I’m standing in front of my bedroom mirror, trying my best to exude confidence. My preparation includes not only a mental pregame speech (think Miracle or Braveheart), but also a little physical primping. Armed with eyeliner and mascara, I exaggerate and lengthen the look of my eyes with a skilled hand—my secret compensation tool for mounting insecurities. With two perfectly lined cat eyes staring back at me, I unfurl the day’s challenge: a floral J. Crew scarf.
Trying my best to follow the instructional YouTube video playing in the background, I twist, turn, and safety-pin my outlet-mall find around my hair. Somehow, I manage to make myself slightly resemble the helpful Muslim preteen on my computer screen (even if I do have to fight that small, female voice in the back of my head saying she wears it better).
While I pull my simple black shirt on over the headdress (or “hijab”), I’m silently grateful that I don’t have to tame my bed head this morning. As someone who showers in the evening, I feel that every morning is a gamble as to the size and direction that my long, wheat-colored hair will assume. Today I woke up looking like Hermione Granger.
I slip into my favorite pair of skinny jeans and brown boots before I take one more quick glance in the mirror. I have to admit: I look pretty good. The headdress has a way of focusing all attention on my face. No one can avoid eye contact. It takes another 30 seconds for me to build up the courage to walk out the door of my Taylor House apartment. With a deep breath, I reach for the handle and remind myself of the purpose behind my headdress and this exercise. As the February air hits my face, I realize that I am completely out of my comfort zone.
The experiment of wearing a headdress for a day is the result of a vow that I and 30 other Denison women took to participate in Denison Hijab Day—a campus-wide event sponsored by the Muslim Student Association (MSA) and inspired by World Hijab Day.
Both celebrations call for women of all ethnicities, religions, and backgrounds to don a head scarf for a day in order to demonstrate support for veiled Muslim women, or women who wear the Islamic headdress, and to promote awareness of the discrimination they face.
By creating a cross-cultural, international event, Denison’s MSA and Nazma Khan, the founder of World Hijab Day, seek to challenge stereotypes forced on Muslim women who cover their heads, and to a lesser degree, those who choose not to.
The inaugural Denison Hijab Day took place two weeks after the World Hijab Day celebration. “We needed some more time to prepare not only ourselves but also the Denison community, so they wouldn’t be too shocked,” says MSA president Aissata Barry ’15, who moved to Boston from Senegal in 2008.
Preparation for Hijab Day included creating a Facebook group, reaching out to campus organizations such as the Denison Feminists and The Open House (Denison’s Center for Religious and Spiritual Life) for promotional support, and staffing an information table in Slayter. For days MSA members tirelessly recited the hijab’s purpose to anyone who would listen and explained why veiled Muslim women need the support of friends, faculty, and peers.
Despite MSA’s diligence, it was clear that my floral headdress startled many students. I am known on campus (if people know me at all) for being heavily involved in Denison’s Christian life. Perhaps it was my own insecurity about being “the other,” but I felt as if the expressions of passers-by were asking, “Why are you wearing that?”
Small interactions suddenly became significant: The first person I encountered didn’t answer my smile; the friendly cashier at the IGA didn’t make eye contact with me when he scanned my milk; a group of first-year students stared and whispered in the library.
Were these people all having bad days? Or could their strange behavior really be related to a simple scarf around my head?
The history of the hijab is long and multifaceted. Mervat Hatem, a political science professor at Howard University in Washington, D.C., explains that different groups within the Muslim community have various interpretations of the hijab. Though the Quran is a sacred text, she explains, it addresses issues in broad terms.
It is commonly agreed, for example, that Muslim women should dress modestly. However, the definition of “modesty” is open to interpretation and changes depending on the time period and culture of an area. The general instruction for modesty today could mean any number of things as it relates to the use or misuse of the hijab, and whether wearing it should be an obligation. In some areas of the world, the law requires covering. In others, it is banned.
Hatem explains these contrary views using 19th-century Egyptian women, her specific area of study. The majority of these women covered their entire faces to follow their interpretation of the Quran’s instructions and those of their religious leaders. As a result, they considered themselves pious. However, modern Muslim women who wear veils, many of whom cover only their hair, also consider themselves faithful to the Quran’s teachings.
Yet 19th-century Egyptian women might look at a modern veiled woman, with her face exposed, and think she is not properly dressed, says Hatem.
It’s easy to see why the rules vary when consulting the Quran itself. Two verses are typically quoted in support of covering. The first is from chapter 24, in which Allah commands the prophet Muhammad to “say to the believing women that: they should cast down their glances and guard their private parts and not display their beauty except what is apparent, and they should place their khumur [a veil used to cover one’s head] over their bosoms.”
The second verse supporting covering is in chapter 33. Allah commands the prophet Muhammad, “O prophet! Say to your wives, your daughters, and the women of the believers that: they should let down upon themselves their jalabib.” (The jalabib is a loose outer garment that covers the head and chest.)
While both verses reference veils of some sort, they don’t instruct how, when, or the style in which they should be worn.
Barry, who started covering when she was 12 years old, considers the scarf to be a part of her identity, an outward expression of her faith that “makes me conscious of a lot of things that I would not be conscious of if I was not covering.” The most prevalent reminder for her is to live a modest lifestyle, not just in the way she dresses, but in the way she lives her life day to day.
And while some consider this exclusively female practice to be oppressive, many, including Barry, view the custom as a gift. Before Islam popularized the tradition, covering was an issue of class. Only the rich and respected could do it.
During Jahiliyyah, the pre-Islamic period, lower-class women were oppressed, sexualized, and frequently raped. By encouraging every woman to cover, Islam allowed the reverence reserved for the rich to become universal. But while the hijab existed before the birth of Islam, it became politicized largely due to 19th-century colonialism.
Leila Ahmed, an Egyptian- American women’s studies professor at Harvard Divinity School, considers the first major veil debate in the Muslim world to be inspired by Qasim Amin’s 1899 book, The Liberation of Women, in which the author, an Egyptian man, advocated for unveiling. This was the moment when covering transitioned from an Islamic practice to a symbol of oppression. And in that moment, says Ahmed, the veil became political.
Hatem, who was born in Egypt and studied at the American University of Cairo before moving to the U.S. for graduate studies, adds that this history is not complete without considering the influence of Western thinking on Amin. He lived at a time when Western powers such as England, Germany, and France sought to control the world’s resources. As a result, Western governing and social practices were imposed on Muslim majority countries of the Gulf region and northeastern Africa, creating tensions between old and new practices, traditional and colonial cultures.
Amin had adopted the viewpoint of his European mentors that the “backwardness” of Egyptian society arose from the way it treated its women. As a result, Amin, a founder of Cairo University, advocated that the veil be abolished as a sign of women’s liberation. “If you think about it, this is not a terribly persuasive argument,” says Hatem. “Liberation requires so much more.”
From that point on, the hijab has been considered by the West as a political representation of the East’s inferiority, the exoticism of their women, and their need to be saved by “real” (Western) male governments.
While it has been more than a century since Amin’s book was published, Hatem argues that the discussion has remained the same. “In the West, the discussion was always politicized,” she says. “It is not new, except the context changes.”
The largest and most recent contextual change, specifically in the United States, was triggered by the 9/11 terrorist attacks in New York, Washington, and Pennsylvania in 2001.
Sept. 11 and the subsequent War on Terror, in Hatem’s view, unleashed global hostility toward Muslims, fixing on them a universal and inescapable label of “terrorist.” “The result,” says Hatem, “is a degrading of the culture, religion, and identification of Muslims in a very one-dimensional way: terrorist, violent, backwards—essentially, different.” Women wearing the hijab were specifically targeted as representations of everything that is wrong with Islam and, by association, the Middle East.
After the attacks, the media questioned whether veiled Muslim women had a choice about wearing the hijab or if the government and men forced them to don the fabric. Suspicion of stereotypical Middle Eastern culture was amplified by the emotional and physical abuse of male and female Muslims during this time, and footage of Middle Eastern men attacking American troops in Afghanistan looped over and over on news stations.
Mark Orten, Denison’s chaplain and director of religious and spiritual life, classifies the most significant stereotypes affecting Muslim women into four main categories: the belief that Islam allows only men to be in power; the belief that Muslims give undue deference to male power over women; the belief that all women are forced to wear the hijab; and the belief that women who wear the veil are not modern or progressive in any way.
“These [stereotypes] are not just ideas,” says Hatem. “They are discourses: systematically developed assumptions, concepts, and views. They are prevalent in Western culture; they are prevalent even in Middle Eastern culture. You find expressions of them in the academies, government policies, the media, and so on. They’re everywhere,” she says.
“Many believe that women who wear the hijab are oppressed, that they are told to wear it by men … and that wearing the hijab takes a woman’s freedom away, which is absolutely ridiculous to me,” says Barry, who was once told while wearing a white scarf to “take that paper towel off your head.”
For her, the hijab does not take away her freedom, but instead, offers it to her. “It was actually the first time that I felt that I was exercising that freedom as a woman because I picked up a scarf, put it on my head, and said, ‘I am going to do this.’” For Barry, it came down to a personal choice, in a world where governments are legally requiring women to put the scarf on or to take it off. From her point of view, it doesn’t matter what the laws require—to wear or not to wear—but what matters is that there are laws governing a piece of clothing at all.
France, for instance, banned the head scarf from public schools in 2004. In May 2012, Australia’s most populous state, New South Wales, began allowing law enforcement to request that a woman remove her veil. By law, she must oblige. On Dec. 12, 2011, Canada banned face coverings for people swearing the citizenship oath. Also, until recently, the hijab was banned in the public schools, universities, and government buildings of Turkey—a Muslim-majority country. This law had been in place since 1997 and now only restricts women working in the military and judiciary branches of the government from covering.
On the opposite end of the spectrum is a Facebook page developed by Iranian journalist Masih Alinejad, which encourages Iranian women to upload photos of themselves without their hijabs—a way of challenging the country’s law requiring that they wear the headdress while in public. Barry believes that these laws, combined with racial profiling in the media and personal interactions, make many American Muslims feel like second-class citizens because of their choice of dress. “When it comes to the idea of living in a free country, living in a free world, most Muslims don’t experience that freedom,” says Barry, an international studies and women’s studies double major.
However, there is hope. Throughout her six years in America, Barry has noticed a growth in tolerance among U.S. citizens. While prejudice continues to be a major issue, many Westerners, in Barry’s opinion, are becoming more open-minded as a result of initiatives such as World Hijab Day, during which Muslim women make their voices heard.
Orten adds that these events are also a way for non-Muslim participants to express their choice to defy cultural norms and support the Islamic sisterhood. “Wearing the hijab is a celebration of breaking through the biases, stereotypes, and hegemonies that others impose upon the hijab. But you will not impose those biases. I will not,” he says.
Denison’s inaugural Hijab Day ended with an invitation for participants to join a dialogue with the student organization Denison Feminists. Barry believes that it was important to include the Denison Feminists because events such as Denison Hijab Day and the discussion are important in a global sense.
“The stereotypes and discrimination facing veiled Muslim women are women’s issues—not just Muslim women’s issues. When one woman’s right to dress the way she wants is taken away, it goes beyond any religion or culture. This is a feminist concern,” says Barry, a member of the Denison Feminists.
More than 20 students, both participants and those who had never heard of World Hijab Day, crowded into a room on the fourth floor of Slayter in the late afternoon to discuss the day. Topics ranged from personal experiences and emotions associated with wearing hijabs temporarily to whole-group conversations about equality and harmful stereotypes.
A common theme throughout the conversation was the shared struggle of feeling isolated and silently judged throughout the day. However, some, like Kariana Santos ’16, faced these stereotypes in a not-so-silent way.
“I was in class when my friend sat next to me. We said ‘hi’ like we normally do and things didn’t seem to be much different until in the middle of class he said, ‘I really want to ask about that f*****g head thing,’” Santos relayed. “I explained to him why I was wearing the hijab and what the day was all about. His response was, ‘Oh, good, at least you’re not gonna blow up the classroom.’” Not knowing how to respond and not wanting to cause a scene, Santos laughed off the comment. While she is sure her friend was joking, Santos was horrified by his blatant discrimination—something veiled Muslim women experience frequently.
“I had just a small glimpse of what these women go through,” says the Chelsea, Mass., native, a theatre major.
Encounters like this were the reason for holding Denison Hijab Day and the source of Barry’s motivation to create a cross-cultural sisterhood. “I pushed for this event because I thought that Denison needed it,” says Barry, one of only three veiled women on campus. “While there are a few veiled women on campus, we still feel invisible. Denison Hijab Day was our way of fighting that invisibility.”
Orten is of a similar philosophy, believing that reconciliation and cooperation among different religions and cultures— at Denison and on campuses across the nation—can occur only through education and dialogue.
“You have to ask, who are you in addition to the veil, and what does it mean to you? We can only do that through genuine, authentic interactions, and engagements—true dialogue,” says Orten, a Christian.
When I take the fabric off and let my hair down at the end of the day, I’m surprised to see it, to feel it on my shoulders. Running my hands through the tangled locks, I can’t help thinking what these dead cells mean to me, what they mean to others.
My day had completely complicated social norms. What does it mean to be beautiful? Why do I allow affirmations from men and women or pictures in magazines to define how I see myself? Why do I depend on others to feel valuable?
As I prepare for bed, I once again evaluate the reflection blinking back at me in the mirror. This time there is no makeup or scarf to hide behind. With my damp hair tucked behind my ears, I can see all my imperfections: the fading blemishes on my chin, a scar on the bridge of my nose from a sibling rivalry, the healing hole from my five-year nose ring.
This is me, all of it.
I toss a dirtied makeup removal wipe in the trash and hit the lights as I head toward bed, wondering if I will ever be as confident, faithful, and unapologetic as the veiled woman I tried to be today. If I had to become an “other” to stay true to myself, would I do it? But more important, perhaps, is the fact that I have a choice in the matter.
These are the thoughts that haunt me as I pull the covers toward my chin. I am more informed at this moment, I realize, but I am still confused as to who I am, what the world is, and where religion fits into all of it. Even so, as I drift off to sleep, I am left with one thought: I am beautiful. We are beautiful.