It’s fascinating how much a piece of cloth can
do to a woman. How much of a role does a woman’s hijab really play in how
society defines her and how she defines herseIf? Nehal
Elmeligy tries to find out.
After the first round of the 2012 Egyptian presidential
elections, I was standing in Midan El Nafoura in The middle class neighborhood
of El Mokattam in Cairo as a part of a
“human chain” that supported Mursi feeling proud to be acting as a proactive citizen. But
to the by-passers I was an unveiled woman holding a slogan that said “ Ana mesh
ikhwan bas hantekheb Mursi “ (I’m not a member of the Muslim Brotherhood but I
will vote for Mursi) A few men walked by and rhetorically asked ,“how is it that
you’re not wearing a hijab and yet you’re voting for Mursi?” Others applauded
my decision because, despite my dress code, I was still voting for the Muslim
Brotherhood.
Hearing these comments, the only question I was asking
myself was ‘what does my hijab have to do with my political choices?’ My
religious views and my opinion on hijab did not influence my opinion for whom
to vote, but apparently I didn’t look Muslim enough for some people. A photo of
me holding the slogan was all over Facebook the next day. I read most of the
comments; I wasn’t shocked by the people swearing at me for my political
choices, but by those who jumped to the
conclusion that I was a respectable person because in spite of apparently being
a Christian I was still going to vote for Mursi!
I put the hijab on when I was thirteen simply because I
believed it was the right thing to do. I had a multi-layered battle with the
hijab but after having worn it for more than ten years, I decided I want to go
on a journey of discovering myself and so I took it off. Aside from someone
meeting me for the first time after I’ve taken it off, I had never felt so
conscious of my uncovered head like I did during the human chain. I had no idea it was so important that
I be labeled. I had no idea it was an issue that I now walk the streets of
Cairo with my religious identity kept to myself.
I am not writing this article to discuss whether or not the
hijab is obligatory for Muslim women, neither am I going to share with you my
story since I’ve taken it off. I am writing this article because it’s
fascinating how much a piece of cloth can do to a woman. How much of a role does a woman’s hijab really play in
how society defines her and how she defines herself?
The previous question does not only pertain to political
settings, but also to the workplace and the street. When the Four Seasons hotel
interviewer bluntly told A.H. that he would give her the job only if
she took off her hijab, he set a great example of how veiled women are defined
in the professional setting in Egypt: under-qualified and not presentable. On the other hand, 26 year-old Sara
Imam, who doesn’t wear the hijab, was asking a man directions on the street,
but before naming her destination he automatically assumed she was Christian
and started describing the way to the nearby church.
When society automatically assumes that you’re a “good” girl,
or that you’re Christian or that you’re not qualified
all because you’re covering or not covering your head, is this not cultural
mass production of Muslim women? Does not the definition of society of what
wearing or not wearing the hijab should entail deprive Muslim women of their
individuality?
When 32 year- old A.H. used to put on her hijab, it was
more than just covering her now flowing blonde curly locks, she felt like she put
on a mask. The hijab conditioned her to speak, dress and behave in a certain
way. Her now echoing laugh was deemed “inappropriate” by friends when she was
veiled. With all the social restrictions that came with the hijab, A.H. felt
that putting it on automatically striped her off her identity. She felt she was
like all the other women.
Women are obviously obliged to cover all but their face,
hands and feet when they choose to wear the hijab, but are the cultural
obligations that come with hijab necessary? Do they truly reflect religion? Why
is it that veiled women have to become cultural, religious and intellectual
carbon copies of each other? Human
beings are intrinsically different, if they choose not to look differently,
should they not at least be allowed to act and think differently? Why should
Muslim women appear like they’ve all been mass produced?
In an attempt to escape this mass production, women who wear
the hijab often try to personalize it. They sometimes follow the latest fashion
trends or they adapt it according to the weather or to the event they’re going
to and that’s when another interesting type of judgment occurs. S.R. is a
37-year old English teacher who wears the hijab herself hesitantly told me that
she doesn’t approve of girls who have a veil on but wear really tight clothes
or sometimes even see-through ones.
Ironically, S.R.’s role was reciprocated when a family member
disregarded her properly- all- hair- and neck-covering veil, her loose and
almost-knee length blouse and told her that she shouldn’t be wearing pants;
that it’s not appropriate. S.R. says that she knows that a lot of women don’t
wear the hijab out of conviction but she believes that there is an
“appropriate” way to wear it and to behave when wearing it. She believes in ‘each
to their own’ but sometimes she can’t help but judge “inappropriately” veiled
women.
Twenty four-year old Nesma A. has always personalized her
hijab- in an extreme way perhaps. She used to wear a bikini to the
beach when she worked in Sharm El Sheikh; she says
she wears the hijab not because it’s an obligation, but because she
feels comfortable wearing it. She also wore a wig to her metal concert because
she couldn’t imagine herself playing the keyboard with her hijab on.
Maybe the reason why
Nesma is untraditionally maneuvering around society’s cultural definition of
wearing the veil is because she was severely judged in the past. When in high
school, one of Nesma’s friends stopped talking to her, because her father told
her so. There was a rumor that Nesma smoked cigarettes. But when Nesma upgraded
from a hijab to a “khimar” her friend was automatically allowed to talk to her
again. And that’s when Nesma took off
the khimar, because she was appalled by how easily
she was judged according to her dress code.
In a somewhat similar incident,
Sara Imam says that when she took of the hijab after having worn it for 8
years, some people automatically assumed that she had gone through some trauma
and was acting out, or that she had simply chosen to walk away from God. If a man shaved his beard, society won’t
necessarily assume that he walked away from God but if a girl took off the
hijab some people would assume that she has. In a way, even girls who take off
the hijab are also culturally mass produced.
When society dares pass judgment on an
unveiled woman, does it ever re-think its role in the woman’s decision?
Sara first
started questioning aspects of Islam when she travelled abroad and found that
the major justification for wearing the hijab is completely irrelevant. Arab
societies argue that the hijab prevents women from being harassed and from
being treated as mere bodies, yet the contradiction of that statement happens
on the streets of Egypt every day. When Sara saw that in Western countries
women are treated with respect regardless of what they wear, she started to
doubt what she thought was fundamental to her religiosity. A.H. wore the
hijab because her now ex-husband asked her to. He prayed five times a day, had
a beard and always spoke about what’s “haram” and what’s “halal” in between
hitting her, calling her names and not bringing in any money. It is these
hypocrisies that plague our society that played a big role in why Amanda and
Sara took off their veils and not their moral or religious failings.
Creativity in our society is rarely found
because individuality has always been attacked and under-appreciated. Most
Egyptians have always found comfort, or were taught to always find comfort in
similarities and stagnation. Our government has never encouraged personal
interpretation, of anything. We have, for a very long time, been forced to be
intellectual and religious carbon copies of each other and those of us who
couldn’t fight their individualistic screams were deemed outcasts. The issue of
a woman’s hijab is no different.
I have channeled
the stories and opinions of very few women in this article. And as I finish
writing it, I think about all of the other women who have different stories to
tell; women from different social classes, educational backgrounds and
religious beliefs who could spur on an entirely new article. Nevertheless, the
women here do represent some Egyptian women and do put forth issues that need
to be dealt with and cured in our very troubled society.
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