The Curious Case of United States of Al

12 min readOct 11, 2021

In the late 1980s, ABC aired a sitcom about Balki Bartokomous, a man who moves from a fictional Mediterranean country to America to live with his mid-Western cousin, Larry. Perfect Strangers milked Balki’s “fish out of water” American experience for its laugh track over seven seasons. Balki was usually not in on the joke; he was the joke.

Twenty-five years later, CBS has developed an unprecedented sitcom that one could argue is Perfect Strangers 2.0. Except this time, the story and characters are based on real people and places. The series’ stories are developing in real-time, igniting a conversation on the lack of authentic Muslim representation in film and television and exposing mainstream media’s exploitation of trauma for laughs.

Co-developed by Hollywood mega-producer Chuck Lorre (Big Bang Theory and Two-and-a-Half Men) and executive-produced by religious scholar and writer Reza Aslan, United States of Al is loosely based on the true story of Riley, a U.S. war veteran who fought in Afghanistan, who sponsors his former Afghan interpreter, Awalmir Karimi (“Al”) (played by Adhir Kalyan), to come live with him and his family in Columbus, Ohio. According to Aslan: “The dream for us has always been to get a Muslim protagonist on network television, someone who could really reframe the perceptions of so many Americans have about Muslims or people from this broad region. We knew that…. Chuck would be the kind of person who could take very heavy topics like immigration xenophobia and transform them into something entertaining and palatable, but without necessarily taking the edge away.” (1)

As optimistic as that sounds, Lorre’s resume does not qualify him to tell a complex and authentic story about a refugee fleeing war-torn Afghanistan and then building a new life in America. Most of Lorre’s productions have predominantly centred on white male characters who live privileged lives, dramatized by overcoming minor or mundane “first-world problems” (i.e. Big Bang Theory and Two and a Half Men).

CBS has also been heavily criticized for its lack of diversity in the casting of its television series’. (2) When the United States of Al trailer premiered, the concerns of many Afghans’ leading up to the show were unfortunately validated. Social media reactions blazed, critical of the casting choices, storyline and use of stereotypes. In response, Aslan tweeted, “You can’t judge a show by a 30 sec[ond] trailer.”

Taking Aslan’s advice, I watched the first season of United States of Al with an open mind. The result? Mixed emotions.

More Of This Please

With the Taliban regaining control of Afghanistan in recent months and the Afghan people once again losing their rights and freedoms, the show keeps the spotlight on those who are often forgotten. The show makes a valiant effort to inform the audience of the plight of the 17,000 Afghan interpreters, who were made promises of safety but have been largely left behind by the U.S. government.

United States of Al does an admirable job of portraying Islam positively. Scenes with Al praying or using phrases such as inshallah, alhamdulillah, and bismillah contrasts typical dramatic series and movies that use Islamic terms to incite fear in the viewer. (3) It’s refreshing to see and hear these words in the everyday context of how we as Muslims use them.

Also, the show depicts the average refugee experience in America quite accurately. Al holds three low-paying jobs, is exposed to xenophobia, and must find ways to blend into his American environments for his own safety and well-being. For example, Al is encouraged to wear an “I love America” hat when introducing himself to neighbours. He comes bearing firni, a traditional Afghan milk pudding, his demeanour gentle and inoffensive. Al wants the neighbours’ acceptance so much that he overlooks their cold hostility, a storyline all too common in newcomer communities. In addition, the show captures the loneliness that most refugees experience when uprooted from their homeland.

When Al is asked what he misses about home, he shares a beautiful and heartfelt monologue that encompasses every Afghan’s yearning to feel connected to their homeland:

“My brother has songbirds. And their chirping used to wake me up in the morning. I miss walking by the naan-wayees. They are these little shops on every corner that make fresh bread topped with poppy seeds, and you can smell it everywhere. I miss people speaking my language. I miss sitting on my roof, watching the sunset and the mountains in the city slowly becoming giant chandeliers as all the houses turn their lights on… It is a beautiful country. One that I will never see again.”

These small, intimate moments that capture the complexities of being an Afghan away from home, where the character experiences feeling heard and acknowledged, are the heart of this show. They lead to an avenue that the show’s creators should explore further.

Where are all the Afghans and Muslims???

Before the show’s premiere, Aslan was adamant that the United States of Al intended to focus on authentic representation by including Afghans both on-screen and behind the camera. Unfortunately, theory and practice do not seem aligned in season one. The most apparent problem is casting Indo-South African actor Adhir Kalyan as the Afghan-born and raised protagonist Al. The producers and creators of the show missed a real opportunity to launch a Muslim leading actor on broadcast television (there are currently zero). Is America not ready for a Muslim lead anchoring a popular national television show? Are we always going to be relegated to playing roles such as Terrorist #3 and Hijabi Woman #2?

Kalyan, to his credit, has played Al formidably. A talented actor, he captures the heart and soul of the Afghan experience to the best of his ability. Kalyan carries the show impeccably, definitely earning his spot as the series lead. And we can’t overlook how much progress has been made by South Asian creators, producers, and actors in Hollywood. In a short time, we’ve gone from Hank Azaria stereotypically voicing Apu on The Simpsons to talents such as Mindy Kaling, Riz Ahmed, Kumail Nanjiani and Aziz Ansari leading major television series and award-winning motion pictures.

Yet, a non-Afghan actor was given license to portray an Afghan on a major television show, exposing an unspoken “they all look the same” bias in casting, which hinders the ability of Afghans and other Muslim actors to reach the levels of success experienced by their South Asian counterparts. If the roles created to tell our stories are played by others, then what is our part? Are we merely observers of our own experience?

Obviously, the answer is for Afghans and Muslims to continue creating and putting their stories out for other communities to witness and learn from. In response to criticism about representation on his show, Aslan has said, “There are five Afghan characters in the show, and four of them are played by Afghans. We saw 100 Afghan leads; but sitcom is a specialized genre, and it’s very tough to play. But we also have four Afghan writers/producers on the show who’ve done a great job helping Adhir… Maybe learn a little about the show, its creators, its producers, its four Afghan writers, its plot, and pretty much everything else before you announce your opinion of it.” (4)

Aslan’s words are highly misleading. Of the five Afghan characters, none of them are regular cast members. With the exception of Afghan-American actor and activist Azita Ghanizada, the other Afghan roles were very short cameos (often shown on screen via a Zoom call). How can you tell Afghan stories without Afghans — even as fictional characters? Also, are there no other Muslims in Columbus, Ohio? Despite the good intentions of Lorre, Aslan, and the other creators, as exemplified in the hiring of Afghan writers and consultants, somehow, their influence is not trickling down to casting and character development.

So, a show about an Afghan is missing the Afghan. We are visibly invisible. Similar to Balki, Al is the only non-American character on screen for the majority of the show. As a result, his otherness is magnified and exploited to drive the plot and storyline.

Dystopian Afghanistan

In the opening scene of the pilot episode, Riley is waiting for Al’s arrival at the airport with his sister, Lizzy. Riley mentions he only learned one Pashto phrase while in Afghanistan, which translates to “Please God, get me out of here.” These six simple words lay the groundwork for the depiction of Afghanistan and Afghan culture on the show.

One of the repeated mechanisms administered in the show is to introduce an aspect of Afghan culture and use it subtly to reflect how its American counterpart is more progressive and/or superior. Fun is poked at the apparent barbarism of Afghanistan’s national sport, Buzkashi; Afghan food is depicted as strange and unappetizing. Al feels discomfort when he sees a woman’s legs for the first time. The scene intends to invoke laughter at this cultural difference rather than respectfully express relevant culture shock and Al’s adherence to faith and tradition.

Additional habits and customs such as taking shoes off before entering a home, greeting people with kisses on both cheeks, an aversion to dogs, and the cultural practice of refusing an act of kindness three times before saying yes, are all represented over several episodes, but without the respect and authentic context that they deserve. For an American audience being introduced to Afghan culture and beliefs for the very first time, these examples are meant to be enjoyed as humorous, as in “so different, it’s funny.”

Compounding the issue, Afghanistan is explicitly referenced concerning topics around war and oppression for most of the show. The only version of the country of Afghanistan the viewer sees is in flashbacks, when Riley and Al drive through a dusty area in a military vehicle, either escaping the Taliban or dodging bombs. Sound familiar? Even in the Zoom calls Al has with his family, the background shows only the interior of their homes in Afghanistan. The country’s vastness and beauty are too often overlooked when Western creators tell its stories. Unfortunately, the United States of Al is no exception. One could argue that depicting a war-ravaged country is essential to the show’s plot. In contrast, it portrays life in America more favourably — taking it as far as making the good ol’ USA look like the ideal, preferred destination for all Afghans.

With no acknowledgment of the role the American government and military played in destabilizing Al’s homeland and contributing to circumstances in which Al needed to escape, the show continues to miss an essential context. Riley is not really depicted as a soldier who picked up arms and travelled across the world to fight on foreign soil. Instead he is shown as a humanitarian of sorts, advocating for the rights of Afghan interpreters, conflicted and ashamed of his role in the war. For Riley, the war happened to him, rather than being an active agent in his decision to join the military. Many poor Americans are heavily recruited to join the military to access higher education and career prospects. Is this at all part of Riley’s story? What do we know about his background and why he joined the military?

This is another tender spot in the authenticity game, where United States of Al again opens itself up for criticism. Suppose Aslan is genuine with his objective of reframing the Muslim narrative within television. Then the series must show a willingness to challenge and question the official story of the Afghan invasion and its impact on Afghans. There needs to be greater accountability and exploration of what Riley did in Afghanistan, even if that makes the CBS viewers uncomfortable.

Exploitation of Trauma

At its core, despite having an Afghan protagonist, United States of Al is about exploring trauma, PTSD, and the impact of war on American soldiers. Within each episode, this theme is addressed and examined from various angles and perspectives.

We follow Riley, the war veteran struggling to adjust to life back in America. We witness his bouts with depression, haunting dreams and nightmares, panic attacks, and bursts of anger. In early episodes, we see that Riley is an alcoholic, unable to keep a job, and coping with the guilt of a broken marriage. He’s an absentee father due to long deployments in Afghanistan and feels guilty about that too. Riley’s conscience is heavy, and as the season progresses, we learn about the long-term physical and mental effects of war on Riley as well. Diagnosed with Tinnitus (ringing of the ear, presumably from exploding bombs or shellfire), plus a laundry list of other conditions and injuries, Riley is told he has an urgent need for psychiatric therapy.

There is a genuine emphasis within the show’s overarching plot to delve into uncharted territory when it comes to the portrayal of American soldiers on a sitcom. In some ways, Riley is an anti-war-vet: vulnerable, broken, ashamed of being a soldier.

Every member of Riley’s household has a connection to the war and its effects. There are moving storylines afforded to supporting characters. We see how Riley’s sister, Lizzie, is grieving and coping with the loss of her fiancé, killed while serving in Afghanistan. Or Riley’s ex-wife, Vanessa, left to raise their daughter alone, with Riley overseas. Having lived with the constant possibility that she may never see her father again, Riley’s tween daughter Hazel must reacclimate to his presence in her life again. The complexities of enlisting in the United States military system are engagingly and insightfully unpacked throughout the show’s first season.

Yet, while the other (white, American citizen) characters have the space to be messy, Al is expected to be the sturdy moral compass to see them through their storms. Al, the newly arrived refugee, beginning a new life in an unfamiliar country, has been assigned the role of the fixer, bypassing his own needs to ensure that everyone is okay. This noble sufferer is another stereotype in the representation of “others” on American sitcom television. While seemingly pleasant, it contributes only to the continuing contrast of idealization and demonization that exists in the American popular psyche. In the words of Chuck Lorre:

“His role with the U.S. forces in Afghanistan was to not only translate but to make introductions to facilitate what needs to be done — not on a combat level but in terms of working with people in the environment. When he comes to America, he’s still playing the same role. He’s intent on fixing his buddy’s marriage, which is broken. His nature doesn’t change, even though his environment changes dramatically. He is still that kind of extraordinary human being whose main motivation is to make life better for the people around him”. (5)

In essence, Al is “the help” and the noble sufferer, the Wise One who never steps beyond his place.

While the other characters grieve and process their pain as a military family, Al plays their social and emotional support. His trauma for most of the show is overlooked. Even more egregious is the fact that Al’s experience of having grown up in a place of violence, destabilization and conflict is used as a tool for humour and comedy. I’ve truly have struggled to come to terms with this aspect of the show. In some ways, it feels eerily Squid Game-esque: the privileged gain relief from their own suffering by leaning on, or benefiting from, the suffering of those less fortunate than themselves.

Routinely, Al shares a painful thought or memory from his life living in Afghanistan under the Taliban rule and American occupation, accompanied immediately by a laugh track, and never to be discussed or spoken of again. The audience, protected from any feelings of discomfort, can easily convince themselves of their goodness, as though they’ve done their part by simply witnessing a story of otherness. Be it the lost childhood of Afghan children forced to work, the challenges of U.S. visa approvals for Afghan interpreters, the constant threat of bombings or the arduous journey of Afghans fleeing to safety, season one of United States of Al turns each story of suffering into jokes and laugh tracks.

With the exception of one heartfelt and raw episode — when Al meets a fellow Afghan (played by Ghanizada) and their conversation turns to differing views Afghans have of the U.S. occupation — the consequences of America’s involvement are not addressed or discussed. How authentic can the show be without acknowledging this elephant in the room?

Where Do We Go From Here?

As the show embarks on season two, the Afghan actors, writers, producers, and consultants need to have greater involvement and contribution. More than ever, the global community is consciously aware and informed about the plight of Afghans and the hardship they have endured over a very long time. This is not even the first time the country has fallen apart because of external politics. Afghanistan has had no breaks from strife between the current and previous collapse. United States of Al has a profound responsibility to the people of Afghanistan, and the greater Afghan diaspora, to tell our stories and lived experiences as authentically as possible.

Resources:

The Curious Case of United States of Al

Written by Ajmer Darawal