Choices
Now that I've had time to reflect upon the lively debate that ensued following my earlier post on France's approach to religion and secularism, I feel as though I need to clarify a few points. The argument I put forward in favour of religious symbols and against the new French law was neither an attempt to dignify nor to vilify the hijab itself; instead, it was an argument in favour of freedom of choice.
It only recently occurred to me that my exposure to the hijab has been directly associated with my exposure to the most progressive of Muslim women. Among them are former Turkish MP Merve Kavakci, no longer allowed to run for office because of her refusal to refrain from wearing her head scarf, and Dr. Jasmine Zine, a member of the University of Toronto's Department of Women's and Gender Studies. Listening to their inspiring speeches of both repression (in Ms. Kavaci's case) and empowerment, each revolving around the hijab, has left me with the feeling that forcing Muslim women to remove the head scarf is equally as bad as forcing them to wear one. Both cases entail the denial of a woman's freedom of choice.
If the argument is to revolve around the morality of the hijab itself, I must also admit that my experiences in this Muslim nation (and subsequent interpretations of the hijab in other Muslim countries) have been tainted by its own moderation. The vast majority of women here do not wear the traditional head scarf that we would associate with those that are worn throughout the Middle East or Southeast Asia. In fact, most women in public won't have any head covering at all. If they do, it's simply an extension of their saree draped in such a way that it loosely covers their hair and neck. There are a few exceptions, however, for perhaps one in forty women will wear the dark robe that leaves only their eyes open to the air. Perhaps I have seen so few because most aren't allowed to leave the private sphere of their own household without their husband's consent, but that's an issue I'll leave for my more general criticisms of the interpretations of Islam that fail to acknowledge the passages of the Koran that advocate the equal treatment of women.
What I'm trying to emphasize is that Bangladesh, and my encounters with the most progressive of Muslim women, has exposed me to a side of Islam that may not be well understood in largely secular societies. It has also made me realize that competing interpretations of the symbolism of women covering their head (by choice or otherwise) go hand in hand with diverging interpretations of Islam itself. While the hijab might not be a 'timeless' symbol of a Muslim woman's faith, nor an extension of her own physical being, its visibility (or lack thereof) is the result of a choice that has been made. The morality of that decision depends on whether she made that choice herself, or if it was made on her behalf.
It only recently occurred to me that my exposure to the hijab has been directly associated with my exposure to the most progressive of Muslim women. Among them are former Turkish MP Merve Kavakci, no longer allowed to run for office because of her refusal to refrain from wearing her head scarf, and Dr. Jasmine Zine, a member of the University of Toronto's Department of Women's and Gender Studies. Listening to their inspiring speeches of both repression (in Ms. Kavaci's case) and empowerment, each revolving around the hijab, has left me with the feeling that forcing Muslim women to remove the head scarf is equally as bad as forcing them to wear one. Both cases entail the denial of a woman's freedom of choice.
If the argument is to revolve around the morality of the hijab itself, I must also admit that my experiences in this Muslim nation (and subsequent interpretations of the hijab in other Muslim countries) have been tainted by its own moderation. The vast majority of women here do not wear the traditional head scarf that we would associate with those that are worn throughout the Middle East or Southeast Asia. In fact, most women in public won't have any head covering at all. If they do, it's simply an extension of their saree draped in such a way that it loosely covers their hair and neck. There are a few exceptions, however, for perhaps one in forty women will wear the dark robe that leaves only their eyes open to the air. Perhaps I have seen so few because most aren't allowed to leave the private sphere of their own household without their husband's consent, but that's an issue I'll leave for my more general criticisms of the interpretations of Islam that fail to acknowledge the passages of the Koran that advocate the equal treatment of women.
What I'm trying to emphasize is that Bangladesh, and my encounters with the most progressive of Muslim women, has exposed me to a side of Islam that may not be well understood in largely secular societies. It has also made me realize that competing interpretations of the symbolism of women covering their head (by choice or otherwise) go hand in hand with diverging interpretations of Islam itself. While the hijab might not be a 'timeless' symbol of a Muslim woman's faith, nor an extension of her own physical being, its visibility (or lack thereof) is the result of a choice that has been made. The morality of that decision depends on whether she made that choice herself, or if it was made on her behalf.
posted by Per at 3:59 p.m.
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