Forget fashion, this is freedom
(Filed: 31/12/2003)

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/main.jhtml?xml=/news/2003/12/31/wscarf131.xml

The Muslim veil has become a hot political issue in
France - but Stella White cannot see what the fuss is
about. A Catholic from Kent, she explains the joys of
the complete cover-up

To liberated Westerners, the hijab, or veil, is a
stain on womankind. It symbolises the crushing of the
female spirit and is the mark of slavery, transforming
a woman into a passive lump who is only allowed out of
the house to buy her husband's dinner.

When faced with this piece-of-cloth-on-legs, English
women will often meet the eyes peeking out of the
hijab with an expression of pity and sadness. For
them, the veil represents a living death. This might
also be the feeling of the French authorities, who
have decided to ban the hijab in schools, believing
that no young girl should have to carry the burden of
repression on her tender head.

Yet for many, including myself, the veil is not an
instrument of coercion, but a means of liberation.
Personally, I have never felt so free as I do when I
am wearing it.

Before you presume that I am regurgitating propaganda
from a culture that has brainwashed me, I should point
out that I am a Catholic, not a Muslim. I am not from
the mysterious East, but am a 32-year-old woman from
boring Kent. Nor am I a prude: my life has included
spells as an exotic dancer, kissogram and glamour
model. Three of my best friends are strippers. I have
had relationships with Muslim men, but none of them
ever demanded I wear the hijab; in fact, they found my
behaviour slightly embarrassing. There is nobody in my
past that has coerced me to wear a veil. I do so
simply because I love it.

I relish the privacy; the barrier that the hijab
creates between myself and the harsh, frenetic world,
especially in London. I find a great peace behind the
veil: I don't feel invaded by nosy passers-by; the
traffic, noise and crowds seem less overwhelming. I
can retreat into my own safe world even as I walk and,
on a practical level, I feel completely secure from
unwanted advances.

The hijab is also a financial security system. Like
most pedestrians in London, I can't afford to give
money to every homeless person I see, but feel
stressed and guilty when I walk past them. In my
hijab, my conscience can hide. I also feel fairly safe
from muggers. Thieves glance at me and probably think,
"illegal immigrant; not worth the effort", presuming
that my big carrier bags contain only weird, knobbly
vegetables for my 16 children.

In my hijab, shopping is also cheaper. A small
minority of Muslim traders operate a two-tier pricing
system with the "one of us" price being considerably
lower than the price for Westerners. If I want a
bargain, I make sure I am "hijabbed-up".

The most amazing effect of wearing the veil is that
you automatically seem to become a member of the
Muslim community and are accorded all of the
privileges and dignity of a Muslim woman. When I walk
into a Muslim shop, a man will say to me, gently,
"Salaam aleikum [peace be upon you]. How can I help
you, madam?" On the bus, Muslim men from Africa, the
Middle East or the Far East will move aside for me and
say, "After you, sister."

The offices, bars and clubs of London are full of
English girls in short skirts and strappy sandals,
many of them looking for love. Women who wear the
hijab, often despised by the West, actually feel sorry
for these Western women who have to harm themselves
with crippling high heels, skin-choking make-up and
obsessive dieting in order to find a man.

My Iranian friend Mona is a successful businesswoman
who goes out every day looking impeccable, with
painted nails, stilettos, sharp suits and perfect
make-up. "It was just so much easier when I was in
Iran," she says. "You'd get up at nine, throw on your
big black hooded dress and jump in the car. Now, I
have to spend two or three hours getting done up every
morning."

Too often, the hijab is dismissed as the preserve of
Muslim fundamentalists. But in the Christian
tradition, St Paul ordered women to cover their heads
and, until the Sixties, no woman would be seen in an
English church without a hat and gloves. Many English
women wore hats out in the street or headscarves tied
under their chin. Hindu and Sikh women are still
expected to cover their heads loosely for their
honour, or izzat, and Orthodox Jewish women have
traditionally worn wigs over their real hair to
conceal it from men who are not their husbands. Yet,
among all these cultural groups, only Muslim women
seem to have been described as weak or oppressed on
account of their headgear.

Two of the most unlikely bedfellows are the woman who
wears a hijab and the militant feminist. When women in
the early Seventies began cropping their hair short,
and wearing dungarees and comfortable shoes, they were
rejecting the idea of suffering for fashion and were
refusing to take part in the desperate ritual to
attract spoilt, fussy males. Similarly, a woman in a
hijab can retain her identity without being a slave to
finicky Western notions of beauty.

A particularly sad article appeared in a popular
women's magazine last week, entitled: "How to hate
your body less." I showed it to my Arab friend Malika,
who shook her head and said: "In my culture, men are
so grateful when they marry a woman that they see her
as a gorgeous princess, whatever shape or size she
is."

Within the hijab, Muslim women know their power and
their value. One Muslim man told me: "My wife is like
a beautiful diamond. Would you leave a precious
diamond to get scratched or stolen in the street? No,
you would wrap it in velvet. And that is how the hijab
protects my wife, who is more precious to me than any
jewel."

Of course, if anybody tried to remove my veil or force
me to wear it, I would react violently. I am
privileged to live in a country in which I can wear
whatever I want to. Not all women are so lucky.
Personally, I have found in the hijab a kind of
guardian angel. My mother, on the other hand, claims
that I wear it because I can't be bothered to brush my
hair.


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