Homeland Elegies: A Novel

“I wouldn’t see what she saw back then until I’d failed at trying to see it otherwise, until I’d ceased believing in the lie of my own redemption, until the suffering of others aroused in me a starker, clearer cry than any anthem to my own longing.”

As a young man in college, Ayad’s rose-colored glasses force him to see America as a land of opportunity for any and all; he cannot understand his professor’s critique of the country he loves. With age comes experience, and it isn’t until he learns to listen to those mistreated by the government that he realizes his country has work to do.

“I don’t expect you to understand. I don’t expect you to support me. But in ten years, you’ll look back on this, you both will, and you’ll see that I made a great investment.”

Ayad’s father, Sikander, thinks ownership of property (in this case, that of a gas station) constitutes the American Dream. Even though he knows nothing about gas stations, he believes owning something of value is what defines an American. Ironically, he is right: Many of Ayad’s friends confirm that America puts more stock in profit over human satisfaction.

“‘So we say Akhtar.’ Father reverted to the native kh guttural sound that no white American in his experience had ever been able to master. There was a moment’s silence on the other end of the line. ‘Oh, that sounds hard. I don’t know about that, Doctor.’”

What seems like a casual conversation between doctor (Sikander) and patient (Donald Trump) represents the mentality of those unable and unwilling to include different cultures in the fabric of American values. Since names like Sikander’s are considered “foreign,” it’s easier to claim difficulty in pronunciation instead of venturing outside of one’s comfort zone and learning how to say said names.

“‘If they only knew him,’ he would hiss at the pundits on TV—and usually by way of yet another reminder about that lapel pin: ‘If they knew him, they wouldn’t say these things. They would know they were wrong.’”

Sikander is completely invested in the concept of the American Dream. He views Donald Trump as an embodiment of this dream, the perfect role model, a man who has it all. Therefore, nothing Trump says or does can be considered wrong in Sikander’s eyes.

“Suffice it to say that Trump’s faux largesse—or, rather, Father’s longing to live in a tawdry, gilt-and-gossamer penumbra that masqueraded as largesse—this has had an outsize effect on the Akhtar family.”

Because Trump symbolizes what Sikander thinks is the American Dream—money and power—his family suffers in Trump’s shadow as well. Every decision Sikander makes reflects the man’s influence—from his attending expensive dinners and hotels to engaging in affairs—and, over time, this casual morality affects the Akhtar family as a whole.

“The man seemed to be turning into an imbecile, his hodgepodge views like mental flatulence, one fetid odor after another. To push the metaphor: it had the logic of dysentery, an infection of his political consciousness occasioning wanton noxious discharge. And further: a child shits on the floor and sticks its finger in the feces, delights in the odor, and relishes the disgust in everyone else. Puerile pleasures, that’s what Father was learning again.”

Ayad’s description of his father in the midst of Trump’s candidacy casts both Sikander and Trump as foolish. Since being like Trump is Sikander’s goal, nothing the man does or says is off-limits, and Ayad compares this ignorance to that of an ill child who cannot determine what is socially acceptable and what isn’t.

“Isn’t that what Mary was saying all those years ago? That our vaulted American dream, the dream of ourselves enhanced and enlarged, is the flag for which we are willing to sacrifice everything—gouging our neighbors, despoiling our nation—everything, that is, except ourselves? A dream that imagines the flourishing of others as nothing more than a road sign, the prick of envy as the provident spur to one’s own all-important realization?”

The American Dream remains more of a symbol than reality. While the premise of the dream is that anyone and everyone can achieve it, the reality is that achieving it means crossing other hopefuls and inviting envy, ire, and violence.

“Despite being born here, despite the totality of his belief in this country and his commitment to being an American, he somehow still identified with a mentality that saw itself as aggrieved and other.”

The lead character in Ayad’s play proves how difficult it is to look like a foreigner in the place he calls home. No matter what his birth certificate says, it is almost impossible to feel like he belongs when the color of his skin gives rise to immediate prejudice and condemnation.

“This is what we saw in those Afghan fighters, an unflinching, inexpressibly noble willingness to die for something more important than their lives, or their liberty, or their happiness.”

Here, Ayad draws an ironic comparison between Afghan fighters (typically thought of as terrorists) and those who seek the American Dream. While pursuants of the dream focus on themselves, the Afghan fighters focus on the common good and are willing to sacrifice themselves for a cause far greater than their own lives.

“It’s not our home. No matter how many years we spend here, it won’t ever be our home. And maybe this brings out things in us that were never meant to be brought out.”

Fatima expresses thoughts that Sikander cannot due to his self-imposed blindness to American hypocrisy. Sikander represents immigrants who come to America seeking a new start despite the odds, while Fatima cannot escape the fact that she will always feel like an outsider—this feeling of being “other” leaving her with great regret and sadness.

“This country makes you a criminal for being poor.”

Latif upends Sikander’s promotion of American values with these words, and in doing so, unites all people regardless of skin color. The true divide between people doesn’t lie with different cultures, but the discrepancy between the rich and the poor: The former controls the shots while the latter pays the price.

“The world looked to us—and now I speak as an American—to uphold a holy image, or as holy as it gets in this age of enlightenment. We have been the earthly garden, the abundant idyll, the productive Arcadia of the world’s pastoral dream. Between our shores has gleamed a realm of refuge and renewal—in short, the only reliable escape from history itself. It’s always been a myth, of course, and one destined for rupture sooner or later.”

Despite America’s faults, it still largely exists as a utopia on the world stage, a symbol of better things yet to come. However, with this quote’s allusion to the biblical Garden of Eden comes the reality of an eventual fall.

“But when you feed a monster, it grows. When it attacks you—because it always will—you have only yourself to blame.”

Ayad’s cousin Naseem addresses Pakistan’s relationship with India, but the broader context of this quote reflects the world’s interconnectedness. Like America’s involvement in the Soviet-Afghan conflict (which resulted in the accidental arming of Al Qaeda and the Taliban), so does the rest of the world interfere without considering the full ramifications of their actions.

“Out the window, the dramatic mountain vistas had given way to the familiar concatenation of sometimes ramshackle roadside constructions, stores and schools and homes, tea stands, food stands, pumping stations; the earlier evergreen of the Hazara steppes now replaced by sundry shades of drying earth, from ecru to umber, mud-brick walls and sand-brown lots and road shoulders, tan trails leading into the darker sunbaked fields beyond, and everywhere around us, clouds of turbid beige kicked up by the chaos of jockeying buses and painted trucks passing, honking, themselves dun with dust; even the late-morning sun seemed to color everything with a straw-taupe hue.”

Ayad observes a country transformed by war. There is no beauty or color to the poorer regions of Pakistan: There are once beautiful “vistas” turned into hastily made homes, and the “evergreen” of the grasslands are morphed into lackluster “ecru,” “umber,” “beige,” and “straw-taupe,” all covered with dust.

“Clearly you have not been beset by daily worries of being perceived—and therefore treated—as a foe of the republic rather than a member of it.”

Despite being a natural-born American who should harbor all the rights and privileges that come with citizenship, Ayad cannot escape the fact that his skin color groups him with “dangerous people” in the minds of white Americans. This burden weighs on him daily, as he must always be on guard against being thought of as an enemy.

“The route into the center of town took me through an outlying region of industrial lots, empty warehouses, acres of bare fenced-in asphalt; past curbs crumbling into the streets and roadside grass left to grow to knee height. The roads themselves were worn, pitted with holes, the fading yellow lanes and crosswalks barely insinuated by the disappearing paint.”

Much like Ayad’s foray through the poor regions of Pakistan, this route through Scranton, Pennsylvania proves that the poor are often left to the wayside everywhere. All that remains is a sense of liveliness that used to be.

“We—Muslims—lived in a Christian land. That’s how we saw it, at least in the families I knew. We lived in a Christian land, but we didn’t understand Christianity. We didn’t understand it; we didn’t respect it…But here was the paradox: in order to flourish in this new land, we had to adopt its Christian ways.”

Though America claims to be a melting pot of different beliefs, Christianity dominates the rest. Therefore, the only way for Muslims to assimilate into American society is to understand the undertones of Christianity that permeate every single aspect of American existence.

“I believe he’d found his way to the work he did in part because of the bracing simplicity with which he saw life itself. It was all very basic: get what you want, by whatever means necessary.”

Though Riaz Rind’s attitude surprises Ayad, Rind actually knows more about what it means to be “American” than anyone else in the novel. American success may seem cutthroat to Ayad, but the process is simple to Rind: Money equals power, and he will stop at nothing to make as much money as possible.

“The established majority takes its we-image from a minority of its best, and shapes a they-image of the despised outsiders from the minority of their worst.”

This quote from a German sociologist showcases the irony of judgment and prejudice in America. The white majority is blinded to its flaws, focusing only on an exceptional minority of themselves and elevating this minority to represent the whole—which is the exact opposite of how they treat actual minority groups. In these groups’ case, the few bad apples represent the whole.

“I hate that quality about us, always waiting for someone to save us, make things right, cut us some slack because we deserve it. Sure, we’ve been through a lot, and it’s hard to be “us.” I’m not denying that. But they’re not gonna change this country for our sake. We have to do that ourselves.”

Mike Jacobs subverts the concept of the American Dream by saying that minorities can and must be successful in spite of America, not because of America. According to Mike, the problem with minorities is that they buy into the idea of deserving to be saved due to past treatment, and this idea only makes the majority view them with even more resentment than before.

“Money comes with its own point-of-view; what you own, when you own enough of it, starts making you see the world from its perspective.”

As the novel proves, money grants one power over almost everything. Ayad cannot see this until he sells his shares (via Rind’s business) and becomes a multimillionaire. Once he does, his view of the world changes, because a great deal of power is now in his hands.

“Art, like everything else, was drowning in the tidal wash of ubiquitous and ascendant anger. Authenticity was measured now in decibels. Every utterance, every expressive gesture, was read as a pledge of allegiance to some discernible creed.”

When Ayad’s play, The Merchant of Debt, opens, many patrons are confused by the main character not being the “right kind of Muslim.” Ayad realizes that art is falling victim to a “cancel culture” in which people want to see a sanitized version of the world—rather than the world with all of its flaws and uncomfortable truths.

“The poverty out there is real. Houses are falling apart. Roads. Towns. People aren’t taking care of their things, their yards. Not taking care of themselves. Nothing’s cared for anymore. And it’s not just that folks don’t have the money to do it. They haven’t had that for thirty years, but now they don’t even have the will to make a show of it. When you lose that? We’re talking about a different order of despair.”

Hannah, Sikander’s lawyer, explains why people in rural areas do not trust rich city doctors—the underlying message being one of complete societal failure. As the novel shows, the amount of money one has directly influences their ability to achieve the elusive American Dream. In rural parts of America, this dream is all but nonexistent, to the point where people lack the will to even pretend.