Bitter truths and lies of Hasan Minhaj: American media's repackaging of Islamophobia?
On 15 September, an article in The New Yorker took social media by storm as it pointed fingers at comedian Hasan Minhaj.
In the article penned by Clare Malone, a white American who is an Ohio-native, she alleged that Minhaj had "fabricated" a series of personal events he recounted during his standup shows over the years.
Titled "Emotional Truths", the article would go on to contend that the stories Minhaj told on stage, which generated quite a few chuckles to say the least, were either exaggerated or outright untrue.
The New Yorker investigated some of the most impactful bits from his standup show that helped him connect to his audience on a deeper level.
The article was picked up by almost all media outlets, which went on to gleefully label Minhaj a "dishonest performer".
The article, for instance, cast doubt on the integrity of Minhaj's account of being stood up by his prom date, who happened to be a white girl.
It also raised skepticism regarding other details, like the one where an FBI informant purportedly attempted to entrap Minhaj and his associates at a mosque, and another incident several years later when he had to hastily rush his daughter to the hospital due to receiving an envelope containing white powder, which he suspected to be anthrax.
"The nature of storytelling, let alone comedic storytelling, is inventive," said the New Yorker. "Its primary aim is to make an impression, to amuse or to engage. But the stakes appear to change when entertainers fabricate anecdotes about current events and issues of social injustice."
The article opened up a hornet's nest.
In response, Hasan Minhaj uploaded a video on social media explaining his side of the story. And the truth behind his "emotional truths."
Minhaj said there was a distinction between his news-based shows, where "the truth comes first," and his stand-up performances, where "the emotional truth" takes precedence.
For instance, the prom incident did take place; it's just that he compressed the timeline to make it appear that he heard of his rejection while at the girl's doorstep.
From Hasan's point of view, changing the timeline added to the comedic value and impact of his stories that might have been impossible if presented as it was.
Hasan, in his video, revealed that the encounter with the FBI agent never happened, but he did have confrontations with undercover law enforcement during his upbringing.
Also, while the distressing letter did exist, he didn't rush his daughter to the hospital because he later discovered, upon opening it, that the contents were not real anthrax.
The artistic intent, as Minhaj explained, was to "recreate that sensation - one exclusive to Muslims - for a wide-ranging audience; the feeling of paranoia and vindication, tension and release."
The incidents he incorporated into his show might not all be his truth. Hasan, however, wanted to create an impact by telling the collective truth of an entire community. If he went on only telling stories of people in his community, the stand-up special might have been deprived of its value.
Understandably, it might be difficult for everyone to navigate between the different comedy segments.
Later, the New Yorker did respond to his video saying that Hasan did confirm their claims of fabricating his stories and that what they reported was correct.
Even though the New Yorker's reporting and fact-checking were done thoroughly, they seemed to completely misunderstand some of the impacts of the interview they had with the comedian or the point of his video.
Their confirmation does beg questions like, why was only Hasan Minhaj under such fact-checking when it's a common practice among comedians to change details? Why were they so focused on the timeline of his stories? And missing the point of the creative choices he took. How is it different from other forms of storytelling?
A number of comedians came out in support of Minhaj. After all, what he had done was not something new.
Comedy – especially stand-up – has always been used to reinforce home truths.
Dave Chappelle, for instance, used his platform to raise the profile of the Black struggle in White America.
His "sprinkle some crack on them" line spoke about entrapment, how law enforcers would kill black Americans and then frame it as a drug bust.
While the incident Chapelle recounted wasn't true, it was a snapshot of what was happening.
That America grapples with Islamophobia isn't something to debate. It's pretty much a fact, a fiery one where further fuel was added post-9/11.
How does creative non-fiction work?
Minhaj's style of comedy can be described as creative non-fiction where the artist takes inspiration from real-life events and further dramatises or exaggerates.
So, where should one draw the lines between exaggeration, fictional technique, and outright fabrication?
Clearly, the incidents under discussion shouldn't be entirely fabricated; there must be an initial basis from which the writer constructs a narrative.
"In my work as a storytelling comedian, I assumed that the lines between truth and fiction were allowed to be a bit more blurry," said Minhaj.
In this belief, as proven by countless other comedians, Minhaj is clearly in the right.
How a magazine the stature of the New Yorker could commission and print such a "hit piece" is one that needs further focus.
Why pick on Minhaj? Are his exaggerations too real for the comfort of White America?
Isn't it the same as when White America declared war against hip-hop – a genre populated by Black artists – for bringing in stories from the "hood", tales rife with instances of discrimination and police brutality?
For now, Clare Malone and the New Yorker stand by their article. After all, their investigation of a fictional show proved it was fictional.
Nothing wrong with that.
The problem, however, still lies with the White gaze, still gripped by an Islamophobic frenzy. And the attempt to erase the struggles of an entire community because it may not be convenient to America's hyper-liberal, democratic dream.