How 'The Night Of' Could Have Been My Story...

It’s not surprising how much I identify with the character of Naz.
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Disclaimer: The following post contains detailed information regarding the show while attempting to avoid major spoilers.

When I first entered college, I remember being wide-eyed, innocent and ill-prepared for all of the trials, risk-taking behaviors, and prejudice at the academic level. My loving parents moved from Pakistan to America to establish a better life for their children. Being the first born child and the first born in America, I had to spend a fair amount of time synchronizing and compartmentalizing what I learned in school and television and what I was immersed in at home. Like Naz, I found (and find) myself frequently tight-roping the line of balance between my American identity, my Muslim identity, and my Pakistani identity simultaneously trying to “fit in” and be cool. I can remember many times in college where I found myself in precarious situations, that didn’t “feel right” but attempting to fit in or avoid experiencing FOMO (fear of missing out).

College Years: I am wearing a silver tie on the upper right with glasses.
College Years: I am wearing a silver tie on the upper right with glasses.

So it’s not surprising how much I identify with the character of Naz. HBO’s “The Night of”” came across as an accurate portrayal of the Pakistani American Muslim experience. Nasir (Naz) Khan is a young college student from a traditional Pakistani family in Jackson Heights who just by taking a few bad steps, ends up in one of the nation’s most dangerous correctional institutions, Rikers Island. I wonder what I would have done if I was in Naz’s shoes. If I was an honor student, wanting to be on the basketball team and one of the players asks me to come to a “cool party,” would I have gone? If my father was a taxi-driver and I didn’t have a car, would I have taken my father’s taxi? If an attractive woman was interested in hanging out with me, would I have given her a ride? Far removed from early adulthood, I would now hope that in these situations I wouldn’t have engaged in the risk–taking behaviors that went on in the show that evening, but would I be honest to say that I wouldn’t be as impressionable as Naz when I was a 20-year old college student?

Courtesy of HBO

The show highlights many of the stereotypes of Muslims and Arabs in the show. From the beginning, Nasir is called “Towel-head,” “Mustafa,” said to have been carrying “bombs,” “running away from DHS,” “Muslim freak,” etc. He apparently had been involved in two Islamophobia-related altercations at school after 9/11 that got him kicked off the basketball team and forced a transfer to a different school. As a result of his intensely public trial, hate crimes against “Arab looking” cab drivers increased, swastikas, crosses, and “Muslims go home” signs were written with graffiti over the walls.

Rep. King: Meet Muslim American Heroes. (n.d.). Retrieved September 10, 2016, from http://www.humanrightsfirst.org/2011/03/09/rep-king-meet-muslim-american-heroes

Internally within the Muslim and Pakistani community, Nasir was seen throughout the series with fear and suspicion, so much so that his family apparently was considering moving, obviously for safety and the trauma, but additionally because of the “community shame” that had been unjustly placed upon them stemming from of the Islamophobic rhetoric and corrupt justice system against people of color. Perhaps even deeper was the concept of “desi guilt” in the movies. Desi meaning people who originate and identify from the South-Asian region. The desi culture is built upon “duty,” and one of the duties is to serve and honor one’s family. As a first born son like Nasir, I take great pride and care in protecting the honor of my family and serving them righteously. In multiple scenes, Naz is looking to his parents with a look of shame, fearing that they will judge him. He consistently yields to their advice and expertise as his parents and elders: as to which lawyer to take or which clothes to wear in court. His father was supportive throughout the series. However, one of the sadder realities of the series was the relationship of Naz and his mother. As the trial progresses and even after the trial had concluded, Naz’s mother begins to doubt her son’s innocence and he eventually confronts her about it, thus straining the relationship even more. Perhaps even more troubling, is the slim probability of the reconciliation between the two.

Courtesy of HBO
Courtesy of HBO

The transformation of Naz in prison was also frightening. I honestly can’t blame Naz for all of the risk-taking behavior he had to partake in in prison because I don’t know what any of us would do in that situation to survive. The problem is that what happened in prison would probably have a drastic effect on his mental health. Currently, there is still a strong stigma attached with mental health and the Muslim community and if his story was true, I doubt he would have sought or had the resources for the proper care that he and his family needed to move on from this traumatic experience. The eccentric and dichotomous friendship with fellow inmate Freddy, in one way corrupts Naz to another level, but also protects him and grooms to survive in the “real world.” The two grew so close that Freddie left a book for Naz instead of being able to say good-bye to him and in turn you see Naz staring and having tears as he leaves his friend forever.

Courtesy of HBO

Two more refreshing relationships were with his attorney Stone who trusts him and supports him from the beginning even for free when he wasn’t technically his lawyer anymore. And of course Chandra his other attorney, who became emotionally compromised, but was still supportive and was a testament to positive Indian-Pakistani relations that South-Asians experience here in the U.S. These relationships were refreshing and reaffirming of the greatness of our country to do what’s right even in these intense times of prejudice and Islamophobia.

Courtesy of HBO

As a Muslim chaplain and university professional now, I find myself reflecting on how best to create a community and environment where my students, faculty, and staff look to me for guidance and to enable safe-spaces to explore their identity in healthy ways, to not feel enticed to walk into tumultuous situations that could affect their lives forever. We see how one instance of being in the “wrong place at the wrong time” can lead to a snowballing effect of disastrous consequences. The reason I entered into this field was to be a support-system for students like Naz and guide them to a better path. How does one truly be Muslim, ethnicity (x) and American at the same time? Or rather we learn that the full identity is really an intersectionality of attributes. I can only pray that stories like Naz do not become a common reality, and that God protects and guides our collective youth.

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