The subject matter of Youssef Alaoui and Anton Bonnici’s new release, When the Phone Rang, feels as timely now as it did at one of the heights of anti-Arab sentiments and policies: in the immediate years that followed 9/11. The Opiate took some time to discuss, among other topics, how the original short story, “When the Phone Rang,” came to be and why the resonance of this tale extends far beyond the Arab and Arab-American communities.
The Opiate: Tell us a bit about the genesis for how this short story came to be, and how long did it take you to complete from the moment the idea popped into your head to the moment you decided it was finished on the page?
Youssef Alaoui: The genesis for the story was a pastiche of my feelings regarding an Israeli bomb that killed children playing soccer on the beach, photos and videos of the event, the American invasion of Iraq, Fallujah and IEDs, active-duty soldiers with PTSD, go pills and opiates, the flexing and permissive definition of “enemy combatant,” the American disregard for Black and Brown lives, the similar disregard in Israel for Palestinian lives, what walls between people do, the Pale of Settlement, Clinton’s rendition prisons, Bush’s “Mission Accomplished” and an argument I had with a friend about some of these topics. He took the part of Muhammad and I was Abdelaziz.
The Opiate: That’s quite a pastiche indeed! When the 9/11 attacks happened, what do you remember about the way things shifted in terms of the prejudice toward Arab-Americans in the U.S.? Did this in some way further shape and form your views that it was never really safe to be a so-called “other” in America?
Youssef Alaoui: In the 90s, I dreamt of a bombed skyscraper missing a chunk from the top. Then I saw Fight Club. Then 9/11. I remember the American public had no idea about Arabs or North Africans before that date. Maybe they knew of a people who “sold oil, wore robes and lived far away.” Yes, there was definitely a raising of awareness and a shift in the public consciousness. I noticed that the first person detained for 9/11 was Moroccan. I also noticed that America had determined that Arabs wore turbans. The first collateral victim of 9/11 racist violence was a Sikh man who ran a gas station in Mesa, Arizona. Furthermore, there was a cartoon called Johnny Quest. He had a Brown friend with a turban named Hadji. During the American invasion of Iraq, the slang term coined by American soldiers for Arabic people (a.k.a. “enemy combatants”) was Haji, or Hadji. It frustrates me to this day. That term made it into the story.
As a boy, I had to tell white people where Morocco is and reassure them how many people are named Youssef while they insisted, Your name is so unusual. They would balk when I told them Morocco is in Africa, as if I was lying. It was embarrassing. A grade-school teacher put me in a “weird names group” with two other boys; one was from Armenia and the other from Iran. I’m still bitter about my experience with such xenophobes.
The US border patrol pulled me out of the van each time my white friends and I returned from vacation in Mexico, headed back to Arizona. How long have you known the people you’re riding with? Are you sure you didn’t just meet them? Let’s see your passport. Let’s look at it again. Let’s double-check that in our databases. Where are you from, exactly?
My point is, if the term “other,” as used in the question, might refer to Black or Brown people, the answer is NO, it’s never been safe to be Black or Brown in the United States. (It’s never been safe to be LGBTQIA+ in America either.) We are consistently singled out. 9/11 made it a little worse for Arabic people. Did the event shape my views? Short answer, is yes. I kept my head low and did not fly, even domestically, for the next ten years.
The Opiate: We’re very sorry you experienced so much pain as a result of this discrimination. Maybe the one silver lining is the creation of this work… Looking back on the period when George W. Bush was president, how do you compare it to now in terms of how discrimination has worsened, or even stayed the same?
Youssef Alaoui: There’s no comparison. Tchump, Focks and Christian nationalism have made greater strides in sowing new fields of hatred than the Bushes could ever have imagined.
The Opiate: Imagined or even dreamed of for their administration, perhaps. As for your own imaginings, once the short story was complete, did you ever think it would be adapted into another medium? What were your initial thoughts when Anton first contacted you with the idea to turn it into a play?
Youssef Alaoui: No, I never would’ve dreamed it could be possible. I was overjoyed, still am! Thank you so much for your energy and interest. And Anton feels very much like a relative, somehow. I wouldn’t have known him if it hadn’t been for Malik Crumpler [The Opiate’s editor-at-large] referring the story to you. I understand why Anton saw the story as a play; my writing is dialogue-driven.
The Opiate: Anton, what attracted you to this material, and why did you think it was begging to be adapted into a play?
Anton Bonnici: This short story has that beautiful effect of hinting at a much larger world or series of events than what’s on the page, immediately inviting one to go further and explore. I was attracted to the sense of “space” that Youssef built in it, and space is such a key element of live theater that I felt it was inevitable for this short story to go on stage. I wanted audiences to go into these spaces that Youssef has started to define for the reader, but this time to inhabit them in a more direct way. Then there’s also the performer’s experience—what would it be like to give performers the opportunity to inhabit these characters in these spaces and see how far they can go? There was simply too much potential in it.
The Opiate: Definitely. And as for you being someone who enjoys seeing the material you’ve written in a play format shift and change as other people take the reins on production, since this is a minimalist play (apart from the video installations), do you see it changing much depending on whose hands it ends up in? Do you feel that the message or theme, as strong as it is, can be altered in some way through the different people that might translate it to the stage?
Anton Bonnici: I always think of play scripts as blueprints, definitely not the “finished” (if anything can ever be finished) form of a published short story or novel. Considering the elements at play here, the moments of violent interrogation, the very physical manipulations the protagonist has to go through and the very concept of a mental sanctuary, a mental space for one to retreat into, so to speak, this specific play automatically invites reinterpretation.
The extremity of what is being presented here will surely challenge any theater-maker, and the question cannot be, “How shall we put this onstage?” but more, “What is our version of this on stage?,” taking into consideration the artistic and maybe even physical sensibilities of everyone involved. Which, again, is simply a continuation of my own process when I delved into the material to give it this other form of “play script.” The process will surely continue.
As far as message goes, the beauty here is that there is definitely more than one message layered into everything going on, be it verbally or visually, so it would be interesting to see which aspect a prospective theater-maker would latch onto and bring out. Whatever it is, I’m sure it would make for impactful theater.
The Opiate: To that point, Youssef, as far as the lens through which people see things, is it easier, in your estimation, for Arabs and Arab-Americans to find resonance with this play, or do you feel that everyone can relate, in some sense, to this level of discrimination?
Youssef Alaoui: It’s important to acknowledge that white stories are not questioned regarding relatability. Spider-Man is a film about a young man who shoots webs from his wrists, but is not for people who shoot webs. Buried Child is a play about a family that lives with the corpse of a child in their backyard, and yet is not exclusively for such families. When the Phone Rang is a play about an Arabic man, but is not exclusively for Arabic men. He’s in a prison, but the play is not exclusively for prisoners.
Audiences and readers might have difficulty to imagine what it feels like to be caught walking, running or driving while Black or Brown. If you know, you know. So many in America, so many in Palestine, so many others elsewhere are killed on the spot in such an event. If someone has never put themselves in these shoes, it’s my hope that this piece will help them to empathize.
The “prison” aspect of the story is an existential voyage into the domain of solitude; a primary human condition. I’ve never been in prison, but one can only imagine how it must be. Isolation is used as a disciplinary torture because it counters the central human need for companionship. Therefore, Muhammad schisms into Abdelaziz; the un-God of the subconscious. Everyone is familiar with isolation and possesses a fractured mind in one manner or another. There’s the quotidian mind and the critical mind; so at least two minds in every individual. Without a doubt, this play will be relatable to everyone.
When the Phone Rang gives voice to those who cannot speak up for themselves; the dead and the incarcerated. Authoritarian regimes birth legions of these kinds of people. They are the Disappeared.
Another timeless idea at the core of this text is that war is akin to infatuation/erotic fixation. Countries engage with each other in commerce most of the time. That’s a sort of détente where only some things need to be known about the Other. For war, knowledge about the Other needs to be much more intimate. Reconnaissance, forecasting, surveillance, dialogue, courting, violation, engagement, incursion. War lust is not the same as economic lust. War shares more bodily fluids.
The Opiate: From your perspective, why do you think it is a tale as old as time that people need to vilify one race over another depending on the political climate of the moment?
Youssef Alaoui: The tale as old as time is the encounter between the Self vs. the Foreign Other. The eroticization of the Other; a desire to control as well as a revulsion. It causes slavery, appropriation, colonialism, war, authoritarianism, punishments/abduction/incarceration.
The Opiate: What Arab or Arab-American writing can you recommend to others that has influenced your own?
Youssef Alaoui: Modern Arabic Poetry, an anthology edited by Salma Khadra Jayyusi; Orientalism by Edward Said; This Blinding Absence of Light by Tahar Ben Jelloun; Khadija by Kateb Yacine; The Lemon by Mohammed Mrabet; A Life Full of Holes by Driss Ben Hamed Charhadi; Rue du Retour by Abdellatif Laabi.
The Opiate: What are some of your upcoming projects now that When the Phone Rang is out in book form?
Youssef Alaoui: I write screenplays with AVT Films and we’re still working together on a series set in Coney Island; a liminal space populated by spirits bargaining their way through the Afterdeath with the Loa of Voudoun. The series is named Spirits of Coney Island. We’re also currently working on something we call The Duke of Juke. I’m also shopping a novel I just finished. It’s the result of two years of research at the National Library of France. The French keep a lot of documentation on the Protectorate and a few nineteenth-century books that embody the chilling root of French opinion toward the people of Morocco.
The Opiate: Well we can’t wait to see and read these soon. In the meantime, we’ll also hope to check out When the Phone Rang onstage in the near future.