As Americans, our unalienable rights enshrined in the Declaration of Independence include life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. If humor counts on that last point, Mo Amer is a true patriot.
Through his show Mo, the second season of which premiered Thursday on Netflix, he’s made millions of viewers across the world laugh while also informing us about Palestinian history and culture — and the life of an immigrant in America. In Season 2 of Mo, the final installment of the Peabody Award-winning series, Mo Amer’s mixture of culturally relevant jokes and deep, heartfelt moments showcases the concept of humanity — who has it, who doesn’t, and at what cost?
A society that does not recognize the humanity in others is doomed to fall. If a country lacks the sight to see the personhood of those seeking asylum within its borders, then who are we to cast judgment on those who risk their lives for entry? As the trailer advertises, the new season is about “life, liberty, and the pursuit of belonging,” but it’s portrayed through the absurdity and banality of life.
These are undoubtedly heavy subjects for a semi-autobiographical comedy, but they’re tempered with clever dialogue, physical comedy, and moments that pull on a viewer’s heartstrings. The bickering between a mother and her daughter. The lamenting with a stranger over shared heartbreak. And for Texans, a day out at the Houston Rodeo. The series is all of these things and more, while making space for the reality that many people of the Palestinian Diaspora experience, like the guilt of enjoying a meal with loved ones in the Texas countryside as homes and schools in your homeland are being destroyed.
Season 1 first aired in August 2022. It was created by Ramy Youssef and Mo Amer, who stars as Mo Najjar, a Texas man who — with his family, came to the United States 20 years ago as a refugee from Palestine. It’s filmed on location in Houston, where Mo is desperately trying to become a citizen of the United States. It received a positive response among critics for its portrayal of the Palestinian experience in America — but also the rich vastness of Houston’s demographic makeup. The season left off with Mo stranded in Mexico, after his attempt to rescue stolen olive trees went awry.
When Season 2 first opens, Mo has been stuck in Mexico for six months — and has participated in some of the country’s great traditions to make ends meet. He has a stint as a lucha libre wrestler, a musician in a mariachi band, and selling tacos (in his case, falafel tacos). In his down time, Mo keeps himself entertained with telenovelas and cooking sessions with Tia Rosa and Tia Luisa. (These are the aunts of Maria, Mo’s ex-girlfriend.)
“It’s a real story that’s grounded, and it’s about a family that’s going through it, and a guy that just can’t get out of his own way, something we all go through,” Amer said Wednesday at a Houston screening attended by special guests like Dave Chappelle, Bun B, Astros Hall of Famer Jeff Bagwell, as well as the cast and crew. “This is a Palestinian family. It’s a Palestinian story, but it’s not just for Palestinians. It’s for everyone truly.”
“The show does such a beautiful job of just giving you insight into what it is to be Palestinian in the diaspora, what it is to be an immigrant, what it is to be a refugee, and what it is to belong somewhere,” added Cherien Dabis, who plays Mo’s sister Nadia.
After many failed attempts at acquiring a laissez passer, the diplomatic travel document needed for him to re-enter the United States, it appears to be that Mo will be stuck living out his days in Mexico.
“You’re Mexican now,” says a ridiculously mustachioed Matt Rife. “Feliz cumpleaños.”
Then, by God’s grace, one of his regular falafel tacos customers happens to be the wife of the Ambassador to the United States. She invites Mo to a dinner under the pretense of helping him obtain proper documentation, only for him to be subjected to intense fetishization and later a proposition for him to engage in a cuckold. Mo refuses both propositions and to his surprise, the Ambassador still helps Mo with a laissez passer — until the Ambassador asks them to cheer to the end of the conflict.
There are two choices presented to Mo in this scene. The first is to cheers, in order to receive the proper documentation to make it back home for his family’s asylum hearing. The second is to refute the Ambassador with one word: occupation. His choice to go through with the latter option cost him the documentation he spent months working towards, but the reward was standing up for his people.
Deportations are increasing by the day. It appears that the nation is suffering from a loss of humanity. The president wants the Navy base on Guantanamo Bay, and its 30,000 beds, to house migrants. ICE raids are happening throughout the country. An Instagram post on the official White House account reads: “Just as he promised, President Trump is sending a strong message to the world: Those who enter the United States illegally will face serious consequences.”
Humanity is null and void in the United States.
A Netflix series, no matter how cleverly crafted, cannot undo all the harmful misconceptions Americans are grappling with at this time. Nor is it the responsibility of a series like Mo to take that on. Yet, Mo does a great job of demonstrating the costs of choosing humanity, even when many people around you do otherwise. When Mo makes the decision to illegally cross the border into the United States, audiences see the horrific, dangerous conditions when entering the country on foot. And there is no greater fear than seeing a white man with a gun pointed at you as you’re trying to find your way in. Mo experiences this firsthand when a group of armed white men capture and report him to authorities.
While in custody, Mo hears stories from his fellow detainees about their experiences crossing the border. One detainee survived on juice out of a can of sausages. Another detainee simply meows like a cat, since he has lost the ability to verbalize his thoughts and emotions with words. There is a sense of hopelessness and isolation among people in the facility. To all of these heartbreaking moments, Mo brings a light with humor and laughter and joy.
Over a game of basketball, Mo places a wager with a federal law enforcement official that he affectionately calls Jack. If he wins, the detainees get real food. Mo shoots the ball. It goes in the basket. He wins. Then he’s placed in a holding cell with another set of detainees, which reeks of various bodily fluids. (There is no toilet.) His stay is limited, and his lawyer was able to negotiate his release. But the impact of his experience there is profound.
Once freed, Mo asks Jack about his incessant mistreatment of the detainees in custody. In response, Jack explains that his household situation requires him to maintain this profession or else his family will financially suffer. The show asks: Is the upkeep of your family worth the destruction of countless others?
There are Americans who have never met a Palestinian.
Instead, their understanding of the Palestinian experience is composed of decades-long misrepresentation and fetishization of Arab men and women. But the beauty of popular culture is that it has the ability to dictate who is seen as human — and to provide a window into the lives of those we don’t otherwise encounter in our increasingly fractured world.
Mo grants Palestinians the right to be seen as human beings — smart, silly, enviable, funny, worthy of empathy — and encourages society to treat them as such.