Homeland Elegies: A Novel

In the next essay, Ayad recalls the treatment of Muslim Americans post-9/11—treatment that forced many to deviate between devotion to their current home and memories of that which they left behind. Ayad’s play, Disgraced, touches upon this juxtaposition of emotions, and he recalls being asked by many people “how much of [him] is in it” (24). In an attempt to keep his politics private, Ayad quotes D.H. Lawrence: “Never trust the artist. Trust the tale” (25). However, after Trump’s entry into the election, Ayad feels a significant shift in fear.

Ayad flashes back to the 1960s, when his parents attended medical school in Pakistan. He delves into the volatile history of a country controlled and mediated by forces to its west—namely Britain and America—and the changes made post-World War II. The British’s attempt to separate native Muslims and Hindus evokes far more violence than expected. Sikander vehemently disagrees with the historical focus on Britain and America as villains, claiming that the fault lies with the Muslims and Hindus for “repeating the violence” (28) on their own. He develops a “we” versus “they” mentality: His allegiance to his chosen country supersedes his allegiance to his birth country, and he cannot rationalize the “knee-jerk violence” (29) typical to the Middle East. Unlike Sikander, Fatima has a special place in her heart for Pakistan and is “bound to it in a way that reache[s] as deeply into her as anything could” (30). In her younger life, she witnessed brutality between Muslims and Hindus, but it taught her that violence exists everywhere. Pakistan’s hold on her also coincides with the memory of the true love of her life—Sikander’s medical school classmate, Latif Awan.

Fatima met Latif during her first year of medical school. Latif was engaged to a second cousin, yet both of them fell madly in love. Ayad remembers his “Uncle Latif” fondly—a large man with an air of gentleness about him. Though both Sikander and Latif are recruited to work in the United States, they feel differently about their adherence to faith: Sikander desires to “live his new American life” (34), while Latif never wants to “forget who they were and where they really came from” (34). These differences come to define their eventual practices: Sikander devotes his time to research and celebrity, while Latif chooses to work with impoverished minorities. Ayad recalls a time when he got a fish hook stuck in his knee and had to be rushed to Latif’s office for removal. Upon arrival, he waded through a large waiting room of poor Black people. He noticed Latif looked “more awake” and “at home” (36) with people who actually needed him.

Ayad flashes forward to his 10-year-old self, to a time when the Soviet Union had a hold on Afghanistan and, by default, much of the Middle East—1982. Latif’s daughters wear the signs of their faith, hijabs, despite feeling a pull toward American pop culture. Latif himself wears a jalabiya, the long gown which symbolizes a Muslim man’s adherence to Islam. He seems torn between two worlds, unable to bear the control of and violence toward Muslims in the Middle East at the hands of powerful countries. As the mujahideen—the Islamic guerrilla groups fighting the Soviets—begin to gain traction, Latif throws his support behind them and desires to return. This puts him at odds with Sikander, who cannot believe anyone would want to return to a war-torn country when all the possibilities they could want exist in America. Fatima sides with Latif, which causes a rift in the group.

This tense dinner proves to be the last time Ayad’s family ever sees Latif’s family in America: Latif moves them back to Pakistan in 1983. As America begins to funnel money to the mujahideen in order to help them beat the Soviets, Latif secures enough funds to set up a facility to help the poor and wounded. As the years go by, his twin sons devote themselves to the cause as well, much to their mother Anjum’s dismay. Ayad visits Latif in 1990 and realizes he is a changed man: “his tenderness had hardened; he was more unforgiving now” (44). Latif devotes himself to the idea of jihad, or religious warfare; he honors the sacrifices made by Islamic young men in their pursuit of freedom. Like Ayad, Anjum no longer recognizes her husband.

When the Soviet Union abandons Afghanistan in 1989, the United States also walks away from the mujahideen after funding them with money and weapons for many years. It is this funding that goes on to support groups like Al Qaeda and the Taliban, driven in part by a growing hatred for the Western influence that left them on their own. It is at this moment that Osama Bin Laden rises as a spokesman for the resistance groups; in his honor, Latif hangs a portrait of Bin Laden in his clinic. It is this photograph that the American media shows when news of the murder of two Islamic terrorist spies reaches the States, one of whom is Latif. Ayad is dismayed that the news “failed to mention that Latif was an American citizen” (47). Latif’s death shocks Fatima, who enters a state of depression and refers to America as a “place she [doesn’t] recognize, [doesn’t] like” (47)—an emotion further fueled by President Bill Clinton’s bombing of numerous medical facilities in Sudan. Fatima fights with Ayad about the necessity of remaining true to their homeland and the necessity of doubting the intentions of Americans as a whole. Ayad struggles with finding common ground between his parents’ viewpoints, as he sees America as both home and a symbol of power across the world.

As a child born in America with parents from Pakistan, Ayad finds himself caught in a culture war between American values and the baggage of being Muslim in America. This chapter delves into the stories of his extended family whose names are dedications to the Islamic faith, names that come with a certain level of preconceived judgment.

Many Americans either struggle with the pronunciation of these names or judge their owners out of Islamophobia, especially after 9/11. From Ayad’s Uncle Muzzammil, who simply goes by “Moose” by those who cannot pronounce his name, to his wife, Safiya, named after one of the Prophet Muhammed’s wives, each family member faces a certain level of assumption even if their personal views do not coincide with their faith. Moose is an atheist despite being named after the Prophet Muhammed himself. His and Safiya’s arranged marriage—a tradition which many Americans consider outdated—is successful. Ayad sees them as “two people who genuinely seemed to feel that life was better with the other in it” (55).

Another cousin, Ayesha, named after the Prophet’s nine-year-old bride, has a name which draws much condemnation from those outside the faith—condemnation that Ayad accepts. Prior to 9/11, Ayad did not understand how these accepted stories of Islam’s origins could be seen as questionable. Where Muslims see the Prophet’s young bride as the “Mother of Believers” (57), Americans see implications of child-rape and pedophilia. This clash of cultures affects a young Ayad and his cousins, as they cannot understand the true meaning of marriage outside the boundaries of their religion. Ayesha grows up to marry an abusive man whom she met at age nine, the same age as the Quran’s Ayesha. As an adult, Ayad wonders how much his religion shaped the way his generation views relationships and their own self-worth.

In 1994, Ayad has dinner with his great-aunt Asma, the woman who encouraged him to continue writing during his undergraduate years at Brown University when his parents deemed it a waste of time. She brings him five books—Orientalism, Pride and Prejudice, The Muqaddimah, Death Comes for the Archbishop, and The Wretched of the Earth—which she believes are the most valuable and worthy titles ever written. When she asks about his current read, she is shocked to learn it is The Satanic Verses by Salman Rushdie, widely known for being critical of the Muslim faith. Asma accuses Rushdie of being a “coward and a hypocrite” (65) for blaspheming their faith in such a manner. Though Ayad disagrees with her, he says nothing and instead recognizes something about his aunt: She, like many other Muslims, views the Prophet as “the model of holiness and virtue in all things” (67), and therefore, any work critical of him is anathema to her beliefs. He realizes that, as he has ages, his beliefs tend to be grounded more in reality than the blind faith of his relatives.

During a 2008 visit to his aunt and uncle’s in Abbottabad, Pakistan (the location of Osama Bin Laden’s discovery and death), Ayad discovers that any lingering love they had for America was replaced with “open hostility to strangers and those with views opposing one’s own” (70). Ayad’s conversations with his family members reveal that this hatred grew over decades of British involvement in India and American involvement in the Middle East after 9/11. Ayad’s cousins speak of the “military genius” (73) of the attacks on the World Trade Center; while Sikander combats his family’s views of America with favorable ones, Ayad remains silent. His silence angers Sikander, and the latter accuses Ayad and Fatima of “pin[ing] for a Pakistan that no longer existed” (80). Rather, Ayad recognizes the weaknesses of both countries.

On the way back to the airport, the taxi driver, Zayd, mentions that his son is unwell. Sikander insists on treating the child. Zayd’s home is a part of an old shipping container, and while Sikander goes inside to treat Zayd’s son, Zayd shares a cigarette with Ayad and reveals that he would be proud if his son grew up to sacrifice his life in jihad. This response does not surprise Ayad—he is more so surprised by Zayd’s willingness to give up his son for the cause.