Fear and self-loathing in Islamophobic America.

There’s a common saying that one of the worst pieces of advice to give to anyone is to ‘just be yourself’. Indeed, as much as a country like the USA posits itself as one that welcomes individualism and uniqueness, there also often seems to be certain OB markers where the moment you step even a little outside of what is considered socially acceptable, you’ll be met with a flurry of prejudice and discrimination, looked upon as an aberration and pariah that has betrayed an unspoken code. In a way then, every person’s identity comprises a multitude of selves – the public-facing one that masks the private one we reveal only to those we truly trust and love, and even underneath that, the self-loathing and hate we bury deep within ourselves that we are too afraid or ashamed of to face up to. But like a bottled up carbonated drink, these complexities constantly in conflict with each other are always threatening to burst into the open, as we decide how much of ourselves is safe to reveal, and at what point one can no longer keep it under wraps. And when it all explodes, its often lethal consequences are what end up being grappled with, as seen in Ayad Akhtar’s Pulitzer Prize-winning play Disgraced.

Last staged in 2016, Singapore Repertory Theatre (SRT) brings Disgraced back to the KC Arts Centre eight years on with a new cast and new creative team helming it. Directed by Daniel Jenkins, who performed in the previous production, Disgraced is set in post 9/11 New York City, in the posh Upper East Side home of successful litigator Amir (Ghafir Akbar), perhaps a picture perfect depiction of the model minority. Well-to-do, with high hopes of making partner at the firm and living with his beautiful artist wife Emily (Simone Policano), everything’s coming up roses, as they settle down for a celebratory dinner party with colleague Jory (Ebony Flowers) and her art dealer husband Isaac (Jeremy Rishe), who has good news to share. But everything falls apart when a seemingly innocuous newspaper article sets off a chain of events, culminating in an explosive argument that fires up old wounds, grievances and prejudices at the dinner table.

Ayad Akhtar’s script is searing, even 12 years on, and especially so in a politically-charged election year. His characters are complex affairs, if only because each of them grew up with their respective burdens and chips on their shoulders, shaping their diverse and at times selfish ways of viewing the world, often with little nuance and that smarmy sense of self-righteousness that makes them clash so much harder with each other. These characters are primarily good people at heart, yet they are all flawed in their own way, insisting on playing the game of comparison where everyone only stands to lose. This feels especially powerful given how all the ugliness comes to light in a fancy apartment, furnished well by set designer Francis O’Connor, with the hazy skyline of New York City painted on the backdrop, dour in the wake of 9/11 while establishing the greyness of morality and values of the characters. The apartment is well spaced out as well, to subtly provide enough of a divide between living room and dinner table to have distinct areas onstage, while also conveying the richness of Amir and Emily, with its choice of classy, toned down furniture, and the sheer height of the ceiling as well. In its very centre, a massive painting by Emily is displayed, supposedly reflecting the beauty of Islam, but also a stark reminder of how the falling of the twin towers seems to haunt them all, the art overshadowed by tragedy. In a similar vein, Daniel Wong’s sound design, played during scene transitions, take on heavy Islamic influence – these are calm, meditative and in stark contrast to the mess that unfolds at the dinner table, perhaps a reminder that the true meaning of the religion has been long buried by controversy.

In a play like this, casting is everything, where every actor must be able to channel the deep-seated emotions each of their characters have long repressed. Amir marks the perfect example of this, as someone who renounces his religion and even his name, to distance himself as far as possible from Islam and what he perceives as its conservative extremities, unafraid to constantly beat down on the flaws in the Quran. Ghafir Akbar takes his character on a journey through the play, starting off as suave, confident and perhaps even invulnerable at the beginning in impossibly clean, fresh-pressed shirts. He evokes confidence and even arrogance as he takes pride in his position and how far he’s come, clearly with a loving wife and acting as a mentor and advisor to nephew Abe (Shrey Bhargava). But that is precisely what makes the deterioration and fall later even more hard-hitting, as we watch him panic, the fears and insecurities rise to the surface when he lashes out and allows his bitterness and anger to take over with each sip of his whiskey. It feels like we’re watching him become consumed by madness in real time, his voice sharpening to a razor’s edge as he aims to goad, cut deep into each dinner party guest with every word. Several times, it is Amir who utters words that may seem totally unforgivable out of context – yet we understand his pain, all the welled-up anger that is bursting out of him at how no matter how hard he works and tries to become his own person, his skin colour and history will never be erased, and ultimately used against him.

The story is primarily Amir’s, but all three other dinner guests make for compelling characters as well. His wife Emily is struck by the beauty in Islam and the concept of total submission, incorporating it into her paintings, but puts on blinders, refusing to see the social contexts and potential damage it causes in reality. In a sense, she exists in her own world, selfishly so, as she blocks out even Amir’s concerns, a modern day social justice warrior who is able to appropriate a culture without having to suffer its drawbacks or ever experience it. From the very first scene, there is already a sense of discomfort in watching Emily, a white woman, paint Amir, as inspired by a painting of a Moorish slave. Amir is dressed in a formal suit and tie from the waist up, and only his underwear and socks beneath, and it already establishes a strange kind of unequal power dynamic, where Amir and his former religion seem to be objectified and on the verge of being appropriated by Emily, who sees herself as some kind of saviour bringing the beauty of Islam to the wider Western world through her art. Simone Policano plays this role with nuance, constantly defending Islam and going against her own husband’s misgivings, with an earnestness to her performance you can’t help but root for, despite knowing how problematic her methods are, fundamentally a good person yet flawed in her wilful ignorance. Simone and Ghafir’s onstage chemistry is strong, where the rifts in their relationship are clearly felt, the initial kisses passionate and warm, before you sense their body language doing things out of obligation and optics rather than want when tensions are high.

Meanwhile, Jeremy Rishe plays the love-to-hate Isaac, who walks with the air and confidence of a man who knows he’s intelligent, and enjoys beating others over the head with it, only to see him visibly shaken when Amir questions his beliefs, and makes comparisons and commentary on his Jewish faith – even linking it to emotions over the Israel-Palestine conflict that clearly triggers him. It is from this that his true colours come out – he is a savage out for blood, and the intellect quickly gives way to low blows and personal attacks. Ebony Flowers, as Jory on the other hand, is for the most part, the most innocent of the group, her own character focusing on hard work to get out of the ‘ghetto’ she describes herself as having grown up in. Ebony’s accent changes ever so slightly when she mentions this, revealing how she may well have learnt to cover up a side to her that may not be as socially acceptable in the upper classes. If anything, she represents what Amir could not be – a successful model minority who happens to avoid associations with public enemy of the year (Islam), but remains in her lane, cowed by fear of losing her position, if she were to speak up any more loudly than she already does, expressing her true feelings only in a private space without being able to walk the talk publicly.

This is a play that isn’t afraid to offend by confronting the deepest, most taboo parts of race and religion head-on, the acidity that spills from these characters’ mouths filled with venom and violence. But it is not just their words that hit hard, it is also thanks for Daniel Jenkins’ direction that these hit with the full force required of them. Little nuances in their voices, or the way they shoot glances at each other all build up to the richness of the performance, and convey how nervous or socially unacceptable the conversation is growing as their efforts to maintain the facade of civility are rendered futile. When it all comes out, with literal spit flying, verbal threats and physical abuse, it feels like a well-orchestrated symphony of disaster, the entire room filled with panic and shock. It is to the credit of both Jenkins and the cast that the energy never lets up, continually upping the ante with each passing moment as we watch with bated breath to see just how far this play will go, before reaching its horrifying climax that possibly, proves right the worst of their assumptions. It’s the trust the cast and crew have between each other, with Daniel at the helm maintaining a safe space and the proper direction to ensure everyone is comfortable enough to go no holds barred during the conflict and make us feel every word like a brutal punch.

Even in its denouement, Disgraced keeps up the tension and still manages to tease out the horror of Islamophobia in America, with Shrey Bhargava, as Abe, showcasing the other end of extremism, in contrast to Amir’s total rejection of religion. Half verging on tears and half stemming from a place of pure youthful righteousness and passion, Shrey delivers an agonising monologue that while fuelled by conspiracy theories, has even us wondering about the possibility of justification for violent justice, and the broken system within America. It is a monologue that leaves everyone, both onstage and in the audience quiet, and as he leaves, we watch Emily’s face crack, her belief in Islam completely shattered by both of these men, while Amir is left alone in his shame. ‘All I ever wanted was for you to be proud of me’, he says, and we wonder, as he looks at the painting Emily made at the beginning of the play, how he feels knowing that he threw it all away, or if things could have been different at all if he made some small changes to his decisions, or if he was always fated to be on the losing end on account of his position in a society that runs rampant with racism.

At one point in the dinner party, the characters criticise the idea of the veil in Islam, supporting France’s decision to ban it due to how it seems to erase the idea of individual identity. Yet ironically, in perhaps almost every society, we all engage in a degree of erasure, where we suppress certain aspects of ourselves in order to conform to the socially acceptable, majority consensus. We are left to wonder, is violence a natural part of the human condition, or is it shaped by stubbornly persistent systemic reasons? In a country that demands a degree of sameness and submission to a dominant, overarching mentality to flourish, otherness will almost always be looked at with suspicion and fear, in turn shaping them into the monsters they’re so often made out to be. Back someone into a corner enough, and they will without a doubt respond with violence born of fear – that is the note Disgraced seems to leave us on, with no easy answers, and only question after question about the complicated race relations that we’re surrounded by. Perhaps what it takes is conversation, no matter how difficult, if at least to better understand where each of us comes from, and rather than letting it fester, start work towards resolving the issue at its root.

Photo Credit: Singapore Repertory Theatre

Disgraced plays from 13th August 2024 at the KC Arts Centre. Tickets available here

Production Credits:

Playwright Ayad Akhtar Director Daniel Jenkins Cast Ghafir Akbar, Simone Policano, Shrey Bhargava, Jeremy Rishe, Eboni Flowers Set Designer Francis O’Conor Costume Designer Tan Jia Hui Lighting Designer Yo Shao An Sound Designer Daniel Wong