Why “Breaking Fast” is a Win for Arab Representation (and so much more)
The first time I saw Breaking Fast, a rom-com centered around an Arab American named Mo, I cried. Tears of laughter. Tears of emotion. Tears of…recognition. I cried because for the first time in my life, I was watching a whole movie about people like me. I realized I had never seen a family on TV that looked just like mine — a bantering Arab family that loves nothing more than eating together, laughing, and dancing.
For most of my life, the Arab characters I saw on TV were few and far between. If there were any at all, they often played sinister roles: terrorists, thieves, kidnappers and the like. And biased representation of Arabs in Western media goes beyond my lifetime: Jack Shaheen’s landmark work in Reel Bad Arabs documented Hollywood’s vilification of Arab characters going all the way back to the earliest days of film. Not much has changed, either. Professor Evelyn Alsultany recently wrote in the Conversation that “Hollywood has produced over 900 films that stereotype Arabs and Muslims — a relentless drumbeat of stereotypes that influences public opinion and policies.” That is, if we are even represented at all. Just this month, the Annenberg Inclusion Initiative published a study finding that only 1.6% of speaking characters portrayed in 200 popular films from 2017–2019 were Muslim. Of course, Arabs and Muslims are not the same thing, but that statistic still serves as a useful example of just how little both groups are represented.
The effect on our lives is palpable. I can’t be the only one who’s had moments like these: you’re watching TV. Your ears perk up when a character introduces themselves as Ahmed, Leila, Ameera. First your curiosity piques, but then the anxiety settles in. You hold your breath, waiting to see what’s wrong with the character. Are they a terrorist? If not, you wonder what other stereotype they will embody. A misogynistic, domineering man? A belly dancer or seductress? A female genital mutilation (FGM) victim? Before shows like Ramy, those were almost always the options.
The example of an FGM victim comes directly from real life. I remember watching in fear as the Egyptian character on Netflix’s Orange is the New Black declared FGM a “part of our culture” without specifying which culture, or relaying any other information about its prevalence or origins. And while I agree that FGM is a horrific practice that merits attention and awareness, I worried that some of my friends, neighbors, or colleagues would think FGM is part of mainstream Arab and/or Muslim culture in America (it’s not). It’s frustrating feeling like Hollywood only shows the bad, and rarely the good. This type of slanted representation has consequences. For minorities, what is depicted on television often directly affects how others view us. Some people watching will have never met a person from the group that’s being portrayed, and will naturally extrapolate information about that group based on what they see. The stakes are high, but these representations aren’t always treated with the sensitivity they deserve.
That’s why films like Breaking Fast are so incredibly important. Its characters are multi-dimensional. Each is wading through a complex maze of intersecting identities — not unlike most first or second-generation Americans, Arab or not. But what’s so refreshing about this film is that identity issues are not central to the plot. It’s a rom-com. A thoughtful, hilariously clever, melt-your-cold-heart rom-com. A rom-com that just happens to feature as its main character a gay, Muslim, Arab man whose cultural and religious identities don’t conflict with his sexual orientation. We watch as Mo falls for Kal, an American who speaks Arabic thanks to his father’s military background. The two break fast together during the Islamic holy month of Ramadan.
While identity themes are not the center of the love story that drives the film forward, the film still artfully presents the complex relationship many first or second-generation Arab Americans have with their ethnic or religious roots. Mo, on the one hand, steadfastly maintains his family’s traditions, firm in his belief that neither Islamic doctrine nor God himself condemns homosexuality. On the other hand, his best friend Sam trends away from traditional practices. He’s grappling with the unavoidable truth that LGBTQ+ people are still persecuted in his home region. The contrast of these two perspectives sends a much-needed message: there’s no one way to be Muslim. And there’s no one way to be Arab American.
The reality is that there are many ways. The Arab-American population is remarkably diverse. Some are Muslim, some are Christian, some are not religious at all. Some are straight, some are gay, some are genderqueer. There are Arab Americans all along the spectrum of LGBTQ+ identities. They are no less Arab than the rest of us. Many have had to endure a lifetime of identity erasure from family or community members who don’t accept their truth — treating it as if it’s invisible. They deserve to be seen, heard, and supported, if and when they are ready to share their stories.
The rest of us have a choice. We get to decide whether we will rally behind those from our communities who are brave enough to share their much-needed stories with the world. And that’s exactly what we need to do if we truly want to break barriers — to see characters on our screens who represent all of us, not just some of us. If we want to some day be able to turn on our TVs and see the full panoply of Arab-American life instead of the same tired tropes, these are the kinds of stories that need to be told.
For Breaking Fast in particular, the cherry on top is that we get to see Arab characters experiencing joy. After Mo reassured Kal that his family is very “chill and low key” — only to have his Arab family show up on his doorstep clapping and singing loudly in Arabic— I replayed the scene at least three times, laughing harder each time. These scenes shouldn’t be a rarity. They should be celebrated as part of the full, vibrant spectrum of life as an Arab American.
Thank you, Breaking Fast, for doing that brave work.
