What Riz Ahmed’s Role in Star Wars Means to This Pakistani Muslim

Major spoilers ahead for Rogue One: A Star Wars Story. Do not read any further if you haven’t seen the film and don’t want to be spoiled!

My first exposure to Star Wars was the famous speeder bike scene in Return of the Jedi. My dad was installing a new surround sound system and needed a movie to test it with. As my dad played around with the sound settings, my brother and I were in the room watching — and listening — in awe as the hover bikes zoomed through the Forest Moon of Endor. I didn’t know the context of the scene or who the characters were, but there was something magical about the visuals, the roaring sound effects, and the other-worldly technology: flying bikes, laser blasters, and lightsabers. Needless to say, this scene alone captivated my 9-year-old imagination.

“What movie is this?” I remember asking my dad.

“Return of the Jedi,” he replied, “But you have to watch the other ones first!”

I instantly became a fan after watching the original Star Wars trilogy. My friends and I were among the first in line when the Special Editions were released in the theaters. Even though we had watched the movies hundreds of times on VHS, there was something special about seeing them on the big screen. I played all of the Star Wars video games and became an avid reader of the Expanded Universe novels and comic books. By the time The Phantom Menace came out in 1999, I was 15 years old and super hyped. My friends and I dressed up in Star Wars costumes and went to the midnight premiere. It became a tradition as we did this for the rest of the prequel films, Attack of the Clones and Revenge of the Sith.

But amidst all of the excitement, there were reminders about how I did not belong. I would hear some classmates say, “You can’t dress up as Obi-Wan, you’re not white.” I had heard the same thing before from white peers when I dressed up as Batman in 2nd grade for Halloween: “You’re too dark to be Batman.”

My close friends know that I struggled a lot with internalized racism and Islamophobia when I was younger. Growing up in a predominately white neighborhood, I did all sorts of things to fit in: I went by an Anglicized nickname, I didn’t talk about my religion, and I hated it whenever my parents spoke in Urdu around my friends. Any time I saw a movie or TV show with Muslim characters, they were always demonized as terrorists. It also didn’t help that nothing positive was ever taught about Islam in my school. We never learned about the vast contributions Muslim artists, thinkers, and scientists made in the world. Instead, my history teacher romanticized the Crusades and taught us that Muslims were a barbaric people who waged war on Jews and Christians.

After 9/11, the Islamophobia and racism I experienced only intensified. Racist and bigoted comments weren’t just made by fellow students, but by teachers as well. I started to become more outspoken and stood up for myself, making it known to my classmates and teachers that I was not going to sit quietly anymore. This was a turning point in my life because the more I defended my religion, the more I learned about Islam, Sufi poetry, Islamic and South Asian history, etc. I began to embrace my roots instead of running away from them.

During this time, I was still a Star Wars fan. While most of my friends were criticizing the performances and dialogue in the prequels, I was immersed in the overall political and spiritual themes. The politics of the prequels seemed to align with my own anti-war activism as an undergrad, especially in Revenge of the Sith where criticism of the Bush administration was quite prominent. Perhaps the most obvious example of this was Anakin/Darth Vader saying, “If you’re not with me, then you’re my enemy” (I still remember hearing someone in the theater whisper, “George Bush,” after this line was spoken). We see a democratic society collapse not at the hands of an external threat, but rather from an internal one. In other words, instead of being taken over, democracy is handed over to a dictator through votes. As one article put it, Lucas depicted how “democracy can come to an end — not at the hands of foreign interlopers, but directly through the democratic process itself.”

On a spiritual note, it was hard not to see the similarities between Islam and the teachings of the Jedi. Both taught about the internal struggle against one’s nafs (self or ego) and the unity between a higher power (God/The Force) and all living things. According to one source, Lucas contacted members of the Habibiyyah Sufi Order in Berkeley, CA when he was doing research for his original Star Wars film. This doesn’t surprise me since Lucas borrowed — and let’s be honest, appropriated — spiritual and religious philosophies from several Eastern cultures and religions.

It meant a lot to me that a film series that had a profound impact on my childhood was now resonating with me on a more personal and political level. In fact, Star Wars sparked my desire to make films. Shortly after the release of The Phantom Menace, I made a (very) short Star Wars fan film with my friends and realized that I had a passion for filmmaking. As much criticism Lucas gets for his directing style (“faster, more intense”), I learned so much about film just by listening to him in behind-the-scenes featurettes. There is no doubt that he revolutionized cinema for the better.

However, Star Wars still had major flaws with regard to race and gender. All of the leading characters were portrayed by white actors, mostly white men. This didn’t stop me from being a fan, but it reinforced an oppressive norm that still prevails in Hollywood: Only white people can be heroes, even in a galaxy far, far away. Thankfully there was Lando Calrissian, but even well before I had any critical analysis of media, I remember being bothered that the one Black character was depicted as untrustworthy.

Racial diversity was a little more visible in the prequels with characters of color like Mace Windu, Captain Panaka, Bail Organa, Jango Fett, and Captain Typho. If you pay closer attention (i.e. notice the background characters), you’ll find characters of color such as Adi Gallia, Eeth Koth, Depa Billaba, Agen Kolar, Stass Allie, Luminara Unduli, and Barris Offee (many of whom have bigger roles in the wonderful animated series, The Clone Wars). However, none of these characters were part of the lead cast. When it came to characters portrayed by South Asian actors, there were Kitster and Queen Jamillia, but both had extremely limited screen time.

It’s quite apparent now that Disney and Lucasfilm want more racial diversity in Star Wars, and rightfully so. I still remember reading articles about casting rumors for Rogue One that Riz Ahmed was “in talks” to play a role. I recall freezing in my chair and reflecting on the mere possibility of this happening. How amazing would that be: A Pakistani Muslim actor in a Star Wars movie.

But once Ahmed was confirmed to be part of the main cast, my excitement was cautious. As my friends know, it takes more than a “diverse cast” to impress me. I strongly believe that it’s important for filmmakers and advocates to go beyond inclusion or visual diversity. It’s one thing to see more Desi people in mainstream western movies and TV shows, but if these actors are playing roles that perpetuate stereotypes and harmful narratives, then what is there to celebrate? So, as much as I looked forward to seeing Riz Ahmed in Rogue One, I was anxious to see how his character was portrayed. Was he going to be an Imperial double agent secretly spying on the Rebellion, as some fans on Twitter speculated, or was he going to be an inspiring, heroic character?

Needless to say, it was difficult to contain my excitement. The more I read about Ahmed, the more I appreciated how unapologetically Muslim he was, unlike most of the other South Asian Muslim-identified celebrities in Hollywood (who tend to distance themselves from Islam or focus on catering palatable and “safe” images of being Muslim to the white mainstream). It also didn’t hurt that he defended the Star Wars prequels for their timely political themes! But I think what gave me the most hope was his podcast interview on Black Girl Nerds where he spoke in detail about the research he did for his character, Bodhi Rook. He stated:

“Whenever I play a character, what I like to do is try to interview people… But who do you interview for an Imperial cargo pilot? I found one real life way… because Bodhi Rook is from an occupied planet, Jedha, and he collaborates with the occupiers to earn a living. You know, he works as an Imperial pilot. So I thought, that’s interesting, you know, that’s an experience a lot of people had in World War II, or Israeli Arabs might have, or Afghans who worked as translators for the American army.”

It was refreshing to hear an actor connect Star Wars to real world struggles, and what was more profound was how Ahmed spoke specifically about issues that are often discussed and centered in many Muslim activist spaces. In a society where the military industrial complex is so normalized, one runs the risk of being labelled a “terrorist sympathizer” if you oppose imperialism, let alone voice dissent about Muslim soldiers who serve in the U.S. military to help perpetuate invasion and occupation of Muslim-majority countries. Hollywood movies and TV shows frequently utilize tropes that glorify the exceptional “Good Muslim” characters who fight against their own people instead of the oppressors. Obviously no one in Star Wars identifies as Muslim or South Asian, but I worried that a South Asian actor would be portraying a character that allegorically reinforced tropes of how our people are typically depicted. I’m happy to say that this wasn’t the case with Rogue One.

As I watched the movie in the theater, I thought back to my childhood and how my younger self would have reacted to seeing someone who looked like me in the Star Wars universe. I thought about the classmates who told me that South Asians, especially Pakistanis, did not exist in their fandom. I thought about the times when I would write Star Wars fan fiction and concluded that including a brown-skinned character as a hero would never be deemed acceptable. I thought about many of my struggles with internalized racism and all of the times classmates, family friends, and some of my relatives would tell me, “Make sure your protagonist is white.” I imagined what would have happened to my negative perception of myself — and South Asians in general — during my teens had I seen someone like Ahmed in Star Wars.

What I love about Bodhi Rook is how complex and nuanced he is (sadly, this doesn’t get enough appreciation from Star Wars fans). Rogue One shows us that Bodhi defying the Galactic Empire is not without devastating consequences. For instance, we see a traumatized Saw Gerrera subject Bodhi to torture because, even though both characters are on the same side, the Empire planted distrust and suspicion within rebel groups. Sound familiar?

Bodhi did not come from a privileged family of Jedi knights nor did he serve as a high ranking officer in the Empire. As Ahmed emphasizes, Bodhi is “not someone’s kid, he’s not a political elite, he’s a long distance truck driver, basically. And yet he can make a difference because he stands up for what he believes in, takes a risk, makes a sacrifice. That’s, I think, a strong message and that’s what I’m proud of, for sure.”

Lucas has been clear that the original Star Wars trilogy was a protest against the Vietnam War. The Empire was always meant to represent the United States and it’s no surprise that such metaphors are prominent in Rogue One. The Empire is the dominant and institutionalized ruling power where characters like Bodhi are put in positions where earning a living indirectly contributes to maintaining the oppressive established order. This makes me think about parallels with Western societies, particularly in North America where systems of oppression like white supremacy, patriarchy, capitalism, imperialism, and settler-colonialism are so deeply ingrained. Due to the way oppressive structures are set up, all of us, to varying degrees, are complicit in sustaining them. This doesn’t mean that we are horrible people, but rather, like Bodhi, we are locked in a system where resistance would require profound sacrifices and risks. I’m reminded of bell hooks’ words here: “Struggle is rarely safe and pleasurable.”

To me, Bodhi Rook represents our complex complicity in helping maintain systems of oppression, and our desire to advocate radical change and hope. Protesting and rebelling against white supremacist, capitalist, heteropatriarchal, imperialist, and settler-colonialist norms is to engage in revolutionary struggle, which is especially dangerous for Indigenous, Black, and communities of color. For Muslims in the West, there is constant pressure from both within and outside the community to be respectable. Resisting the “Good Muslim” narrative and daring to speak out against Islamophobia, white supremacy, and imperialism leads to being dehumanized. In Rogue One, when the Empire widely broadcasts holographic images of Bodhi as a wanted man in the galaxy, it reminded me of how mainstream news outlets project images of the dark-skinned “Other” to accompany their narratives that vilify and cast suspicion about Muslims and people of color. Furthermore, when I see people of color comprise the majority of the leading cast in Rogue One, I can’t help but consider the implications it carries for people of color on our own planet. Ahmed spoke passionately about the film’s message, stating:

“This day and age, I think that’s a strong message: Any average person out there who’s willing to fight for what they believe in can make a difference and we shouldn’t just leave it in the hands of elites, you know political elites or dynastic elites, to decide the fate of our future.”

As I draw these connections from Rogue One to imperialism and settler-colonialism, I am not suggesting by any stretch that Disney had these radical politics in mind. However, it gives me comfort knowing that Ahmed applied his own anti-racist and anti-imperialist politics to the character. When you look at the almost obvious Middle Eastern aesthetic for Jedha and take into account that it is a holy city literally occupied by the Empire, I don’t think it hurts to encourage viewers to recognize it as an allegory for the Israeli occupation of Palestine. The fact that Ahmed spoke about it so openly and unapologetically makes the film all the more powerful. There are plenty of episodes on The Clone Wars that allude to Palestine as well, but this is the first time I’ve heard anyone behind-the-scenes talk about these allegories directly.

This may sound trivial to some, but ever since I watched Star Wars as a kid, I felt that the films were “on my side” in some way. My personal connection to these films over the years made me feel that their themes aligned with different times in my life. Whether the films were cheering me up or inspiring me, nothing was more impactful than how they made me feel less alone in my political beliefs during my late teens to early twenties. Now, in my adulthood, when I see Riz Ahmed in Star Wars — someone who not only looks like me, but also shares similar religious and political beliefs — I find myself just a little more hopeful about the future. Star Wars is not perfect by any means — so much of it becomes depoliticized through merchandizing and commodification — but I believe there is significance in encouraging revolutionary readings of these stories.

If there are any complaints I have about Bodhi Rook and Rogue One in general, there are two: (1) Bohdi dies and we won’t get to see more of him, and, as I have pointed out in another blog post, (2) the film continues the erasure of women of color in Star Wars. It is my hope that we not only see more of Bodhi in the upcoming Cassian Andor TV series, but also see Pakistani women and other women of color play significant roles in Star Wars. We have seen some improvement with the addition of Kelly Marie Tran’s character, Rose, in The Last Jedi, but mainstream media outlets failed or refused to acknowledge that she is the first woman of color to have a leading role in Star Wars. Tran, on the other hand, spoke proudly of this fact in her powerful op-ed for The New York Times.

From the anti-black reactions to John Boyega to the racist, misogynistic reactions to Kelly Marie Tran, I don’t believe it’s just the overt bigots that need to be held accountable. Most of the movie reviews and podcasts I listened to (mostly hosted by white men, but men of color too) failed to recognize the significance of people of color in the new Star Wars films. Many commentators praised K-26O as their favorite character in Rogue One, for example, and very little appreciation was expressed for the rest of the leading cast. It’s one thing if your favorite character is K-26O, but to say nothing about the racially diverse Rogue One cast is to overlook the importance of representation. Interesting enough, K-26O happens to be voiced by a white male actor, whereas the rest of the characters consisted of a white woman and five men of color. It’s hard not to take these dynamics into account when you see mostly white commentators raving about a robot character while saying nothing about human characters from marginalized identity backgrounds.

Furthermore, with regard to Tran, there was a lot of casual racism and sexism in discussions about her character — again, not just voiced by overt bigots. When movie critics stated that her character should have been “cut out,” they failed/refused to realize that they were perpetuating the norm in live-action Star Wars films: That women of color do not exist in leading roles. The latter may not have participated overtly in harassing her, but I think something needs to be said about their dismissive attitude towards Rose, as well as towards Asian women and other women of color fans who celebrated her.

In her op-ed, Tran shares her painful experiences with internalized racism — something that a lot of people of color, including myself, can relate to. Towards the end of the article, she writes: “I want to live in a world where children of color don’t spend their entire adolescence wishing to be white.”

These words resonate deeply for me because it is a wish that a lot of people of color share for the future. For those of us who have struggled with internalized racism, we know how devastating and dangerous it can be. Star Wars is not the solution to these problems, but my hope is that casting people like Riz Ahmed and Kelly Marie Tran in these films — and allowing them to bring their creativity and perspectives to the roles — is a step in the right direction.