Dictators have rarely been known for their sense of humour. This is especially true when the subject of that humour is themselves. President Lukashenko, ruler of Belarus, has had two men arrested this week for daring to mock his leadership style in a webcast.

In Turkmenistan, his fellow despot President Niyazov, having banned opera and ballet for being subversive, has added recorded music to the list. This comes after his decision to ban beards, gold teeth and long hair and to divide life into nine 12-year cycles, of which the years 61 to 73 are defined as “the age of inspiration”. Mr Niyazov is, conveniently enough, 64. Such insane behaviour would be laughable were it not tragic for the peoples concerned.

And yet it is by no means uncommon. In fiction, nagging self-doubt has inspired many an iconic character, from the wicked Queen in Snow White to Roald Dahl’s Willy Wonka, whose paranoia led him to fire all his workers and replace them with drone-like Oompa Loompas. Socrates, history recounts, was banned from Athens for corrupting the minds of young men. He reacted by drinking hemlock.

Of course, in right-thinking societies, censorship, unless for sound reasons of public health or safety (such as the kissing ban of 1439, passed by Henry VI to stop the spread of pestilence), only leads to the object in question becoming popular. Thus the Sex Pistols’ God Save The Queen, banned in 1977 by the BBC, still retains an elevated status in the hearts of many fortysomethings. Indeed, attracting a ban, whether it be for a record, book or film, is a sure-fire route to blockbuster success in Britain today. This may not, alas, be true for Belarus and Turkmenistan.