As a Canadian-born Muslim woman I have taken to wearing the traditional hijab scarf. It tends to make people see me as either a terrorist or a symbol of oppressed womanhood, but I find the experience LIBERATING.
I OFTEN wonder whether people see me as a radical, fundamentalist Muslim terrorist packing an AK-47 assault rifle inside my jean jacket. Or maybe they see me as the poster girl for oppressed womanhood everywhere. I'm not sure which it is.
I get the whole gamut of strange looks, stares, and covert glances. You see, I wear the hijab, a scarf that covers my head, neck, and throat. I do this because I am a Muslim woman who believes her body is her own private concern.
Young Muslim women are reclaiming the hijab, reinterpreting it in light of its original purpose to give back to women ultimate control of their own bodies.
The Qur'an teaches us that men and women are equal, that individuals should not be judged according to gender, beauty, wealth, or privilege. The only thing that makes one person better than another is her or his character.
So many of us are so ashamed of our religion that we change ourselves, to blend in. We all know a Samer who has become Sam or a Mohammad who calls himself Mo. We all know the woman who wears a Western Hijab: jeans, a long shirt, and the obligatory headpiece. How many times do Muslim women take off the hijab because of the pressures of society? How many times have you heard: "I can't get a job; I can't handle the stares.
Nonetheless, people have a difficult time relating to me. After all, I'm young, Canadian born and raised, university educated. Why would I do this to myself, they ask.
Strangers speak to me in loud, slow English and often appear to be playing charades. They politely inquire how I like living in Canada and whether or not the cold bothers me. If I'm in the right mood, it can be very amusing.
But, why would I, a woman with all the advantages of a North American upbringing, suddenly, at 21, want to cover myself so that with the hijab and the other clothes I choose to wear; only my face and hands show?
Because it gives me freedom.
WOMEN are taught from early childhood that their worth is proportional to their attractiveness. We feel compelled to pursue abstract notions of beauty, half realizing that such a pursuit is futile.
When women reject this form of oppression, they face ridicule and contempt. Whether it is women who refuse to wear makeup or to shave their legs, or to expose their bodies, society, both men and women, have trouble dealing with them.
One day, a covered Muslim sister was on the shuttle at the university where she was studying. This young American woman boarded the bus. She was wearing a skirt so short, it left nothing to the imagination. She sat across from the muhajiba sister. The sister looked up and noticed that the American woman was staring at her, and shaking her head. She apparently disapproved of her dress. No matter. If she had not believed that hers was the superior way, she might have felt embarrassed or humiliated. But it seemed that she knew, believed, and accepted that Islam is the right way, because instead of pulling back, she looked right at the non-Muslim American woman with a look of severe disapproval. She then looked to the woman's exposed legs and tisked while shaking her head.
The American woman responded by tugging at the bottom of her skirt, like she was trying to cover her legs more. The American woman felt the shame and humiliation of her exposure. This woman recognized her inferior status and reacted accordingly, because the Muslim woman did not back down or allow the non-Muslim to make her feel inferior. This is the way we should all act.
In the Western world, the hijab has come to symbolize either forced silence or radical, unconscionable militancy. Actually, it's neither. It is simply a woman's assertion that judgment of her physical person is to play no role whatsoever in social interaction.
Wearing the hijab has given me freedom from constant attention to my physical self. Because my appearance is not subjected to public scrutiny, my beauty, or perhaps lack of it, has been removed from the realm of what can legitimately be discussed.
No one knows whether my hair looks as if I just stepped out of a salon, whether or not I can pinch an inch, or even if I have unsightly stretch marks. And because no one knows, no one cares.
Feeling that one has to meet the impossible male standards of beauty is tiring and often humiliating. I should know, I spent my entire teenage years trying to do it. It was a borderline bulimic and spent a lot of money I didn't have on potions and lotions in hopes of becoming the next Cindy Crawford.
The definition of beauty is ever-changing; waifish is good, waifish is bad, athletic is good - sorry, athletic is bad. Narrow hips? Great. Narrow hips? Too bad.
Women are not going to achieve equality with the right to bear their breasts in public, as some people would like to have you believe. That would only make us party to our own objectification. True equality will be had only when women don't need to display themselves to get attention and won't need to defend their decision to keep their bodies to themselves.
Naheed Mustafa graduated from the University of Toronto last year with an honors degree in political and history. She is currently studying journalism at Ryerson Polytechnic University.
The Islamic Bulletin
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