Massive Mumblings from Malaysia

Magazine Article about Headscarf
I need a real title--help!
 
The following is an article I wrote for Salt, a new online magazine.  It won't be published till the end of September, but I was anxious to share it with you all.  It's about the Islamic headscarf generally (differences between Egypt and Malaysia, new ideas about what it signifies, my own experience wearing it, an experiment about how people treat me when I'm wearing it, etc) and is based on conversations, observations and my own experiences. 
 
I'd love to hear your comments and also any headline suggestions!

 

Mariam was in the midst of an identity crisis when I first met her in Egypt two years ago. Her four sisters had all worn hijab, the Islamic headscarf, into their twenties. Thirty-something Mariam was the only one who hadn’t taken it off. On vacation, she went “topless” (her phrase for being unveiled) and even wore a bathing suit. Back at home though, it was headscarf as usual.

Egypt is known for being more liberal than its neighboring countries and visiting women often shed their black cloaks and scarves when they arrive on holiday. Between one-third and one-half of Egyptian women wear the scarf, with rural and older women traditionally being more likely to. Over the last decade, in countries around the world, there has been a resurgence in hijab, particularly on university campuses and with the elite. Contributing to this phenomenon is Amr Khaled, “il sheikh il modern.” Asef Bayat writes in Al-Ahram Weekly: “Khaled simultaneously embodies the hipness of popular [Egyptian] singer Amr Diab, the persuasion power of evangelist Billy Graham, and unsubtle therapy of Dr Phil, American popular talk-show host” (May 22-28, 2003 edition). Khaled focuses on everyday life and offers guidelines of behavior. Asserting that the integrity of society depends on the integrity of women, he has influenced women to put the scarf on.

The headscarf has been largely politicized. Governments in France and Turkey have prohibited hijab from public schools while Iran requires women to wear it. Egypt doesn’t remove choice by legislating dress, and yet Mariam struggled with the decision on a personal level. Now, working in a small English town, she’s stopped wearing the scarf altogether. Among her reasons was post-9/11 hostility (being spit at by a bum and pelted with rocks by teenagers). Mainly, though, it just didn’t feel right anymore: “I was still going clubbing and pubbing enough to feel that I was disrespecting the hijab, so I took it off. I have since vowed to become a ‘good girl’ first, then rethink hijab.”

I have known other Muslims that drink alcohol, but Mariam was the first veiled one. I believed the scarf indicated a certain level of piousness and found Mariam’s actions had been at odds with her appearance. Her recent decision that hijab should come after a lifestyle change would indicate that she thinks so, too. Arriving to Malaysia last October, it didn’t take long for me to realize that I would have to continue to reconsider my assumptions about the relationship between appearance, behavior and the headscarf.

Malaysia, famous among tourists for its white sand beaches and delicious cuisine, is 60% Muslim and Islam is the official state religion. Even before exiting the airport I knew that my encounter with Islam here would be different: I was surprised to find women in tight jeans and short sleeves wearing headscarves. This is certainly not true of all women, but a majority of young ones in the capital, Kuala Lumpur. This didn’t mesh with what I had seen in the Middle East, where clothes were long and loose, the scarf drawn tightly around the face; my first encounter with hijab shaped what I thought was the “proper” way to wear it. At a small town restaurant in central Malaysia, I met a woman who wasn’t wearing the headscarf; the next day, she was. The scarf seemed to be functioning as a fashion accessory, akin to a crucifix necklace.

My judgment came down hard: they were doing it wrong.

The scarf is supposed to be about modesty. Simply adding it to an otherwise sexy outfit seemed to be missing the point. Muslim friends I spoke with all echoed this sentiment. There are “good girls” who don’t wear the headscarf and “bad ones” that do. The term “good girl” seems to transcend cultural boundaries: one who is virtuous, pure, and virginal. The general consensus was that it was not possible to determine the character of a person based on her dress—a simple “don’t judge a book by its cover” lesson. It was the same thing I had learned from Mariam.

In two of Malaysia’s east coast states, legislation requires Muslim women to wear hijab at work and prohibits non-Muslims from wearing revealing clothes. The conservative Islamic party PAS previously ruled both states, until it lost one in March elections. The hijab requirement will likely be removed from the books there, but women will still be under societal and parental pressure to continue to cover, as they are throughout Malaysia.

So what does Islam say about the headscarf? The relevant verse in the Qur’an says, “Tell the believing women to lower their gaze and protect their private parts and not to show off their adornment except only that which is apparent and to draw their veils over their bosoms” (An-Nur: 31). Thus, the scarf is usually acknowledged to be a religious obligation. Usually.

According to Sisters in Islam, a Malaysian group advocating for women’s rights within the framework of Islam, Qur’anic interpretations have been left to the politically dominant—men—who have the power to declare all other readings heretical. In a press statement released by Sisters in Islam in March 2000, they insist “the Qur'an does not clearly impose any specific form of dress. The verses on dress and modesty in the Qur'an, examined within the socio-historical context of their revelation, extol moderation and self-restraint, shun wanton display and enjoin respect for women as a sign of God-consciousness.”

The attempt is not to rewrite their religion, but reclaim it. Men, they say, are neglecting their own Muslim duty of treating women with respect and decency. Indeed, the preceding Qur’anic verse tells men to “lower their gaze” as well. The focus on modesty and moral self-constraint has been shifted away from men and the burden placed on women. Familiarize yourself with some of the statements released by PAS leader Nik Aziz and you’d agree. One of his most infamous: that perfume and lipstick should be avoided, as they can arouse men who must then rape to satisfy their urges.

Traditionalists would dismiss Sisters in Islam as unIslamic on both a philosophical and a personal level, as most of the staff does not veil and some like to throw back a few beers. Re-examining how women fit into the equation is not sacrilegious, Sisters in Islam would argue, but necessary given the change in status and education of women since the Qur’an was revealed. Islam is, after all, supposed to be a religion for all people, places, and times.

This revisualization of the headscarf is not limited to non-veiled Muslim women. Layla, an Indian Malaysian, wears the scarf. Though her neck is sometimes slightly visible, she doesn’t consider that a problem. When she goes to the beach, she wears a t-shirt and capris—no scarf. She doesn’t veil when she has guests at home; only people she trusts would be visiting her there. She believes that what constitutes modesty varies between cultures and location and that it’s okay to adjust dress based on that standard. Just as you wouldn’t wear your clubbing outfit to the office, there is common sense about what is appropriate. More important than dress, however, is behavior. Not all “improperly” veiled women would use this rationalization—many are quite flirtatious and do not seem to be overly concerned with propriety. For some though, the apparent laxness is not a misunderstanding or dismissal of obligation, but an alternative, progressive interpretation.

My own personal experience has further shaped my understanding of hijab. In Egypt, I only had occasion to wear the headscarf when visiting a mosque. Day-to-day, my shoulders and knees stayed hidden from view, but it was unnecessary to veil. My reaction at seeing tour buses full of half-dressed vacationers varied from mere annoyance to anger at such cultural insensitivity. My greatest culture shock upon returning to the US was what people were wearing (or rather, not wearing), particularly teens. How could their parents let them out of the house like that?! I thought. Unwittingly, I had become prudish.

This phenomenon didn’t just strike me. Other American girls who spent some time in Egypt also feel it: a pang of guilt if we go out in something sexy. A hesitation, wondering if what we have on is somehow inappropriate or scandalous. And that is in America! This worry has faded over time, but occasionally I am seized by that little voice in the back of my mind.

Here in Malaysia, I am affiliated with the International Islamic University of Malaysia (IIUM) and wear the scarf while on campus. This is the first semester that non-Muslims are no longer required to wear the headscarf, though it is “strongly encouraged.”

My favorite scarves were originally purchased as a table runner and a sarong. Like Eastern Europeans, my preference is for colorful scarves (along with my complexion, this may be why I am mistaken for Bosnian, even by Bosnians). I spend a long time in front of the mirror to get the scarf to look right, fiddle with it constantly and am always aware of it.

I had anticipated that putting hijab on would make me act more shy and reserved, but have found that not to be true, though I do feel obligated to be less flirtatious. In the beginning, I would strip the scarf off as soon as the bus left campus, much to the surprise of everyone else, I imagine. I was self-conscious and worried that they thought I was a “bad Muslim” rather than a non-Muslim, so I’ve since learned to wait for the subway bathroom, out of the public eye.

The cultural and religious diversity in Malaysia means that there are locals wearing revealing clothes, which makes me less shy about showing shoulders and knees off campus. But when I ran into two of my IIUM friends at the mall wearing a tank top and short skirt, I was embarrassed. Seeing myself through their eyes, I felt more naked and worried that somehow I had disappointed them.

Hijab is supposed to solve the problem of sexual harassment and unwanted sexual advances, freeing a woman from male scrutiny and lust. Some Muslim women, particularly in the West on college campuses, choose to wear the scarf as a feminist act, a protest against judgments based on appearance and a rejection of a value system that debases women. In an article for Impact Magazine, Mary Walker, production coordinator for the BBC2 series “Living in Islam,” wrote that veiled women she met argued “‘it is not liberation where you say women should go naked.’ Just as to us the veil represents Muslim oppression, to them miniskirts and plunging necklines represent oppression. They said that men are cheating women in the West. They let us believe we're liberated, but enslave us to the male gaze.”

Dealing with the male gaze is a big part of being a white woman in a non-white country. The stare is of a different variety than that which we’re accustomed to in the US (where if you’re caught looking, you quickly divert your eyes and pretend you weren’t). No, this staring is blatant. Though the attention is not always sexual, frequently it is.

In Egypt, Western women are bombarded with comments from men on the street—even if not dressed provocatively. It becomes constant background chatter. Many women hate Egypt for this very reason. I, however, will admit that I liked the attention (not always, but in general). I was unaccustomed to declarations of my beauty and the compliments were an ego-boost. Of course, I doubted the sincerity of them, but it was nice nonetheless. I went abroad and had instantly become a babe. In Malaysia, the attention is a bit more muted and the novelty of it has diminished for me.

An article in the Malaysian June edition of Cleo, a popular women’s magazine, claims that men ogle because, as visual creatures, they can’t help it. Some men interviewed said that women should be happy about it and think it a compliment. I suppose that depends on who is doing the looking (if he’s attractive, it’s more flattering) and what type of look it is (curiosity, friendliness, admiration, or a dirty leer).

The focus of my hijab-wearing experience had been mostly internal and limited to campus during my first seven months here. Taking the test to the streets and mall, I shifted my focus to how I was perceived and treated. One Sunday, I set out in a long sleeved shirt, loose skirt and headscarf that I deemed “proper.” I was operating under the assumption that women wearing the scarf received more respect from men—that is to say, were harassed less.

After the first hour and a half, I thought my suspicion that veiled women were not treated as sex objects was correct, merely detecting looks of curiosity. I ended up checking myself out more than men did—catching a glimpse of covered head in a store mirror or window reflection continues to give me pause. I felt a certain sense of fellowship with other non-Malay veiled women and we exchanged smiles. Otherwise, I felt fairly invisible, like a child behind a pair of sunglasses. But my judgment was premature.

On the street, a man I passed said hello and asked where I was going (being fresh, not friendly). I didn’t look back or break stride, but was taken aback. The veil had not made me immune to harassment! I walked a familiar path (a known gauntlet) from an area with nightclubs and shopping malls, past a large bus station and pedestrian mall where street performers convene, to Little India: a few more words, a few more eyes, and even a kissy noise.

Being foreign makes it more difficult to tease out the results—whether my otherness outweighed any prohibitive effect a headscarf would normally have. Layla and veiled others attributed my experience to the fact that I’m a foreigner and said it happens to them only very rarely—less than once a week. Those that remain undeterred by hijab are “hardcore jerks.”

“You know what they say,” Layla joked, “anything in a skirt…or scarf.”