Major comedians either aligned with the right-wing pundits out of necessity or out of opportunity. The shift started with PC culture.
Previously, being PC meant abiding by the safe language and actions dictated by the cultural mandate. In this case, it was American Christian values: no bad words and a belief in Americana. At some point, that changed—being PC suddenly meant respecting pronouns and not being racist. The issue with this was that racism and homophobia were part of PC culture already. So to go against this was actually counterculture.
The right-wing turned acceptance and tolerance into PC to attack it from the outside. They went so far as to call themselves punk rock.
Comedy, once the craft of outsiders, was used by right-wing provocateurs because it was funny, but because it allowed them to launder hate. Right-wing pundits couched every slur as just a joke. You couldn't refute them without refuting the idea of being a comedian or making jokes. It was a tactic that called on comedians to defend and condone bigotry to maintain the free expression of comedy.
This started a trend that would culminate in Dave Chappelle's return to televised comedy. Dave wrote jokes about trans people, and the resulting outrage fueled the war on "PC" with enough jet-fuel to launch the careers of many mediocre online personalities. The resulting joint attack on PC culture would turn intentional when comedy podcasters leaned into right-wing populism. Joe Rogan was first, followed quickly by Andrew Schulz. Both followed this path—Rogan under the guise of "just asking questions" while platforming conspiracy theorists and reactionary guests, and Schulz by pushing boundaries around race, gender, and identity while defending it as edgy. Their audiences grew to reflect this change. Comedy fans weren't the only ones watching anymore. People wanting to see their beliefs reflected began watching and cheering them on.
Their brand of comedy repackaged right-wing talking points as rebellious truth-telling, while disguised as free speech and satire. By mocking marginalized groups and progressive movements, they carved out lucrative spaces for themselves in the cultural discourse while maintaining plausible deniability. This wasn't accidental—it was a business and ideological decision, one that blurred the line between humor and propaganda in the name of "pushing buttons."
Their shift was seized on by the right-wing online sphere and propped up even higher when they had guests like Ben Shapiro or Saagar from Breaking Points. Every guest lent them more and more credibility until they found themselves interviewing Donald Trump in his race for the presidency. It was a hard shift from previous dick jokes to "aren't liberals dumb?"
It's a very strange paradox of the current moment: the same comedians who once claimed to speak truth to power now wield their massive platforms to punch down. Comedy, historically a haven for the outsiders and the socially subversive, has in some circles become a safe space for the powerful to trial-run cultural grievances. The power dynamic has flipped, but the language of rebellion remains intact—co-opted by those who use "jokes" to insulate themselves from critique.
Much of this comedy operates in a fog of plausible deniability: "We're just joking," "You're too sensitive," "We're the real free thinkers." But the laughter is often a mask. It allows regressive politics to be digested as culture war banter, stripped of consequence. And if you push back? You're the authoritarian. You're the killjoy. You're the reason comedy is dead.
But comedy isn't dead. It's just undergoing a realignment—one where cultural influence is being used to wage political war under the guise of humor. It's not just that comedians are commenting on politics. They've become part of its machinery. Their jokes are no longer just a reflection of the times; they are shaping the times.
For many of these comedians, the shift isn't even ideological—it's algorithmic. Outrage drives engagement, and controversy boosts visibility. Being labeled "dangerous" or "offensive" isn't a career threat anymore—it's a branding strategy. And the result is a new breed of celebrity pundit-comedian whose loyalty is not to comedy or truth, but to attention itself.
What happens next depends on how seriously we take comedy, not just as entertainment, but as a cultural force with real influence. Because when comedy becomes a Trojan horse for right-wing ideology, the punchline will be on us.
