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By Anna Rahmanan
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“JD, habibi.”
Abdul El-Sayed paused as the crowd at his victory celebration in Detroit laughed and cheered. The Michigan Democrat had just won a U.S. Senate seat and he had a message for Vice President JD Vance, one of his fiercest critics during the campaign.
“There is this delicious irony in the fact that you’re constitutionally obligated to swear me in in January,” he continued, smiling.
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The joke worked even for Americans who had never heard the Arabic word habibi, meaning “my beloved” or “my dear.” In everyday Arabic, it can convey affection, familiarity or gentle mockery. El-Sayed was playing with that last meaning, addressing a political adversary with the intimacy of an old friend. The joke also rested on the prospect of Vance presiding over his swearing-in, even though, technically speaking, the vice president would have no obligation to perform the ceremony.
Within days, the word was circulating through social media, acquiring the peculiar prestige of something everyone suddenly wanted to say.
Its ascent exposes a rather interesting American contradiction: a country increasingly enamored of an Arabic word while remaining deeply suspicious of the people and cultures from which it comes. “Habibi” has acquired the easy intimacy of something familiar, even fashionable, in a nation where Arab identity can still invite distrust. The question is whether America's newfound affection for the word might soften its feelings toward those who speak it or whether its popularity is simply another form of political signaling, embraced by people eager to appear culturally enlightened, even when they have little idea what they are saying.
How Habibi Became an American Meme
The joke traveled well beyond Michigan, acquiring a life of its own online. Clips of El-Sayed addressing Vance circulated alongside Arabic music and memes, turning habibi into a political punchline. The word's playful versatility was already familiar to audiences of Arab American comedian Rudy Ayoub, whose sketches draw humor from Arabic expressions. What made El-Sayed's remark unusual was its audience: an Arabic term of affection, delivered with unmistakable sarcasm, had become a joke in American electoral politics.
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The word had already appeared on campaign T-shirts proclaiming “Habibi for Abdul.” Its political currency extended beyond election night. El-Sayed eventually adopted the name Habibi PAC for a fundraising committee.
The appeal was partly theatrical.
Mona Farrag Attwa, who coordinates the Arabic Language Program at the University of Colorado Boulder, said the success of El-Sayed's remark depended on the performance surrounding it.
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“I think the word habibi appealed to American audiences not necessarily because of the word itself, but because of who said it, when it was said and how it was delivered,” she told Newsweek.
El-Sayed's expression and timing offered listeners unfamiliar with Arabic a way into the joke before they understood its vocabulary.
The result was an unusual kind of cultural translation: Americans could participate in an Arabic joke without first needing a lesson in Arabic. Whether that participation will lead to a more lasting familiarity with the language or changing feelings toward who the language is usually spoken by is a different question.
The joke also offered something beyond linguistic amusement—a way to advertise political sympathies. Repeating habibi could signal solidarity with El-Sayed, affection for Arab culture or simply delight at seeing Vance teased in a language he might not understand. For some, the appeal may have had less to do with Arabic than with the political company the word allowed them to keep.
There is a certain convenience to this kind of cultural enthusiasm: a person can borrow a word, enjoy its novelty and display an openness to another culture without knowing much about the people who speak the language. Yet the gesture need not be empty. Political solidarity often begins with symbols, and an unfamiliar word can become a small expression of belonging. The difficulty is telling where genuine curiosity ends and fashionable identification begins.
America's Affection for a Language It Sometimes Fears
America's enthusiasm for habibi sits uneasily alongside Pew Research Center's findings about attitudes toward Muslims.
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In a May 2026 survey, 42 percent of American adults said Muslims had a negative impact on the country, while 43 percent considered Muslims less patriotic than other Americans.
Arabs and Muslims are distinct groups. Arabic is spoken by people of different faiths and most of the world's Muslims are not Arab. Yet the two identities are frequently conflated in American political discourse.
The suspicion has deep roots. In 2002, 25 percent of Americans told Pew that they believed Islam was more likely than other religions to encourage violence. By January 2026, that figure had reached 51 percent.
That contrast raises a question. Can Americans grow more comfortable with an Arabic expression without becoming more accepting of the people and cultures associated with it?
Evelyn Alsultany, a professor of American studies and ethnicity at the University of Southern California, sees something potentially meaningful in the word's popularity.
“As a term of endearment, it signals that Arabs are not a threat and do not have to downplay their identity to belong in the U.S.,” she told Newsweek.
Her reading suggests that hearing an Arabic word spoken confidently and affectionately in American politics could challenge familiar associations between Arab identity and foreignness.
But the distinction between enjoying a word and changing one's attitudes toward its speakers remains important. A viral joke may introduce people to an unfamiliar expression, yet its popularity alone offers little evidence that their views of Arabs or Muslims have changed.
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The enthusiasm also comes from a self-selecting audience. People celebrating El-Sayed's remark may already be sympathetic to the cultural identity it represents. Their reaction tells us less about Americans who remain suspicious of Arabs or Muslims.
The question, then, is whether habibi will remain an amusing souvenir of a political moment or become a small opening through which Americans develop a deeper familiarity with the people who use it.
What It Takes for a Word to Change a Mind
The influence of habibi may depend less on how often Americans hear it than on who is saying it.
Linda Tropp, director of the Psychology of Peace and Violence Program at the University of Massachusetts Amherst, studies how contact between groups affects prejudice.
She said exposure to another group's language can improve attitudes when people see members of their own community approving its use. The opposite can happen when an unfamiliar language reinforces perceptions of outsiders as threatening.
Her research suggests that the social setting matters: an Arabic expression delivered by a politician to an appreciative audience may be received differently from the same expression spoken by someone listeners already regard with suspicion. Whether the effect survives beyond the joke is harder to establish.
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Waleed F. Mahdi, an associate professor of U.S.-Arab cultural politics at the University of Oklahoma, cautions against reading too much into the enthusiasm.
“I would caution against celebratory declarations of an American embrace of Arabness or Islam,” he told Newsweek.
His skepticism points to the difference between adopting a cultural expression and developing a greater understanding of the people who use it.
Attwa offers a linguistic precedent. English speakers routinely use words of Arabic origin, including algebra and algorithm, often without recognizing where they came from.
“Linguistic familiarity does not automatically translate into cultural acceptance or ideological change,” she said.
The more revealing test may come when habibi loses its association with El-Sayed's victory. Will Americans still reach for the word when it no longer offers an easy political joke? Will they recognize it as part of a living language rather than a souvenir of an election?
Its staying power would tell us something about how thoroughly the expression has entered American speech. Whether the enthusiasm reflects deeper cultural acceptance, political solidarity or a passing fashion will be harder to determine. After all, a word can become familiar long before the people who speak it do.
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