A Patriot Party
For a 21st century Desi liberal, hijrat is not a feasible solution.
Kamala Harris may be a heartbeat away from the White House, but a Desi face is still relatively rare in the Anglophone comedy scene.
There is Rajesh Koothrappali (played by Kunal Nayyar) in The Big Bang Theory (2007-19) — an astrophysicist and a part of a quartet of geeks who overcome their social awkwardness to find love and happiness. Then there is Kumar Patel (Kal Penn) of the Harold and Kumar movies (2004-11), another nerd who becomes a chilled-out stoner.
These are stereotypical Desi guys who grew up in the West in the past few decades. With older communities, Britain has had a few more stabs at laughing with (if not at) Desis — BBC’s Goodness Gracious Me (1998-2001), for example.
And the archetype — or rather, the problematic stereotype — of the funny Desi is, of course, The Simpsons’ Apu Nahasapeemapetilon.
Moving from the “ethnic” comedy, Kal Penn has found success in mainstream shows such as How I Met Your Mother (Season 7, 2011). And “going mainstream,” in this context, is also being colour-blind or culture neutral. Take Aziz Ansari’s brilliant Master of None (2015-17) for example — life of a Millennial trying to make it in the late 2010s New York, the protagonist’s Desi background is not particularly, if at all, relevant.
Mindy Kaling notwithstanding, Desi women are, of course, even rarer — sisters have it tougher everywhere, including on TV.
Now, comedy is hard. Unhappiness may be unique, pace Tolstoy, but tragedies can be empathised with across time and space. You don’t need to understand the intricacies of pre-modern Europe to appreciate King Lear. Humour — that is not so universal.
For one thing, it’s not usually happiness that we laugh at, with, or about. Rather, it is the complications that require resolution on the way to the happy ending that we care about. It is tricky to make fun of the mishaps, misfortunes, misunderstanding, and misery — the risk of mishap is high indeed. And it’s a blurry line between comedy and bigotry, and a lot of what was funny in a bygone era has not aged well.
Identity is central to comedy
So, it’s not at all surprising that a Desi comedian embracing their identity to poke fun at the broader society would be rare. And that’s exactly what Hasan Minhaj does.
We did it! This is our first show.
That’s how Minhaj introduces his Netflix show Patriot Act (2018-20). We, dear reader, refers to who Minhaj is — an American born Muslim of Indian heritage who dresses in slim fit jeans, t-shirt, and sneakers, jumps with enthusiasm, peppers his monologues with Hindustani phrases, and weaves in a joke or two about the bidet that was found in every Desi bathroom well before the great toilet paper crisis of 2020.
His identity is central to his comedy, but the comedy itself is not about ethno-cultural identity. A woke TED talk, that’s how Minhaj describes his show. It’s infotainment, or news-comedy. Every episode covers a distinct topic, where a decidedly centre-left view is offered, and the viewer need not share the anchor’s cultural background to get the politics.
And yet, by embracing who he is, Minhaj is able to present a unique perspective. The very first episode is about affirmative action, and arguably, only a Desi could so effectively handle the racism that is prevalent in our communities — we all know of Trump or Brexit supporting bhais and uncles. Minhaj returns to the issue in more recent episodes where the pandemic or Black Lives Matter are covered.
Liberty and justice for all
There are episodes on, among others, content moderation by the big tech, Amazon, video games, consumer brands, oil industry, corruption in cricket, and China.
The politics here is clearly of the left — government activism is required to solve problems economic as well as sociocultural. One need not agree with this (and for the record, my own views are to his right on most issues). But Minhaj deserves credit for being consistent with his politics.
Many a Desi bloviates to no end about equal rights and liberty in the West, but is silent about (if not actively promoting) their violation back in Desh (by which I don’t just mean the People’s Republic, but all the countries between the Himalayas and the seas). Police brutality here or there need to be protested against, but extra-judicial killings and abductions there, well … …
No so for Minhaj, who minces no words when he denounces the Saudis and Narendra Modi. His liberalism is not confined to America. It is liberty and justice for all, everywhere. Even that photogenic icon, Mr Trudeau of Canada, is not spared hard questions.
Minhaj, and I, come from a tradition whence immigration for political reasons is of foundational element. The Prophet left his birthplace to establish his city, after all. But for a 21st century Desi liberal, hijrat is not a feasible solution. Cops frisk you for being a Muslim at airports here. But are you really safe back there?
Inalienable rights
Minhaj doesn’t say so explicitly, but his patriotic act is a reminder that running away won’t do, that one must stand up for one’s rights and liberties on the very ground where they’re trampled on. In his earlier Netflix special, Homecoming King (2017), there is a vivid segment about his house being vandalised by racists after 9/11.
To a traumatised teenaged Minhaj, his father tries to counsel: “Yeh cheezey toh hotahi hai, these things happen, this is the price we pay to able to partake in the American dream.”
The segment ends with a powerful rejection of the old man’s world-weary acquiescence to the inequities — there are certain inalienable rights, such as to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
In his experimental novel about identities and their transmogrification, The Satanic Verses, Salman Rushdie wrote about migrants being translated, chutneyfied, people. To such people, here and there, Desh and foreign, are fuzzy concepts. Theresa May infamously said citizens of the world are in reality from nowhere.
Minhaj might retort that irrespective of where one is from, a citizen has rights. And patriots are those whose politics is based on a supersession of ethno-nationalist identity for universal rights.
As it happens, across the political divide in the Old Blighty, people of colour are participating in politics without hiding their identities — it’s not inconceivable at all that a future British election is fought between Sadiq Khan and Rishi Sunak!
I stress the word supersession, not suppression, of identities. Authenticity is vital for political success — one has to be comfortable in their own skin. And what is one thing every Desi fears, not just in politics but in all sphere of life?
The answer, Minhaj tells us in Homecoming King, is social judgment: Log kya kahenge — what will people think?
He married someone from a Hindu family, and this is how his father initially objected. And earlier in his life, his high school prom night ended poorly because the girl’s parents said: “Sweetie, we love you, but … there will be a lot of photos … and we have family in Nebraska … you understand, don’t you …”
Log kya kahenge, the words flash as Minhaj tells this story, and stresses that it is the fear of the other that creates opportunities for charlatans and demagogues.
Patriot Act with Hasan Minhaj wrapped up a few months ago. But surely many more insightful acts are in the pipeline from Minhaj and his party.