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

by Mariam Khan

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 are by nature uncomfortable. They are meant to discombobulate. How else would the status quo be overthrown? 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.

It made me realize that the choice to live on one’s own terms was not forbidden in my religion. It gave me the choice to reject a patriarchal culture that controlled women’s movements, and especially the ones that boxed them into relationships that were unhappy or violent.

I made a terrible habit of undermining my own achievements. Discounting praise became second nature. I think it had something to do with the very British practice of being self-deprecating.

Being self-deprecating came naturally to many of them and I soon picked up on the habit. You see, in my twenties and thirties, I always felt that to accept praise of any kind was to show myself up to be an awful, boastful person.

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

It was that it seemed as though representation within a secular system with the primary purpose to make money for large companies had been held up as the solution to racism, to othering and to ignorance.

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

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.

such representation didn’t allow for authenticity, and had only paved the way to making a more palatable version of Muslims.

brands wanted Muslims as an aesthetic, nothing more and nothing less.

What is the point of being represented if it is only our image that is invited to the table? Is a Muslim woman being in a fashion campaign the end in itself? Is the hope that, in making Muslim women more visible, it will open doors for others?

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.

The fact that someone who is not Muslim feels that they can use Muslim identity as a political means to combat accusations of Islamophobia is highly problematic. And let’s not forget, stripping the faith out of Muslim identity is also why brands feel that they can muscle in and represent Muslims, as well as have an influence on what Muslim identity should look like.

The diversity amongst Muslims makes it increasingly difficult to sing from the same hymn sheet on where and why we should be represented. To me, being Muslim is steeped in my faith and practice of Islam; to someone else it may be found in their cultural background, or it may be a political statement, or just something that comes to light twice a year at the Eid celebrations. In order for our faith to stay intact in the public and private spheres, we must have guidelines on representation, but where do they come from?

Of course we can say our guidelines should come from Islam, the Quran, the sunnah and scholars, but with such diversity of faith and practice, who gets to draw up the blueprint? And does that blueprint mean that we – in fact – do ...

If being Muslim is about faith, the representation of Muslims should come with terms and conditions.

As we have fought vehemently not to be regarded as a homogeneous group or monolith, we have forgotten that there is still a standard that we need to live up to.

It strikes me as ironic that while it is Islamic clothing, Islamic culture, and Islamic ideals that are supposedly being represented, the models on those catwalks are not Muslim, the designers are not Muslim, and even the audience present is not Muslim. Similarly, basic Islamic ethics are going ignored; brands continue to exploit individuals working in sweatshops around the world, paying them abhorrent amounts for long and unjustifiable working hours; up-and-coming Muslim designers are not empowered or raised up, nor are they employed to design ‘Muslim-friendly’ attire (because let’s face it, modest doesn’t automatically mean Muslim and vice versa). So no, I don’t take kindly to my religion and ideology being co-opted and appropriated as a money-making scheme. I do not take kindly to aspects of my religion suddenly being acceptable, and not only tolerated but celebrated, only when a tall, white model is dressed in my ethno-religious attire. I do not take kindly to being told that only when Western fashion deems it acceptable and worthwhile, will I be allowed to showcase and wear my religion proudly on my head and back. Islam has been made into a brand, and I am no part of this brand.

We’ve forgotten that the hijab is not supposed to be a fashion statement or an expression of choice and freedoms to appease a secular-liberal audience; 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.

But as ‘modernity’ envelopes us, we find ourselves struggling to say proudly, ‘I wear hijab for me and my Lord, not for you, not for him, not for her, not for them, but for me and my Lord alone.’

I implore you to have confidence and stand tall for what you believe in. You are not what the media tells you to be. You do not have to watch your religion become racialized. You do not need to contribute to the dichotomy. You do not need to pander to the beauty and fashion industries. You do not need to doubt your identity or your origins. You are more, and you will always be more. Remember that we are only travellers, just passing through; but the mark we make will be written into history forever. So here’s to the end. I look forward to joining hands with you in the final abode when we get the only representation worth seeking, in the eyes of the All-Seer, the Most Merciful.

Islam began as something strange, and it shall return to being something strange, so give glad tidings to the strangers.—Saheeh Muslim hadith, related by at-Tirmidhi, Ibn Majah and Ahmad, 145

Part of the journey, for me, is owning these inconsistencies in myself and my stories – we cannot change our past perspectives, but we can certainly reflect on them, own them, and commit to growing from them. We must cultivate compassion for our past selves, trusting that we did the best we could at the time, while simultaneously striving to do better.

I was struck by the overwhelming prevalence of one single idea: that you could not be Muslim and depressed, because a true Muslim would be content with what God had planned for them.

It is easier to ascribe mental health issues to black magic or the supernatural rather than look at entrenched problems. The solution? Extra prayers or more fasting.

A frequent sentiment we hear in regard to mental health issues from many in the Muslim community is that someone is experiencing depression, or suicidal thoughts, because their faith is low. They are not praying enough, or they are being ungrateful and not thinking about how lucky they are compared to other people around the world – the ‘well, you cannot be sad because other people have it worse’ argument. Not only are these arguments dangerous, but they are also invalid in Islam. There is a hadith about someone who asked the Prophet (pbuh) whether he should leave his camel untied and trust in Allah that it would not be stolen or run away, or if he should tie his camel (Sunan at-Tirmidhi). The Prophet (pbuh) replied that he should tie his camel and trust in Allah. So, Islam encourages us to take both practical and spiritual approaches to problems.

I’ve no doubt that we need more imams like mine; imams who are ready to explain that it is not about choosing either a medical solution or a purely spiritual one, but about integrating the two.

Mainstream feminism suggests that my choices and values can’t exist within its framework – if I make the decision to dress for my faith then I must be oppressed or submissive.

I am a woman, but I am also a Muslim and a person of colour, and these identities cannot be separated. I can’t set aside being a woman of colour when it comes to being a feminist and I can’t set aside being a Muslim woman when it comes to being a feminist. More to the point, I will not set it aside.

As they like to say: you can fool yourself but you can’t fool God.

The willingness of white racists to use our community’s problems as ammunition makes it incredibly hard to criticize it without feeling like a traitor.

once I understood that most of their actions result from ignorance and fragile masculinity it became easier to dismiss them. I no longer feel the desire to educate them, but rather to humiliate them.

There is a difference between guilt and shame. Guilt comes from recognizing one’s own mistake. Shame is heaped upon us by others. And there is a place for shame in society. It should be heaped upon the patriarchal cultures that subjugate women. It should be felt by the women who allow it to continue, both through their silence and their actions. It should be placed upon the men who stand by and allow their mothers, their sisters, their wives and their aunts to oppress women in the name of Islam, men who benefit from their privilege. And it also belongs to the men who abandon us to its effects, simply because they are too afraid to speak up.

Islam gave women a voice; cultural interpretation took it away.

The unpleasant truth is that unofficial marriages such as these can lead to human rights abuses – and it is usually women and children who are left vulnerable.

With a legal marriage, all of these women would have been protected under English and international law.

Until we require marriage to be legally enforceable, as it is in all Muslim countries, we will be allowing widespread misery because without an official piece of paper, there is nothing legally binding in place to protect you.

But most importantly, when she is asked who she is, I’d like for her to respond with her name, her likes and her dislikes, I’d like for her to respond with the things that make her heart warm and the dreams she has for her future. And maybe, just maybe, when our existence becomes the norm and not just a trend or a difference, we can sit comfortably in the intersection of that Venn diagram that I call ‘home’.

The message, once again, is clear: Muslims are considered guilty of criminal potential without demonstrating any criminal intent. The act of expressing oppositional political opinions or behaving in an (ill-defined) suspicious way is enough to make us guilty of (potential) crimes. Our very existence, let alone our actions and our opinions, are then politicized by the state and we are rendered suspect and silenced the moment we protest.