In praise of the Hijab(veil)
Tribune staff reporter
(The Tribune is one of the leading newspapers of the USA)
http://chicagotribune.com
December 19, 2001
It is a lightning rod for both devotion and hostility. Banned in
government offices in secular Turkey, mandated in its most severe form
by the Taliban in Afghanistan, the Muslim head covering for women has been
used as a weapon in battles for and against modernity.
The head scarf is part of observing hijab, the Muslim practice of
modesty. The word comes from the Arabic for hiding or concealing, and, for
women, also encompasses covering the body completely with loose clothing. The
head covering itself usually drapes around the neck and covers the
bosom too.
Hijab is also a state of mind, its practitioners say, a public modesty
that requires both men and women to lower their gaze if confronted by
an inappropriate sight.
Women who wear the head scarf say the Koran requires it whenever they
are in public or around men who are not in their family.
These Chicago-area women choose to wear the head scarf, and here
explain why.
Khatib, 38, of the western suburbs, designed and maintains the Web site
for the Islamic Foundation of Villa Park. Khatib, who is of mixed
African-American and white parentage, was raised Muslim on the South
Side, attending a mosque where she sat behind Muhammad Ali’s family. A former
information technology network manager, she is now at home; she and her
husband, born in Syria, have three children. “I’ve been wearing the hijab three years now.
For me, it’s been very liberating. To tell you the truth, it allows you to be a person, and
not just a woman/thing to be looked at. People listen to you. I used to be
very heavy. ... When I lost the weight again, I noticed those looks and
things, where ... someone is talking to you, but they’re looking at
your chest. With the hijab, I notice it’s gone away.
“My son was born premature in 1992, at one pound three ounces, after I
had three miscarriages.. I was told he wouldn’t live, and if he did, there
was a 95 percent chance of cerebral palsy or being deaf, dumb and blind.
“One night I called [the hospital]. They said, ‘Oh, my goodness, both
his lungs have collapsed.’ He was 2 or 3 months old. I ran and took a
shower and prayed. Don’t think I’m crazy, but I got the warmest feeling of
peace, as if God hugged me. . . . I have constantly been very spiritual
because of that.
“He is healthy [now]; he has no problems. . . . I just really got
closer to God.”
Hussain, 20, lives in Darien, where she grew up with her parents, who
were born in India. She is a student at the University of Illinois at
Chicago.
“It’s sort of a personal thing. You don’t tell anyone you’re going to
do it; you just feel it. I started in my freshman year of high school,
when I was 14. I didn’t tell anyone I was going to do it; I just did it one
day. “I brought the hijab with me every day for a week. It was, like, every
day, ‘I’m going to do it, I’m going to do it.’ Then on Friday, I did it. I
put it on during school. I just stood by my locker. We had gone to get
our lunches. Everyone was gone. And I just did it.
“And then I went to lunch. And people—I don’t know, they were
confused.They didn’t really know what to say. My sister was completely shocked.
And my mom was really shocked, too. She was a little concerned that I
started too early, but it’s not her choice; it’s not anyone’s choice. It’s
something you have to do. “I can be who I am, and not worry about being judged. It’s sort of like
protection. And it’s a lot of responsibility. When you go out in
public, people will recognize, ‘This is a Muslim.’ Everything you do will be
noticed. “I don’t sit in a corner and be, ‘Oh, I cover my hair, I can’t
participate.’ I was captain of the varsity badminton team in high
school; we won the state championship. And I covered my hair. That, to me, is
really cool.
“Sometimes you feel like you missed out on [dressing up] a little bit.
My mom sometimes says she wants her daughters to dress up and whatnot. But
I’m happier that I’m covered now. . . . I’ve had good experiences.”
Rifai, 24, of the North Side, was born in Syria and lived there with
her family until a year ago. She began covering her head when she was 20.
She works as an office clerk at the Institute of Islamic Information
and Education, a North Side organization that disseminates information
about Islam throughout North America.
“I don’t come from a really religious family. Even my mother doesn’t
cover. “But the more I grew up, I thought of it more and more. The more you
know you have this contact with God, the more you get emotional with God,
you want to do something for God. I had this vision that I, 100 percent,
want to do it. I was the first to do it. Two years later, my sister did.
“It was a little bit hard; it changed some things in my lifestyle.
We’re an open family. We go to clubs, we have dinners where you dance, we go
to swimming pools. I don’t go anymore to clubs. I don’t swim anymore. But
it didn’t change my relationships with people around me.
“My father was so happy. But my mother—it’s not her way or lifestyle.
She wanted me to take it off, especially in summer. Every weekend or every
three or four days, we would go somewhere to eat and have parties. Even
our wedding parties were mixed; we never had the wedding party where
the men are one place and the women another. She wanted me to have all
these things.
“But when you think of it deeply and truly, you think that your life
would be with your God more than your life on earth.”
Ramadan, 26, of Oak Park, grew up in Florida. Her parents are Egyptian;
her mother designs women’s dressy clothing, American style, and until
recently owned a tony dress shop in Florida. Ramadan is married and has
two children, 19 months and 2 months.
“When I was growing up, I was not really the best Muslim; I was a
little bit more involved with my friends and going out. But when I got to
college, I started to read more in the Koran, and started to learn more
about my religion and why it was a privilege to be a Muslim.
“I went to an Islamic convention in Atlanta. I was sitting in a
seminar, and what one of the scholars said hit me: ‘We’re not going to live
forever.’ On the car ride home I announced to my family that I was
going to wear the hijab.
“It was a little scary. Everyone [at Jacksonville University] knew me;
it was a very small campus. A lot of my friends had no idea what it meant.
I got asked whether I was in a cult. ... One of my professors asked me if
I was ill. “I used to work at the mall, at a clothing store. I had a wardrobe full
of Ann Taylor. I still wear nice clothes under loose outer clothes, the
gilbab [a loose full-length coat]. But I don’t really miss it. In fact,
every time I put [the hijab] on, I’m in a way aware of what a great
blessing it is to wear it. You just feel liberated. You feel like, ‘Why
didn’t I do this a long time ago? Why did I spend all those hours in
front of a mirror when it’s really not important?’
“It is a physical reminder to myself that what you do is for the sake
of God and Islam. It reminds you to pray on time; it reminds you to be kind
to everybody. “It does get to be hot in the heat of summer. But as a Muslim, you know
that everything you do for the sake of Allah, you get rewards for it.
The more good you do in your life, the more chance you’ll have of being in
heaven. “I don’t need men to tell me I’m pretty; I don’t need that validation.
I want to look nice for my husband, and that, for me, is more important
than a million people telling me I’m beautiful.”
Ali, 62, is secretary and board member of the Institute of Islamic
Information and Education; her husband is the institute’s managing
director. She grew up Protestant in Iowa, met her husband in graduate
school and converted to Islam in her early 30s.
“I’ve been wearing it [the head scarf] for 30 years. I’ve grown so
accustomed to wearing it; when I don’t wear it and I go outside, I feel
naked.
“I came into it very gradually. After I went to Islam, I didn’t change
the kind of clothing I was wearing at all. Then gradually, the dresses were
longer-sleeved; the neckline went up; I put pants on under skirts.
After a time, I started putting a scarf on. I think for an individual, it takes
some acceptance of yourself, and courage to put it on and walk outside.
“It felt strange in the beginning. It still feels hot. ... I forced
myself to get used to it. For a while, everyone would ask me, ‘Why are you
wearing that on your head?’ Then I discovered it gave me an opportunity
to talk about Islam.
“Wearing it makes me feel like when people look at me, they’re looking
at me not for what my body looks like, but more for what I do and what I
contribute.”
Hassaballa, 20, of Villa Park, the daughter of Egyptian parents, is in
her last year studying elementary education at the University of Illinois
at Chicago. She was married in June.
“I grew up in Schaumburg. When I was 11, I went and lived overseas in
Korea; my dad had business over there. So I started to put the hijab
on when I was 11, because I knew I was starting a new life over there. For
a lot of girls, it’s very difficult. They put it on in the middle of the
school year. All of a sudden, you’ll lose friends, and you’ll gain some
friends. “It was a given. ... Once you get your period, you have to decide when
to put your scarf on.
“I do it because that’s what God has ordained. . . . I also wear it as
a form of modesty. ... And it protects us from sexual harassment. I saw a
woman wearing a short skirt, and I saw these men just looking at her,
talking and smiling, and I’m like, ‘They don’t even respect women.’ I’m
thankful that in my religion, women are respected.
“It really isn’t uncomfortable [to wear the head scarf]. In olden
times, people used to have umbrellas in the sun. I kind of look at it like
that.”
Ahmed, 25, of Villa Park, was born in India. She has been in this
country two years, and is a market research analyst.
“According to Islam, a woman is a very precious gem. If you consider a
diamond or a very precious gem, you wouldn’t just keep it outside to be
touched and seen by anybody and everybody. It is a very precious thing.
“A husband, when he comes home, when he finds a thing that is hidden
from society, he finds it is more attractive. A husband sees his wife and
says, ‘Oh, God has given this beautiful person to me.’ He finds satisfaction.
And if there is satisfaction with the husband, the family is secure.
And once the family is secure, the society is secure; and once the society
is secure, the whole nation is secure.
“Men are also not supposed to reveal themselves in public. They are
supposed to lower their gaze if they see something they are not
supposed to see.
“There are girls who think, ‘Oh, we won’t be so comfortable [wearing
the hijab] because we are working with non-Muslims.’ They don’t tie it
around
their heads; they don’t really bring it in front of their bosoms.
“That is not enough. Hijab means from head to toe you are covered, but
your face, hands and feet could be open. And ... it should be loose;
the shape of your body should not be revealed. That is the true veil. And
if you have all the women covering their bosoms, then women won’t run in
the race of going for those silicone implants.”
El-Hrisse, 21, of Cicero, is general secretary of the Islamic
Association for Palestine, in Palos Hills. A graduate of Dominican University who
majored in political science and criminology, she lives in Cicero. She
was born in the United Arab Emirates.
“We’re saying, ‘Take us for who we are, as people, as humans.’ One day,
I’m going to grow older; my skin is going to be all wrinkly; I’m not
going to be as attractive as someone in her 20s. Does that mean people should
start treating me differently? That I’m not worth anything?
“Funny, I never see anybody who is half-naked and say, ‘Oh, she’s
oppressed.’ But I think she is oppressed. There is so much pressure on
women to look good. We should have a contest and see how many women are
willing to go out without makeup. And look at all these teenage girls
in school saying, ‘Oh, my gosh, I have a pimple.’
“I rebel against that. I say, ‘I’m going to be whoever I’m going to be.
God made me this way. If you like it, you like it. Otherwise, too bad.’
That’s the freedom for me; it’s freedom to choose. I don’t want my
society to pressure me.
“People think the scarf is the image of oppression. But it’s an image
of liberation.”
The U.S. government appears to be investigating the relationship of the
IAP, where El-Hrisse has worked for two months, with Islamic terrorist
groups. The IAP, which promotes the Palestinian cause in Israel,
denies any such links.
A glossary of garments
Hijab: From the Arab word meaning “to hide or conceal,” hijab is the
practice of women covering their heads, and often their bodies with
loose
clothing, when out in public. Hijab also commonly refers to the head
scarf
itself.
Niqaab: A face veil that leaves only the eyes visible.
Gilbab: An ankle-length coat worn in public, covering any style of
clothing beneath it, worn in Jordan, Lebanon and by Palestinians.
Abaya: A full-length black silk dress worn in Saudi Arabia, often with
a matching head scarf.
Chador: A head-to-toe cloak, which exposes the face, worn in Iran.
Burqa: The head-to-toe covering with a mesh opening for the eyes that
was mandated by the Taliban, and is worn by some in the Persian Gulf and by
Bedouin women in Egypt.
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