At its strongest, Naseej foregrounds skill and dedication. An Egyptian farmer explains that agriculture is not just a job for income, but a responsibility to protect the country’s environment and manage its resources sustainably. A Sudanese truck driver recounts years of navigating Saudi highways with precision and endurance. These stories directly counter the common stereotype that migrant workers are unskilled, careless or tricksters. Instead, the audience gets to see their expertise, discipline, and pride in craft. The show juxtaposes the interviews with scenes from Riyadh Season performances, subtly linking migrant stories to the state’s image of a modern, cosmopolitan Saudi Arabia and reinforcing its narrative of openness.
The show also talks about belonging. A Syrian mechanic – a man who grew up in the kingdom and learned within it how to be part of society – is described as having ‘strong bonds’ to the country that ‘cannot be broken’. A Lebanese builder is presented as a witness to the country’s development, his work embedded in its transformation and buildings. A Pakistani artisan affirms not only his attachment to the country but his gratitude toward its leadership and people, saying his presence in the country is the result of their support. In such moments, migrants are framed not as outsiders passing through, but as figures emotionally and socially rooted in the kingdom, even if that belonging is articulated through declarations of loyalty.
The voiceover commentary of the first season’s episodes was abandoned in the second. It leaned heavily patriotic, sometimes awkwardly asserting Saudi Arabia as the migrant’s ‘homeland’. The first season’s host was sincere and kind but frequently uninformed, and trying hard to be humorous. At one point, he handed a Filipino guest a pillow and said, “Imagine this is your family, what would you say to them?” The moment felt unnatural, even patronising. The second season removes the commentary and adopts a lighter tone. Its host is more charismatic and composed, less clumsy, better able to put guests at ease. He avoids performative gimmicks, and as a result the conversations feel more natural.
Yet neither season dares to show any content that criticises the labour migration system. Kafala, labour protections, access to justice, and family separation are never discussed. Instead, the second season slips into a familiar narrative: the “kind Saudi” trope - Opens in new tab. Episodes highlight Saudi employers, clients, or friends stepping in to assist migrant workers: a Saudi employer helping a Sudanese painter cover the costs of dialysis, or Saudi patrons pooling money to support an Egyptian barber during COVID-19 when barbershops were ordered to stay shut. These moments are framed as examples of faz’a (social solidarity and generosity), and they are genuinely moving. But they also do quiet ideological work.
First, they draw attention away from migrants’ systemic vulnerabilities. Migrant workers may receive health insurance from their employers, but coverage can be limited. Comprehensive treatment and broader social protections remain very limited, if they are available at all. There is no safety net in cases of unemployment or serious illness. If they are lucky, migrants may receive charity from employers, friends, or fellow migrants. By highlighting individual acts of generosity, the show obscures the systemic gaps that make such charity necessary in the first place.
Second, these scenes cast Saudis as benevolent patrons and project images of a harmonious social fabric. Saudis and migrants are connected – friends, even – but within a paternalistic framework. The migrant becomes the grateful recipient of the compassionate Saudi’s beneficence. In this arrangement, compassion does not challenge hierarchy; it neutralises it, transforming inequality into a stage for moral virtue rather than a system to be questioned.
The result is a show that expands empathy while preserving the status quo. It softens the image of the migrant worker, celebrates his craft, and acknowledges his emotional ties to the kingdom, but it does so within the safe boundaries of state-sanctioned storytelling. The fabric it weaves is warmer and more inclusive than dominant media narratives, though the pattern itself remains unchanged.
