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FEMALE SPEAKER: We're just really excited to have Wajahat
here at Google.
And I'm going to let him kind of speak a little bit about
himself and his journey as a writer.
At the end, we'll open it up to a discussion, so if anybody
has questions for him, definitely stick around to
speak with him.
And we also have lunch with him after.
If anybody hasn't eaten yet, feel free to join us.
So Wajahat?
WAJAHAT ALI: All right.
AUDIENCE: [APPLAUSE]
WAJAHAT ALI: Thank you, Suhair.
Thank you, Suhair for inviting me.
Thank you Google for filling up this vast auditorium with
my admiring fans.
Being at Google marks the apex of my professional career.
I've traveled far and wide to finally be here, across the
great white 237 from a mysterious land known as
Fremont, known as Fremontistan to all the Muslims,
Pakistanis, and Afghans who live there, home of the best
chutney kabab outside of Kabul.
Thank you for inviting me to your home, Google, known to
the world as the premier search engine, known to your
enemies as the Death Star, and known to all South Asian
parents as a fertile factory for future spouses of their
unmarried children.
In fact, today's Google speech--
and I'm being totally serious--
has solidified my worth as a human being for my family
members, who in their typical South Asian bluntness see my
professional career as a writer as--
I quote them--
"useless."
Today they said, try to get a job at Google.
And I told them that--
I'm not making this up--
I said Google invited me to speak for them.
And they're like, ha, ha but after the speech, get a job.
Stop being useless.
True story.
Honored to be speaking here today, but mostly--
and I won't lie.
This whole speech will be very honest--
I'm mainly excited to be eating at the famed Google
cafeteria, which I-- thank you.
People are nodding their head.
They're like that is why I work here.
I came from Pakistan just for the cafeteria.
I hear it's a modern Shangri-la of gluttonous
excess and unbridled awesomeness.
And also--
I won't lie.
Just bear with me--
I have been told by every single Pakistani working at
Google that I have to try the infamous Google bathroom,
where like a robot cleans your butt.
Right?
Or something?
Yeah, I heard it is a religious experience, life
changing experience, and as such I have loaded up
on fiber and water.
But continuing, I'm now going to begin my speech with a
pathetic attempt to kiss up to Google shamelessly by
celebrating the recent remarkable failures of your
competition.
First, congratulation, Googlers on the recent Apple
iPhone 5's dismal map application.
Congratulations.
I used their map app to get to Google today, and I ended up
at Yahoo instead.
Let's take a moment to simultaneously mock and pity
the people who bought Facebook at $32 a share.
I have just made that my Facebook status.
So Googlers, Like it.
The irony will be priceless.
Let it be known, when and if I'm ever invited to speak at
Facebook or Apple, I shall mock Google Plus.
Sorry.
No offense to anyone.
I'm equal opportunity.
I also like to thank Security who for some reason kept
calling me Rajeev.
I didn't correct them.
Thank you Rajeev, whoever you are, for your parking spot.
Once I entered Google, I saw so many South Asians, I
thought I was at Cisco.
And a part of my heart swells with pride, and I looked at
these random South Asians, I did the Miyagi look.
For those of you who have seen Miyagi, I'm talking about Pat
Morita from the original "Karate Kid," not
Will Smith's son.
At the end of "Karate Kid," Pat Morita, Miyagi, looks at
Daniel-san with a sense of pride.
He looks at him like this.
And I looked at these random South Asians with pride in my
face, and they just kept staring back at me, not
eliciting the response I wanted.
And I think a few of them are like who's this weird tech
support from India?
I do not hail from India.
The family hails from the motherland known as Pakistan,
which is the most popular country on Earth right now.
When people think of Pakistan, they think of rainbows and
cupcakes and ponies and babies.
Pakistan is the most toxic brand name in the universe.
This is a true story.
A few of my friends have heard this.
A Palestinian man came up to me last year
and said the following.
Bro-- bro--
things are really bad in Pakistan right now bro.
When a Palestinian takes pity on you, you're effed.
All right?
You're effed.
And to make matters worse, I have the hat trick of
kryptonite toxic brand names.
I'm an American Muslim of Pakistani descent or a
Muslim-American Pakistani.
Awesome.
Being Pakistani-American is so bad right now that I'm forced
to tell people I'm pre-partition Indian.
AUDIENCE: [LAUGHTER]
WAJAHAT ALI: This is a good crowd.
This is a good crowd.
Yeah, Muslim-Pakistani American as a brand name is
about as popular as death, taxes, and ***.
No offense to ***.
But speaking about stories, in all honesty, the title of
today's story is, I think, From Chaiwallah to--
FEMALE SPEAKER: Playwright.
WAJAHAT ALI: To Playwright.
The Rise of a Pakistani-American writer.
True story.
I was in Nepal, Suhair was after me for a title.
I was exhausted.
I wrote the title, thinking it was a joke, that no one would
ever seriously consider that as a title.
Suhair, two days later, sends me the official Google
letterhead that says "From Chaiwallah to Playwright."
FEMALE SPEAKER: I liked it.
WAJAHAT ALI: The Rise of--
I was hoping-- a Pre-partition Indian Writer.
But no, I am indeed a Pakistani-American writer.
And speaking about stories, I'll tell you a quick story
about how I got to Google today.
But before I talk about stories, there's this great
quotation by a poet Muriel Rukeyser, which says the
following: the universe is made up of stories, not atoms.
The universe is made of stories, not atoms.
Here's another great quote.
Human beings are natural storytellers.
They can't help telling stories.
They turn things that aren't really into stories, into
stories because they like narratives so much.
Everything, faith, science, love needs a story for people
to find it plausible.
No story, no sale.
That's writer Adam Gopnik in "The New Yorker" talking about
Jonathan Gottschall's book "The Storytelling Animal,"
which posits that the human being is the unique
storytelling animal in all of existence.
That's how we operate.
That's how we communicate.
That's how we learn.
Even in ancient seventh-century Arabia, the
storyteller was valued more than the swordsman.
I know you guys won't believe me.
It's a true story.
Now this was a culture where tribes needed the most skilled
swordsman because raids were part of daily activity.
And they needed protection.
Yet in those days, when a famed talented poet came to
their land, they insisted he would stay and
perform for the community.
And again, this makes sense considering that the human
being is a unique storytelling animal.
Stories give humans identity and purpose.
Think about religion.
Regardless if you like religion or not, it's a
powerful force.
Christians--
how do they learn about how to behave?
Their morals, their etiquette?
The stories of Jesus.
In fact, Jesus taught through parables which are stories.
For Muslims, very popular right now, for those of you
who don't know, they follow the Hadith, which is a
collection of stories that talk about the etiquette of
the prophet Muhammad.
Stories give humans identity and purpose.
They also help us pass down our values, ideals, beliefs,
and cultures.
For example, wherever I've gone in the world, every
single culture knows the story of the boy who cried wolf.
Every culture, every language.
Every culture knows that that's a story you tell your
children to teach them not to lie.
Now we could sit there and be didactic and say hey, don't
lie or I'll hurt you.
But instead we couch that moral in a narrative, in a
story, in a story featuring a whining annoying boy and a
hungry murderous wolf, which is slightly
disturbing, but it works.
Stories are also how we brand and present
ourselves to the world.
Every major company has an About Us section, which talks
about their origin.
Stories are how we meet people.
Stories help us communicate.
Stories are how we learn about one another.
In America, in fact, when you meet someone for the first
time, you often ask them hey man, what's your story?
Followed by you're paying for the bill.
Successful stories, the ones that stick and resonate, need
people's emotional investment.
So let me tell you of a quick story today in a half hour
about a dude named Wajahat Ali--
that's me--
born in El Camino hospital, raised in Fremontistan,
California, graduate of Bellarmine an all-boys Jesuit
Catholic high school, who got an English degree from UC
Berkeley, despite not knowing any English when he was born,
for the first four years of his life, ended up writing a
play in college for a English class assignment, who then
went to law school at UC Davis, got licensed as an
attorney, couldn't find work, applied to Google,
didn't get the job.
Somehow I ended up with an unlikely
irreverent odd career--
or hobby, according to my South Asian family--
as a professional paid writer or professional lafunga,
according to my family.
Lafunga for those of you who speak Urdu means loafer.
And now he is at Google speaking.
So are you guys still with me?
That was awesome, enthusiastic, wonderful.
You just really, just inspired me to continue.
All right.
Here we go.
Once upon a time, there was a shy, awkward, constantly sick,
only child of Pakistan immigrant parents, born in Bay
Area, California, who was the only left-handed member of his
entire family, which made every single family member in
Karachi, Pakistan think he was a djinn--
true story--
who walked around in a white shirt smeared with lentil
stains and sweat patches, who was addicted to chai, because
his grandfather used to feed him his chai with teaspoons
when he was a kid.
And when the kid, who grew up, he had his own little small
chai cup with his own chai.
And every day, this kid was healthy.
And healthy is a Pakistani term for big ***.
And healthy and big *** are always accompanied by this
motion, which is very, very subtle.
He was so healthy that his grandmother and mother used to
be able to find pants for him only in the young adult
section of Mervyn's when the kid was six years old.
And-- true story-- they bought these pants, and because the
kid was so healthy, they had to roll up the pants sleeves.
And when the kid asked how come his pants were different
from everyone else, the mom said it's fashion sense.
It's a good fashion sense.
He was so healthy that he went to Harker School in Saratoga
where there were uniforms--
humiliating.
He was forced to wear Husky pants.
And these Husky pants--
true story--
have a big patch on the right side of your butt with big
bold letters saying Husky.
Very subtle.
When entering preschool, the appropriately titled Child's
Hideaway, the kid only spoke three words of English.
The three words were the following.
"Shut up" because his mother used to tell him shut up,
"idiot" because his mother used to say
often shut up, idiot.
And for those of you who were a child of the '80s, you guys
remember that commercial uh oh spaghetti-o?
Anyone?
One or two people, three people.
I'm old and decrepit.
Awesome.
Uh oh spaghetti-o.
And the kid couldn't speak English, so he said uh oh
pas-getti-o.
Three words of English.
A year later while attending James Leach Elementary School,
the teachers didn't know what to do with this kid or any
other minority, as a matter of fact.
So they put him and the four other minorities in ESL, which
is English as Second Language.
It was him, two Asian-American girls, the black kid who was
there because he was the only black kid in school, spoke
perfect English, and this kid.
True story.
And for several months, a teacher used to stand in front
of this kid and used to say whatever.
And the Pakistani kid looked back and said "whatewer".
And the teacher said no, no, whatever.
And the kid looked back and said whatewer.
This happened for months.
And until finally the kid figured out that Vs and Ws are
not the same.
The kid also made many, many fateful trips to the
motherland, Karachi, Pakistan, which left many deep
impressions literally.
For example, the first time he went, he got hit by a
motorcycle.
Awesome.
Four years old.
Kid goes straight up in the air,
lands flat on his forehead.
Forehead explodes.
Doctors say if he would have landed one inch to the left or
one inch to the right, he would have been pffbt--
flatlined.
The local doctors apparently didn't have sophisticated
equipment, and they operated on him with a dull knife and
spoon, which gave him a scar to this day that makes it look
like a Klingon baby.
In the '90s, he proudly showed off what he called the Klingon
scar to women thinking it would work in getting dates.
It didn't.
In the 21st century, he evolved his pop culture nuance
and said this is the Harry Potter scar, thinking it would
get him women.
It didn't.
Apparently at age nine, because he didn't have enough
of Pakistan, he went back, where he got pneumonia--
awesome--
which went undiagnosed for 2 1/2 weeks.
And so he lost 40 pounds and lay dying essentially on the
straw mat on the second floor of his grandmother's
building-- true story.
And the grandmother's tenant, a Pakistani whiskey-drinking
American-educated doctor, who talked like this in an
interesting accent--
that's how he talked--
came upstairs to do a routine check-up and said (PAKISTANI
ACCENT) oh my god, this boy has pneumonia.
Take him to the hospital.
Which they did.
And they said (PAKISTANI ACCENT) Oh, he has pneumonia.
Oh, good you brought him.
That's good.
And, true story, it was very casual.
And they're like (PAKISTANI ACCENT) yeah, if it wasn't one
more week, he would have not-- bicharo would
have not made it.
And so I survived.
And again in high school, the kid said you know what?
Let's go back to the motherland, where in high
school, he went back and contracted malaria and a 104
high temperature for three days.
Whatever doesn't kill you gives you mosquito larva in
your bloodstream.
Rewind, fifth grade, again at Harker School in Saratoga, the
overweight, sweaty, socially awkward, Pakistani,
left-handed, healthy boy with lentil stains on his shirt
also suffered from severe allergies.
He was so sick that he had missed 37 days of school.
They were about to kick him out.
He had to make a plea to the principal to let him stay.
OK, the school was just about to kick him out and finally a
competent doctor named Dr. Biederman--
who did not work at Kaiser.
No offense to Kaiser--
give him medication that actually worked.
And so this kid recovered, but had to work harder in fifth
grade than he did in all of high school to
make an epic comeback.
Tutors, after schools learning, catching up a
month's worth of work.
Things were looking bleak, until one day, his fifth grade
teacher, Ms. Peterson, hailing from Kentucky, asked the class
to write a one page fictional short story.
Now this was 1991, a strange time in America, where Madonna
had conical ***, Z. Cavariccis were all the rage.
Anyone know Z. Cavariccis?
You had them?
Thank you for being bold enough to admit it.
We all owned a pair.
Will Smith was known as the Fresh Prince.
And Kevin Costner was chosen to play Robin Hood.
You guys remember this?
So because of this, the kid decided to write a parody and
satire of Robin Hood.
And the kid's story went from one page to
five pages to 10 pages.
The teacher loved the kid's story and made him perform it
in front of the fifth grade.
For the first time ever, this sweaty, healthy, [URDU]
healthy kid, awkward, shy, performed the story.
The classroom loved it.
Then they said perform it in front of the
fifth and sixth grade.
They loved it.
The kid brought home the story to his father.
The father reads the story and says (PAKISTANI ACCENT) Beta--
which means son--
you might have a talent.
You should consider becoming a writer.
The mother, who was in the kitchen, overheard this, with
fear in her eyes, ran out and said (PAKISTANI ACCENT) yes,
but first become a doctor.
This was 1991.
The age was 10.
Let's do a group exercise.
In South Asian families, there's a holy trinity of
professions.
Let's go with number one.
What's number one?
AUDIENCE: Doctor.
WAJAHAT ALI: Doctor.
Number two?
AUDIENCE: Engineer.
WAJAHAT ALI: Engineer.
Number three?
AUDIENCE: Lawyer.
WAJAHAT ALI: Not lawyer.
No one cares about lawyers, yet.
Number three is a dubious businessman who somehow makes
a lot of money and buys a suburban home, marries a wife
who's around seven on the hotness
scale, and has a Lexus.
Number four?
Failure.
All right?
Those are your four options as occupations.
But because of this momentous occasion where this kid told
this story, for the first time in his life, this overweight,
shy, awkward, healthy, lentil stained boy, who was healthy,
gained confidence and a sense of empowerment, and for the
briefest of moments, for about two hours after the story,
even some popularity.
And ever since that day, the awkward boy ended up spending
all of his free time investing in the passion of
storytelling, performance, movies, and reading.
During the summer, him and his best friend [? Kashif ?]
made their own home movies, because no one invited them to
parties because they were dorks.
And they wrote, directed, acted, and edited in their own
homemade movies, such as the ambitious and epic "Formula"
trilogy, featuring a diabolical scientist who
creates a formula that could destroy Earth.
But each time his nefarious plot is thwarted by the gruff,
surly detective--
played by me--
who breaks protocol and a few necks but saves the day.
They also do their own takes on popular movies.
If you guys remember, in the 1991, there was a celluloid
classic by the name of "Tango and Cash," starring Kurt
Russell and Sly Stallone.
We did our own called "Lambada and Doe." Think about it.
The boy grew up, stayed healthy and end up going to an
all-boys Jesuit-taught high school, Bellarmine, where he
emerged as the token representative of all things
Pakistan, South Asia, Muslim, and Islam.
He must have given eight talks on Islam
throughout his entire career.
He had a choice--
to stay isolated in the corner as the token, not sharing his
religious or cultural identity, or be authentic, be
himself, be open, and communicate his
multi-hyphenate identity to his Catholic diverse peers.
So he embraced his role as the cultural ambassador of his
peoples and enjoyed relating tales and
communicating stories.
In his senior year, he decides he's going to try his hand at
improv comedy.
And he successfully joined the school comedy troupe entitled
The Sanguine Humours, where he created the endearing popular
comedy icon known as Captain Brown Man, an ornery, one-eyed
pirate captain with a hook for a hand, who always entered the
stage saying daar, the name is Captain Brown Man.
It worked.
At that time, it was a huge hit.
We weren't that politically correct in those days.
Once upon a time, continuing, there was a young healthy,
overweight boy who grew up, entered UC Berkeley and
decided to go to the gym for the first time in his life.
And he slimmed down.
And he decided that lentil stains would always be on his
white shirts.
So he started wearing black and gray.
And then he dressed a bit better, was socially active,
joined a lot of student groups such as the Muslim Student
Association, which apparently makes him a member of Ikhwan
and Hamas and Hezbollah for the rest of his life.
I'm just kidding.
This is taped, right?
I'm just kidding.
Barack Obama is not a Muslim president.
If he is Muslim, he is the worst Muslim of all time.
The dude eats pork openly.
All right? (PAKISTANI ACCENT) I love America.
So I was a member of the Muslim Student Association,
joined the Student Advocate Office, and ended up taking
way too many academic units because I had no idea what I
wanted to be when I grew up.
And every day, this kid--
me--
ended up running around like a crazy, headless chicken, not
sleeping too much, and having crazy fun times.
Along with a few friends at UC Berkeley, we created the first
sketch comedy troupe entitled The [? Gawad ?]
Squad, where they wrote, directed, and
edited their own sketches.
Over the next three years, I ended up playing a gay
vampire, a Scottish immigrant-owner of an Olive
Garden, a Pakistani student living with belligerent
Italian immigrants, a well-endowed Italian-American
liquor store owner-- don't ask--
and a Ukrainian weight lifter, among many
other enduring titles.
This boy spent his nights, tee-totaling, a Muslim dork
who didn't drink, who never partied, spending an
inordinate amount of time in is awesome apartment playing
host and playing video games, such as NBA 2K and NFL 2K,
entertaining similarly dorky, ***, virginal,
Muslim-American bachelors, engaging in practical jokes,
sophomoric humor, and pretty much being dorks, 24/7.
And as the perpetual host of these dorks, he ended up
making vats of chai every day for four years.
By the end of his junior year, his chai had become infamous
across the nation, legendary because it nourished the
bellies of ***, single, dorky, Muslim men.
And even when I was lucky, a few women came into the
apartment, only for five minutes.
His senior year of college, he was chosen to be a board
member of the student group, Muslim Student Association,
which of course brands him a lifetime member of Hezbollah,
Hamas, Ikhwan, and everything else.
I'm just kidding.
Because this is on YouTube.
He reluctantly accepted.
The year was 2001.
Also on a whim, that same year, he decided to apply to a
short story writing class.
He had three choices.
Each class was taught by a different professor.
One class was taught by this guy named Ishmael Reed.
The guy--
this is me now--
I had no idea who Ishmael Reed was.
I simply liked the name Ishmael.
It was very biblical.
And I'm like you know what, I'm leaning towards applying
to Ishmael's class.
I asked a faculty advisor out of all these three, who should
I apply to, because I can only apply to one?
He said well, this guy, Ishmael, he kind of lets you
do your own thing.
He gives you freedom.
Done.
Sold.
The dude's name was Ishmael.
He gives you freedom.
I applied to Ishmael Reed's class on a whim.
3:58 PM.
Wheeler Hall, third floor.
Deadline was 4:00 PM.
I wrote it in pen.
I didn't have lines, so the paper went like this.
It was curving this way with my ink.
It looked like a Lahori publication of a book.
For those of you who know about Lahori publication, you
know they don't print their stuff in a straight line.
And all I had was a 12-page play script, because you had
to submit a 15-page short story.
I didn't have a short story.
So I submitted one of my [? Gawad ?]
Squad scripts about two ***, thieving English noblemen and
a magical donkey that wore a monocle.
Yeah, I know.
It was genius.
The play was entitled "All This for an
***." It's all I had.
I submitted it.
All was well, because I got into the class.
It's 2001.
Senior year I was 20, about to turn 21, until one day, the
two towers fell.
And there was madness.
And all of us 20-year-olds, who were just kids, just
students, part of the Muslim Student Association, all of a
sudden became the accidental activists, the cultural
ambassadors of 1,400 years of Islamic civilization, where we
were forced to know everything about Iraq and Afghanistan and
the Koran and Prophet Muhammad and Muslims and South Asians,
and hell, even Sikhs, and everything.
And we were just students, but we got hate
mail coming from people.
We had to represent a community that was terrified
and afraid.
Muslim women who wore the hijab, which is the head
covering, at UC Berkeley were afraid of going out to school.
It was a crazy time, crazy climate for
those of you who remember.
And for whatever reason, someone, my roommate who made
the website, for the MSA, decided it would be fun to
name me the social coordinator and public relations liaison.
So guess who was getting all the press contacts and all the
interviews?
Me.
I ended up becoming what I call the accidental activist
for about 75% of my senior year.
For three weeks after 9/11, I couldn't even go to school.
Now, fast forward three weeks, I'm in Ishmael Reid's class.
I'm up to perform a short story.
Crap.
I got to write a short story, take it to
class, and perform it.
At 4:00 AM, I came up with a story about two ogres who were
married for 50 years celebrating their 50th wedding
anniversary who secretly hated one another, poisoned each
other's goblets and are waiting the entire time to
kill one another.
I know, genius.
This was before "Shrek," so I was a genius.
I was just late on that ogre cake.
Six hours later, 10:00 AM, go to class, read the story,
which was entitled "Bulbous and Rotunda's 50th Wedding
Anniversary." Class loves it.
I'm terrified, because I think Ishmael Reed's going to chew
me out for missing class for three weeks.
Ishmael says see me after class.
I'm scared out of my mind.
Ishmael says you're a natural playwright.
You don't know it.
Don't waste your time in my short story writing class.
I'm going to take you outside of my short story writing
class, and you're going to have to write me a play.
Write me a play.
Write me 20 pages.
You pass the class.
I'm like dude, you're crazy.
I don't know how to write a play.
Just let me write short stories.
He goes nope.
Write me a play.
You know what?
As an African-American, we have been through this before.
I can see 10 years down the line, it's going to be a tough
time for Muslims and Pakistanis.
Your stories aren't being told.
What people do see is an extremist narrative.
Sometimes, not only the way to fight back, but the way to
push forward is through arts and culture.
You should write me a story about a family.
You know what?
Make it a Pakistani family.
You know what?
Aren't you a Muslim?
Make it a Muslim-American Pakistani family.
You ever read "Death of a Salesman?" I'm like yes.
You ever read "Long Day's Journey into
Night?" I said yes.
Something like that.
All right, bye.
So I'm like crap.
I get to write 20 pages of a play.
I've never written a play in my life.
What am I going to do?
Now, for those of you who don't know, Moslems celebrate
something called Ramadan.
And up to a certain age, when you're young, at the end of
Ramadan, you get something called eidi,
which is like money.
So I was like 20, and that was the last year I got eidi.
I got like $20.
I was broke, and I was poor.
I took the $20 to this cultural relic of the 20th
century known as Borders.
You guys might remember it.
I went to the Drama section.
I said Plays, picked up two plays.
They came within $20.
Being the son of Pakistan immigrants, thank you, I
looked at the refund policy.
And they said within 15 days, if you return the plays in
good condition, you get your money back.
I'm like done.
Read the plays within 15 days, went back every 15 days, got
two more plays.
Did this for two months, tried to figure how to--
true story.
Hey, it was their policy.
I just exploited it.
Son of Pakistani immigrants.
We stretch $1 to make it $20.
I'm proud.
I don't care.
Figure out how to write a play, started the play for my
21st birthday in November 2001.
And finished it for my 23rd birthday, 2003.
The way that happened is submitted 20 pages and Ishmael
liked it so much, every couple months he said give me five
more pages, give me five more pages.
Finished it as a birthday present to myself
at the age of 23.
And because of that, Ishmael Reed in 2003 invited me to
Spencer's Grotto in Berkeley and said the script is great.
And now we do a staged reading.
I, of course, asked what's a staged reading?
He said my wife here, Carla Blank, she's a theater scholar
and dramaturge.
She'll direct the staged reading.
Carla looked over at him and said really?
I will?
He goes yeah, yeah, yeah, you'll do it.
True story.
So I went to Sheik Google--
true story-- and typed in staged reading to figure out
what it was.
Staged reading is essentially when you get a couple actors,
you put them on a couple of chairs, and they act out the
play while reading the script.
That's a staged reading.
If you're successful, you get 50 people.
Now mind you, at this time, I was 23 years old, jobless, had
to move back home, where I was in my high school bedroom, and
I woke up every day to find $5 in my wallet.
And when I asked who put the $5 in my wallet, my father
said to me he used to sneak the $5 in my wallet every
night, because he said (PAKISTANI ACCENT) no man
should be without $5.
And so out of both pity and kindness, I moved back to my
family home, with nothing much going on for
me except this play.
Now what happened was I believed in the power of
storytelling.
This is now 2003.
Interesting time.
And I wanted to inspire and empower my South Asian and
Muslim communities and make them believe that there's
power in their stories.
And I wanted to make them realize that
their stories had value.
So what we did is I said I'm going to reach out to my
community first and foremost.
So what we did was, we used the internets to make a call
to anyone who was remotely brown with a pulse who wanted
to audition for this play that I'd written called "The
Domestic Crusaders" about a family of Muslim-Pakistani
Americans, six characters, a grandfather, the Pakistani
immigrants, and their three American-born children, who
all convene on the family house for one day.
Six roles.
I said anyone remotely with a tan, with a pulse, interested
in performing.
That's the only prerequisite.
Come try out for this play.
Now we did auditions at Chandni.
Every community has a Chandni.
Chandni Restaurant slash community hall is where people
go to get married, get divorced, have buffets, have
religious experiences, convert to Islam, convert out of
Islam, do ameens, do bismillahs, do the Hanukkahs,
do Sikh weddings.
Every community has a Chandni.
I told the Chandni owner I'm going to do
additions at your place.
It's a local place.
Can you just give me a space?
He said I'll let you come on the weekends.
You have to buy at least seven buffets.
I'm like done.
I'll promise that the people who come audition, I'll
convince them to buy buffets, which happened.
The first week, the first time we did it, eight people, 8 to
13 people did it.
They came in, did the staged reading.
They were very hesitant, skeptical.
But they read the script and within an hour I could tell
they were jazzed.
The second week, word of mouth spread, 20 people.
did the audition.
At the end of a month and a half, 135 people auditioned
for the play.
Now we need a place to stage the play.
So we went to Chandni's competition, Mehran
Restaurant, which is right next door to Chandni, not
making this up, in Newark, California.
And I said to Fayaz, the owner, I said what will it
cost for me to use your hall, transform it into a dinner
theater experience, and you could give me
a South Asian buffet?
He said $15 cost.
I realized I couldn't handle it.
So I brought in a heavy hitter, my father, as my
messenger, who came in, rolled up his sleeves, had a sit-down
with Fayaz, and said the following.
(PAKISTANI ACCENT) Fayaz.
Why do you disrespect me this way?
True story.
We've known each other for a long time.
I've given you good business.
$15?
$15?
I will make you good business.
And we will transform Mehran into not just a community
hall, but into a dinner theatre experience.
And Fayaz thought about it, and he brought the cost down
to $6 for a five course buffet meal, endless supply of chai,
and kir dessert with the hall.
OK.
I went to another relative, an uncle, and said if I gave you
a dinner theatre experience, stage reading, and
a buffet for $15.
Would you come?
True story.
Uncle looks at me and says (PAKISTANI ACCENT) if you make
it $10, I'll think about it.
So we made it $10.
We made it $10.
And they said if 50 people showed up, it'd be a success.
We publicized using this antiquated technology from the
20th century called Evite--
you might remember it.
It still exists--
used listservs, reached out to local South Asian communities,
organizations, members, word of mouth spread.
Guess how many people showed up?
Interactive crowd.
Love it.
450.
450 people showed up.
The capacity was 220.
We fit 350.
Don't ask me how.
And most people who showed up, to be honest, they showed up
out of curiosity.
And they said--
I want to speak Urdu, but I know this is
going to be on YouTube.
But a lot of Pakistani uncles were like (PAKISTANI ACCENT)
this is-- what is this, this play?
We'll come out and see it.
Let's see it.
And one Pakistani uncle came up to me and said--
true story--
he said beta-- son--
why don't you do something useful with
your life, like protest.
Look what's happening in 2003, all that's happening.
Go protest.
What is this playwriting, shaywriting?
True story--
I'll get back to that uncle in a second.
So we had no money and we rehearsed for this play in the
backyard of Ishmael Reed--
my producer--
and Carla Blank, his wife, the director.
And just a quick note on Ishmael Reed.
I was so--
I was such a bumpkin that in college, I didn't know that
Ishmael Reed was a MacArthur genius winner, twice-nominated
Pulitzer writer.
And in his backyard means six other Pakistanis are
rehearsing where my mom made the dhal and biriyani on the
weekends and I, of course, supplied the chai.
We did the play.
The play was a huge success.
We're like awesome, great, wonderful.
I think I'm done with my life.
I decide to go to law school to become "honorable."
And during the first year of law school, during the summer,
where we're supposed to actually do something useful
like apply to a corporation, an opportunity presented
itself to perform the play at the Berkeley Repertory
Theater, which is a major regional theater.
We decided we'll do it.
I was completely broke, had no money.
I got a little bit of money from my friends.
Again, we performed.
We did the rehearsals in the backyard of Ishmael Reed and
Carla Blank.
We needed to dress the set to make it look like a
Pakistani-American home.
So naturally, we used furniture from my home.
My grandmother comes home one day, comes downstairs, and
says beta, are we moving?
And my grandmother is a 75-year-old heart
patient at that time.
We had to sit her down and say no, no, It'll come back in
three days, we promise.
Now the play was always intended for a global
multi-cultural audience.
People, again, made fun of us, said no one would show up.
We had no money, so we had to stretch the dollar into $20,
use new media.
Needed to create a press release, so went to Sheik
Google, type in press release.
How to make press release.
Figured it out, wrote a press release, sent it out.
Got local press, got the front page of SF Chronicle which
then intrigued a BBC journalist to come by to the
2005 Berkeley Repertory Theatre performance, which was
a week after the 7-7 London subway bombing, of course,
perpetrated by Pakistani Muslims.
And everyone at that time, 2005, finally Pakistani came
in the news, unfortunately for wrong reasons.
And everyone was curious about this city
in India named Pakistan.
And you're like no, dude, Pakistan's a country-- just
don't worry about it.
Pakistan's a different country.
But everyone was curious.
Play sold out.
Got standing ovations, multi-cultural audience.
A couple months later we did it at San Jose for 9/11/2005.
Play sold out again.
BBC--
that same journalist-- sent back word to BBC headquarters.
They did a 10-minute piece on us, all right on 9/11/2005.
The BBC folks liked the play so much that they said can we,
on our BBC letterhead, solicit every theater in London to
perform this play, because it's so
important and we need it.
I thought about it and said yes.
Yes, you can.
But at that time, 2005--
2005, for those of you who remember, if we can go into
our 1985 DeLorean and do time travel back to 2005, it was a
crazy time where Dixie Chicks were considered traitors.
You guys remember this?
Dixie chicks are the whitest women on Earth.
They're blond.
They sing country music.
They love the God, and they're married.
Could you imagine what they would have done
with a guy like me?
2005?
So a lot of Pakistanis and Muslims-- and the play's not
controversial-- were like do you really want this message
out there right now?
And the feedback we got from lot of theaters was they liked
the play, but they wanted me to change it.
So I said how do you want me to change it?
Oh they're like, you know, just some other
things, just change it.
I'm like can you tell me what you want me to change?
And they're like, just you know-- ehh
[WISHY WASHY SOUNDS]
And so we realize that was code word for take away some
of the politics, take away some of the religion.
So we decided we had to wait.
Fast forward.
Now I would think that I have these
two successful premieres.
Life would be awesome.
I'd become a wealthy playwright.
I'd travel the world.
And I'd sleep on the bed of money with dozens of women,
and my life would be made.
Wrong.
Fast forward, 2007.
I graduated from law school.
And I end up back in my family home in my high school
bedroom, completely broke with my father putting $5 bills in
my wallet every day.
Out of desperation and frustration, I decide to write
an article.
And this article was a truncated article from a
report from actually a paper I'd written in law school
about Blackwater and private military firms in Iraq.
I submit it to an online magazine.
It got published.
They said if you want to submit any time, submit it.
I said really?
They said really.
I was hooked.
I started submitting op-eds.
I wanted to interview this dude named Seymour Hirsch,
who's this Pulitzer-winning journalist, just
for the hell of it.
Because if you're jobless sitting at home going crazy,
and you get ideas like I want to interview Seymour Hirsch.
So I went to Sheik Google, Google Seymour
Hirsch phone number.
And I found one.
I swear.
Sorry Seymour Hirsch.
And I cold call Seymour Hirsch.
Guy picks up the phone.
I'm like I'm a freelance journalist, Seymour Hirsch.
I would like to interview you.
He says call me back two weeks later.
We'll schedule the interview.
I call him back two weeks later.
He was a bad mood.
I'm like I'm that Muslim-American journalist who
wants to interview you.
He goes huh?
I already did the Muslims.
I did Al Jazeera.
And I'm like no, no, this is something else.
So he said well, if you want to-- after 20 minutes--
being the son of Pakistani immigrants, I kept him on the
phone, convinced him to talk to me.
He said well, if you want to--
if we do this hypothetical interview, throw me a
hypothetical question.
I threw him a hypothetical question.
He answered it.
I said if we did a hypothetical interview, that's
how it'd go.
He goes hypothetical interview?
This is the effing interview.
Get out your recorder.
Let's go, let's go.
I didn't have a recorder, so I sat there with my phone on my
shoulder and typed transcript of the entire interview.
That was my first interview.
It got published, led to another online magazine saying
if you want to publish anytime, go ahead.
I said sure.
Within six months, I published 50 articles--
maybe 75 within a period of a year.
And all a sudden, people were calling me a journalist.
I said OK.
People are inviting me to journalism conferences to give
talks to journalists, which I thought was kind of hilarious.
But I went because it was free, and they
gave me free food.
Now fast forward, spring of 2007.
I get a job in a kind of shady immigration law firm run by
South Asians.
And I get a lot of free time.
So I'm working as an attorney finally.
And there's a guy named Barack Hussein Obama who could have
become President.
And I thought to myself the tides are changing.
Maybe is now the time for this play "Domestic Crusaders."
So also, I was about to turn 28.
And anyone who's younger than the age of 30, you'd realize
that some of us go through a premature midlife crisis.
And I thought I would die by the age of 30.
I literally thought I would die.
I thought I would wake up at the age of 30, have a cardiac,
like heart attack die--
like the Earth would open up, swallow my body.
It'd be over.
So I'm like I need to do something before I die
at the age of 30.
The only thing I've done which is worthwhile is this play
"Domestic Crusaders." I have to get this play
staged in New York.
For whatever reason, I said that we have to do it on 9/11.
And then I said I have to get it published.
This is what I must do before I die at the age of 30.
Now what happened is I found someone called the Nuyorican
Poets Cafe in New York that said if you raise $24,000
within one year, we'll give you five weeks in our theater.
We'll give you from 9/11/09 to October.
They said you have to raise $24,000, and we'll
give you the space.
So what I did was I created an elevator pitch in the form of
a half a page email.
I used Sheik Google.
I used the internets.
I used your competition Macebook.
I used the Twitter-- is Twitter your competition?
Not yet, right?
Not yet.
Not yet.
I used Twitter.
I use the blogosphere I used any network I could and sent
this elevator pitch in the form of an email out, like a
message in a bottle to do fund raising.
I also opened up a Paypal account.
The first fundraiser was done by my Vietnamese-American
friends from high school who raised me $1,500.
A lady by the name of [? Zebag ?]
[? Ball ?] all the way in New York read my stories, said I
believe in what you're trying to do.
Let me invite you to New York.
Maybe we can raise some money.
Went to New York for the first time in my life, raise the
second $1,500.
Word of mouth started to spread.
And little by little, $5 here, $10 here, $15 there, I ended
up raising $31,000.
The last money came two weeks before the play's premiere due
to an anonymous check.
Thank you.
But what really happened was I realized we needed messengers,
because no one wanted to hear the story of a Pakistani
chaiwallah, doing a play with six Pakistani characters who
aren't doing bhangra or blowing themselves up.
And I realized in the world we live in, we need to get
validated by the people.
Now who are the people?
I'll finish up in two minutes.
Who are the people?
Good question.
After every "Domestic Crusader" performance, someone
from my ethnic community--
"ethnic"--
used to come up to me and say the following.
(WHISPERED) Psst.
Wajahat.
Come here.
I'm like what?
[INAUDIBLE] come here.
I'm like what's up?
(PAKISTANI ACCENT) Play was great.
But what do the people think about it?
I'm like well you saw the play in front of people.
And there were people to your left, people to your right.
The people seem to like it.
They gave a standing ovation.
Like (PAKISTANI ACCENT) Bsht, not those people.
The People.
And here is just some community interaction.
The people is a code word for who?
AUDIENCE: Intelligence.
WAJAHAT ALI: Not intelligence.
Nice job of being politically correct.
AUDIENCE: White people.
WAJAHAT ALI: White people.
Yes, the white people.
I said don't worry about the white people.
The white people are OK.
You don't have to hold the white people's hands.
I have faith in the white people.
I love the white people.
Some of my best friends are the people.
Don't worry about it.
It'll be OK.
But we realized we need messengers and validators.
So I made a list of 250 people I respected.
I really respected.
Writers, poets, playwrights, activists, and I didn't have
any of their email or contacts.
So for a year, until 3:00 AM at night, using Sheik Google--
I'm not making this up-- and search engines, I found any
email contact I could--
a publicist, a manager, an agent, anything.
Created an Excel sheet, send out my half-page elevator
pitch, half-page elevator pitch.
I got the contact of Emma Thompson, Academy Award
winning actress.
Through her publicist, she sends me an email back finally
saying your play sounds great.
I want to read it.
Send me a hard copy.
I send a hard copy.
I think, you know what, I'm never going to
hear back from her.
A couple months later, a friend of mine, Gundar Strads,
who gets all the "Domestic Crusader" mail, says, hey,
there's a letter from some lady named Emma.
Emma Tumps.
Emma Tumps.
You know anyone named Emma Tumps?
I'm like I don't know anyone named Emma Tumps.
Oh wait, Emma Thompson.
I mean, Emma Thompson?
Fricking read the paper right now, Ned, what's going on?
Don't waste time.
He mails me the letter.
Emma Thompson writes me a two-page handwritten letter,
saying how much she loves the play, how she
wants to support it.
And she gives me her personal email address, says contact me
if you want help.
Being the son of Pakistani immigrants, I said sure, I
need some help.
Can you give me a review blurb?
She gave me a great review blurb, where she attaches her
name to the play and says help me and Wajahat
staging this play.
Then she says ask me if you want anything else.
So I said well, if you are asking, why don't we-- why
don't you give me some funds if you want to just donate.
So she sends me a check for like about $1,500.
We get people like Yann Martell, the author of "Life
of Pi." We get people like Dave Eggers.
We end up getting all these validators, diverse
invalidators, not just the people, but also the ethnics.
Right?
We go to Sheik Google, press Press Release.
Using all our contacts, we send out the press release to
every mainstream outlet.
It's about August 2009.
The play's premiering 9/11/2009 in New York.
Two and a half weeks before the play, we don't have a
single article on us, not a single interview.
I had faith.
I said wait for it.
Within the last week, if you build it, they will come.
And within the last week of the play's premiere, we got
"The New York Times" feature.
We got MSNBC.
We got NBC.
We got Al Jazeera.
We got local, national, international press.
People thought we would fail.
9/11 opening night.
Diverse multicultural crowd.
Sold out.
Word of mouth spread.
We ended up selling out week three, week four, and week
five by the beginning of the third week.
The Nuyorican Poets Cafe, who was terrified that we will
sell no tickets, told us at the end of our run that we
broke their 40-year box office records.
And then-- yeah, thanks.
And then after--
AUDIENCE: [LAUGHTER]
WAJAHAT ALI: I'll take one "wow!" Fine.
Cause this is Google, right?
People are like (PAKISTANI ACCENT) Pssht, five weeks.
Why wasn't it 50 weeks?
Loser.
Do you have Google stock like I do?
No.
I'm better than you.
I know what Pakistanis think.
It's all good.
It's all good.
But I sold out.
And we broke the box office records.
And finish, to finish, I came back and I had
this dream, this vow--
I was 28--
to publish this play by the time I turned 30.
Long story short, through this journalism career, blogging
career, lawyer career that just kind of fortuitously
bubbled up in the last two years, I had a connection with
a Pulitzer-nominated author and publisher of McSweeney's,
Dave Eggers.
And the email literally went like this--
half-page email--
hey dude, I have a good idea.
McSweeney should publish "Domestic Crusaders." Here's
10 reasons why.
If anyone has received emails from me, they realize it seems
like it's sent by a six-year-old child.
I don't use capitalization, grammar, anything.
It's like pidgin English.
And I didn't even use one, two, three--
I just did dashes.
I'm like you guys, I've written a play.
The play's important.
It'll help you with the multicultural audiences.
You like the play.
And so, why not?
He responds back to me in typical professional fashion
dude, that's a great idea.
Let me give it to my board.
It's not up to me.
The board reads the play, unanimously decides to publish
the play, and then a day after turning 30, I held the first
copy of the "Domestic Crusaders" that got published
in January 2001, is now being taught at universities--
thank you.
AUDIENCE: [APPLAUSE]
WAJAHAT ALI: And I can now announce that I just signed
the contract right before coming to
Google at Postal Annex.
I sent it off.
And "Domestic Crusaders," after 10 years, is actually
going to be in London in 2013.
And Emma Thompson, who's been so nice, sent me an email last
night, said invite--
I look forward to it.
I'm going to come see your production.
Come eat dinner at my house.
I will cook for you.
I really want to meet you and your wife.
She really loved my marriage story, which is on my blog.
Shameless, shameless promotion.
But that's Emma Thompson.
And people like Dave Eggers, and people like Carla Blank,
my director, people like Ishmael Reed, a community who
believed in me that 10 years now down the line, after I had
left the play, because I published and
I'm like I'm done.
And the play got a life of its own.
And then after I'd published it and left, people have been
coming to me for the past two years-- universities,
colleges, student groups, and now England.
And it's been a long fulfilling journey.
And I want to end it on this note.
That uncle in 2003--
remember at Mehran Restaurant who said (PAKISTANI ACCENT)
Beta, do something useful.
Go protest.
That uncle came up to me about three years ago when we were
doing the play in New York.
That same uncle came up to me and said listen, I've been in
this country for 40 years.
I've done everything right.
I'm a successful engineer.
I've paid taxes.
I've raised my kids right.
I've never done anything wrong.
I turn on the TV, and they still see me as either a cab
driver or a terrorist.
I wish I would've made one of my sons into a
storyteller like you.
I realize there's so much value in storytelling.
Keep doing what you're doing.
I support you.
And so that's something fulfilling after 10 years.
And now I get to travel the world, and I
don't ride my law degree.
I ride my pen.
And once in awhile, when I'm lucky, someone makes chai for
me for a change.
So thank you for having me, Google.
I'm done.
You guys have five minutes?
AUDIENCE: [APPLAUSE]
WAJAHAT ALI: You hear that, YouTube?
You hear that?
All right.
AUDIENCE: This was very engaging.
I was just wandering through the halls
and heard you talking.
And you were engaging enough to keep me occupied for your
entire story.
So thank you.
WAJAHAT ALI: Thank you sir.
Thank you for that.
The check is in the mail.
You performed admirably.
Thank you for that.
I appreciate it.
AUDIENCE: I actually wanted to know about
your upcoming stuff.
I know you're working on a screenplay and another play.
So if you can tell us about that?
WAJAHAT ALI: Sure, the upcoming stuff.
I'm working on my first movie screenplay with a really cool
director by the name of Josh Seftel.
He made this movie called "War, Incorporated." I wish I
could tell you more.
It's a really cool story.
It's a fictional take on a real life character who does
some amazing work.
So I'm learning how to do a screenplay.
That's fun.
Me and Dave Eggers, for two years, have been
working on a TV pilot.
HBO commissioned us on a pitch we made about an American
Muslim cop in the Bay Area.
I really like the damn pilot.
I'm not just saying that because we wrote it.
But I really think it's damn good.
And it's a very, very Bay Area pilot.
It's not just San Francisco.
It's East Bay and San Francisco.
It's very real, very nuanced, and layered.
We did the third draft.
I kicked over the third draft to Dave.
He has to do the final edits.
Let's see what happens.
And somehow, this weird circuitous professional path
has led to me being a researcher on
Islamophobia in America.
And I've been working on some upcoming research about the
rise of Islamophobia, but specifically labeling and
singling out the Islamophobes.
And we label them in a big report we did last year called
"Fear, Incorporated, The Roots of the Islamophobia Network in
America," where we, for the first time ever-- it was a
six-month investigative report, where we traced all
the funding, traced the major Islamophobic players and how
they have created these memes that have entered in the
mainstream, such as President Obama's a Muslim.
He isn't.
Or anti-Sharia threat, and so forth.
So it's a really weird path.
But my family would really, really like me
to still be an attorney.
And they're still trying to figure out what I want to be
when I grow up.
But not my parents-- my parents, nontypical,
nonstereotypical South Asian parents--
I want to give a shout out to my parents--
have always supported me since I was like 9 or 10 years old.
So they keep telling me to do what I'm doing.
But the larger family--
Pakistanis are a breeding people.
We travel in a horde of 60 or 70.
So they to this day still think I failed in my life and
have not utilized my law career.
And they think literally I just sit there doing emails
all night till 4:00 AM.
But that's what I'm working on right now.
AUDIENCE: Great talk.
WAJAHAT ALI: Thank you.
AUDIENCE: I just wanted to know what you think of the
state of Muslim arts is in the US, and what we could do to
encourage it.
WAJAHAT ALI: Ah, crap, a thesis question.
The state of Muslim arts right now.
Actually, it's a very good question.
Real quick, I think it's not surprising that after 9/11, we
saw a figurative creative explosion of American Muslim
artistic endeavors.
And any time you look at any ethnic minority, it usually
takes tremendous pain or love that inspires this, right?
African Americans, Irish Catholic, Jewish Americans.
Jewish Americans and African Americans, not surprising,
suffered tremendously--
also, some of the creators of the best
art in America, right?
And I think there's a permanent fork road in the
timeline of 9/11.
We want to escape, but hopefully we've reached the
post-post-9/11 climate.
And what we saw in the past 10 years is you see American
Muslims, like lawyers, doctors, and engineers, who
left the trinity to do stand-up comedy.
Now we see people like Willow Wilson, my friend who's a
graphic novelist and writing a book called Alif.
You see people emerging in spoken word.
And what we're witnessing now-- and this is a test for
the American Muslims--
is when it comes to any ethnic minority that doesn't have
mainstream publicity, they want every single
representation to be an avatar of perfection.
So they're like this is our one shot at having a play.
This is our one shot of having a Muslim.
We have to tell every single story that
exists under the sun.
We have to show how we're perfect.
And every time you expose warts, there's tremendous push
back from the community, which is what me
and others have witnessed.
Because they want the avatar of perfection.
But what we know is that good art reflects the warts.
It makes it interesting.
No one want to see a perfect story.
It's boring.
And you want art to resonate.
So what we're seeing now is a shift where I think many
American Muslim artists--
I know many of them.
They've had such tremendous strain on them to always make
their art quote-unquote "Islamic." Right?
There's always a tendency among Muslims circles that the
art has to be Islamic.
What does that mean?
And there's like this religious police that says you
didn't say Bismillah and [URDU], didn't have
four suras in there.
This is not Islamic.
And they completely dismiss it.
And what I want is to see more artists who just
happen to be Muslim.
And that must mean also the way our art gets better is to
change the mentality of American Muslim communities
where you have to make a big tent
approach to American Islam.
That means that if a person identifies as Muslim, I'm not
interested in their piety or their religiosity.
If they identify as a Muslim, and they're willing to
contribute to the dialogue and give something back, we have
to give them that space.
We have to acknowledge that space.
And likewise we have to acknowledge
artists in that space.
It might not always be religious or pious or
conservative or liberal or progressive, because the
progressives go into the
conservatives, all these labels.
My concern is number one make the art good, because I think
good art attracts good audiences.
Make it authentic.
And I think we as a community, then, through our art, can
really push the boundaries and make the tent of American
Islam bigger to encompass all the stories,
not just one story.
And I hope I answered that question.
But we're seeing it now.
Finally 10 years later, we're finally seeing the shift where
you see an artist say I'm writing a play, not about
Muslims or Islam, just a play about people.
And I happen to be an American Muslim.
And that's OK.
And if an American Muslim says you know what?
I want to write a play which has a political edge and a
religious edge, they should have that space too.
I hope I got you there.
AUDIENCE: Obviously the--
you mentioned earlier your ties to the--
the purported ties that people make of you to these extremist
groups and all of this.
I'm curious if that started as a result of "Domestic
Crusaders" or as a result of the "Fear, Inc" publication.
WAJAHAT ALI: Right.
So I joked--
I was joking about my fictional ties to extremist
groups-- quote unquote "extremist groups." Look, it
started as a result of the publication of "Fear,
Incorporated," where we literally named all the names
of the key Islamophobes.
And we went into it very strategically, knowing that's
how they'll retaliate.
Because one of their key goals is to marginalize any American
Muslim voice that becomes prominent, either in Google or
politics or the media, that threatens their narrative,
which paints a civilizational war between
the West versus Islam.
So any time an American Muslim voice emerges in the
mainstream, they want to marginalize that voice.
It's been happening for the past 10 years.
Strategically, we knew that was going to happen.
I looked at my track record, and I'm like OK, let
them come after me.
And after the publication of "Fear, Inc." which has been a
year, they have tried in very desperate, amusing fashion to
call me like Wajahat Ali, a man of hate.
And every time they print out something, I just sit there
and read and laugh with my friends, which I don't know if
it's normal.
Because my friends get really upset on my behalf.
They're like Wajahat Ali, look what they did.
All my friends-- regardless of ethnicity, they're like I
can't believe they did that.
I just think it's very funny.
So I just read it and I laugh.
And they make these bizarre obtuse links.
So they said I was a member of a social group, Muslim Student
Association.
And they make these crazy links, and then they say look,
I am a pawn of the radical Muslim Brotherhood with the
agenda to infiltrate America and replace the Constitution
with Sharia.
So this has been happening.
But because we've seen a shift in the past one year or two
year, where the Islamophobes have become so extreme.
And unfortunately, they've infiltrated
the Republican Party.
The Republicans now even are like, this is bad news for our
brand name and our party, which is why you see people
like John McCain and even Boehner go against Michele
Bachmann, who, if you don't know, last year Michele
Bachmann came up with a memo saying these names of these
American Muslims--
she named the names--
are part of the radical Muslim Brotherhood agenda.
As a result of this witch hunt and fear mongering, she was
blasted by John McCain, Boehner, and even her former
campaign manager, Ed Rollins who said it was shameful.
But she raised $1 million in a month, based on that
fearmongering.
So they try to come after me, but it's been very minor.
Mostly because I have deliberately spoken to a
multicultural audience--
deliberately, intentionally--
and I've never said anything really radical, I mean, if you
look at my stuff.
I stand by my political opinions, even those that
might be unpopular.
I've tried to be very fair.
They've tried to attack me, but it hasn't stuck.
And that's why I'm like OK, if you want to come after
me come after me.
I'll come after you, which is what we're doing.
And my hope is to expose Islamophobes.
I want to be very transparent, because they're a poison to
America, and specifically in light of Anders Breivik the
Norwegian murderer who killed 77 people.
He left behind a 1,500-page manifesto, where he cites all
these American Islamophobia that are mentioned in the
"Fear, Inc." report.
And experts have said that they didn't cause him to do
this, but he emerges from the same ideological
infrastructure.
So we want to expose them because we
see them as a poison.
And when you expose people like this, yes, you get hit.
But I've been very lucky, that nothing's been able to stick.
So that's why I joke about it so openly.
I'm like, yeah, Barack Obama, my Muslim president.
We hang out and have dhal and drink chai.
Sometimes we eat pork.
I'm just kidding.
I don't eat pork.
He's not Muslim.
If he is Muslim, he's the worst Muslim of all time.
Chillax.
All right.
I hope I answered your question.
I went a little too detail into it.
Yeah, good?
Good.
AUDIENCE: Probably a two part question, one is just building
on what you just talked about, what's happening with the
recent movie and with the [? stuff ?]
going on YouTube.
So the entire process, I also want you to talk about the
mentality of the people and your
psychoanalysis of the situation.
WAJAHAT ALI: My psychoanalysis of the situation?
Wow.
I should have gotten paid by Google.
Google needs to pay me next time.
Go ahead.
You are a playwriter, so I believe you would have that
[? deal ?].
And the second is do you think about doing these plays
yourself, going out in Muslim countries to actually build
awareness within those countries about what they are
fighting for or what America is for or what the values are.
WAJAHAT ALI: You cheated with a two-part question.
But I'm going to answer.
Very quickly, I think, when it comes to this unfortunate
movie that was released on YouTube and subsequently has
spurned protests across Muslim communities that have resulted
in deaths, I think extremism begets extremism.
And I say that because the makers of this documentary, if
you look at their ideological ties, one of the film's
promoters deliberately said, [? specifically ?] he said we
hoped this would happen, which he's talking about the riots.
And he has ideological ties to people like Pamela Geller and
Robert Spencer who were some of the key Islamophobes we
mentioned in "Fear, Incorporated," who are members
of the hate group Stop Islamization of America.
So do they have a right to create inflammatory
material like this?
I strongly believe they do.
Does that give a right to anyone to
respond with violence?
No.
As a Muslim, I think those Muslims who try to rationalize
and validate their violent response by saying they are
defending the legacy of the Prophet Muhammad, are in fact
betraying the legacy, spirit and [? etiquette ?]
of the Prophet Muhammad.
And I'm not just saying that to mince words, to be nice.
I sincerely mean that.
I had tremendous anger when I saw people respond violently.
At the same time, what we should know is that there's
1.5 billion Muslims.
And even in countries like Libya, in Egypt, what we saw--
and I'm glad due to globalization, we can finally
get this in the mainstream--
you saw protests against the violent protesters.
You saw 30,000 Libyans come out peacefully protesting the
violent protests that killed the ambassador Chris Stevens.
And even you saw images of Muslims worldwide saying this
does not represent Islam.
So when people say why does the Muslim
world behave like this?
You say, it's not the Muslim world.
Islam doesn't speak.
Muslims do.
And there's 1.4 billion Muslims.
It's just some minority faction in Pakistan, Egypt,
and so forth.
But a problem exists within these countries, and it's very
deliberate when you see the countries--
Tunisia, Egypt, Libya.
I mean, you see-- they went through the
Arab Spring last year.
It's not surprising at all to me that certain factions are
trying to play up on this, which they do.
And I think what we're seeing now, though, is a shift where
people understand that it's not the majority
of Muslims in America.
The narrative still persists.
It's troubling.
And I think, again, extremism begets extremism.
And this is why stories are so important, because you need
more narratives out there.
Right?
You need more narratives than the rage boy cover that came
out on "Newsweek" last week.
You guys see that cover?
Out of all the messengers, they chose Ayin Hirsi Ali.
"Newsweek" has every right.
But it's like I always joked.
I said asking Ayin Hirsi Ali to talk about Muslims is
asking like Mel Gibson to do a convening about Jews.
Just because the Jews will be like out of all the people
that you could choose, why would you choose someone who's
made a creator out of being inflammatory and
scholastically incorrect with their analysis?
Right?
And so, again, you see sensationalism
dominate the news.
But I think it does bring up good points about art, the
role of art, the power of art, cartoons.
People say art exists in a vacuum.
It doesn't.
It informs the vacuum.
It reflects.
It informs the vacuum.
It reflects society.
And sometimes, unfortunately, it explodes that vacuum.
And I think there's a responsibility for Muslims
also to step up-- clergy, artists,
writers, and they have--
to denounce that act.
And I think there is a strategy that needs to be to
respond intelligently, which is something that
sometimes we don't do.
Pakistani uncles take a chai and yell at Bill O'Reilly at
their home.
It's fun to yell at Bill O'Reilly and Fox News, but
maybe there's some more important strategies.
For the second question, very quick, interest has come from
many Muslim countries--
"Muslim" countries.
Pakistan is really interested, and they see value in it.
I think if we pull it off in England--
I signed the contract.
Let's see what happens--
I think we go transatlantic first, and I think it will
trickle down to other countries.
But the beautiful thing about being published is people are
reading it all around the world.
And I know LUMS University--
anyone who went to LUMS here in Lahore?
One person.
Congratulations.
LUMS University has taught the play.
So it's good.
I hope I was able to answer your two-part thesis question.
Thanks, guys.
AUDIENCE: [APPLAUSE]
WAJAHAT ALI: Thank you.
Thank you, Suhair.
Thank you, Google.