat Amnesty’s presence at this year’s Fringe as little more than a chuckle-fest. On top of the two Stand up for Freedom gigs, Amnesty have expanded this year’s programme to include, amongst others, a lecture from a former Sudanese child solider, a continuing campaign for jailed Indian doctor, Binayak Sen, the launch of a book of stories based on individual chapters of the declaration of human rights, and the return of the “Imprisoned Writers” series at the books festival. “I’ve been scaring myself with the amount of stuff we’ve got going on,” Hackman jokes.

What’s he's very clear about, though, is that there is a point to all of this: “Freedom of expression was restricted in 81 countries last year. So we want to use something like comedy or music or art in all its forms to show what a shame it is when it’s taken away. And so, at the Edinburgh festival—the largest arts festival in the world—it makes total sense for us to be loud and proud there, on one hand revelling in the support that we have from the arts and entertainment industries as a whole, and on the other hand using that to bring people together and to campaign for a specific cause.”

So the news from Iran, I suggest, simply underlines the need for such events: “Totally, absolutely,” asserts Hackman. “It just shows again how important it is to maintain human rights. You know, we can talk words about freedom of expression and various rights, but it’s people that are at the heart of it. That’s what we can see in Iran, people organising together, standing up and and using especially new digital technologies to get the message out across the world. People are connecting with that, and it shows that common humanity, I suppose, and how we want to stand up for each other and protect those rights.”

Indeed, the involvement of comedian Shappi Khorsandi has particular poignancy. Born in Tehran, her family were forced to flee after her father published a satirical poem deemed to be critical of the new Islamic regime. But, in a sense, Amnesty has always tried to give it’s comedy shows a unique edge. Back in 1979, Peter Cook’s courtroom satire of Justice Cantley’s horrendously biased summing up during the murder trial of former Liberal leader Jeremy Thorpe sent shockwaves through the largely anti-gay establishment. More often, though, it’s curious groupings of performers that have kept Amnesty fundraisers head and shoulders above water in a seemingly endless sea of charity events.

“I suppose what we try and do for whatever event or whatever project we’re running is keep certain principles in place but not try and repeat all of the time,” Hackman explains. "So one of the principles with the Ball is to try and combine unusual combinations, and I suppose we are fortunate enough to work with the most creative minds and the best people in whatever industry we want to work with. So, yeah, we’re keen to keep that tag as...well, we don’t want to be cool for the sake of it; we want to use our creative friends to reach new audiences and bring people to us.”

But "charity fatigue" is not an unknown phenomenon, and I’m just as keen to find out what has kept Hackman with the organisation since 1989. In response, he provides a perfectly reasonable expression of his enthusiasm for helping people. Fine.

A few days later, though, Hackman e-mails me. He’s clearly dissatisfied with his own answer: “You also asked why I've stayed at Amnesty for so long and I said it was about the people. JK Rowling used to work at Amnesty and unsurprisingly her words are much better: to paraphrase, she said that at Amnesty you see the depths of what humans can do to each other but you also see the heights humans can reach and the positive impact that we can have when working together – in case you want to use that thought instead.”

Stand up for Freedom Assembly @ Assembly Hall 12 & 19 Aug, 11.59pm, £18.50