It's Not About the Burqa: Muslim Women on Faith, Feminism, Sexuality and Race

by Mariam Khan

Muslim women are more than burqas, more than hijabs, and more than society has allowed us to be until now.

Women are supposed to be ‘less than’, not ‘too much’. Women are meant to be quiet, modest, humble, polite, nice, well behaved, aware of the red lines. They are supposed to tread softly and within their limits. Patriarchy demands that of all women, but the more women fall within intersections of oppression, the more they are expected to live by those demands, and Muslim women are especially vulnerable to what I call a trifecta of oppressions: misogyny (faced by all women), racism (faced by women of colour) and Islamophobia (faced by Muslims).

Revolutions rattle the privileged and discomfort the complacent. They are never about the comfortable majority. Rather, it is always the minority, especially those who are caught by the intersection of multiple oppressions, who instigate and inspire.

These days, I don’t give a shit about how my body looks, only how it functions.

‘Modesty is an instrument of patriarchy, designed to limit women’s agency and keep them in line,’ I say, beaming.

Heaven forbid a woman should have a life outside the house and start getting crazy ideas about independence.

‘Never, ever let people make you feel ashamed for who you are. You know what is right and wrong in your heart, and it is your heart that Allah sees, that I see, and that you have to see every day when you look in the mirror. No one has the right to judge you.’

The use of a Muslim woman is seemingly dependent on what’s being promoted or sold. When the Muslim woman is discussed in a political light or in reference to government strategy it seems representation is synonymous with a burqa- or niqab-wearing woman. When it’s fashion or beauty, she takes the form of a hijabi influencer.

There is a monolithic brush that all Muslims are painted with because of our common thread: the belief in Allah, his messengers and his book.

What we so often forget is that God has honored the woman by giving her value in relation to God—not in relation to men. But as Western feminism erases God from the scene, there is no standard left—except men. As a result, the Western feminist is forced to find her value in relation to a man. And in so doing, she has accepted a faulty assumption. She has accepted that man is the standard, and thus a woman can never be a full human being until she becomes just like a man.3

This concern was expressed by Afia Ahmed in an article on Amaliah titled ‘How the Turban Hijab Became a Symbol of the Modern Muslim Woman’: Commercialisation didn’t make hijab easier, it changed what it is. People no longer ascribe [sic] to the hijab, they ascribe [sic] to a fashion trend [. . .] The turban [headscarf] has become the symbol of the New Muslim Woman. A marker of success, liberation, and modernity. Yet this symbol supposedly aiming to help Muslim women feel included, for many, has done the exact opposite of what it set out to do. In including one faction of society, it has ostracized another, and a number of Muslim women no longer feel represented.5

We want your hijabs but we don’t want your thoughts; we only want diversity for the pictures.

🤔

What is the point of being represented if it is only our image that is invited to the table?

Representation is meant to exert some sort of cultural influence, but that influence can often be skewed depending on who holds the keys to the wider platforms.

Representation is sold to our communities as the holy grail of acceptance. If a Muslim becomes a Member of Parliament, he has not only achieved the highest status of representation, but also then becomes an exemplar for representation. If you look then, to those Muslim MPs who were part of Tony Blair’s Labour Party, they were pro or abstained on issues to do with war, securitisation and neo-liberalism – and so when I want to consider what the panacea to structural racism and the system’s inherent bias against us might look like, I remain unconvinced that it takes place through people that look, sound and have the same names as me, but whose politics are not only alien, they are a complete deformation of my commitment to social justice.12

My first reaction to the music video was, really?! Do we really need representation in music videos? But why was my reaction to Amani being in a music video so different from my feelings about the music of Malaysian singer-songwriter and fellow hijabi Yuna, or even the appearance of Ilhan Omar? Perhaps because Amani has built a brand on her Muslim identity, whereas Yuna’s brand is first and foremost her music, and Ilhan Omar’s her political career; in the same way that footballer Mo Salah probably didn’t set out to achieve Muslim representation in football but became known for his faith as a by-product.

Often, Muslims feel like the ‘wrong’ Muslims have been given a platform, or that Muslims have stepped onto the wrong platforms – be it music videos or Playboy magazine.

At the same time, why should I even draw a comparison between Stormzy and a Muslim fashion blogger? But I do draw that comparison, and that’s because, if someone builds a brand based on their Muslim faith, we feel entitled to critique them because we are tied to them by Islam, and not only have they built themselves from the support of the Muslim community but their platform has in part contributed to how Muslims are represented in popular culture. We know that, even if they’re totally different from us, the rest of the world sees them as representing us.

makanya ini sbnrnya representing yg mana gaksih?

where does that leave our faith and the status of Islam in today’s society? If being Muslim is about faith, the representation of Muslims should come with terms and conditions.

Subject to an ethno-religious penalty, we are never enough; never good enough for here and never good enough for there.

Muslim women have fought for comprehensive acceptance, yet the only way Western society is willing to engage is within a framework of cultural choices, and when it comes to the fashion world, we find ourselves in a place that expects us to leave behind certain elements of our religion and to comply with a reformed and acceptable version of it.

Representation in the beauty and fashion industries has done nothing for productive progression; rather it has fetishized the hijab and taken away from its true meaning.

The other danger in the fashion industry’s casual ‘acceptance’ of ‘modest fashion’ is that it breeds a false notion of tolerance, which in reality is far from existing. It seems that we have become naive in assuming that because there is some minor industry representation, suddenly Islam is being accepted in its entirety; for its veil, its burqa, its different interpretations in dress, its five pillars, its ideas, and as a system overall. We’ve forgotten that we’re just another number; a target market for sellers on the ‘modest’ high street.

hijab was and is supposed to be an expression of faith and Muslim identity – that’s where it began, and that is where it was supposed to end.

We were part of the quintessential migrant phenomenon: the search for a new life beyond a repressive post-colonial regime.

Don’t pay attention to your difference. Do what you want to do.

But what is normal? Normal for one person is not normal for another.

I am so bad then there is no point in me trying to pray, and if I can’t pray, then am I even Muslim? My imam made me realize that having a mental illness did not mean I was not a Muslim, and that it was a combination of spiritual and practical solutions that would help me to recover. As bad as things have been for mental health sufferers within the Muslim community, things are changing for the better.

After all, we are Muslims: we do believe in an all-powerful, all-healing God that can help us through our troubles.

I believed women should have: the right to an education, to equality, to having a choice and agency.

Every time someone asked me, ‘Are you a feminist?’ and I replied, ‘Yes, I am,’ they would instantly question me: ‘But how, aren’t you a Muslim?’ All the while, they were eyeing my hijab, probably imagining how it was thrust upon me each morning.

islam kadang diliat sm white people sbg agama yg patriarki, apalagi kl cm liat gmn kejamny laki2 di timteng. pdhl justru mereka yg melenceng dan islam sama sekali gak pernah ngerendahin perempuan

Islam clearly indicates that during Ramadan Muslim women who have their period are exempt from fasting because Islam recognizes the toll it takes on your body. Islam does not shame women or their periods. And it doesn’t ignore them either. I have the same cultural frustrations as every other woman fed up of hiding their period, but the moment I was overheard expressing these frustrations to another Muslim, someone else redirected the conversation to focus on Islam and the way it is perceived to oppress women, neatly reinforcing a narrative that is present in the West.

Empowerment comes in many forms and oppression shouldn’t be defined by what isn’t default to a White Feminist’s world view. Feminism as we know it needs to die so it can stop building walls, so it can develop and move forward to nurture a sisterhood of Intersectional Feminists. Feminism is no good to me if it doesn’t fight for every different type of woman.

I couldn’t be a proper Muslim, and I couldn’t be properly gay. I couldn’t even kill myself properly.

They will know that Islam gives a woman the right to choose her partner and to leave him with only the reason that she doesn’t like him. Where a man needs to state his desire to divorce his wife on three separate occasions, a woman need only make the request once.

Because women in such unregistered marriages cannot get a legal divorce, if the husband refuses to give an Islamic divorce, they are referred to as ‘chained women’. When a man refuses to give a talaq divorce, a wife can get a khula divorce – but this is often to her detriment.