Zahra Noorbakhsh defies Muslim women’s stereotypes one comedy show at a time
Written by Jahaida Hernández Jesurum
Image via zahracomedy.com.
It’s challenging to talk about Zahra Noorbakhsh without bringing up religion. So much of the California-born Iranian-American’s work focuses on the fact that she is Muslim — but perhaps not in the way you might expect: through comedy.
Noorbakhsh, a comedian, full-time actress, writer, and host of the podcast #GoodMuslimBadMuslim, loves making people laugh in unexpected ways. In her second one-woman comedy show, Hijab and Hammerpants, which debuted in 2015, Noorbakhsh explored the conflicting role of the Hijab today. She doesn’t advocate veiling or unveiling and when asked by a reporter at Ravishly, said, “I think it should be a woman’s choice and everyone else should shut the hell up.”
She has also contributed some of her most passionate writing to an anthology on the relationships of Muslim-American women titled, Love, InshAllah: The Secret Love Lives of American Muslim Women, and was profiled by the New York Times for her work on the book.
Her comedic self-expression has, however, been reason for caution when traveling to Iran — and also in regards to her relatives’ safety. Here, she answers a few of our questions about her career, her religion, and her family.
There is no such thing as a default experience, an invisible race, or a normative existence. When in doubt, demand to know who’s in charge, because if it’s not you, then someone is making choices for you.
Jahaida Hernandez Jesurum: From your podcast to your writing, to getting uninvited from a conference in Iran, how has being an Iranian-American from California shaped who you’ve become?
Zahra Noorbakhsh: I think the integration of all of my seemingly contradictory identities encourages other women to drop the “I’m just like you” discourse and flaunt their differences — or at least I hope it does. Growing up in the Bay Area, it felt like it was cool to be unique in the exotic sense, but there wasn’t a whole lot of room to feel angry about that exoticism. There was this pervasive feeling that if I expressed my anger about that, it would be “divisive” and shut down discourse with White allies. I had to seek out performance spaces that fostered not only my artistic expression, but also my narrative as a woman of color.
JHJ: Do you feel that you are somehow paving the road to others’ self-expression?
ZN: I try to! I didn’t have many models to go off of on my way here. I really had to carve out my own space and take paradigms for a test drive before I was able to find my own voice.
JHJ: Do you find any type of advantage in embracing certain stereotypes in comedy, be it race, gender, ancestry?
ZN: In the sardonic sense, it’s fun to fully embrace the absurdity and there are so many absurd assumptions made about Muslims, like that there is a strain of Islam that condones violence, to quote Tony Blair. It is fun for me to assume that that idea is true and run with it, in order to prove it erroneous. For example, if there is something fundamental to my DNA that makes me “Muslim-violent,” then shouldn’t everyone be nicer to me? And, shouldn’t “Muslim” then be categorized under “personality disorders” in the DSM and come with some health care benefits, at least? Blair’s infamous quote is a completely racist and illogical notion and that’s the kind of thing I mock and play with.
JHJ: As a child, what did you want to be?
ZN: I’ve always wanted to be a comedian. When we would play super power games as kids, I told everyone that the super power I wanted was to be able to make everybody laugh. Growing up, my mom wore hijab, a headscarf that some Muslim women wear, and we encountered a lot of racism and Islamophobia. I was my mother’s ally. I’d make the scowling cashier giggle, and watch her be nicer to my family after she saw that I was a funny kid. I could feel the power of laughter, not just in making new friends, but also in protecting my family.
JHJ: How is your relationship with your family since you’ve become so vocal and public with your work?
ZN: My relationship with my family has improved tremendously because my work celebrates my family.
JHJ: I am very curious about the title of your solo show “All Atheists are Muslims.” Do you think people understand it?
ZN: People can come see my show whether they understand the title or not. I like having titles that make it difficult to tell what side of the conversation I’m on. It serves to bring together all walks of life into the same space as audience. Both atheists and Muslims walk in equally skeptical and concerned. The show is about moving in with my atheist, infidel, whitey-white boyfriend and telling my Iranian-Muslim parents about it — and that he’s not converting, and we’re not getting married. The rest is for my audiences to discover on that crazy, fun rollercoaster ride into a family grappling with their daughter’s choices and thousands of years of cultural tradition and religious doctrine.
JHJ: Do you have any stories you’d like to share from one of your shows?
ZN: My last tour in 2015 was around the country for “All Atheists are Muslims”. My performance at Dartmouth College was wicked fun. The audience was a mix of grandparents, parents, and college students. It made for a great response and series of “aha” moments. Some scenes you could hear the older generations slapping their knees and cackling, while in other scenes the students would just erupt with laughter and whisper things to their neighbor, like “Oh my god! My dad says that all the time!”
JHJ: Any advice to teenagers and women in their early twenties who are trying to find their voice?
ZN: Yes! There is no such thing as a default experience, an invisible race, or a normative existence. When in doubt, demand to know who’s in charge, because if it’s not you, then someone is making choices for you. And that’s creepy.
JHJ: What would you tell the 16-year-old you if you could?
ZN: I would tell 16-year-old me to quit trying to win my father’s approval, because he doesn’t know what he wants either; and also, be nicer to my mother.
