Karma for Kamra: When Free Speech Becomes a Convenient Cause
Kunal Kamra is hurt. Not physically—though a vandalized comedy venue can certainly bruise the ego—but morally, philosophically, democratically. The comedian is now the poster child for free speech, surrounded by the usual sound bites: “intolerance,” “fascism,” “muzzling dissent.” And right behind him, waving the same banner, is the Shiv Sena (UBT) faction, suddenly rebranded as defenders of artistic liberty. It’s a performance far more comical than anything Kamra has delivered on stage.
Let’s rewind to 2020. Kangana Ranaut, love her or hate her, criticized the then Maha Vikas Aghadi government. Within days, the BMC—under Shiv Sena’s control—demolished her office, citing laughably convenient “structural violations.” Kunal Kamra, ever the foot soldier for selective outrage, didn’t just nod in agreement—he applauded. He sat across from Sanjay Raut, beaming like a fanboy, casually justifying the demolition. And for good measure, they both posed with toy bulldozers, because nothing says “freedom of speech” quite like mocking the destruction of someone else’s private property.
Today, Kamra cries foul over being targeted for a joke. Maybe he thought karma only applies to others. The irony couldn’t be richer if it were scripted.
And what about the Shiv Sena UBT? The same party that now calls vandalism an “attack on democracy” was quite busy suppressing critics when in power. Remember Ketaki Chitale? A Facebook post about Sharad Pawar landed her in jail for over a month. Arnab Goswami? Hauled off in a dawn raid in a case that was conveniently resurrected from the dead. Not a single peep about overreach from the free speech warriors back then. If anything, there was smug satisfaction. Because, as always, outrage is a limited-time offer—valid only when your side is on the receiving end.
Let’s be clear: no one is defending mobs or vandalism. The attack on the performance venue was disgraceful and deserves condemnation. But the point here isn’t about whether Kamra should be allowed to make jokes—it’s about the dishonest, cherry-picked defense of free speech that people like him and his political cheerleaders have built their careers on. When their opponents face harassment, they pop champagne. When they get even a taste of their own medicine, they cry fascism.
Kamra’s current predicament isn’t a free speech crisis. It’s a credibility crisis—one that he and his friends in the Shiv Sena UBT have walked straight into. They built the playbook on silencing critics when they held power, and now feign shock when it’s used against them. The bulldozers they once romanticized are still rolling—just not in the direction they expected.
So perhaps this isn’t so much an injustice as it is poetic justice. Kamra wanted a stage, and now he has one. Only this time, the audience isn’t laughing with him. They’re laughing at the sheer hypocrisy.
