Amel Khalil

Amel Khalil is a Palestinian American actor, writer, and communications strategist whose work bridges storytelling, systems change, and community healing. She co-hosts It’s Okay Habibi, a podcast exploring Arab identity, grief, and cultural pressure, and is the founder of Pal Perspective, a film club that fosters collective grieving and space to watch and study Palestinian film and artists together. 

New Orleans Review

How did you get into the industry and was it always something you pictured yourself doing?

Amel Khalil 

I think it was a slow realization that I am a non-stop yapper. I couldn’t figure out what I wanted to do in college and I oscillated between a few different majors and just landed on English because I always loved reading and writing. Then I always thought I was going to go full 9 to 5. I was working in higher education, then I went corporate, and then I lost my mom in my second year of my master’s (degree in) organizational leadership. I think that had a profound effect – you know the existential crisis that people have when they lose a parent – and it forced me to look at time differently. Especially because of the way she died, it was a very slow process and I was just like “I’m never going to spend another day not doing what I want to do with my life.” So slowly but surely the ball just started rolling towards storytelling. From a blog that I started (and) never finished to a bunch of other projects that I started and never finished. But somewhere along the way I ended up falling in love with being in front of the camera and that propelled my acting career, and then everything propelled something else. 

NOR 

That’s the life of a creative, right? A lot of hard work goes into a project and then it turns into “oh, actually that’s going to sit (to the side) for a while.” But it really is that trickle effect when you’re working in a creative field. You can start off doing writing, but then discover a different love in film and how similar (the two worlds) can be if you combine them together. 

AK

Yeah, and that’s exactly what happened. I was behind the scenes, the blog was called “self-made” and it was all about people who have the courage to go outside the norm or take the road less traveled. Then I was like, “I just like being in front of the camera.” Then once I got in front of the camera I started booking all these TV roles. I was like, “I really want to tell different stories than I’m being cast to tell right now.” I went back behind the scenes (which led to a) pivotal experience that (bridged) the intersection of storytelling and activism. A theater project I booked early on called There Is A Field, written by Jen Marlowe about the real experiences of a Palestinian citizen of Israel (Aseel Asleh) being shot and killed by the police (in 2000). He was 17 at the time, may God rest his soul, and she wrote a whole play about the experience because he was part of an organization that was trying to talk about coexistence. Everyone involved in that situation saw the state-sanctioned violence and its implications and how the families don’t receive justice. So I started learning storytelling could be extremely powerful and I could be on many sides of this spectrum for it. I think that was really the most pivotal thing that happened in my career because from then on I decided that my personal mission would be to uplift the narrative surrounding Arabs in all forms of media. 

NOR

(From your mission) you can then also be that representation that maybe you didn’t see growing up. Others can look up to you and think, “Wow, our stories can be told and here is someone actively doing that.” So it’s incredible that you get to be that representation and voice for your community. Growing up, were there any role models in the writing, comedy, or acting community that inspired you or influenced your work? 

AK

Not growing up, no. What’s interesting to know, especially when pursuing your passions, is that the initial impetus for even going towards storytelling was very selfish. It was like, “I want to do this,” and then as I started going down that path, I started realizing what would feel good and what wouldn’t feel good when doing this. I saw projects that propelled me forward, for example, Ramy Youssef’s Ramy. It was (a popular mainstream) Arab show and I was like, “I don’t really love the way women are being portrayed here, but that is his story and he kicked the door down for us.” So now if I want to see my version of growing up Arab, I have to tell it and he laid the way for that. Another key piece that I saw when I started to shift from just acting to writing was John Leguizamo’s Latin History for Morons. I saw that he really connected history to enlighten folks in a very entertaining and funny way. Then Hasan Minhaj: Homecoming King, I was in tears and laughing and (thinking) this is peak storytelling. Those projects I watched all within a couple of years of each other. Each time I saw one of those I was like, “Let me get pen to paper, let me do this thing.” Many of the things I started working on (haven’t seen) the light of day, but they all worked towards the voice that you see on social media and in my work. 

NOR

In your blog post “I wish I could say something…” you mention struggling to express your frustrations within your culture while also being protective of it. Have you made any progress in finding that balance between breaking cycles of toxicity while also shielding your culture from those trying to vilify it? 

AK

No, I have not found the perfect formula, I’ll say. But I think that’s okay and I’ve come to terms with that. I think one of the pillars of my voice is the authenticity of making mistakes, of showing up as a mess, and being okay with that. Getting new information and then saying, “Okay, I got new information. I was wrong yesterday. Here’s the new information and let’s all learn together.” So I think that’s what makes it okay; I’m always learning. If there’s one thing that helps me balance, it is (that) I always lean towards the protection of the Arab or Muslim voice. There are way more people in the media with a lot more power, money, and influence trying to spin the opposite narrative. So I’m like, “You know what? There’s enough people talking shit (that) I don’t have to do it, I could just be me.” When I do have to (express) criticism or an internal (issue) that I want fixed in the community, I think it’s always important (to acknowledge) the context, right? So if I grew up with super strict parents, it’s important to note that they were navigating life in a whole new country that they didn’t know. They were displaced from our original countries in the first place and they did the best they could with what they had. Or that grieving is really hard for our people and they are displaced no matter which country in the Middle East you’re talking about. Our parents have dealt with so much crap that they have never spoken about, that they have never gotten help for. Then they came here and it’s all a survival tactic. So I’m not going to say anything negative without saying, “Hmm, (I wonder) what made that happen in our culture and how can we fix it at the root?”

NOR

As a Palestinian, Arab-American woman, what does the process of casting calls look like for you and how do you find roles that intrigue you? How often do you have to avoid roles that feed into harmful portrayals of brown, Muslim and Arab people?

AK

When you’re first getting started as an actor and you’re weeding through the projects yourself, the one putting yourself out there and submitting to these roles, it’s a matter of you deciding what your values are. (You figure out) what roles you are interested in or not interested in. Then once you progress and get to a position where you have an agent or a manager, you’re not submitting for yourself anymore. You’re just saying “yes” or “no” to the auditions that come your way. So those values then carry over. I don’t have to navigate very often because early on when I’m working with a new manager or agent, if they send me something like that, I will say “never do that shit again and here’s why.” If the response is anything other than “totally understood, what else are we avoiding?”, they’re not the team for me. Those values have always been non-negotiable for me as someone who grew up in the post 9/11 era. That’s a conversation I have with so many Arab actor friends (where they’ll ask) “Should I take this role? The script says xyz, that’s harmful” and I’m like “You’ve got to consult your conscience. For me it’s a hell no. For you, you’re considering a tradeoff, but the person who pays the tradeoff eventually becomes you. So it’s just about knowing what your values are.” 

NOR

Yes, it’s important knowing your boundaries and enforcing them from the start, not only with your team but also with (others surrounding you in the industry). Hollywood is full of Zionists and I can’t imagine what it must be like to navigate that, especially with so much retaliation against people speaking up for Palestine. Like Hamdan Ballal, Rachel Zegler, Melissa Barrera (to name a few), and with Hamdan Ballal it was a very serious and life-threatening retaliation (he faced). So with all the activist work you do, how do you balance your career while also refusing to be silenced? 

AK

That’s a beautiful question because a lot of people are also dealing with that. I think the most important thing is that I don’t care about the career as much as I care about the value. It has actually taken a huge back seat since October 7th because I am not and will never be just one identity. So for me, it goes back to the mission of uplifting Arabs and Muslims and correcting what has happened, at least in my eyes, since 9/11 — and for my parent’s generation, (it was) even before that. Whichever one of my identities needs to come to the front seat in order to fulfill that mission or fulfill that value, that’s who’s going to get the spotlight, no pun intended. I do think this is a general unknown, it doesn’t matter which career you’re talking about. I don’t care about being silenced because winning in that career is not the goal. Also I have only chosen jobs (where) our values aligned. So I’ve never had to worry about money being taken out of my mouth when it comes to my survival jobs because they already know who I am and what I stand for, so there is no shock. If they were to let me go (from) any role, or if any producer or director doesn’t want to work with me, guess what? I don’t want to work with you either. We are not a match. 

NOR

In your blog posts, you share your experiences of navigating life after the loss of your mother. There is no linear path to healing from the passing of a loved one, especially a parent. It is a specific type of grief that is hard to grasp unless you experience it yourself. With all the activist work you’re doing, with your professional work, when do you find time to take care of yourself and make space for your own grief?

AK

I connect the grief that I’m feeling to the suffering that I’m seeing. Whether it’s from Palestine or mothers struggling to feed their kids in America and all of the things that we are watching, it is a very hard world to live in and that is constantly triggering grief. So I talk about that publicly because I don’t want to be alone. In searching for that healing and allowing other kind hearts to find me, it has made that process of grieving less painful. The other thing is I acknowledge the pain, I cry, and I honor my mom’s memory (in doing so). Andrew Garfield once very famously said something like, “I hope this grief stays with me because it’s the unexpressed love that I have for (my mom).” I think that’s spot-on. You’re never going to stop hearing about my mother because she left an impression on me. So if you love someone and they left an impression on you, you’re doing yourself and them a disservice by acting like you’re stronger than your pain. 

NOR 

Exactly, and everything you do now is a reflection of them. It’s in memory of them, it’s in honor of them. So you can’t be you without their presence still there. 

AK

Exactly. Another thing I want to add that helped me get through goes back to my religion. I wouldn’t say I’m the most devout Muslim that could exist, but I do have God in my heart in a way that has helped heal me. A very practical example my religion gives is to continue getting your parents “good points” I guess with God and a path towards heaven. There are ways that have been outlined that you can do good in their name. One is ongoing charity, another is to make sincere prayer for them and the third is to close out any of their open obligations. So (there are) real, tangible ways that I have practiced doing good in her name. It just makes me feel like, “All right, if I’m going to be here without you, when I come up to heaven we’re going to walk (up there) and kick that gate open (together).”

NOR

You briefly mentioned before that you want to reach out for help and not be (alone). Grief especially can be a very isolating process. On your website you stated that before creating Pal Perspective (a social community that watches Palestinian films and documentaries together), you were struggling to process the heartbreaking things you were viewing, so you created a community for people to watch these films together. What specifically about film did you think would be a powerful (tool) to process grief and loss together as a community? 

AK

The truth is, I didn’t think about it that way. It goes back to selfish intentions to start. The movie I was having trouble watching (alone) was called Farha (a film whose storyline centers around the Nakba). It doesn’t ever say (in the film which specific village it is based on) because there were so many villages that got displaced and ethnically cleansed in 1948. But I have confirmed with (the filmmakers) that it is about this village called Lifta, and it was my mother’s village. I was like, “I can’t watch this, I can’t do it alone.” So I did what I always do and was just very authentic about that (and posted on social media) “Somebody please watch this with me,” and so many people showed up. We found this common yearning to watch these things, but not being able to deal with (them) alone. So that’s how Pal Perspective was born; we needed each other. 

NOR 

In the first episode of your podcast, It’s Okay Habibi, you mention that there always needs to be light to counter the dark. In a digital age where we are witnessing a genocide through our phone screens and endless evidence of oppression being faced in places like Palestine, Congo, Sudan and Yemen, how do you personally keep the light shining?

AK

It is a survival tactic. I may be guilty of toxic positivity at some points, honestly. Some people are like, “No, this is not okay and I’m just going to sit in this not okayness of it, there’s no solution.” (Whereas) I’m like, “All right, you sulk and I’ll be here when we’re ready to do the next part because I’m so solution oriented. There has to be a way to make this better.” With the example of my mom dying, I cannot get her back, but I sure as hell can tell myself I’m getting her into heaven; whether that’s true or not, it just makes me feel better. I think that’s the point: light always feels better than darkness. I have been in the depths of depression and it of course sounds like what it is. It’s deep, it’s an abyss, and it sucks. So being hopeful – which is literally my name; my name means “hope” in Arabic – feels better than whatever the alternative is. Also, it’s being realistic. For as long as man has existed, there has been light and dark. There is darkness every day. (People say things like) “Whoa, this is the hardest time in history,” when no, the fuck it’s not. People used to literally have to fight on fields, with swords and knives, to the death. Now I guess some people have the privilege of being able to drop drones and bombs, but the point is there has always been this dark side of humanity. I accept that and I have decided that as long as I am part of this race of humans, I’m just going to be light. 

NOR

What advice would you give to young artists? 

AK

It’s important to understand the bigger picture for yourself. Do not negotiate your values and let your art be in service to that truth, as opposed to in service of anything else. The biggest thing I can say is, don’t wait for others to give you permission. You don’t have to wait for someone else to tell you that your piece is good or that your idea is valid. Do the thing because it came to you. Honor the idea, honor your gift. Put it out there and don’t worry about the result.

Briana Bhola is a Digital Marketing Associate from Long Island, New York. She has a BA from Loyola University New Orleans, where she studied English with a concentration in film and digital media and minored in Middle East Peace Studies. Briana’s Goan and Guyanese heritage inspires her to pursue activist work, decolonize her bookshelf, and empower others during her free time. Her previous work can be found in New Orleans Review and The Massachusetts Review.