Céline Semaan (author, founder and Slow Factory Creative Director) chats with Mia Khalifa (entrepreneur, digital creator, philanthropist & human rights activist) over manousheh.

The two discuss how they navigate being a Lebanese woman in America at this time, Global South generosity, politics, making home in the diaspora and how they reconciled their heritage with their own path to create the type of world they want.

CÉLINE SEMAAN: I have so many questions—they are a bit intense. So we are going to start with the intensity immediately… Anjed we woke up and the news was so disgusting. I mean this is our reality.

We joke and laugh because we’ve developed this amazing sense of humor, but the world we’ve grown up in has been very very intense. We’ve mastered the art of talking about heavy issues, making it personal because everything is political right?

MIA KHALIFA: Everything.

CÉLINE: I wrote something recently, about how ‘free Palestine’ is also about Lebanon. The Lebanese endured 35 years of war and genocide in Lebanon, all before social media existed. Back then, the media painted us as terrorists, manufacturing consent for the bombings. It’s a humanitarian crisis that’s rarely discussed, though as Lebanese people, it’s been our lived experience.

You and I both grew up in Lebanon. Today, waking up to what’s happening in South Lebanon, Dahiyeh, and Tyre, with 200 people killed just today, is heartbreaking. I hope when this is published, it’s over, but I’m not holding my breath. As women, especially Arab women, we’ve faced oppression, both from conservative and so-called progressive spaces. How do you reconcile feminism when it doesn’t seem to include us?

MIA: That’s a very good question. Honestly, it’s only in the last few years, as I’ve grown older, that I’ve been able to reconcile those feelings. I realized that you can only control your own views and actions. For a long time, I was immaturely angry at feminism because I felt excluded from it. I felt ostracized, so I responded by rejecting it and, unfortunately, internalizing a lot of misogyny. I didn’t feel supported by that community for much of my life.

I grew up in a predominantly white, predominantly Jewish area in Washington, DC, and Maryland. I didn’t see much support from feminist circles there. It wasn’t until I got older, traveled, and found community with women of color—Indigenous, Latinx, and especially Lebanese and Arab women—that I started to understand. It took time, but I get why others struggle to reconcile their place within feminism. It wasn’t until I got older that I began to find my own.

CÉLINE: Growing up in constant war, having to flee over and over. I’ve moved so many times. Just this morning, I was on a call with my parents, and they’re preparing to flee Lebanon again with everything that’s going on. I’ve lost count of how many times they’ve had to leave and come back. It makes you rethink what home really means.

So now, sitting here in a hotel, I wonder, what does “home” mean to you?

MIA: Home, for me, is hearing your accent and having manoushes around the table. That’s what makes it feel like home—those little reminders that are so important. It’s all that really matters. As long as you’re surrounded by the right people, that’s it.

CÉLINE: This morning, as I was buying manoushe and heading to see you, I felt like, “Wow, I feel at home in New York,” just knowing there’s this place I can go to for that familiar taste. I literally inhaled that manoushe while watching the news, and it hit me—wherever we go, we’re transporting our home with us. It sounds cheesy, but anjad it’s true. We carry it within us—our bodies, our everything. We bring home wherever we are.

MIA: Growing up, the only thing we ever ate at home was Lebanese food, of course. But after moving to America, going out to different restaurants and trying new cuisines became a bit of a tradition. I remember one time we went out for Thai food, and my grandma brought a little Tupperware of tarator to eat with the fried fish.

CÉLINE: No way! That’s so cute!

MIA: At one point, the Thai restaurant actually asked if they could taste it, and then they asked her for the recipe so they could make it themselves—because the fried fish went so perfectly with the tarator.

That’s what home is. You make it wherever you are, even in a foreign restaurant eating a cuisine you’ve never had before. It’s one of my favorite stories about her—she’s an icon!

CÉLINE: That’s so cool! Growing up here, my parents also had a restaurant, and even though it wasn’t a Lebanese restaurant, but my mom made everything Lebanese! It was so fusion. She’d cook American dishes, but with a Lebanese twist. You want a hamburger? We make it kafta burger.

MIA: Sure, but with seven spices! Literally everything had that touch. I put that on everything. Za’atar too.

CÉLINE: What do you put za’atar on?!

MIA: Literally everything! I’ll even put za’atar on my cheese pizza—especially if it’s New York style. It’s so good when it mixes with the grease, like yum! It sounds wild, but honestly, it works!

‘For a long time, I was immaturely angry at feminism because I felt excluded from it. I felt ostracized, so I responded by rejecting it and, unfortunately, internalizing a lot of misogyny. I didn’t feel supported by that community for much of my life.’ — Mia

CÉLINE: Let’s circle back to Everything is Political. Your whole life has been about liberation—liberating our bodies, minds, sexuality, and beauty. What does collective liberation mean to you?

MIA: To me, it’s as simple as the idea that none of us are free until Palestine is free. I don’t see that as a radical statement at all—it perfectly captures the sentiment. It’s a no-brainer for me. I get why you feel the need to defend it, because people probably ask, “What does that mean?” But honestly, if they’re asking, they might not want to get it. It’s always been clear: liberation means everyone. It’s not exclusive, and no one person or group is more entitled to it than another. We all have to work together.

CÉLINE: Even in the U.S., you’ve always advocated for a free Palestine, even before October 7. But since then, with the escalation of violence, the Free Palestine movement has transformed. The world has changed in how America views us and how America sees itself.

From your perspective, what have you observed regarding the sudden embrace of the Free Palestine movement? It used to feel niche and unwelcome, and it’s still not completely accepted— there’s significant censorship and backlash. But it does seem like there are way more people now willing to support the cause, doesn’t it?

MIA: Yeah, exactly. It’s hard to ignore the reality when people who were once neutral or wanted to stay out of it are now realizing just how egregious this situation is. This is pure genocide backed by Western powers, and it’s terrifying. The veil has been lifted, and we’re starting to see the ugly truths of how the world operates—and how it could operate differently if there was the will to change things.

It’s a wake-up call. Watching this unfold for so long, seeing it happen so blatantly, and witnessing the constant stream of heartbreaking videos… It’s heartbreaking that the pain of Arabs has to be exploited like this for people to finally believe it. It’s disgusting and incredibly hurtful.

CÉLINE: You know, sometimes we find ourselves advocating not just for our rights but for our very survival. At the same time, we’re human—we’re evolving, changing, and transforming. I feel a responsibility to ask you about the criticism you’ve received regarding the fetishization of the hijab, for instance. What are your thoughts on that criticism? How do you navigate those conversations, especially given the complexities involved?

MIA: I feel like that criticism is very valid because it comes from a place of young women feeling sexualized for something they didn’t do. I understand that I’m an easy person to target; I’m a public figure, and people can leave comments on my photos and tag me, making it simple to pinpoint the issue onto me.

I have immense compassion for those women and feel a deep guilt that an innocent young woman is being fetishized for something she chooses to embrace as part of her religious beliefs. But I think, as women, we should focus on the larger issue—the patriarchal system that promotes this, produces this and distributes this, which continues to fetishize women. Even if they’re not using Arab actresses, they’re often casting Latin women who could pass as Arab. I’m not the first nor the last to face this; I’m just the one people can identify because there’s a face connected to the name and to the action.

CÉLINE: Absolutely. When we talk about feminism and this idea of purity, it often feels like you have to come from a place of purity to advocate for human rights, right? Do you feel that pressure? It’s almost as if you have to be a saint to be taken seriously in these conversations. What are your thoughts on that?

MIA KHALIFA: Oh my gosh, I completely disagree with that! Most of us don’t come into these mindsets from a place of purity. Many of us are traumatized individuals dealing with so much that we need to work through to reach these realizations. I wasn’t the same person I was even five or six years ago; my thoughts were nowhere near what they are now.

I know it might sound insane, but every single thing I see radicalizes me further and further. The way I thought when I was 20 was influenced by my own internalized misogyny and racism, along with many other issues that shaped my actions and beliefs. But then I started going to therapy and delving deeper into myself, actually growing into my identity. That’s why I feel so secure in who I am now.

CÉLINE: Criticism can be so harsh. Yet in this movement for liberation, there seems to be a punitive mindset, a carceral approach that contradicts the very essence of liberation. The idea that you can publicly punish someone or correct them through harassment is so counterproductive. How do you feel about this? Where do you draw the boundary, and how do you navigate your own evolution and transformation in this public space?

‘The veil has been lifted, and we’re starting to see the ugly truths of how the world operates— and how it could operate differently if there was the will to change things.’ —Mia

MIA: You just have to give people grace. It’s essential to consider intentions before judging actions. At the end of the day, it comes down to listening, understanding, and being empathetic and compassionate when it’s necessary. Of course, not everyone deserves that grace, but for those who do, it can make all the difference.

Ultimately, I believe that to grow and transform in this world, you have to embrace contradictions. You can’t change without acknowledging that you might have to contradict yourself along the way.

CÉLINE: It’s all about grace and generosity. We often discuss radical generosity in our culture. In Arab culture, it’s like this dance where you fight to pay the bill or show up at someone’s house with more than enough. There’s a deep-rooted understanding that sharing and giving are essential parts of our community.

MIA: Oh, exactly! You call ahead and show up at the restaurant six hours early just to slip your credit card to cover the bill. Then you leave and come back, saying, “Oh, I’m so sorry I was late!” It’s all part of that generous spirit.

CÉLINE: Yes, exactly! There’s this radical generosity that you embody so well through your constant acts of giving. I’d love to hear how your approach to giving has evolved and how you’re seeing the impact of your actions. Where do you want to focus your generosity now?

MIA: Thank you for saying that; it really means a lot. I’ve always felt this innate need to contribute because you’re not truly deserving of anything if you’re not also supporting your community. It’s like a mental version of Reaganomics that actually could work if it weren’t so corrupt! That’s how community is supposed to function. But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to realize there’s a big difference between just giving and giving with purpose.

CÉLINE: Your recent tweet really resonated with us: “You get to a point in life when you realize everything is political—the brands you support, the places you patronize, the celebrities you platform, and even the people you date. If they’re not at least trying to be informed, have a stance, and be vocal, then they’re not in alignment.” This was so powerful, especially since we just launched our “Everything is Political” initiative. We knew we wanted to be in conversation with you, and this tweet felt like a perfect alignment!

MIA: Just a couple of years ago, I might have been okay with friends who said things like, “Oh no, I stay out of all that.” But now, if I hear someone say that, I’m genuinely taken aback. Like, what do you mean? It feels almost robotic, like they’re disengaged from reality. We all have a responsibility to each other, regardless of our backgrounds.

Whether you’re walking down the street or staying in a hotel, every action counts. Holding the door open for someone behind you or treating housekeeping staff with respect—these seemingly small gestures reflect our shared humanity. It’s all interconnected, and we need to recognize that our choices impact those around us. Every single role we play comes with responsibility, and it’s time we embrace that fully.

CÉLINE: I feel like that’s very cultural to us, like the idea of responsibility. This is how we were raised—to really understand our place in the world and our responsibility in it. This brings me to addressing “poverty porn”, by showing images of dying brown kids covered in blood.

There’s a gap between that and our dignity as humans. Those images actually hurt our dignity. People say this is one of the most documented genocides, yet it’s not moving the needle because many don’t even see us as human.

So, we started this idea of building a fund for collective liberation so that we can put our money in multiple places at once. It’s not just about feeding the poor or educating the uneducated—categories that are ultimately so colonial. We wanted a fund that was more holistic because it’s a case-by- case situation.

There’s no standardized way to heal the world; it has to be designed in a modular way that fluctuates with the situation. I feel like Arabs understand this inherently, especially Lebanese and people from the Levant. The ways in which we have survived could not have happened if we were stuck in a one- track, standardized mindset. This idea of a fund for collective liberation came to be, and I know it spoke to you. In what ways did it resonate with you?

MIA: That’s exactly the reason. The fact that I don’t just have to commit to education—because education is so important—but if a tragedy strikes, which unfortunately has been happening way too often, I want to be partnered with an organization that can go with the ebb and flow of life. When, thankfully, things are quiet and good, we can fund arts, education, and other things that are important for culture.

CÉLINE: I’m so grateful to be in community with you. I wanted to ask you, oftentimes people ask, “What would you tell your younger self?” But I feel like the question could also be, “What do you think your younger self would say and do now?” Like, what’s your inner child saying to you these days? I feel like there’s a lot of repair we have to do in reconciling with our inner child.

For me personally, my whole healing journey and all of my therapy sessions have focused on my inner child because she’s someone who was born in a war, fled the war, and experienced a lot of neglect. I’m sure that you can relate because you were in Lebanon during that time as well. Our parents were stressed, and we were being neglected.

Now, looking at what’s happening in Gaza, there’s a war on children currently happening, and I feel like our inner children are acting up—they’re being vocal. What does Sarah’s inner child say?

MIA: She says, “Thank you for caring about making sure there’s a place for me to go back to, and thank you for not being ashamed of me anymore. Thank you for doing all the things I would have wanted to do. And can I borrow your shoes?” What does yours say?

CÉLINE: Mine says, “Thank you for being the person who protects me, the person who would have held me and cared for me. Thank you for doing everything you can to ensure that people like us have a place to be, and for never forgetting that you are me.” You know, I’m very much a kid at heart. I mean, I feel like the biggest conversation is about healing, you know? I want to ask you, what’s your practice for healing? How did you invite healing into your life?

MIA: Therapy and mushrooms.

CÉLINE: Oh, wow! yes.

‘Just a couple of years ago, I might have been okay with friends who said things like, “Oh no, I stay out of all that.” But now, if I hear someone say that, I’m genuinely taken aback. Like, what do you mean? It feels almost robotic, like they’re disengaged from reality. We all have a responsibility to each other, regardless of our backgrounds.’

—Mia

MIA: Ya.

CÉLINE: That helped you?

MIA: What caused me to start going to therapy was really just being fed up. I’ve never been against it, so it wasn’t a hard sell.

CÉLINE: Sometimes, culturally, we’re like, “Oh, we’re fine, we’re fine, we’re fine,” you know? And then we don’t take the time.

MIA: I was just in denial. Finally, it got to a point where there was one specific moment where I exploded on a radio host during an interview. The way they introduced me triggered me and felt very disrespectful. It was a sports show, and I just didn’t feel like the way they introduced me was respectful. I exploded on them, and then I got a fine from the SEC because it was live radio, and it went viral. People were like, “This bitch is crazy,” and I was like, “Yeah, this bitch is crazy. She needs to go to therapy, actually.”

So, I went to therapy, and then I realized, oh, that was a trigger because I have unhealed shame from unhealed trauma—from things I did because of my unhealed trauma. So that was the catalyst. Psilocybin and mushrooms has been a lot more recent. When I got access to it in California, it was first in chocolate form, then in gummy form. I started microdosing, and then I worked my way up to proper psilocybin, like just grown mushrooms. I have someone guiding me, or sometimes I follow a schedule. My microdosing is very self-guided. I’ll do a cacao ceremony with a spiritual guide or in a group setting, in a very positive environment. But with microdosing, I just wake up in the morning and decide what flavor I want.

CÉLINE: That’s amazing! I did that for the first time in Montreal when I was in my 20s. Yeah, in my 20s, we would make Nutella sandwiches and put a ton of mushrooms in them, then go out and walk in the forest all day, eating the Nutella sandwiches. It was life-altering for me. I started understanding so much; I did my own little healing, doing that therapy in nature—eating a Nutella sandwich with my friends, walking all day, laughing, and just being in nature.

But then one time, we went inside a little too early, and I realized that if you’re very high on mushrooms and you’re indoors…I got SCARED.

MIA: No, no, I did it at Universal Studios.

CÉLINE: Yeah, it was not okay. No, you cannot be around people. I saw myself in the mirror, and I was like, “No, don’t ever look at yourself in the mirror!”I see why you’re guided now because I did it by myself in my 20s, and now it’s so common, right? There’s a big transformation in the healing space where people are finally recognizing the beauty of it and the power of plant medicine. You did it at Universal Studios?

MIA: I did it at Universal Studios! I cried on the Hogwarts Express, and people had to come and ask my friend, “Is your friend okay?” It was bad. We threw up in the bushes.