Ο Saam Niami στο Haza’s Summer Jam στο Elsewhere.
 Φωτογραφία: Dean Majd











 <p class="clay-paragraph_drop-cap" data-editable="text" data-uri="nymag.com/intelligencer/_components/clay-paragraph/instances/cmsgb2gg9000i0igwvgdz72tl@δημοσιεύτηκε" data-word-count=It February 205, first hit in February 205" Ήμουν στο Βόρειο Μπρούκλιν, όπου είχα πάει τη μεγαλύτερη κόρη μου σε ένα εργαστήριο στοιχημάτων για παιδιά στο Storm Books &; Άνθρωποι&κόμμα; ένα ανεξάρτητο βιβλιοπωλείο για τον πολιτισμό της Μέσης Ανατολής που ιδρύθηκε από τον Λιβανέζο επιμελητή Nour Sabbagh. Συνάντησα δύο φίλους, Ken and Youmna, που ήταν εκεί με την κόρη τους. Αργότερα εκείνη την ημέρα, Διάβασα σε έναν έρανο για τους δημοσιογράφους της Γάζας στο Brooklyn Poets που χορηγήθηκε από τη Lammeh NYC «μια συριακή λέσχη δείπνου που διευθύνεται από γυναίκες» και το όνομα της οποίας σημαίνει «συγκέντρωση» και η Youmna έτυχε να πάει και κόμμα. μαζί με τη Rhea Karam, ο Λιβανέζος Αμερικανός καλλιτέχνης που δίδαξε στο εργαστήριο εκείνο το πρωί. Υπήρχε μια ευκολία για παρέα; σε αντίθεση με την κάλυψη, απλά ήμασταν μαζί. “Όπως στο blād,†συνέχισα να επέμενα «πίσω στο σπίτι» στο εξωτερικό» αλλά στην πραγματικότητα στη Νέα Υόρκη. Και όχι στο σαλόνι κάποιου ή σε μια πυροσβεστική. Ήμασταν μαζί στο Brownma Inperiod; αξιόπιστα βιβλιοπωλεία. περίεργος να μάθει για τον πολιτισμό μας&κόμμα; ήταν επίσης εκεί.



Αυτό ήταν νέο. Δεκαπέντε χρόνια νωρίτερα, Ήμουν φοιτητής διεθνών υποθέσεων στο Πανεπιστήμιο Columbia. Τότε, Ένιωθε πιο ασφαλές ως κάτοικος της Μέσης Ανατολής να κάνεις τον εαυτό σου μικρότερο&κόμμα; να συγκεντρωθούν στην ιδιωτικότητα του σπιτιού κάποιου ή σε ένα από τα λίγα πολιτιστικά ευθυγραμμισμένα ιδρύματα. Αυτή ήταν η εποχή του “τζαμιού μηδενικού εδάφους&κόμμα;» όταν μια πρωτοβουλία για την οικοδόμηση ενός ισλαμικού κέντρου κοντά στην τοποθεσία των πεσμένων Δίδυμων Πύργων χαρακτηρίστηκε αναίσθητη για τις οικογένειες των θυμάτων. Ειδικοί στην εξωτερική πολιτική δημοσίευαν βιβλία με τίτλους όπως Το κλείσιμο του μουσουλμανικού μυαλού. Ένας αυτοαποκαλούμενος κριτικός του Ισλάμ, ονόματι Ντάνιελ Πάιπς, είχε δημιουργήσει το Campus Watch, ένας οργανισμός που συνέταξε μια λίστα με τους διδάσκοντες “για να αποφύγει& κόμμα;- τους οποίους θεώρησε επικριτές του Ισραήλ. Ήμουν μέλος τόσο του Αραβικού Φοιτητικού Συλλόγου όσο και του Φοιτητές για τη Δικαιοσύνη στην Παλαιστίνη (που έχει πλέον ανασταλεί από την Κολούμπια ως επίσημα αναγνωρισμένη φοιτητική οργάνωση). Τα Σαββατοκύριακα, χορέψαμε και οργανώσαμε πάρτι για έρανο της ASA στο Le Souk, ένα μαροκινό κλαμπ στην 4η οδό στη Λεωφόρο Β στο East Village, όπου εναλλάσσαμε τα Σάββατα με βραδιές reggaeton και Latino (με χαρά να μοιραστούμε). Μόνα Χαλίδη&κόμμα; Η σύζυγος του καθηγητή Rashid Khalidi, ήταν βοηθός κοσμήτορας φοιτητικών υποθέσεων, και έγινε φίλη με όλους τους Άραβες φοιτητές. Κατά περίπτωση, δειπνήσαμε στο σπίτι του Χαλίδη. Φτάσαμε από όλο το πανεπιστήμιο: Λιβανέζικο Ph.D. μαθητές&κόμμα; SIPA party boys from Ramallah, Αραβοαμερικανοί που είχαν μεγαλώσει στο Bay Ridge ή στο New Jersey. Καθόμασταν γύρω από το τραπέζι τους και ο καθηγητής Khalidi μιλούσε, μερικές φορές για τον Edward Said, ο αγαπητός του φίλος και ο συνονόματος της προικισμένης καρέκλας του&κόμμα; όλοι μας προσπαθούμε να τον εντυπωσιάσουμε με τις γνώσεις μας.




 
 






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 <p class="clay-paragraph" data-editable="text" data-uri="nymag.com/intelligencer/_components/clay-paragraph/instances/cmsjjj8sb000k3b7c1k8kdmrv@published"data-word-count="8 Θα έπαιρνα ένα ping ενθουσιασμού κάθε φορά που ερχόμασταν μαζί, όπως όταν ένας συναρπαστικός έστειλε μήνυμα. Ήταν ασυνήθιστο κάποιος εκτός των συγκεκριμένων κοινοτήτων μας να υπερασπίζεται φωνητικά τους σκοπούς μας και να ενδιαφέρεται για τον πολιτισμό μας. Ήμασταν ευανάγνωστοι κυρίως στον εαυτό μας και σε προληπτικές εκδόσεις όπως το Bidoun, ένα λογοτεχνικό περιοδικό τόσο από τη διασπορά όσο και από τη Μέση Ανατολή που ιδρύθηκε στις αρχές μετά τα 9/11 χρόνια. Το ίδιο το Bidoun σημαίνει “OpenCurlyDoubleQuote;χωρίς” και προορίζεται να προκαλέσει την ύπαρξη χωρίς τη συγκεκριμένη έννοια του χώρου.



Στους μήνες μετά τις 7 Οκτωβρίου, ωστόσο&κόμμα; είχαμε ολοένα και περισσότερο την προβολή, απελπισμένος να είσαι κοντά σε ανθρώπους που ήξεραν πώς ήταν να προσποιείσαι ότι όλα ήταν φυσιολογικά όταν η οικογένειά σου – όχι μόνο οι συγγενείς σχέσεις αίματος, αλλά άνθρωποι που σου έμοιαζαν και μιλούσαν σαν εσένα – ζούσε υπό την απειλή του αφανισμού. Διαμαρτυρηθήκαμε λοιπόν, μποϊκοτάραμε, γράψαμε op-eds. Και σιγά-σιγά, έξω από αυτή την αντίσταση, ένα πολιτιστικό οικοσύστημα άρχισε να ανθίζει. Οι διαμαρτυρίες οδήγησαν σε φιλίες που οδήγησαν σε δείπνα που οδήγησαν σε νέες δημιουργικές διεξόδους. Υπήρχε Kan Yama Kan, μια σειρά ανάγνωσης που ξεκίνησε στην αυλή του Μπρούκλιν της Παλαιστίνιας Αμερικανίδας συγγραφέα Hala Alyan που φωτίζεται με φανάρια, εξελίσσεται από ένα παραδοσιακό πλήθος ανοιχτού μικροφώνου σε μια κατά κύριο λόγο αραβική και βορειοαφρικανική σύνθεση. Όταν ο Σύρος Αμερικανός σεφ Gehad Hadidi άνοιξε το Huda, το εστιατόριο του East Williamsburg, τον Νοέμβριο του 2023, έγινε κέντρο δραστηριότητας, φιλοξενώντας το εργαστήριο tatreez του καλλιτέχνη Sabri Sundos τον Οκτώβριο και, πιο πρόσφατα, μια αραβική ώρα αφήγησης για παιδιά τις Κυριακές. Τον Φεβρουάριο του επόμενου έτους, Το Barzakh Café άνοιξε στο Crown Heights και γρήγορα εξελίχθηκε στο πλατωνικό ιδανικό ενός τρίτου χώρου&κόμμα; δίνοντας μια πλατφόρμα σε ανερχόμενους και καθιερωμένους παίκτες ούτι και βορειοαφρικανούς τζαζ μουσικούς και αναζωογονώντας μόνοι σας τη σκηνή qawwali στη Νέα Υόρκη. Θα μπορούσε να αισθάνεται σαν κάθε συγκέντρωση να διπλασιάζεται ως έρανος με κωδικούς QR τοποθετημένους σε τραπέζια και χαστουκισμένους σε τοίχους. Έως τον Μάρτιο του 2024, το ετήσιο συμπόσιο Eid-al-Fitr που διοργανώνεται από το μη κερδοσκοπικό Ταμείο Pillars – μια ευκαιρία για μουσουλμάνους δημοσιογράφους & καλλιτέχνες & κόμματα; να συναντηθούν και να γιορτάσουν τις διακοπές – έμοιαζε με τη δημιουργία ενός νέου κέντρου βάρους στην πόλη. Το πρώτο έτος&κόμμα; Ο Zohran Mamdani έφτασε αργά από το Albany ως μέλος της συνέλευσης και έπρεπε να σταθεί στον τοίχο μέχρι οι οικοδεσπότες να του βρουν μια θέση δίπλα στον πατέρα του. Φέτος, ήρθε ως δήμαρχος.



“δεδομένων-λέξεων-καταμέτρησης&equal>” SWANA. Ένα αρκτικόλεξο για τη Νοτιοδυτική Ασία και τη Βόρεια Αφρική, ο όρος υπάρχει από τη δεκαετία του 1990, αλλά μόλις πριν από μια δεκαετία άρχισε να διαμορφώνεται ως πολιτιστική και πολιτική δύναμη, ένα που έχει γίνει σχεδόν συνώνυμο με μεγάλο μέρος της τρέχουσας σκηνής. Το SWANA περιλαμβάνει χώρες από την Παλαιστίνη έως το Ιράν έως το Σουδάν. Αλλά υπάρχουν τρόποι με τους οποίους καμία ετικέτα δεν μπορεί να συλλάβει τις αλληλοεπικαλυπτόμενες κοινές ταυτότητες μέσω των οποίων οι άνθρωποι αισθάνονται συγγένεια – τόσο πολύ που τα γράμματα προστίθενται συνεχώς στο ακρωνύμιο για να ληφθούν υπόψη όλα: SSWANA, για παράδειγμα, για να συμπεριληφθούν οι νοτιοασιάτες&comma. Ανατολή&Περίοδος;Υπάρχει μια διευρυμένη κατανόηση του τι σημαίνει να είσαι μουσουλμάνος&κόμμα; Ένας Πακιστανός Αμερικανός και ως αποτέλεσμα, inline;” class=”WPAuto_Base_Readability-styled”>

 <p class="clay-paragraph" data-editable="text" data-uri.com/intelligencer/_components/clay-paragraph/instances/cmsjjj8vz000n3b7c9rhah1vx@δημοσιεύτηκε" data-word-count&equal;"13 ως τρόπος ένωσης των ανθρώπων των οποίων οι ζωές έχουν καθοριστεί από την αμερικανική εξωτερική πολιτική στην περιοχή αδιαπραγμάτευτη&περίοδος; Σε αντίθεση με το μουσουλμανικό,, δεν ορίστηκε από τη θρησκεία και σε αντίθεση με το Μέση Ανατολή&; Το (Μέσης Ανατολής,, αν και το ατελές&comma παραμένει σε κοινή χρήση και θα το χρησιμοποιώ περιστασιακά εδώ.)



testerha5″ SWANA-ssance είναι το γεγονός ότι στις 4 Νοεμβρίου 2025, ένας Ινδός Αμερικανός άνδρας, που γεννήθηκε στην Ουγκάντα, παντρεύτηκε μια γυναίκα από τη Συρία καμπάνια, Συνάντηση με τους ηγέτες της SWANA&comma και γενικά κάνει να φαίνεται διασκεδαστικό να είσαι γειτονικός με το SWANA. Δεν ήταν απλώς εντάξει να είσαι πια εμφανώς SWANA; ήταν δροσερό. Και όπως αυτή άλλων εθνοτικών ομάδων της Νέας Υόρκης που είχαν καλλιεργήσει την αίσθηση της ψυχραιμίας ως απάντηση στην καταπίεση – ιδιαίτερα των Μαύρων και των Λατίνων – η πολιτιστική ενέργεια ήταν τολμηρή, ανατρεπτικό&κόμμα; και ολοένα και πιο ποθητό από άλλους.



Οι άνθρωποι άρχισαν να αναφέρονται στη Νέα Υόρκη ως “Mamdanistan,â€, το οποίο χρησιμοποιήθηκε αρχικά ως ισλαμοφοβική συκοφαντία από τους αντιπάλους του και αργότερα διεκδικήθηκε και διαδόθηκε από τους υποστηρικτές του. Υπήρχε ένα δαχτυλίδι αλήθειας στο παρατσούκλι. Ο Mamdani είχε κάνει προσιτή μια ιστορία που ήταν πάντα εκεί κατά μήκος της Atlantic Avenue και στην Astoria και στο Bay Ridge. “Ana minkum, wa aleykum,†είπε σε ένα βίντεο καμπάνιας που γυρίστηκε μέσα σε ένα εστιατόριο και έναν bodega στην οδό Steinway. Μιλάει αραβικά με άψογη προφορά&κόμμα; η προφορά του είναι αξιοζήλευτη ακόμα και για έναν μητρικό ομιλητή. “Είμαι από εσάς,†έλεγε, “και μαζί σας.â€




 











 
 
 
 
 












 A Farsi Club meetup at a loft in Bushwick this past spring.
 Photo: Taraneh Tajdini






“We’re in a time right now that is inconceivable to a younger version of myself,†Kimia Zakerin tells me. We’re eating crispy rice bowls at Little Ruby’s in Murray Hill, a neighborhood that holds significance for Zakerin. Her father’s Persian-carpet import-export company’s warehouse was once a block away. Zakerin is dressed in jeans and running sneakers; her main flourish is a tooth gem that gleams every time she smiles, which is often. Along with her clothing line, LEBĀS, Zakerin has been at the center of a thriving Iranian community, primarily through the meetups she organizes: Ketab Club, a SWANA-themed book club, and Farsi Club, a place for Iranians to practice their Persian speaking skills away from the judgmental ears of their elders.



Zakerin, who is 33, spent her adolescence in Chappaqua. In 2003, three days after the U.S. invasion of Iraq, she told her fourth-grade teacher she was worried. “This doesn’t affect you,†her teacher responded. Even as a child, she sensed that it did. Twelve years earlier, in 1991, I had participated in my own fourth-grade school assembly in the suburbs of Washington, D.C., and watched my father in the audience with headphones on, listening to ABC News as the U.S. entered Kuwait during Operation Desert Storm. After 9/11, my father learned his phone line had been tapped; he changed his name from Fawaz to Frank when making dinner reservations.



“The first decade after 9/11 was a fucking mess,†the actor Arian Moayed tells me. “Back then, the idea that we would have narrative power felt impossible.†Moayed arrived in New York from the Midwest on September 11, 2002, with a U-Haul and a beard. He had come to the city to build Waterwell, the theater company he and his roommate, Tom Ridgely, founded at Indiana University around September 11, 2001, with the mission of fostering socially conscious theater. On his first night in Manhattan, Moayed walked to Times Square around 2 a.m. He could feel the patriotism everywhere; we were months away from war, and the level of tension was palpable. “My first thought was, This is never gonna happen for me.â€



It could be lonely, even in a city as diverse as New York, if you weren’t already plugged in to one of the Arab or Muslim enclaves that had existed here for decades: tightly knit communities built by Syrians, Yemenis, and Palestinians that were often insular or else mostly confined to certain neighborhoods. There was a beauty to the intimacy. Places like Yemen Café &; Restaurant operated as social clubs for immigrants, helping them find housing and jobs. When its co-owner Sideeq Nassir arrived in New York with his family in 1986, his father would drive to the airport to pick up fellow immigrants and bring them to the restaurant on Atlantic Avenue for a free meal on their first night in the city. Our diasporas largely remained fragmented and scattered, however, too busy maintaining a low profile to seek out one another, and in our parents’ generations, Iranians and Arabs were often cast more as enemies than friends.



Not until 2017 did the tenor begin to shift, when, in one of Trump’s first executive orders, he banned travel to the U.S. for 90 days from seven predominantly Muslim countries and suspended the resettlement of all Syrian refugees. The response was immediate. The next day, New Yorkers of all backgrounds, including those from SWANA countries, headed to JFK airport to demand the release of recent arrivals who had been detained by U.S. Customs and Border Protection. By targeting seven countries, the ban had the unintended consequence of creating unlikely bedfellows. “The administration got what they didn’t want, which is that we all came together across nationalities,†Zakerin says. Yemenis were standing alongside Iranians. “We were all in the shit together, and that was very unifying.â€



Arabs and Muslims were drifting away from the villain-victim binary in the eyes of liberal Americans. Suddenly, Hollywood was interested. In 2019, Ramy, a TV series from Egyptian American comedian Ramy Youssef, pitched in the months following the Muslim ban, debuted on Hulu. Shot in Queens and set in and around New Jersey and New York, it depicted the split life familiar to immigrants: the everyday one — at school, with friends — and the one at home. But, uniquely, it wrestled with how to reconcile the two rather than assimilate. With its Arabic-script opening and Habibi Funk soundtrack, it also helped popularize a growing SWANA aesthetic. Around that time, Zakerin was dabbling in streetwear design. She printed a T-shirt on a whim that said NEW YORK on it in Persian letters, which closely resemble those of Arabic. She printed 36 more and sold them all in two days. “It was the right time for people to feel comfortable wearing our alphabet on their chests,†she says. Designers like Zeynab Izadyar, of Vvork Vvork Vvork, were creating wearable art out of words written in Persian and Arabic. In Brooklyn, a series of SWANA-themed parties was starting to get off the ground — Laylit, Disco Tehran, Haza, Yalla! — catering to the diaspora and playing Arabic pop. Soon, non-SWANA partygoers began to join too.



This scene was largely led by a second generation less encumbered by tradition or the baggage its parents carried. More than 3.5 million people in the U.S. identified as Middle Eastern or North African in the 2020 Census, with a broader estimate of 5 million owing to underreporting — because people from those regions are categorized in the Census as white, it is difficult to come by accurate numbers. (In 2024, the Census approved a MENA, or Middle Eastern North African, category, which is currently slated to appear on the 2030 Census for the first time.) New York holds the third-largest population of SWANA residents, and it is among the fastest-growing Arab populations in the country: Those who claim Arab ancestry in the state have more than tripled since 1980, and per the most recent data from 2022, highlighted by the Arab American Institute, now sit at over 300,000 residents (which doesn’t include Iranians, Afghans, and many other ethnic groups). “We’re a very young community,†says Shaikh. “Now a 20-year-old is growing up in a world where they saw Muslim creatives on TV.â€



Young people were also turning away from mainstream media, fueling the rise of magazines like Acacia, launched in January 2024 by Hira Ahmed and Arsh Raziuddin and billed as a home for the Muslim left, and Equator, founded in 2025 in direct response to the Israeli assault post–October 7 and where Negar Azimi, the editor-in-chief of Bidoun, is on the masthead. “Magazines can offer a community for people who might not know they belong together,†says Azimi. “A home for the spiritually disenchanted.†All share a global perspective and an embrace of subjective truth. Last year, Bidoun published a piece titled “House Arab,†by Ismail Ibrahim, a former fact-checker at The New Yorker whose frustration over trying to secure what he called “the most basic changes†in articles to “reflect the horror of what was happening†in Palestine after October 7 eventually led him to quit his job. It would become one of the most popular pieces in Bidoun’s history. “I think part of the spread is that the mea culpa I predict at the end of ‘House Arab’ has begun,†Ibrahim speculated, referring to his belief that news organizations would eventually get around to calling Israel’s aggression a genocide.




 











 
 
 
 
 












 An evening at Barzakh Café in December 2025.
 Photo: Haseeb Amin






When the SWANA scene reached a critical mass depends on whom you ask: For some, it was around the murder of George Floyd and BLM in 2020 or the evictions in Sheikh Jarrah and the ensuing war in Gaza in 2021. And, of course, October 7 and its hellish aftermath. For Zakerin, the moment came a year before. Many Iranians in the city had begun to find one another for the first time during the Woman Life Freedom protests in 2022, marching in Washington Square Park and down Madison Avenue to demand a world in which Iranians could thrive within Iran. That was around the time Zakerin started thinking seriously about creating Farsi Club. She had already felt a vacuum in her life after her parents’ deaths — her father’s in 2017 and her mother’s in 2020. “I couldn’t passively absorb my culture anymore,†she tells me. In December 2023, she posed a question to her Instagram followers: “My Farsi’s going haywire, anyone wanna practice?†The response was overwhelming. Hundreds of people filled out a Google sign-up sheet. At the first meeting, Zakerin felt like she was floating on air: “We all kept wondering, Where the hell were all these people? â€



There were versions of Farsi Club everywhere. Duwaji and Zakerin had met after Duwaji followed Ketab Club on Instagram. After seeing each other around at events, they became friends. Zakerin invited Duwaji to join a panel of speakers at a SWANA women’s networking event about how to support one another’s work (it happened to coincide with the U.S.-Israel 12-day war on Iran and ended up doubling as a place to collectively mourn). Each connection had a multiplying effect, like an expanding SWANA-verse where people were one or two degrees removed from one another.



If there is a physical embodiment of the new SWANA scene in New York, it’s Barzakh Café in Crown Heights. Following an epic late-spring downpour, I arrived there for a sold-out tawla, or backgammon, night hosted by two Palestinians, Mona Yasin and Aziz Kaddan, since September 2025. “I don’t think I would’ve had the courage to start something like this if I didn’t know there was already interest,†says Yasin, who grew up in Ramallah and came to the U.S. to attend Georgetown University before moving to New York in 2016. In the back room of the café, pairs of people sat at small tables, a game board between them, drinking tea or wine. Outside, a group settled on plush cushioned couches beneath tarps as the rain hammered down, smoking cigarettes. It reminded me of one of my favorite spots in Ramallah: Snobar, named for the pine-nut trees that surround its outdoor terrace.



Barzakh’s owner, El Atigh Abba, spent the summer of 2023 building it. “I had a mattress on the roof because it was so hot outside,†he tells me over iced hibiscus tea. Abba has an easy warmth, an enviable collection of loose-fitting linen, and a slightly upturned mustache reminiscent of an imperial pasha. A 38-year-old Mauritanian exile, Abba arrived on Canal Street on a bus from Athens, Georgia, in 2013. He is unable to return to Mauritania because of a fatwa issued after he’d left in retaliation for his activism and writing during the Arab Spring. For years, he worked in Yemeni-owned bodegas in Brownsville, as a French tutor in Sunset Park, and as a dishwasher in Crown Heights restaurants. He spent his free time with friends — some of them fellow restaurant workers, Uber drivers. But they could never seem to find places to comfortably hang out. “We got fed up with not being able to hear ourselves at bars,†he says. Between his signing the lease for 147 Utica Avenue in the spring of 2023 and opening Barzakh the following February came October 7. “It took me six months to fully process what was happening,†says Abba. Some of the café’s initial events were fundraisers for families in Gaza and the West Bank, and all of them sold out. “If you’re looking for a craft cocktail, go to Nostrand Avenue,†he says.



Walking into Barzakh, which in Arabic means “the liminal space between worlds,†feels like entering an Ottoman-era living room with its patchwork of art, donated instruments and books, pottery, impressive record collection, and hanging scarfs reflecting the pastiche of cultures. While a lot of SWANA gatherings can be Arab- or Iranian-specific, Barzakh is unique in that it feels like a place for everyone. At the same time, Abba makes a point of emphasizing the specific culture of each community that passes through. Laura Elkeslassy, an Arab Jewish singer, has led a yearly Mimouna at Barzakh — a dinner that marks the return to eating leavened bread after Passover. On Easter weekend, the café held an Armenian and Ethiopian Christian dinner. So much of Barzakh’s mission is to bring together people who might otherwise never meet and who, in other contexts, might be enemies: Palestinians from Gaza and Jews, including anti-Zionist Israelis.



On occasion, this openness has led to backlash. While Israel is geographically part of the region, the question of whether Israelis can claim a connection to it, particularly given the political framework of terms like SWANA, is complicated — and it gets more so depending on a person’s ethnic background. At Barzakh, one of the first sources of tension was over whether to allow a group of Palestinians from the pre-1948 borders to perform with Israeli peers. “Of course, they’re not Zionists, but these were tensions we had to reckon with,†Abba recalls. L​ast year, Barzakh hosted a Hebrew-Arabic language exchange​. After the event was posted on Instagram, a heated debate unfolded in the comments section. “Consider how many Arabic speakers are forced to learn Hebrew as a means of survival​,†one user noted. “This is hope,†said another. Some called on Abba to cancel, but he didn’t budge. “There is within the Arab young generation, the kids who were born here in U.S., an idea that you cannot sit with an Israeli in the same room,†he said in an interview at the time. “I’m the owner of this place, and I say this is not the case.​ ​But you do lose business.†Most recently, in July, Barzakh hosted a performance by the Palestinian singer Nour Darwish and the Israeli musician Noam Helfer. They were part of Feel Beit, an anti-Zionist, pro-dialogue artistic partnership. Reactions were mixed. One of the local DJs took issue with the use of the word dialogue. “I stood by it,†Abba tells me. “Words like dialogue and conversation should never become taboo. I also felt it was important to say that an Arab born in New Jersey doesn’t get to tell a Palestinian in Nazareth who they can share a stage with or how they should conduct their own struggle for liberation.â€



When you enter Barzakh, you’ll find the café’s “Rules of Engagement.†Inclusion is based on attitude and values such as “Let us celebrate our shared humanity and respect each other’s boundaries.†His vision for Barzakh is rooted in Sufi principles of openness and love. The underlying rule is to welcome artists and strangers with respect, dignity, and, most important, curiosity. “People make fun of the idea of coexistence these days as an ideal, but it happens here,†he tells me. He’s especially proud of what goes on at Barzakh during Ramadan. “You have Iranians drinking wine at one end of the bar and hijabis at the other having tea,†he says. “And you can’t find that in Tehran, in Casablanca, in Jeddah or Nablus.â€




 




It wasn’t called “soft power†at the time, but it’s not hard to see how a decade of cultural exposure helped New Yorkers feel comfortable with a Muslim leading the city. “I think we were able to have a successful campaign because the cultural renaissance expanded New Yorkers’ imagination of who could lead the city,†Zara Rahim, a senior adviser on Mamdani’s campaign and a host of the Eid al-Fitr Banquet, tells me. “Before people vote for someone, they have to be able to imagine them in that role. By the time he ran for election, New Yorkers had been eating in Muslim restaurants, reading Muslim writers, watching Muslim comedians, and working alongside those colleagues.†Shortly after Mamdani’s victory, Hanna Askarpour, a 22-year-old Iranian American law student at New York University, told GQ Middle East, “The white boys saying mashallah vibe has really been at an all-time high over the last two years.â€



What Mamdani did was expand the reach. This year, Arsh Raziuddin, the creative director of Acacia, designed the city’s official World Cup jerseys, which instantly sold out at around $50 apiece versus the $375 official FIFA jerseys. (They’re now going for hundreds on Facebook Marketplace.) In her time as First Lady, Duwaji has intentionally worn SWANA designers, including a brown faux-fur–trimmed coat by Palestinian Lebanese designer Cynthia Merhej’s label, Renaissance Renaissance, at the mayoral inauguration and an olive-and-gold gown by Palestinian label Reema Dahbour at the Institute for Middle East Understanding’s banquet this spring. Meanwhile, Mamdani has made a point of documenting himself engaging in Muslim rituals, attending iftars and breaking fast with the inmates at Rikers Island. In February, he and Duwaji surprised Saud Khan and the Saami Brothers by showing up at a qawwali night held at Kaafi, a café on the Lower East Side. The following month, Moayed co-hosted a party at Masquerade, an Iranian-owned bar in East Williamsburg. It was a Chaharshanbe Suri, held the Wednesday before the start of the Persian New Year, when celebrants jump over bonfires to leave all the bad energy from the past year behind. Guests stretched across diasporas. Mamdani came and jumped over a fire in the backyard.



While it has all been beautiful to witness, none of this means SWANA New Yorkers don’t still face xenophobia, Islamophobia, and Zionism — along with the repercussions of speaking out against them. The New York Post publishes near-weekly reports criticizing Duwaji (a recent headline: “NYC First Lady Rama Duwaji’s Anti-Israel Spotify Playlists Included ‘hungry but sexy for Palestine’†). As we approach the 25th anniversary of 9/11, a petition is circulating, led by some family members of victims, to ban Mamdani from attending the memorial commemoration. (Other 9/11 families defend his inclusion.) How vulnerable one is as an individual varies depending on socioeconomic status and the degree of distance from one’s homeland. And there has always been tension between those on the outside and those on the inside, those who witness the horror from afar and those who live with bombs, shelling, famine, chemical warfare, and other atrocities. It’s a tension heightened by the reality that our visibility and clout increases alongside suffering, trauma, and despair in our home countries.



What can we do about it? At the very least, a kind of vigilance is required. In her 2012 essay collection, Black Cool, the writer and activist Rebecca Walker describes ancestral West African qualities that are often excluded from modern understandings of Black coolness: traits such as “cultivated reserve,†“coded resistance,†“intentionally disruptive eccentricity.†For SWANA’s diasporic communities, cool is also in some ways coded and inseparable from its origins. In Arabic, it’s known as sumud, a grassroots concept that emerged in Palestine after the Six-Day War partly as a means of survival. Sumud is steadfastness. It is perseverance and a quiet refusal to disappear. No matter what we’re up against — occupation, displacement, annihilation — we can’t afford to lose our cool.


 




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