The Rise of Arab Americans: A New Hollywood Narrative

posted on: Jul 15, 2025

By: Layla Mahmoud / Arab America Contributing Writer

For decades, Arab characters in Hollywood were boxed into stereotypes such as terrorists, billionaires, belly dancers, or nameless extras in desert backdrops. Rarely were Arab Americans given the space to tell their own stories, let alone portray themselves as fully human. But a shift is underway. A new generation of Arab American actors, writers, and filmmakers are literally rewriting the script. Through indie films, streaming platforms, and increasingly mainstream productions, these creatives are pushing back against misrepresentation and carving out space for nuanced, authentic, and complex Arab narratives. Arab America contributing writer Layla Mahmoud examines how Arab Americans are reshaping Hollywood from the inside by using storytelling as both a form of resistance and a way of belonging.

A Legacy of Misrepresentation

Hollywood’s portrayal of Arabs has long been shaped by a toxic mix of Orientalism and post-9/11 paranoia. Jack Shaheen’s groundbreaking 2001 book and documentary Reel Bad Arabs surveyed over 1,000 films and found that Arabs were overwhelmingly depicted as either threatening or foolish. Whether the leering villain in True Lies, the greedy sheikh in Aladdin, or the faceless extremists in countless action films, Arab characters were rarely shown with depth or realism. These portrayals not only reflected ignorance, they reinforced it and contributed to Islamophobia, xenophobia, and real-world violence.

For Arab Americans watching these films, the damage was intense: not only were their cultures flattened and mocked, but their chances of being cast as anything else were slim. Hollywood often avoided hiring Arab actors for Arab roles, opting instead for non-Arabs in brownface, while sidelining Arab American creatives from writers’ rooms and executive positions. For years, authentic representation felt out of reach.

A New Generation Rises

But in the last decade, the tide has begun to turn. A new wave of Arab American artists—many of them second-generation—have stepped into the spotlight with stories that reflect the complexity of their identities.

One of the most groundbreaking examples is Ramy Youssef, whose semi-autobiographical Hulu series Ramy premiered in 2019. The show follows a millennial Egyptian American navigating faith, sex, family, and identity in New Jersey. What made Ramy revolutionary wasn’t just that it centered an Arab Muslim character, it was that it didn’t try to explain itself to white audiences. It was messy, honest, specific, and unapologetically rooted in community. Youssef’s work opened doors, winning a Golden Globe and earning critical acclaim for showing the kind of internal contradictions Arab Americans live with every day.

Other creatives soon followed. Filmmaker Cherien Dabis, known for Amreeka and her directing work on Only Murders in the Building, has long explored Palestinian American identity, displacement, and generational trauma. In a different lane, Mena Massoud, best known for his lead role in Disney’s Aladdin remake, has been vocal about the barriers Arab actors face in the industry, even after breakout roles. Despite the film’s billion-dollar success, Massoud noted how quickly doors closed after its release, highlighting how representation in one blockbuster doesn’t solve the problem of exclusion.

Then there’s the emergence of artists like Mo Amer, whose Netflix series Mo draws from his life as a Palestinian refugee in Texas, and Haaz Sleiman, who became one of the first Arab Muslim heroes in a Marvel film. Together, these creatives are expanding what’s possible: by playing these characters, they’re building worlds, setting narratives, and redefining how Arabness looks and sounds onscreen.

Streaming Platforms: A Game Changer

Streaming platforms have played a critical role in this shift. Unlike traditional studio systems, which are risk-averse and beholden to imagined “mainstream” tastes, streamers like Netflix, Hulu, and Amazon have shown more willingness to invest in diverse, globally resonant stories. They’ve provided Arab American creatives with the creative freedom to experiment with tone, genre, and form through sharp comedy, drama, or experimental storytelling.

And this isn’t just happening in English. Arabic-language content from Egypt, Palestine, Lebanon, and beyond is also gaining global traction. Shows like AlRawabi School for Girls and Jinn (both available on Netflix) demonstrate how young Arab audiences are eager for stories that reflect their realities and speak their language, both literally and culturally.

Beyond Tokenism: Toward Authenticity

Importantly, this movement isn’t about inclusion for its own sake. It’s about shifting who gets to hold the pen, who gets final cut, and who gets to define what it means to be Arab in America today. Token casting and surface-level diversity are simply not enough. True change means Arab American writers in the room, Arab producers behind the scenes, Arab directors at the helm, and Arab characters who are allowed to be flawed, funny, loving, angry, and everything in between.

Authenticity also means confronting internal tensions between diaspora and homeland, between faith and modernity, between tradition and rebellion. The new Arab American narrative isn’t monolithic, and it’s not always comfortable. But that’s precisely what makes it powerful. It resists erasure by being deeply human.

Looking Ahead

There’s still a long road ahead. Arab American representation in Hollywood is far from proportional, and many barriers remain such as typecasting, geopolitical sensitivities, and a lingering industry fear of “controversial” stories. But the momentum is undeniable. A generation raised between languages, cultures, and expectations is stepping into its creative power and demanding space to be seen.

Their stories are reshaping not just how Arabs are viewed, but how Arab Americans view themselves. With every episode, every character, every portrayal, they’re chipping away at decades of erasure and building a narrative that belongs to them.

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