It was a vision many Americans shared: Once the Taliban were routed,
surely women in Afghanistan would cast off their burqas and dance, bare-ankle
and unbeaten, in the streets. Part of that vision was fulfilled-the Taliban is
out. But, for various reasons, many women chose to keep their burqas on.
That is just one illustration of all the grey areas in the world of
Muslim women that remain to be seen and understood. This week in Woman News,
staff reporter Barbara Brotman presents a glimpse into that world, through the
words of a group of American Muslim women, a Lebanese author and an Iranian
activist.
It is a lightning rod for both devotion and hostility Banned in
government offices in secular Turkey, mandated in its most severe form by the
Taliban in Afghanistan, the Muslim head covering for women has been used as a weapon in battles for and against modernity.
The headscarf is part of observing hijab, the Muslim practice of
modesty. The word comes from the Arabic for hiding or concealing, and, for
women, also encompasses covering the body completely with loose clothing. The
head covering itself usually drapes around the neck and covers the bosom too.
Hijab is also a state of mind, its practitioners say, a public modesty
that requires both men and women to lower their gaze if confronted by an
inappropriate sight.
Women who wear the headscarf say the Koran requires it whenever they
are in public or around men who are not in their family but some Muslim women
believe the Koran does not require it and do not wear it, including Queen
Rania of Jordan. Some Muslim women find covering deeply upsetting.
"We have an almost physical aversion to the hijab," says an
Arab feminist in the Canadian documentary "Under One Sky: Arab Women in
North America Talk About the Hijab," shown recently at the University of
Chicago Oriental Institute Museum. Other women in the film defended the
headscarf as a religious requirement, an expression of cultural identity, or a
symbol of defiance of Western imperialism.
These Chicago-area women choose to wear the head-scarf and here
explain why.
Toni Khatib:
Khatib, 38, of the western suburbs, designed and maintains the Web
site for the Islamic Foundation of Villa Park. Khatib, who is of mixed African-American
and white parentage was raised Muslim on the South Side, attending a mosque
where she sat behind Muhammad Ali's family. A former information technology
network manager, she is now at home; she and her husband, born in Syria, have
three children. "I've been wearing the hijab three years now. For me, it's
been very liberating. To tell you the truth, it allows you to be a person, and
not just a woman/thing to be looked at. People listen to you; I used to be very
heavy... When I lost the weight again, I noticed those looks and things,
where... someone is talking to you, but they're looking at your chest. With the
hijab, I notice it's gone away. "My son was born prematurely in 1992, at
one pound three ounces, after I had three miscarriages. I was told he wouldn't
live, and if he did, there was a 95 per cent chance of cerebral palsy or being
deaf, dumb and blind.
"One night I called [the hospital]. They said, 'Oh, my goodness,
both his lungs have collapsed.' He was 2 or 3 months old. I ran and took a
shower and prayed. Don't think I'm crazy, but I got the warmest feeling of
peace as if God hugged me... I have constantly been very spiritual because of
that.
"He is healthy [now]; he has no problems... I just really got
closer to God."
Salma Vhora:
Vhora, 21, moved to the U.S. from her native India six years ago. Now
a U.S. citizen, she is a fourth-year student at the University of Illinois at
Chicago majoring in math education and lives with her family in Park Ridge.
"I wear a niqaab. This is a cover or veil with a hole in it for the
eyes... Covering your hair is an obligation, but covering your face is optional;
it's an individual choice... We have to wear a scarf properly to wear niqaab.
If you wear it too tight, it's hard for you to breathe.
"I prefer to do niqaab in front of strange men to avoid any
mischief when there is a fear of temptation. I think it's obligatory to cover
all of a woman's beauty and adornment and not to display any part of that
before strangers except for what appears unintentionally, in which case there
will be no sin on them if they hasten to cover it up.
"It's so common-sense for me. If a stranger comes to me, he would
have to look at my face first, then decide whether I am ugly, pretty or whether
he is interested in me, by judging my face, how I look. I think that's not
right. Outer beauty is not as Important as your good deeds and your actions.
"I covered my hair when I was 15 when I came from India. But I
started wearing niqaab last year. I had been approached by so many men, strange
men. I see more men than women in my math classes. They would always come up to
me, try to give me high-fives, try to hug me. They acted like I should be in
that group, doing what the guy should be doing. I didn't feel comfortable doing
that.
"When I started doing the niqaab, I announced in every single
class, "This is the reason I am doing this.' They were very, very
understanding, very supportive, very proud of me."
Uzma Hussain:
Hussain, 20, lives in Darien, where she grew up with her parents, who
were born in India. She is a student at the University of Illinois at Chicago.
"It's sort of a personal thing- You don't tell anyone you're
going to do it; you just feel it. I started in my freshman year of high school
when I was 14. I didn't tell anyone I was going to do it; I just did it one
day. "I brought the hijab with me every day for a week. It was, like,
every day, 'I'm going to do it, I'm going to do it.' Then on Friday, I did it.
I put it on during school. I just stood by my locker. We had gone to get our
lunches. Everyone was gone. And I just did it.
"And then I went to lunch. And people I don't know, they were
confused. They didn't know what to say. My sister was completely shocked. And
my mom was shocked, too. She was a little concerned that I started too early,
but it's not her choice; it's not anyone's choice. It's something you have to do.
"I can be who I am, and not worry about being judged. It's sort of like
protection. And it's a lot of responsibility When you go out in public, people
will recognize, "This is a Muslim.' Everything you do will be noticed.
"I don't sit in a corner and be, 'Oh, I cover my hair, I can't
participate.' I was captain of the varsity badminton team in high school; we
won the state championship. And I covered my hair. That, to me, is cool.
"Sometimes you feel like you missed out on [dressing up] a little bit. My
mom sometimes says she wants her daughters to dress up and whatnot. But I'm
happier than I'm covered now. ... I've had good experiences."
Nada Rifai:
Rifai, 24, of the North Side, was born in Syria and lived there with
her family until a year ago. She began covering her head when she was 20. She
works as an office clerk at the Institute of Islamic Information and Education,
a North Side organization that disseminates information about Islam throughout
North America.
"I don't come from a religious family Even my mother doesn't
cover. "But the more I grew up, I thought of it more and more. The more
you know you have this contact with God, the more you get emotional with God,
you want to do something for God. I had this vision that I, 100 per cent, want
to do it. I was the first to do it. Two years later, my sister did.
"It was a little bit hard; it changed some things in my
lifestyle. We're an open family. We go to clubs, we have dinners where you
dance, we go to swimming pools. I don't go anymore to clubs. I don't swim
anymore. But it didn't change my relationships with people around me.
"My father was so happy but my mother-it's not her way or
lifestyle. She wanted me to take it off, especially in summer. Every weekend or
every three or four days, we would go somewhere to eat and have parties. Even
our wedding parties were mixed; we never had the wedding party where the men
are one place and the women another. She wanted me to have all these things.
"But when you think of it deeply and truly, you think that your
life would be with your God more than your life on earth."
Dina Ramadan:
Ramadan, 26, of Oak Park, grew up in Florida. Her parents are
Egyptian; her mother designs women's dressy clothing, American style, and until
recently owned a tony dress shop in Florida. Ramadan is married and has two
children, 19 months and 2 months.
"When I was growing up, I was not the best Muslim; I was a little
bit more involved with my friends and going out. But when I got to college, I
started to read more in the Quran and started to learn more about my religion
and why it was a privilege to be a Muslim. "I went to an Islamic
convention in Atlanta, I was sitting in a seminar, and what one of the scholars
said hit me: 'We're not going to live forever.' On the car ride home I
announced to my family that I was going to wear the hijab.
"It was a little scary. Everyone [at Jacksonville University]
knew me; it was a very small campus. A lot of my friends had no idea what it
meant. I got asked whether I was in a cult... One of my professors asked me if
I was ill.
"I used to work at the mall, at a clothing store. I had a
wardrobe full of Ann Taylor. I still wear nice clothes under loose outer
clothes, the gilbab [a loose full-length coat]. But I don't miss it. Every time
I put [the hijab] on, I'm in a way aware of what a great blessing it is to wear
it. You just feel liberated. You feel like, 'Why didn't I do this a long time
ago? Why did I spend all those hours in front of a mirror when it's not
important?'
"It is a physical reminder to myself that what you do is for the
sake of God and Islam. It reminds you to pray on time; it reminds you to be
kind to everybody.
"It does get to be hot in the heat of summer. But as a Muslim,
you know that everything you do for the sake of Allah, you get rewards for it.
The better you do in your life, the more chance you'll have of being in heaven.
"I don't need men to tell me I'm pretty; I don't need, that
validation. I want to look nice for my husband, and that, for me, is more
important than a million people telling me I'm beautiful."
Mary Ali:
Ali, 62, is secretary and board member of the Institute of Islamic
Information and Education; her husband is the institute's managing director.
She grew up Protestant in Iowa, met her husband in graduate school and
converted to Islam in her early 30s. "I've been wearing it [the head
scarf] for 30 years. I've grown so accustomed to wearing it; when I don't wear
it and I go outside, I feel naked.
"I came into it very gradually. After I went to Islam, I didn't
change the kind of clothing I was wearing at all. Then gradually, the dresses
were longer-sleeved; the neckline went up; I put pants on under skirts. After a
time, I started putting a scarf on. I think for an individual, it takes some
acceptance of yourself, and courage to put it on and walk outside. "It
felt strange in the beginning. It still feels hot. ... I forced myself to get
used to it. For a while, everyone would ask me, 'Why are you wearing that on
your head?' Then I discovered it allowed me to talk about Islam.
"Wearing it makes me feel like when people look at me, they're
looking at me not for what my body looks like, but more for what I do and what
I contribute."
Dalia Hassaballa:
Hassaballa, 20, of Villa Park, the daughter of Egyptian parents, is in
her last year studying elementary education at the University of Illinois at
Chicago. She was married in June. "I grew up in Schaumburg. When I was 11,
I went and lived overseas in Korea; my dad had business over there. So, I
started to put the hijab on when I was 11 because I knew I was starting a new
life over there. For a lot of girls, it's very difficult. They put it on in the
middle of the school year. All of a sudden, you'll lose friends, and you'll
gain some friends. "It was a given... Once you get your period, you have
to decide when to put your scarf on. "I do it because that's what God has
ordained. ... I also wear it as a form of modesty... And it protects us from
sexual harassment. I saw a woman wearing a short skirt, and I saw these men
just looking at her, talking and smiling, and I'm like, 'They don't even
respect women.' I'm thankful that in my religion, women are respected.
"It isn't uncomfortable [to wear the headscarf! In olden times,
people used to have umbrellas in the sun. I kind of look at it like that."
Saba Ahmed:
Ahmed, 25, of Villa Park, was born in India. She has been in this
country for two years, and is a "market research analyst".
"According to Islam, a woman is a very precious gem. If you
consider a diamond or a very precious gem, you wouldn't just keep it outside to
be touched and seen by anybody and everybody. It is a very precious thing.
"A husband, when he comes home, when he finds a thing that is
hidden from society, he finds it is more attractive. A husband sees his wife and
says, 'Oh, God has given this beautiful person to me.' He finds satisfaction.
And if there is satisfaction with the husband, the family is secure. And once
the family is secure, the society is secure, and once the society is secure,
the whole nation is secure.
"Men are also not supposed to reveal themselves in public. They
are supposed to lower their gaze if they see something they are not supposed to
see. "There are girls who think, 'Oh, we won't be so comfortable [wearing
the hijab] because we are working with non-Muslims.' They don't tie it around
their heads; they don't bring it in front of their bosoms.
"That is not enough. Hijab means from head to toe you are
covered, but your face, hands and feet could be open. And... it should be
loose; the shape of your body should not be revealed. That is the true veil.
And if you have all the women covering their bosoms, then women won't run in
the race of going for those silicone implants."
Manal el-Hrisse:
El-Hrisse, 21, of Cicero, is general secretary of the Islamic
Association for Palestine, in Palos Hills. A graduate of Dominican University
who majored in political science and criminology, she lives in Cicero. She was
born in the United Arab Emirates. "We're saying, 'Take us for who we are,
as people, as humans.' One day, I'm going to grow older; my skin is going to
be all wrinkly; I'm not going to be as attractive as someone in her 20s. Does
that mean people should start treating me differently? That I'm not worth
anything? "Funny, I never see anybody who is half-naked and say, 'Oh,
she's oppressed.' But I think she is oppressed. There is so much pressure on
women to look good. We should have a contest and see how many women are willing
to go out without makeup. And look at all these teenage girls in school saying,
'Oh, my gosh, I have a pimple.'
"I rebel against that. I say, 'I'm going to be whoever I'm going
to be. God made me this way If you like it, you like it. Otherwise, too bad.'
That's the freedom for me; it's the freedom to choose. I don't want my society
to pressure me.
"People think the scarf is the image of oppression. But it's an
image of liberation."
Allah knows the best.
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