“It seems inherently political to be a woman of colour making funny observations about your own experience.“- Ifrah Qureshi
When is it OK to laugh at a joke? The simple answer would be ‘when it’s funny’, right? The trouble with laughter is that it is a mixed reaction to external stimuli. The biases that tumble out of us sneak around our filters and deny our well trained thought police and show us what we really feel about a topic, marginalised people or historic events.
Our insecurities and half-formed beliefs can be pulled out of us unexpectedly by a stand up comedian. The joke lands, we see the ridiculous and the logical co-exist within a one liner or conclusion to a story and we instinctively react or – and this is where things get interesting – we differ from the point of view of said joke and don’t laugh.
The not laughing part could also be a result of taking in comedy in a shared space. We’ve all been there: the humour dividing the room between belly laughs and those who exhale with an ‘Ooo!’, that universal sound of restraint meaning:
a) The artist has crossed some moral line as to what is ‘fair game’
b) That first point often compounded by certain subjects being time sensitive
These are the points I mull over when I laugh, smile and turn to the person operating Ifrah Qureshi’s lighting and sound at the recent Edinburgh Fringe and say, ‘She’s got time for one more joke, right?’
Ifrah Qureshi is an Edinburgh based, young, female, South Asian stand up comedian who has the spontaneity and laughter chops well beyond her experience. She just makes everything look so easy. Her handling of tech issues is genuinely inspired. The repercussions of which resulted in the audience petitioning the tech guy to let her finish her routine despite the delay. She was allowed and it was glorious.
‘Ifrah Qureshi’s “Inside and Prejudice” is a refreshing and insightful comedic journey that deftly blends storytelling with sharp social commentary. Ifrah uses her platform to explore themes of identity, race, and the subtle (and not-so-subtle) biases that shape our perceptions.’
There are times when we witness a drummer, an acrobat or some other artist not only make their work seem effortless, but jam the room up with a unique charm and humility. It is this rare combination that grants us the momentary gumption to commit waking fever dreams of having a go at the craft ourselves.
This is the kind of performance I witnessed at Edinburgh Fringe 2024; the room packed, the air filled with fits of laughter as Ifrah ably re-enacted her meet up with her estranged father or hands a script to a volunteer who has gleefully signed up to play the part of her mother.
Crucially, Ifrah’s brand of satire will always be timely as the government’s stance on arming Israel and the subsequent marginalisation of pro-Palestinian voices in their party wreaks of Islamophobia.
Her material often highlights her growing experience; early 2000’s US foreign policy pushing the morality bar even lower than before, America’s invasion of Iraq giving rise to pervasive anti Muslim culture.
Ifrah’s barrage of jokes includes her first forays into making friends, dating options and how the activities of the latter were further affected by a complex relationship with her parents, her mother in particular.
Negotiating the expectations of her mother, the bias in society and forging her own voice at the same time lends itself to a flamboyant, audience participation heavy journey which tells a story that I would encourage all to hear.
Internalised Islamophobia on the dating scene. Not the usual subject in a stand up routine. What’s it like curating material for predominantly white audiences at The Fringe?
Ifrah Qureshi: Internalised Islamophobia is pervasive, and it’s a challenge to reconcile with your own biases around it.
Using the lens of finding a life partner to explore this topic makes it more approachable. The pursuit of “shared values” in a romantic setting provides a relatable context and permission to consider the critical thoughts that are inside and prejudice (“oh he’s too religious for me, which means he will impinge on my freedoms”).
The truth is that these internalised thoughts can surface even in casual encounters, like passing someone in Islamic attire.
When writing my material, I didn’t really consider how white my audience was. I’ve observed that the laughs and vocal appreciation are much more visceral when there are more people of colour in the audience, of any background.
Sure, maybe it’s because my experience resonates more with them. But after discussing with my audiences, I believe it may be related to a sense of discomfort or guilt that white people experience when confronted with the prejudices I address, prejudices I openly grapple with. I watch some of them suppressing their laughter maybe because laughing is an open admission that they too hold these biases. And that’s not allowed.
My aim is to share my experiences in a way that’s both relatable and thought-provoking, regardless of the audience’s background.
By acknowledging my own prejudices, I invite the audience to reflect on their own.
Have you discussed your material with friends and family?
Not with friends and family.
Prior to writing the show I had attended a Women’s First Time Funny (free/funded) comedy course which was put on by the Glasgow International Comedy Festival’s Krista Macdonald and taught by comedy legend Viv Gee.
This course really helped me understand how to turn my ideas into jokes and gave me a platform to consider how others perceive my material.
I worked with a mentor Kathy Spiers from Up Helly Aa productions, who approached me after the course and told me I should take a show to the Fringe. She was monumental in pushing me along with the material I had written. If anything, I was more conservative with the personal stories I kept in the show compared to what I produced and shared with Kathy.
Why more conservative?
Being Pakistani or Muslim might also make me conservative in certain ways. Because people will tokenise you or assume you represent every Muslim. There is definitely an element of my position in society which makes me hesitant about the levity with which I should deliver my message.
Also, it’s my first time doing a show and people in the green rooms at the comedy clubs often say your first show shouldn’t be political or controversial. So I felt worried about seeming like I was making any kind of point. However, it seems inherently political to be a woman of colour making funny observations about your own experience.
I also didn’t know how universal the feelings I felt were. It was only when I felt the room full of laughter that I realised experiences might be different but the feelings are all usually relatable human emotions.
Do you think there might be a danger in searching for a quantifiable universal simulacrum of your comedic self via the opinions of others?
Absolutely!
I love to make jokes that I find funny and I notice my preference to write (or hide behind!) metaphors, which rely on the audience understanding two unrelated cross-cultural topics. One example being contemporary vs classic hip hop releases as an allegory for the various U.S. interventions in the Middle East.
I’m a bit sensitive to potentially harsh punchlines, even if the audience doesn’t perceive them that way. While I love dark comedy, I don’t love harsh comedy.
The pop cultural custodians of Muslim identity have often been peddlers of Islamophobia. It’s amazing how potent shows like Homeland have driven a horrible narrative into the collective psyche. Ask any bearded brown man sitting alone in a shopping centre with his laptop open (me as I write this). The not too subtle security concern has all the tension of a TV operation to monitor a potential threat. Do you believe there is an unavoidable task for you to represent, or is it an impossible responsibility?
The portrayal you describe has real-world consequences, stemming from a broader societal attitude towards certain groups. Maybe our society thrives on polarising, reductive tropes? Whether we intend to or not, simply by existing authentically, we challenge those prejudices. I see that as an unavoidable responsibility. While it would be ideal if stereotypes didn’t exist, they do, often enforced by powerful forces beyond the control of everyday artists. It’s fulfilling to create art that doesn’t reinforce fear and shares a legitimate, alternative perspective of the Muslim identity.
Great stuff. Finally, do you think there could have been more inclusion to Edinburgh Fringe, or do you think the festival reflected the diverse range of comics on the scene?
The Edinburgh Fringe is famously an expensive, harsh and risky endeavour for any artist to undertake. This automatically excludes comics without a variety of means and privileges to showcase work. I am from Edinburgh which made it easier to afford the festival and avoid financial pitfalls. The best acts I saw this year might be considered “diverse” in comparison to what the majority of stand up tends to be: Viv Gee, Adam Anwar, Sabina, Ayo Adenekan, Lubna Kerr were all exceptional shows but again, most of these people had an advantage of being local.
What might the Fringe look like if access was not an issue? What might the arts in general look like if access and making a livelihood from it was not an issue? Probably an infinitely richer and more diverse space. The answer is no, the festival cannot reflect the diversity of comedy on the scene with its barrier to entry.
Thank you for your time Ifrah, and for your thoughtful and profound answers.
Ifrah Qureshi on Instagram
Interview by John Clay
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