(Image source: Warner Bros and Legendary Pictures)
When Dune: Part Two was released this spring, I was drawn to the theater like a sandworm to a thumper (IYKYK). As a science fiction enthusiast, I was eager to see the latest big-screen adaptation of Frank Herbert’s classic 1965 novel. Among science fiction franchises, none are as heavily influenced by Arabic terminology, Islamic theology, and stereotypical “Middle Eastern” culture as Dune. The themes raised by Herbert in the Dune series, such as religion, politics, colonialism, and ecology, remain relevant today.
As a scholar of Islam who teaches courses on science fiction, race, and cultural appropriation, I had reservations about the portrayal of Muslims in Dune: Part One (2021). Watching Dune: Part Two only heightened those concerns, especially considering the films’ massive global success. With over $1 billion in combined revenue, Dune is reaching a vast audience, raising questions about the messages it conveys about the Fremen, who are symbolic of Arabs and Muslims.
In the world of Dune, Arrakis is a desert planet that produces spice, a valuable substance used for space travel. The planet is controlled by an emperor who manipulates noble Houses against each other. The indigenous Fremen people have suffered under the oppressive rule of House Harkonnen, who mine spice on the planet. The story follows House Atreides as they take over spice mining on Arrakis and form alliances with the Fremen. The depiction of the Fremen in the films raises concerns about cultural representation and stereotypes.
The Dune universe has expanded through numerous books, films, and TV adaptations over the years. While I initially hoped for less Orientalist portrayals in adaptations, I have found the opposite to be true. The Orientalist themes present in the Villeneuve films are more pronounced than in previous adaptations, emphasizing the need for critical analysis of cultural representation in media.
What explains this upside-down arc?
My theory is that during the 1950s and up to 1965, when Herbert was researching and writing “Dune,” Muslims were not a prominent part of mainstream American consciousness. This allowed him to use Islam and Muslim communities as a reference for the grand mythology he was constructing because it would be unfamiliar to his audience. The distance – the strangeness, the exoticism – played a significant role in the appeal of “Dune.”
“Dune: Part Two” is where the story really picks up, introducing sandworms and Orientalism. Paul learns the ways of the desert, mastering the art of walking without attracting sandworms and eventually even learning to ride one. He adopts the name “Muad’Dib,” inspired by the Arrakis desert mouse. The term is said to mean “teacher of the desert,” but in reality, it is another Arabic term that translates to “teacher.” The Fremen leader, Stilgar, urges Paul to accept his messianic destiny, even though Paul himself is reluctant. Stilgar’s portrayal of the Mahdi as a humble figure who does not claim his title is a classic Orientalist image of an irrational “Arab” fanatic. This portrayal became a popular meme after the film’s release, with people mocking Stilgar for his belief in Paul. This moment of laughter in the theater was when my concerns about “Dune: Part Two” crystallized.
Despite his reluctance, Paul eventually embraces his destiny and leads the Fremen to victory over their oppressors. The Fremen then leave Arrakis to spread their jihad/holy war across the galaxy under Muad’Dib’s leadership. The use of terms like jihad, holy war, and crusade in the book is altered in the Villeneuve films to avoid the exoticizing link between the Fremen and Muslims, as Arab communities are now less unfamiliar to American audiences.
Herbert’s incorporation of Arabic terminology adds an exotic layer to the Dune series, creating the impression that the story is set in a different world. While watching the SyFy channel’s “Dune” mini-series, I pointed out every Arabic term to a friend who was surprised, thinking that Herbert had created a new language like Tolkien did with Elvish. The comparison between Tolkien and Herbert is interesting, as Elvish is based on Latin, Finnish, and Celtic languages, while Fremen Chakobsa draws from Arabic, Serbo-Croat, Turkish, and Navajo. The adaptation of novels for the screen presents challenges, with linguists often hired to translate written words into spoken dialogue.
The question of why I find Herbert’s use of Arabic problematic while Tolkien’s use of Latin less so boils down to the issue of cultural appropriation. Herbert’s portrayal of the Fremen as quasi-Muslim zealots in the 2000 SyFy adaptation, particularly in the scene following Paul’s duel with Jamis, reinforces the depiction of the Fremen as uncivilized religious savages. The use of Arabic terms like “bi-la kaifa” to mean “Amen” instead of using the more common term further emphasizes this portrayal.
Charles W. Mills’ argument about Tolkien’s racial hierarchy in “The Lord of the Rings” can be applied to Herbert’s use of Arabic languages in “Dune,” highlighting the contrast between Tolkien’s appropriation of cultures he considers his own and Herbert’s use of languages from cultures that are not his own.
That’s where the distinction lies.
One aspect I am willing to acknowledge is that Dune: Part Two showcases the Fremen debating whether an outsider like Paul should lead them. The Northern Fremen do not view themselves as blind followers of prophecy, while the Southerners, represented by Stilgar, embrace the prophecy of Lisan al-Gaib. “We believe in Fremen,” states a Northerner, to which the others respond with bi-la kaifa.
Does a leader—especially a messianic one—have to be an insider? Can someone like Paul truly assimilate into the Fremen culture? Can we, as the audience in 2024, see Paul as anything other than a white savior guiding the superstitious indigenous people to liberation? In the SyFy channel’s 2000 adaptation of Dune, Paul remarks to Jessica that the Fremen “have a simple religion.” She counters, “Nothing about religion is simple.” Just as with religion, the issue of cultural appropriation in the Dune universe is complex.
Dune is not the only science fiction series that delves into cultural appropriation. George Lucas drew inspiration from Buddhism, Daoism, and Sufism to create the Force and the Jedi. It’s not the borrowing of material from Arabic and Islamic sources by Herbert that is concerning, but rather the manner in which it is done. While I may comprehend Herbert’s work as a product of his era, I struggle to excuse Villeneuve for perpetuating these stereotypes six decades later.
Why does this all matter? American science fiction often portrays alien races and new planets as objects that “we” (the implied Euro-American subjects of the story) must conquer or civilize (as seen in much of Star Trek). This narrative has real-world implications, not just in European colonization throughout history, but also in the United States with the near eradication of indigenous peoples. Paul’s manipulation of the Fremen aligns perfectly with this narrative. To harness “desert power,” one must first control the desert people.
Books, TV, film, music—these are powerful forms of cultural expression that either perpetuate or challenge dominant narratives that shape our society, influence public policy, and help us make sense of the world. Adaptations often raise the question of fidelity to the source material. Dune could have been portrayed without mocking Stilgar’s devotion (and by extension, Fremen culture), prompting us to question why it was depicted that way. Villeneuve’s choices, and the commercial success he is enjoying, highlight Hollywood’s ongoing struggle to dismantle its Orientalist heritage.
Patrick J. D’Silva is Visiting Teaching Assistant Professor of Islamic Studies at the University of Denver. He is co-author (with Carl Ernst) of Breathtaking Revelations: The Science of Breath from the Fifty Kamarupa Verses to Hazrat Inayat Khan (Suluk Press, 2024), and his next book focuses on the intersection of religion and science fiction. His website is www.patrickjdsilva.com.
