My (earnest, irate) thoughts

Everyone is obsessed with it. It is one of the most visible parts of a religion practiced by more than a billion people from China to western Africa, and increasingly in the Americas. Hijab, the Arabic term for the modest way Muslim women are encouraged to dress, actually refers to to more than just the headscarf. But it’s the scarf that gets all the attention.

Covered women share perhaps an unfair burden of Western curiosity about and mistrust of Islam. They are visibly different — agog eyes and agape mouths are the least of what they encounter every day in America and Europe. They are made fun of, harrassed and profiled.

They are also interrogated and mishandled at airports. I experienced this personally in the Munich airport, where the female security guard pantomimed that I should remove my denim jacket because she assumed I didn’t speak English. I answered, “I can’t take it off because it’s my shirt.” Then, even though the metal detector did not go off when I went through it, she approached me from behind as I was picking up my purse, and patted down my head. At first, I was too stunned even to be upset. But then my husband and I talked about it for an hour, both of us getting more and more worked up — “giving each other gas” as he puts it — with me feeling more and more like, “Why does following my religion make me such an outcast?”

In my darker moments, I tell my husband that he ought to grow a big, bushy beard and don a traditional robe so he can see what it’s like, being visibly Muslim. Being Turkish, he of course doesn’t think this is necessary. (Turkey began to encourage Western dress in 1925 with the Hat Law, which made the fez illegal and discouraged the veiling of women. Today, most Turks dress carefully and stylishly, favoring European fashions.)

While many Americans would say that Saudi Arabia is regressive because of its laws about women’s dress and behavior in public, you don’t often hear people calling France backward for banning the headscarf completely — a testament to that country’s total lack of respect for religious freedom. Women must also remove the scarf to go to university or hold down a government job in Turkey, which is perhaps even more appalling because that country is 99 percent Muslim. So women must choose between modesty and education, or between modesty and security, which isn’t a choice at all.

As a Muslim, I find it strange that devotion to God in the form of modest clothing offends so many people, including people who were born in Muslim countries. As an American, I cannot understand why this 24-inch square piece of fabric causes such an uproar in the allegedly tolerant and religious-persecution-free West. And as an American Muslim woman, I am simultaneously exasperated and outraged by the world’s obsession with the headscarf, and dread the day when America joins Europe in its prejudice. What’s next — laws banning a Jewish boy from wearing a skullcap or a Sikh man from wearing a turban?

Contrary to popular belief, Islam did not invent the head covering. It is simply not true that the Islamic headscarf has no counterpart in the Judeo-Christian tradition. Both Jewish and Christian religious traditions have a long history of covering women’s hair, particularly in places of worship. Here is an article, The Veil, which covers the topic pretty well. (I am not a religious scholar or expert by any stretch of the imagination, but after a few minutes Googling, I’ve already found plenty of evidence to support the ideas in the above article.)

Married women are required to cover their hair by Halacha (Jewish law). Talmudic literature even calls the covering of a woman’s hair Dat Moshe (originating from Moses’ teaching). To do so, some Orthodox Jewish women to this day wear scarves, hats, bandanas, ball caps or even wigs. The reasons were varied — sometimes it was for God’s glory, sometimes for her husband’s glory, and sometimes to demonstrate her noble status.

Christianity, too, requires the veiling of women. Catholic nuns continue to observe this, due to canonical law. Certain denominations, such as the Amish and Mennonites, continue to cover their heads as well. The basis is almost certainly Paul’s first epistle to the church in Corinth.

“Any man who prays or prophesies with something on his head dishonors his head, but any woman who prays or prophesies with her head unveiled dishonors her head — it is one and the same thing as having her head shaved. For if a woman will not veil herself, then she should cut off her hair; but if it is disgraceful for a woman to have her hair cut off or to be shaved, then she should wear a veil. For a man ought not to have his head veiled, since he is the image and glory of God; but woman is the glory of man.” (1 Corinthians 11:4-7)

Again, the rationale is the requirement of women to submit to both man and God. Interestingly, there is not a single iconic depiction of the Virgin Mary, revered by both Christians and Muslims as a woman of shining character, without a head covering. Here’s a great article on the subject: Would you ask Mother Mary to remove her headscarf?

I love seeing the many things that the Abrahamic religions have in common; it reinforces my faith. It always feels like further evidence that the God of Abraham is also the God of Moses, Jesus and Muhammad (peace be upon them all). The only real difference between the Biblical basis and the Qur’anic basis for female head covering is the underlying reason. In the Qur’an, the headscarf is for modesty.

“Say to the believing men that they should lower their gaze and guard their modesty…And say to the believing women that they should lower their gaze and guard their modesty; that they should not display their beauty and ornaments except what ordinarily appear thereof; that they should draw their veils over their bosoms…” (Qur’an 24: 30, 31)

And modesty is for protection.

“O Prophet, tell your wives and daughters and the believing women that they should cast their outer garments over their bodies when abroad so that they should be known and not molested.” (33:59)

It is one of the great ironies of our world today that the same headscarf — revered as a sign of holiness when worn by Catholic nuns for the purpose of showing the authority of man — is reviled as a sign of oppression when worn by Muslim women for the purpose of protection. — I paraphrased this thought from “The Veil” (cited above, emphasis mine).

The other day, walking across the parking lot near my job, a young woman was wearing black shorts so tiny I literally did a double-take, thinking she was walking around in her underwear. Her companion was an older woman in a long skirt. Her mother? Really?! Another double-take.

It brings to mind something my brother said ages ago. At the time I was not Muslim, and I was complaining about how my then-brand-new Muslim husband didn’t want me to wear jeans anymore as part of some kind of fascist religious dress code. My non-Muslim brother said something I never forgot: “Well, you know, I understand that. I think most chicks have no idea what they do to guys with the way they dress.” I remember being shocked that my non-traditional brother, an organic farmer who enjoys yoga and mysticism, would ever agree with my fundamentalist husband, whose idea of a good time is praying and reading the Risale-i-Nur.

A recent dinner at my parents’ home, with my aunt, 18-year-old cousin, and his girlfriend brought it again to the forefront of my mind. They were all dressed for the beach. Throughout our short time together, the girlfriend — who I would bet is a nice girl with a good heart — looked ill-at-ease and kept tugging at her shorts. This made me feel awkward, because I feel bad when people feel uncomfortable around me. And as you might expect, after my husband and I left, there ensued a discussion about my scandalous attire.

No one said anything bad about me. And even if they had, my mom is my biggest defender/champion. I’m sure it hasn’t been easy for her to explain my “Arabification” to family and friends. They were just curious about my strange new look. And my mom did say something genius: She said to my cousin, who opened the roundtable discussion titled Jenny’s Headscarf™: “Well, before she started covering, she’d always received a lot of unwelcome attention and comments from strangers.” She turned to the girlfriend and said, “I’m sure you know what I mean.” The girlfriend nodded eagerly and said, “I know exactly what you mean.” At which point my cousin looked back at her, dumbfounded. Then my mom continued, “And when she read that she needed to dress like this for the religion, it kind of made sense to her, because it was a way to let everyone know she’s modest and doesn’t want strangers to be too familiar with her.”

It’s very old-fashioned to feel this way, I know. I think rather a lot of girls do enjoy any attention they get for their looks. Or many of them might believe they’re not getting any attention. In that way, covering is the great equalizer of women…because every woman, no matter what she looks like, looks better all covered up. Kind of like chocolate.

But despite these arguments for wearing the scarf — showing your seriousness and piety; forcing men to evaluate you based on your mind; avoiding being visually raped and other attention from strangers, assuming you don’t want said attention — it comes across like a “hard sell” if you’re not currently a covered Muslim woman. Kind of a “see why covering is good? because this, and this, and this, and this…” until you don’t really see it at all.

The truth is, I just cover because I believe the Qur’an is the unchanged word of God.