There are experiences just about every Palestinian in the US has endured multiple times. One is the proliferation of cringe worthy hummus flavors that makes each and every one of us feel like a reactionary purist, because no, you cannot have chocolate hazelnut hummus, period. Hummus has five ingredients: chickpeas, tahini, lemon, garlic, and salt. You drizzle olive oil on it. Period. No chocolate, no hazelnut, no poppy seed and vanilla roasted red pepper.
Another is the aggravating nod and accompanying acknowledgement “oh yes, Pakistan,” when we tell Americans where we are “really” from, because we can never be just from Seattle, or Boston, right?
And the more serious one is when we insist on saying “Palestine,” only for someone to “correct” us by clarifying that it is Israel. Then they throw in a “Shalom.”
So of course it makes perfect sense for the new Netflix series Mo, created by Mohammed Amer and Ramy Youssef, to have these vignettes. However, there is absolutely nothing stale, stereotypical, or dull about this show, which is a fresh, complex, politically nuanced presentation of the Palestinian asylee experience in the US. As Mo the character responds when someone explains that Palestine is Israel, “yeah, it’s a real branding issue.” Thankfully, the series does a fabulous job of rebranding Palestinian Americans to the wider American audience.
First, a quick synopsis of the eight-episode series. Mo is based upon stand-up comedian Mohammed “Mo” Amer’s life as the son of Palestinians who fled Haifa in 1948, settling in Kuwait where they lived a comfortable life until the Iraqi invasion of that country, at which point many Palestinians, like Amer’s parents, were displaced yet again. Amer’s family traveled to Houston, Texas, when he was nine years old, and the process of applying for citizenship as refugees took over 20 years, during which they were “in the system,” but stateless. Mo, the character as well as the actor, grew up in the Alief, a working class suburb of the racially and ethnically diverse metropolis, befriending Black, Latinx, as well as white Texans.
With no work permit but eager to support his family after his father’s death, Mo turns to side hustles, some harmless, others very dangerous, and all told in a totally unsanitized fashion. Indeed, the rawness and honesty of Mo, punctuated with a touch of comedy and many warm, tender moments, add up to a series that most Arab Americans are thrilled with, despite the reservations some of us had as we approached it. To get these reservations out of the way, let me mention the fact that some of us were (and remain) critical of the fact that Amer had performed stand-up comedy to US troops in Iraq, a gig that normalizes war and imperialism. Amer acknowledges that he received significant pushback from the Arab and Arab American community over that, and has never suggested that he would do anything differently if the opportunity to entertain US soldiers arose again. In an interview with Dave Davies of NPR, he describes his experience performing for US soldiers in Iraq as “really cathartic,” and a “win, win, win, win” situation. “It was like, there are so many pluses to going there that I couldn’t imagine not doing it. I’m so glad I did,” Amer told Davies.
There is some normalization early on in Mo, with the friendly banter between Palestinians and a Zionist backgammon player at the Kaan Ya Makaan hookah lounge, during which Mo interjects “do you know what would make me happy? A return to the 67 borders would make me happy.” Obviously, this is not only unfeasible, it is far from ideal, and one can only wonder why Amer would introduce such a conversation very early on in the first episode. That discussion, however, does not get picked up again, and the problematic moment is eclipsed by the complex and otherwise nuanced depiction of the Palestinian refugee experience.
These reservations aside, then, the show is thought provoking, with wonderfully fleshed out and relatable characters, and numerous memorable moments, which I will not discuss here, because you have got to watch them for yourself. It manages to weave in commentary on many of the issues our communities tend to hush up: disability justice (Mo’s brother Sameer, beautifully played by Omar Elba, is on the autism spectrum), addiction (Mo becomes addicted to lean, which he is given as a pain killer when he refuses to go to the ER, because he has no insurance), the quasi permanence of “life in limbo” as one applies for asylum, the tension when one is dating “outside the culture,” settler-colonialism and the theft of land and natural resources, and so much more. Growing up in Houston, Mo is best friends with Nick, a Nigerian American (played by Tobe Nwigwe), and is dating Maria, a Mexican American woman (played by Teresa Ruiz), and clearly identifies as a person of color, thus disrupting the narrative of Arabs aspiring to whiteness when they can achieve it. Some of the memorable moments are the wrenching discussions Mo and Maria have around religion, and becoming a family, as both are believers deeply attached to their faith, yet also very much in love. Mo’s mother, Yusra, (played by Farah Bsieso) is extremely unhappy with the fact that Mo is dating a Christian, but when Maria eventually breaks up with Mo, in part because of the family tensions, and Yusra realizes how miserable her son is without this absolutely wonderful woman, she goes over to Maria’s shop with a gift of home pressed olive oil, seeking a reconciliation.
As olives and olive oil are as integral to Palestine and the Palestinian experience, they are present in many scenes throughout the series. Yusra presses her own olive oil, and asks Mo to locate a farm in Texas where she can source olives, eventually deciding that she also wants to press the olives there. When Mo is injured during a shootout, Yusra cleans his wound and rubs olive oil on it. Mo carries a flask of olive oil with him everywhere he goes, uses it when he has a headache from withdrawal, and when he needs a jolt of courage before undertaking a dangerous journey. Throughout the series, the olive oil starts conversations and seals deals–“it’s who we are,” as Yusra says.
Since I teach Arab American Studies, I am always looking for cultural productions that do the Arab American experience justice. This series is absolutely on point, breaking away from the offensive Orientalist depictions we have in films like Aladdin, or Indiana Jones. I will definitely be recommending it to my students, as I give the show two thumbs up, and urge anyone who has not seen it yet to watch it very soon, and send Netflix the message that “we want Mo.” Hopefully, this is just a beginning, a door swung wide open for more loving and validating representation of Arab American and Muslim youth, families, mothers, and lovers. As Mo says, “it’s a real branding issue,” and his series does a great job of addressing that.
rebranding is healthy