"My body is my own business." MULTICULTURAL VOICES
A Canadian-born Muslim woman has taken to wearing
the traditional hijab scarf. It tends to make people see her as either a
terrorist or a symbol of oppressed womanhood, but she finds 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 may be 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. 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's 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. 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 teen-age 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 in 1992 with an
honours degree in political and history. She is currently studying journalism
at Ryerson Polytechnic University NOTE:
This article appeared in IINN (Islamic Information &
News Network) publications. The Permission of Reprinting granted by
"Islamic Information & News Network" (Muslims@Asuacad.Bitnet). |