At the 2025 Doha Film Festival (DFF), currently underway until Nov. 28, Arab-American comedians and creators Ramy Youssef and Mo Amer sat down with journalist Ayman Mohyeldin for a wide-ranging panel titled “The Stories We Tell Ourselves.” The conversation tackled the shifting landscape of Arab representation, from Hollywood’s legacy of stereotypes to the opportunities emerging across a rapidly expanding regional film economy.
These are the 10 major takeaways and lessons for young Arab creatives imagining new futures for their stories.
Pain Is the Material, But Grounding Turns It into Art
Amer began the panel with an image that set the emotional tone: “You’re in space… just floating.” He described the weight of working on deeply personal stories—especially those connected to trauma, war, and displacement—as a disorienting, almost spiritual state. But he stressed that pain alone doesn’t make great art; it’s when he anchors his storytelling in his lived experience, his memories, and his community that the work gains meaning. By rooting himself in the real emotions behind the narrative, Amer ensures the story resonates beyond spectacle, offering audiences something authentic rather than performative. Pain provides the intensity, but grounding provides the coherence.
Don’t Think About Yourself Too Much
When asked how he manages the immense pressure of creating for so many audiences—Western networks, Arab diasporas, Muslim communities—Youssef offered a surprising reframing: “If I feel too much pressure, it means I’m thinking about myself too much.” For him, pressure becomes overwhelming when the creator focuses on external judgment rather than the internal compass of the story. By centering the narrative, the craft, and the collaborators, the ego dissolves and the work becomes clearer. This mindset not only keeps him grounded but allows him to make riskier, more honest choices. In his philosophy, pressure is not an enemy but a reminder to recalibrate toward purpose.
Arab Stories No Longer Need to ‘Educate the West’
@milleworlddotcom @Mo Amer and Ramy Youssef unpacked “The Stories We Tell Ourselves” in a candid, insightful conversation. This panel is part of DFF’s panels where regional and global talents come together to give local audiences more insights about the creative industry. #doha ♬ original sound – milleworlddotcom
Youssef observed that even just a few years ago, many Americans barely recognized the word “Palestine,” confusing it with “Pakistan.” But today the global conversation has shifted thanks to social media, diasporic voices, and geopolitical realities. “The art doesn’t need to carry the burden of education anymore,” he insisted. This freeing realization means Arab storytellers can stop producing work that explains their existence and instead create narratives centered on character, emotion, and universal human complexity. They no longer need to justify their presence on screen or preface every story with political context. The narrative burden has lightened, and the space for creative freedom has expanded.
Representing ‘Your People’ Means Balancing Many Publics, Not Pleasing One
When Mohyeldin asked Amer how he handles portraying “his people,” Mo broke into laughter and then honesty. “Which people? Palestinians? Arabs? Muslims? Houstonians? Americans? My mom’s WhatsApp group?” His answer revealed a truth many diasporic artists know too well: every community has its own expectations, sensitivities, and demands. The actor compared it to seasoning a dish—too much or too little of any ingredient tilts the balance. His creative approach isn’t to serve one audience over another; it’s to create characters so deeply honest that they resonate across factions. Representation, for him, is about emotional truth, not pleasing a demographic checklist.
Your Story Is Just One Story
Throughout the panel, Amer emphasized his position as a “privileged refugee.” While his own asylum journey was painful, he acknowledged that countless others endured far harsher realities—detention, separation, limbo. To honor them, he conducted extensive research, interviewed individuals who survived detention centers, and listened to families whose experiences differed from his own. This humility is not performative; it’s structural. He understands that a show about Palestinian displacement cannot rest solely on his biography. By expanding the narrative to include a mosaic of experiences, he makes the story richer, more accurate, and more universal.
Someone Will Always Be Offended—Make the Story You Believe In
Youssef offered one of the most memorable observations of the panel: “People who aren’t political get upset if you’re being political. Religious people get upset when you talk about sex. Secular people ask why you’re praying so much.” He explained how every viewer brings their own sensitivities and blind spots to a story, projecting their anxieties onto the work. Even when his show featured far more prayer scenes than sex scenes, audiences selectively reacted to the element that triggered them. Rather than contorting the work to avoid offense, he believes the only solution is to honor the story’s internal truth. No artist can satisfy every constituency, and trying to do so leads to hollow art.
Arab Creators Must Choose Unity Over Rivalry
Amer illustrated this lesson with a biting metaphor: two Arabs open falafel shops across the street from each other; one charges $4.99, the other drops to $3.99, and eventually both fail. The room laughed, but the point landed hard. “We step on each other’s toes instead of being unified,” he said. In a region with immense talent, but still-limited infrastructure, rivalries can be fatal. He argued passionately that Arab creatives must support one another—share knowledge, uplift emerging artists, and resist scarcity thinking.
The Arab World’s Own Storytelling Heritage Is a Vast, Untapped Archive
Amer reminded the room that the Arab world is not starting from zero. It carries centuries of scientific breakthroughs, philosophical traditions, artistic movements, and legendary figures whose stories have barely touched the screen. He pointed to the Islamic Golden Age—when the region led the world in mathematics, astronomy, medicine, architecture—as well as the richness of oral storytelling traditions that predate modern cinema. The future doesn’t lie in mimicking Western narrative models, but in reclaiming the region’s own deep, centuries-old storytelling tradition.
Mentorship Builds an Industry—Not Film Funds Alone
Amer spoke with rare tenderness about his stand-up mentor, who mapped his future when he was just 17 and warned him, “It will take 20 years for overnight success.” That patience, discipline, and long-view perspective shaped his entire career. Youssef echoed this with examples from his own sets, where production assistants become writers and writers become showrunners because someone believed early. For both artists, mentorship is not decorative, it is foundational. Infrastructure and funding matter, but without people investing in one another, industries collapse. True ecosystems form through guidance, continuity, and shared growth.
The Future Belongs to Those Who Create Not Those Who Wait
The panel ended with a burst of practical wisdom.
Youssef: “Everyone has a phone that shoots movie quality. Just go.”
Amer: “Write every idea down. It’s your savings account.”
Their closing message was simple but transformative: stop waiting for access, permission, or perfect timing. Creativity is cumulative. Every idea—a note, a joke, a scene—is a seed that might grow years later. Their own series were born from scraps and half-formed thoughts, carried across a decade.