Save this storySave this storySave this storySave this story
Under pressure from the Trump White House, ABC opted to suspend “Jimmy Kimmel Live!” on Wednesday. After airing for over twenty years, the late-night program was put on hold indefinitely following a monologue concerning the death of conservative figure Charlie Kirk—a segment where Kimmel did not criticize Kirk, or even address him at all. Rather, he aimed his disdain at those keen to profit from the activist’s demise: members of “the MAGA crowd” who were, he claimed, “desperately attempting to paint this person who murdered Charlie Kirk as not being one of them, and doing everything possible to gain political advantage from it.” It was uncertain if Kimmel was implying that Tyler Robinson, Kirk’s suspected murderer, was “one of them,” but his ideological adversaries seized on the unclear wording. Brendan Carr, the head of the Federal Communications Commission, labeled Kimmel’s comments “utterly disgusting” and threatened payback via his office. “We have a choice here,” Carr stated on a conservative podcast. “These corporations can discover methods to alter behavior and take action, truthfully, on Kimmel, or the F.C.C. will face more work.”
The narrative surrounding Kimmel’s suspension isn’t simple. Bob Iger, the C.E.O. of Disney, which owns ABC, and Dana Walden, the network’s TV president, decided to shelve the show after two significant local-station groups, Nexstar and Sinclair, declined to broadcast it. (Sinclair, a right-leaning corporation, even demanded that the host issue an apology to Kirk’s relatives and make a contribution to his organization, Turning Point USA.) Kimmel was supposedly ready to address the controversy on air; Disney executives opted to pull the show instead. Donald Trump, who had urged ABC to fire Kimmel as early as 2018, proclaimed, falsely, on Truth Social that it had been “CANCELLED,” and suggested that Kimmel’s fellow late-night personalities Jimmy Fallon and Seth Meyers should be dismissed, too. A confident Carr hinted that he would direct his attention toward ABC’s daytime talk show “The View”—another source of irritation for Trump—next.
The monologue that resulted in Kimmel’s unintended break was quite ordinary for the program. Actually, it was a precise summary of his comedic style: that of an average individual whose political beliefs are grounded in sound judgment. After condemning the actions of the “MAGA crowd,” he derided Trump’s reaction to a reporter’s question about Kirk, which was to immediately shift the focus to the White House’s ballroom renovations. (“He’s at the fourth stage of grief: construction,” Kimmel joked. He added, more seriously, “This isn’t how a grownup mourns the murder of someone he called a friend. This is how a four-year-old laments a goldfish.”) Before his monologue, the comedian had shared a statement on social media that showcased the popular decency he’s become recognized for: “Instead of the angry blaming, can we just agree for once that it is awful and monstrous to shoot another person? My family sends love to the Kirks and to all the children, parents and innocents who are victims of senseless gun violence.”
Kimmel’s censorship arises merely two months following the termination of Stephen Colbert’s “Late Show,” under comparable pressure, yet the differences between the two situations are considerable. Colbert was informed nearly a year prior to his show’s end, allowing him time to conclude matters on his own terms. Conversely, the unexpectedness of Kimmel’s suspension has produced shock waves throughout the entertainment industry. His casual brand of political humor has made him a constant presence at ABC, where he’s presented various programs, from game shows to the Oscars. In recent weeks, his well-meaning impulses have been evident even in his Emmy campaign—which was not for his own nominated series but for Colbert’s.
It’s now evident that the Trump White House aims to drastically transform America. Cultural establishments are very much a component of that objective, which has witnessed a debasement of the Kennedy Center, a forced departure at the National Portrait Gallery, and censorship at the Smithsonian. The President formed alliances with the world’s two wealthiest men, Elon Musk and Larry Ellison (although his connection with the former has since deteriorated considerably). Musk reconstructed the platform previously known as Twitter to mirror his own vision; Ellison is now negotiating to oversee both TikTok and Warner Bros. Discovery, which includes CNN and HBO. It was inevitable that the White House would target television—by all accounts Trump’s favored medium. During his initial term in office, some critics turned against late-night hosts, criticizing the abundance of “applause breaks” and their inclination to preach to those already in agreement. Even the relief they provided became suspect; perhaps the nightly release of frustration also weakened political drive. However, even if liberal late night had limited influence in the real world, it still irritated the President’s fragile ego.
What a blunder. Trump already had an advantage over resistance comedians; his eccentricities make him notoriously “satire-resistant,” and he can be quite amusing himself, especially regarding insulting humor. (“Meatball Ron,” his label for his former rival Ron DeSantis, remains a perfect taunt.) Yet the President is surrounded by a more subservient group this time, and seems more vulnerable to disapproval. Recently, he’s countered criticism by shutting down free speech entirely—once again exposing the right’s remarkably biased defense of that principle.
He couldn’t achieve this without the cooperation of the media organizations involved. When Trump launched a trivial lawsuit against ABC News for employing the word “rape” to describe his attack on E. Jean Carroll—a case that many believed the network could easily win—Disney offered a settlement of fifteen million dollars instead. (At the time, Iger was eager to appease MAGA; DeSantis, Florida’s governor, had threatened to eliminate Disney World’s tax privileges after the company opposed his “Don’t Say Gay” legislation.) Trump then targeted CBS News for standard edits to a Kamala Harris interview; the network, whose parent organization required the F.C.C.’s authorization for a merger, settled for sixteen million dollars. He has since sued the Times and the Wall Street Journal for their reporting on his finances and his associations with Jeffrey Epstein, respectively, and has threatened to pursue NBC’s broadcasting license. Some of his targets have discovered through harsh experience that anticipatory concessions only pave the way for increasing demands. Give this White House an inch, and they’ll seize a mile. As Carr stated on Thursday, “We’re not finished yet.”
Well before Trump’s return to the White House, Kimmel pondered the possibility of retirement; it’s conceivable we wouldn’t have seen new “Jimmy Kimmel Live!” episodes beyond 2026 in any case. Yet Disney’s choice seems intended not only to placate the owners of local stations but also to ensure that the F.C.C. will approve an agreement between the N.F.L. and the media conglomerate’s subsidiary ESPN. It would be one matter for someone such as Fallon or Meyers to depart because of declining viewership; it would be quite another if they were treated as expendable assets. In certain markets, Kimmel’s show will be substituted tonight by a tribute to Charlie Kirk. As of now, the opening in the schedule has been filled by Steve Harvey’s “Celebrity Family Feud”—presumably the sort of programming that Trump would prefer, because it expresses nothing whatsoever. However, late-night hosts, even if they’re no longer the last individuals we see prior to sleeping, create a connection with their viewers founded on familiarity and custom. Their voices and viewpoints are ingrained in our lives. The genre’s significance has been questioned more and more, but the disappearance of these personalities might merely accelerate their employers’ decline. Boycotts of Hulu and Disney+ have commenced. The networks silence themselves at their own peril. ♦
Sourse: newyorker.com
