In defense of Ramy by Omar Bayramoglu
This article has spoilers, but kept to a minimum at the best of my ability.
The show Ramy on Hulu follows a young Egyptian and his family living in New Jersey, and their struggle to navigate the hyphen between their Egyptian and American identities. The character Ramy, in particular, has sparked much conversation within the Muslim community due to his problematic nature. According to Hulu,
Ramy is a first generation Egyptian-American who is on a spiritual journey in his politically-divided New Jersey neighborhood. Ramy will bring a new perspective to the screen as it explores the challenges of what it’s like being caught between a Muslim community that thinks life is a moral test and a millennial generation that thinks life has no consequences.1
After watching three seasons of the show, I found myself swayed back and forth in my feelings about it. Between episodes, I listened to podcast episodes, read articles, and skimmed social media posts to see what others thought. In the end, I found myself defending the show, and here's why.
I grew up in Paterson, NJ, a city in North Jersey with a population of over 150,000 people of different ethnicities and backgrounds, including Black, Arab, Turk, Hispanic, and Southeast Asian. The city is home to ten mosques that serve the diverse Muslim community. Growing up, some of us were welcomed in the mosque because of our upbringing, while others had to fight to be accepted. In one instance, there was an actual fight. I met a whole cast of characters, and I'm grateful for such a diverse childhood.
A few episodes into season one, I told my wife that I knew a hundred Ramys. As an Arab kid who is Muslim growing up in North Jersey, Ramy is trying to navigate the hyphen in his identity. In real life, young Muslims are also trying to navigate the hyphen in North Jersey. The show mirrors reality, and Ramy's friends represent different archetypes. He has a religious friend, Ahmed, played by Dave Merheje. Mo, played by comedian Mo Amer, is someone who always takes the easy religious option. Steve Russo, played by Steve Way, is Ramy's close non-Muslim friend. How different are these characters from those in our own lives?
The timeless question of how to live a good life has been debated since the time of the Socratics. As Muslims, the framework for good living is laid down by the Quran through the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ. We are called to put our faith into action and engage with people in goodness while pushing away what is disliked by Allah. Scholars used this and constructed approaches to living a good life, highlighting morals and virtues such as wisdom, courage, prudence, and justice. Working on oneself will propel one to a higher standard of living.
Ramy struggles with this throughout the first three seasons. He tries in the first season to do good. Ahmed gets him to go to tarawīh prayers during Ramadan. Ramy does his best to do good but always falls short. The show takes it's first low point in a scene between a woman who volunteers at the mosque and Ramy. Ramy finds himself in the woman's apartment without her husband present. In their conversation, she opens up that there are marital problems at the moment and that her husband is never present. Ramy falls back to his old ways and ends up in her bedroom. The scene is devilish and highly problematic. It does not help that this sexual promiscuity happened during Ramadan either. Talk about shock value.
In season two, the running storyline followed Ramy in finding someone who has patience with him. Actress MaameYaa Boafo played Fatima, the daughter of an imam of a zāwiya, Shaykh Ali Malik, played by Mahershala Ali. In season two, Ramy makes progress in becoming a better person. But drama ensues between Ramy and Fatima, and as usual with those struggling, he falls into infidelity the night before his wedding, causing his whole world to fall apart. He finds himself with no mentor in Shaykh Ali and no wife, naked in his hotel room. Everything is literally stripped away from him.
Again, the character commits heinous, problematic actions, and this by no means condones what happened. As a prison chaplain, I often see people honestly and sincerely try to be better. Upon returning to the chaos they came from, they are left alone and many times fall back into an old lifestyle. Three years into this profession, I see more and more faces that roamed prison halls returning. People need a chance and someone to pick them up when they fall. That is why I am intrigued by university chaplaincy. Campus is generally a controlled environment, and students who are consistent in being with the community come out with their head above water. Ramy does not have this, and as usual, falls into a state of grave sin.
By the time season three comes around, Ramy is a shell of his former self. He gives up his religious journey in a way. He gets a job with his uncle in the Diamond District in Manhattan and is very good at it. He makes his way through the industry, connecting eventually with Jewish businessmen. After a few episodes, Ramy makes his way to Jerusalem, expecting it to be a life-changing trip. Continuing with the theme of sin and redemption, Ramy finds a date on an app and follows through with it. Even as an Arab, his American passport gets him certain privileges in Jerusalem, this time at the expense of a young Palestinian boy. There is a scene that I found to be powerful of Ramy at a Muslim conference. Ramy walks past a booth where a nonprofit is trying to free the boy from Israeli imprisonment. In a burst of emotion, he empties his pockets and donates a large sum of money. By the end of the season, Ramy has an epiphany overlooking Manhattan. I would argue that, in a state of fanā’, spiritual annihilation, he immediately washes up for prayer and performs two voluntary units of prayer. It is a powerful moment where he comes to many realizations about his journey.
In a podcast with the great Brother Ali, Ramy shared that the final scene of season three is a culmination of not only Ramy’s journey, but that of his family and their struggles. Their story deserves another piece. Based on my own life, I see this happen to those who want it. I may have never been “Ramy” per say, but I do know people who are. Islam provides a roadmap that is transformative. Imam Dawood Yasin, now in Austin, Texas, taught me what he calls “experiential tawhīd”, where you work to experience Allah’s Oneness and presence. This may sometimes be something beyond words of the tongue. It is something only for the heart. Yes, the journey for Ramy was ugly but he never gave up on improving his relationship with Allah. When it comes to media and representation, we Muslims do not have much that is authentically Muslim. I would argue that there is an authenticity to Ramy’s character as a Muslim because every time he fell, he would get back up. In Islam, is it not that the point?