Interview #146 — Sami Shah
by Vidya Rajan
Sami Shah is a multi-award winning writer, comedian and broadcaster. He’s published multiple books in several genres, produced documentaries for the ABC and BBC, and performed comedy on everything from the history of Islam to the power of free speech.
Sami spoke to Vidya about free speech, arts funding, and being a Perth comic at heart.
How did you get started in comedy? Was it something you always wanted to do?
I got started the same way everyone who does comedy gets into it: a desperate craving for attention, massive ego coupled with cripplingly low self esteem. I always enjoyed making people laugh, and in Pakistan, around 2002, there was the first improv comedy troupe started by a friend of mine. I got involved in that for a couple years, then decided I preferred stand-up comedy as a form more, and branched off into it myself. My friends and family encouraged it, even if deep down they thought it might be a disaster. In the short run, I proved myself worthy of their encouragement. In the long run, it’s probably been a bit of a disaster anyway.
You mainly worked as a journalist before becoming a comedian and novelist. Does that tie into your current work?
I worked as a news producer for Dawn News TV for several years, and before that as a music journalist in Pakistan. In some ways everything I’ve ever done has led to something else. Now I’m a journalism teacher at the University of Melbourne, I write comedy and other genres in books and scripts, and combine it all on stage with news-based comedy and satire. Everything is a learning experience, and no experience is wasted if you learn from it.
You do seem to move between a wild array of forms and genres—spec fic novels, radio, live comedy, scriptwriting. What do you think leads you to this?
I never liked being categorised in one genre or format. It didn’t match my interests, nor does it fit who I am as a person. I love comedy, horror, crime fiction, history, movies, podcasts, books, comics, anything that’s telling stories in a new or interesting way. So, why should I then limit myself in telling stories in any way either. I’ve lived in Pakistan and America and Australia, which have opened me up to lots of strange and wonderful experiences. One of the worst bits of advice I ever got was to choose a lane and stick to it. Don’t be a jack of all trades, master of none. Why not? Why not be a jack of all trades? That sounds so much more fun than someone who only does one thing and only ever experiences one story forever. When I look back on my career in my twilight years, whenever they may be, I want to see a body of work that reflected my interests and passions. And since those are varied, I want my work to be varied as well.
You moved from Pakistan to Northam, Western Australia. How did you navigate re-starting your comedy career there?
I ended up in Northam, a small town in WA, due to the vagaries of the immigration process: a ‘Regional State-sponsored Visa,’ which meant I had to spend 3 years living and working in a regional town in WA. During the day, I was a stay-at-home parent as my (now ex) wife worked, but there wasn’t anything in town that matched my skill set. In the evenings, I drove to Perth to do comedy gigs. It was what kept me sane. The Perth comedy community, like any comedy community, is largely a meritocracy, so you’re welcomed and appreciated if you’re funny. And I took being funny very seriously. As a result, I ended up making a lot of close friends, developing a wonderful audience, and building a decent career as a comedian in Perth. Unfortunately, Perth being as remote as it is, that limits your growth after a while. All the media work is in Melbourne and Sydney, which is why I ended up in Melbourne. But I’ll always be a Perth comic in my heart.
You live in Melbourne now—do you find much difference in the scenes? Or is anywhere in the country pretty much the same?
There’s a lot of inter-city rivalry, and each city has their own strengths. Melbourne comics are a lot more experimental with their form, because the city rewards that creativity, but they’re also not paid much if at all, and there’s more comedians than stage time, which makes consistent stage time a rare commodity. Melbourne audiences are also a bit more… ‘precious.’ They take offence easily, are entirely woke, and can as a result be a bit unforgiving of someone looking to explore the boundaries of what can and cannot be said in comedy. Perth, meanwhile, is more straightforward in its approach to comedy, and because it’s such a low stakes environment but also pays consistently, comedians tend to push the edges more in terms of content, and end up being more adventurous overall. Then they move to Melbourne or Sydney and lose their bite. Brisbane and Adelaide and Tasmania I have no clue about. Good comics have come from there, and bad comics have come from there, so largely I feel they’ll be a lot like Perth. In the end, comedians have to be funny, everything else is extraneous.
I got started the same way everyone who does comedy gets into it: a desperate craving for attention, massive ego coupled with cripplingly low self esteem.
What do you think is needed urgently in comedy or the arts in Australia?
Funding would be nice. Some kind of consistent approach to making this a viable industry that rewards quality would be a dream. More and more of our best comedians are having to find work abroad, or outlets to release their work in foreign markets, because everyone in media here is deathly frightened of comedy that doesn’t involve the same bland old geezers their grandparents still love. Improving the diversity of representation would be nice as well, but let’s be realistic - Australian producers are only capable of so much growth and intelligence. They’d much rather marvel at all the Aussie POC creatives working abroad than wonder why they’re abroad in the first place.
Related to that, your time with ABC radio has received some press, mostly for questionably racist moves like sending you to speech therapy.
That whole period was something I try not to dwell on much anymore. From the systematic racism within the ABC management that I was subject to, to the toll the continuous abuse took on my psyche from racist elements in the public who first felt emboldened and then rewarded for their behavior. The ABC as an institution is vital to Australia, but it also needs a thorough cleaning from top to bottom, with almost everyone currently there tossed out and replaced by people more appreciative and reflective of a modern Australia.
You’ve always seemed to speak out against what you perceive as toxic whether it’s the ABC experience, or aspects of religion you don’t agree with, the latter of which actually led to death threats. What prompts you to do so?
I’ve always believed in being able to say what I believe in, and my right to do so. Over the years I’ve been threatened by Islamic extremists, Aussie and Pakistani nationalists, right-wing conservatives, and straight up neo-nazis. The death threats specifically were in reaction to a documentary for ABC RN called The Islamic Republic of Australia which then also became a book, and in which I addressed my journey from believer to atheist. That, unfortunately, made me an apostate to most Muslims, and a lot of them tend to look pretty unfavourably on anyone making that decision. But the threats only lasted for a while and then faded. The world is too big and has too much going on for anyone to care about what I do or don’t believe in.
Ultimately for me, free speech is the most valuable of fundamental human rights—I do allow for a correction of my opinion if I’m wrong, it’s something I always strive for—but I’ll never trust anyone who threatens that right in any way. Exercising it is about knowing how important it is to say things that I believe need saying, and then being open to the consequences of saying those things.
Speaking of speech, you recently wrote a great article defending free speech whilst pointing out the hypocrisy of elites dissing on ‘cancel culture’ to avoid criticism. This is often an issue that crops up in comedy as well. In the past you’ve said ‘the only responsibility...is to be funny’—how does that statement intersect with your views?
The correct way for me to phrase that, which I’ll try to do in the future, is, ‘The first responsibility is to be funny.’ That means there are other responsibilities, but those will change from comedian to comedian, and how they situate themselves in comedy. My pet peeve is comedians who get up on stage, say something that isn’t funny but is maybe wise and honest, get applause, and consider their work done. If people wanted a TED talk, they can find those on YouTube. They come to a comedy club to laugh, and making them laugh is the biggest challenge. To then be responsible, ethical, courageous, intelligent, etc, can also be a part of it, and the best comedians always work those elements into their craft. But being funny, inciting laughter, that’s the primary goal.
In your work as a novelist, you’ve been classified as a YA author and a speculative fiction author. What interests you about these areas of writing?
I’ve never been comfortable with the YA label honestly. It’s a publishing industry gimmick. My book, for example, has been read by more adults than teenagers. When I was a teenager, I read things both below and above my reading level. That’s how people who love to read, read. So just because the book has a protagonist who is eighteen, doesn’t mean the book should only be read by eighteen-year-olds. That aside, writing a book about the world I grew up in was something I wanted to do because I just couldn’t find anyone else doing it. In Pakistan, the idea of djinns and other mythical creatures is so wound into daily belief and customs, that there’s no division between the fantastical and the real. It’s all seen as one, which is something I wanted to honour. I wanted to read about people who looked like me, lived like I did, and experienced the world I experienced, while also making it something more, which I hope I did. I’ve since written and published a few short stories in that world as well, but true to my desire to keep moving in different directions, my next big works are probably going to be crime or history or something else entirely.
Creating work as part of a diaspora is very different to creating work while situated in ‘the homeland’—but you’ve done both. How has this change impacted your work?
Sometimes I think it means I have a lot more freedom creatively, particularly with regards to being an atheist in the diaspora. In my stories, I can talk about belief and religion with more complexity and appreciation for differing points of view, which I try to do. I still enjoy rituals and customs, and consider myself a Cultural Muslim. I celebrate Eid, I say mashallah when something good happens. It’s because those habits are ingrained, and I enjoy the connection they give me to a people, and a place. Besides far right critics still tend to think I’m a Muslim when they send me poorly worded abuse.
The most interesting thing, for me though, is how much perspectives change when you’re part of a diaspora. In Pakistan, I never needed to be aware of being Pakistani. It’s how you’re never aware of breathing, until you’re in an environment when you can’t breathe anymore. While creating in Pakistan, I just wrote about the world around me, did comedy about the world around me. Here, where being Pakistani is such a more conscious element of my persona, I think about the stories I’ll tell and how they reflect not only on the world I left behind, but the new one I am a part of, and the others like me within it.
The ABC as an institution is vital to Australia, but it also needs a thorough cleaning from top to bottom, with almost everyone currently there tossed out and replaced by people more appreciative and reflective of a modern Australia.
Do you have any advice for emerging writers and comedians?
Ask for advice, ask for help, be shameless in approaching anyone you want to, and then learn to sift the good from the bad. Write regularly, complete what you start, and don’t let failure slow you down.
Who are you inspired by?
It changes all the time, but my constant inspirations are everyone from Stephen Fry to Neil Gaiman to Marc Maron. People who create cool things in whatever format they want to, and have a mountain of failures behind them, obscured by their massive successes. I respect honesty and truth in storytelling, and if you’re doing that, you’re going to inspire me too.
What are you listening to?
I always have a couple audio books going. I’m taking a break from podcasts as I’m working on one of my own, and when I work on something, I find I do better using my free time to engage in content in entirely different genres and formats.
What are you reading?
I just finished Sophie McNeill’s We Can’t Say We Didn’t Know, although that’s prep for an interview with her for Melbourne Writers Festival. For pleasure, a lot of comics these days. I enjoy comic books a lot as a format, and continually find the inventive nature of genre exploration in the medium rewarding.
How do you practice self-care?
I’m terrible at self-care. I’ve recently begun regular sessions with a therapist and that’s helped significantly. Running is good. I also invested in a PS4 when Isolation 2.0 began in Melbourne. Never really had time for it before, but now that’s not as much an issue. The escapist nature of open-world gaming is soothing. Wine? Does cheap Aldi wine in large quantities count?
What does being Asian-Australian mean to you?
I’m not quite sure, to be entirely honest. I’m a migrant who moved here at thirty-five. So in my heart and soul, I’ll always be more Pakistani than Aussie. It’s just the nature of how long I was one before the other. I’m keenly aware that my daughter, who was three when we came here, is growing up with that struggle much more than I will ever have, trying to define herself as a migrant child who is Australian but also identifies with her South Asian sides a lot. I think, to me, even though it sounds superficial, it means I know where the best cheap spices are, which Pakistani restaurant is open at 3AM, how to get into any place I want to because the security guards are always desi brothers, and to have an understanding of how much more complex and interesting the world is beyond these borders.
When I was a teenager, I read things both below and above my reading level. That’s how people who love to read, read.
Interview by Vidya Rajan
Drawings by Hum Mahhbub