My Hijab is My Own

I climbed up and down this mountain in my long pink hijab. I totally didn’t blend in with my green, forested surroundings. But I was an excellent climber, I hardly stumbled even when the path was more of a twisting of roots and gaps between bushes; I was firm on my feet and confident. I was on that mountain because I was Muslim, I was there with other Muslims. Even though I wasn’t dressed for the occasion, I felt right at home with my people. They weren’t just Muslims, they were other Muslims with unique and roundabout stories that led them on a path; from rocky beginnings to a place of real inner faith. Muslims like me. Who don’t fit into the usual mould of born-and-raised Muslims. But we reached this sublime view atop the northernmost part of New Zealand, we reached the sky and the ocean simultaneously. An annihilation of the self among hues of blue. And my bright pink hijab.

Ever since I began wearing the hijab, two years ago, people have made assumptions about me. I chose to follow the Islamic code for women’s dress – which includes covering the hair, the part of my modesty that stands out most in the western world – a decision that came from a place of love and devotion to my faith. But I keep being spoken over and spoken for. Wearing the hijab has changed my life in so many ways, not least in how I interact with others. To take charge of the narrative around my hijab, to speak for myself, I want to share these encounters, the beautiful and the infuriating, in which the hijab was central.

When I recently visited New Zealand, I stayed with a group of Muslims who I was able to relate with deeply. We spent time together in prayer – and atop mountains – and often in conversation. One woman there complimented my hijab before I even knew her name. She admired my decision to wear it, at a young age; and she liked the way I styled it. “MashaAllah,” she said; God has willed it.

On my first day wearing the hijab, in my last year of high school, two girls said the same thing to me, beaming, pink-cheeked. “MashaAllah.” They were genuinely proud of me, though we hardly spoke before. I was connected with my fellow Muslims by this headscarf, as it symbolises so much more than physical modesty. When I smile at other hijabis in passing on the street, we know that we both pray to the same God, we are unified by a trove of shared values and the same singular goal in life. In the Muslim world, the hijab is a wonderful and significant achievement.

“I love how it’s such a concrete form of our identity that it lets us form community almost anywhere – seeing another girl in a hijab means you’re automatically friends.” - a sister, anonymous

I spoke with a handful of Muslim women who provided a sentence each on their love for the hijab; our testimonies share so many themes in common; from sisterhood, to protection, to connection with God. I want to articulate the community that is lovingly brought to the surface by the hijab. Once, I walked into my local mosque, and said “salaam alaikum” to a woman who was seated nearby. When she returned the greeting, her daughter asked her, “do you know her?”
We had never met. The woman said; “she’s my sister.”
Equally, I want to shed light on the experiences I’ve had with the hijab which were hurtful. The hijab lights a warmth inside me, as though a thousand flowers could open their petals around my head and bask in its sunshine. The hijab comforts my soul. But externally, a cold tries to creep in, it twists the fabric around my neck. This outside threat is the chill of those people who try to put me down; who do not understand Islam, and do not want to.

“The hijab is an adornment commanded by my Creator and I wear it as a submission to Him alone.” - a sister, anonymous

At airports, one’s identity is laid bare under the unforgiving, artificial light of border security. These in-between places trap you, pull you in two directions, in a harsh attempt at intimidation. Stories are all too familiar of security checks that target Arabs and Muslims too often for it to be coincidence. I haven’t been selected for a security check – with the exception of the Israeli customs, but that is a story for later – but in Middle Eastern countries, I have had weird looks and questions at the airport. Funnily enough, it was Arabs who didn’t understand why an Australian might wear the hijab.

“Why do you wear it?” Said the man behind the counter when I arrived in Lebanon.
“Because I’m a Muslim,” was my simple and obvious response. But clearly my whiteness is confusing to those who have never distinguished between religion and culture, never seen faith as capable of being a personal choice for everyone rather than societal norms for their particular country.

“Where are you from?” Asked the security guard in Jordan, holding my Australian passport and peering at my hijab. He had a distrusting glint in his eye. “Are you Muslim?”
Yes, I am Muslim. The Tullamarine airport here in Melbourne has not had such problems with me, but it is Arabs who have been suspicious of my unexpected mix of identities. It’s understandable, when you consider the way white people have treated them; perhaps they were analysing me from a political lens, as so often happens with the hijab.

My own family members have asked me what political statement I’m trying to make by wearing a scarf on my head. It is impossible for a Muslim woman to don the hijab in western countries and not have her decision interpreted through layers of politics, and tensions, and media biases.
“How does she justify what’s happening in Iran?”
I don’t, actually… I don’t justify the actions of the Iranian government; nor am I their spokesperson, simply for being a modest Muslim. My father’s colleague asked him this question about me around the time of the Mahsa Amini protests, after she saw him post a photo of me on my birthday. Even on my birthday my existence is political. These are the barriers to the path up the mountain; the fallen branches, and the loose stones that almost make you lose your balance. Should a non-Muslim woman in Australia have to justify the acts of government officials in France who ban Muslim girls from wearing the hijab at school? This is how absurd their demands sound. There’s a certain brand of white feminism that holds no space for women like me; for women who choose a nonsecular lifestyle, who hold love for faith and modesty. Women who previously saw me as an equal looked down at me with pity once I put on the hijab. There is no way, in their eyes, that I could have retained my autonomy, my freedom, and my intellect.
They do not realise their own misogyny when they claim Muslim women to be brainwashed.

What was it that Piers Morgan said on his television show? Women become Muslim “because they want to be oppressed!”

Women become Muslim, women put on the hijab, because we have rational minds that seek wisdom as well as hearts compelled towards spiritual truth. The path upward can be narrow, but we move forward, we move past those who hinder us, and it grows wide again.

“Wearing a hijab allows me to have a sense [of] connection to Allah, that whatever I do is to only please my Creator and not His creations.” - a sister, anonymous

A teacher in high school took me aside when I started coming to class wearing the hijab. “Is everything alright?” She asked me, genuinely concerned. “You’ve been quiet.” She perceived some kind of meekness, a suppression of my voice that did not exist, for really, nothing had changed but my physical appearance. She glared at my father when she met him, assuming he forced the cloth upon me, because her feminism couldn’t bear to consider that my decision had nothing to do with him.

“As long as an oppressive man didn’t force you to wear it,” declared another woman to me – a woman who knew me well, knew the men in my life, and how gentle and good they are. But that ever-present, creeping suspicion that I must have my hands tied clearly overshadowed her memory of the character of those men. This belief that I am secretly trapped in swaths of cotton, miserable and unable to defend myself – it is insulting. A colonial product and an insult to my personality.

But both in those airports – Lebanon, Jordan – and before these women, I could keep my head up and answer their questions. Because my hijab has nothing to do with their politics or their assumptions. My hijab is my own, and my hijab is my joy. I stepped through customs and travelled the world, with chiffon crowning my head and faith crowning my heart, for I chose Islam for myself, and no one can take it away from me.

“It relieves me from worrying about the way my body looks and what people may think.” - a sister, anonymous

Wearing the hijab, outside attention is diverted away from my physique, and I am freed from the societal obsession surrounding women’s bodies. I’ve been among groups of non-Muslim women who were approached by men, and I was not looked at once; I felt protected from an unwanted and objectifying gaze. The hijab helped me to accept and love my body for how it is, because it is no longer for all eyes to see, but only for myself and for those I trust. While I may receive judgements based on politics, or religion, the attention is on the scarf that frames my face – not on the shape or size of my body. I decided to bring my faith forward as the central part of how I present myself; and that is what I am seen for. For my mind, my religious choices, which are so close to my heart, and not for the bodily form which I do not allow to define me. When you look at me, you must look into my eyes, for that is what I choose to let you see.

“When I do wear it I feel protected, both physically and spiritually. The thought that the lustful ideas that a man usually might have when he sees me is lowered/mitigated because of the hijab really comforts me.”- a sister, anonymous

Unfortunately, in some circumstances the hijab has not been able to guard me. Because of my Muslim attire, I was taken away from my parents when I tried to enter Palestine, and my passport was taken from me. I was trapped with nothing to lean on; I was a deer in the headlights, as their security glared at me with enough disgust to set my hijab ablaze. I was burning but I was so meek. I never had felt so afraid as when they took me into a room for questioning – a room without windows – and asked if I had sharp objects on me, that I might “use for self defence.” But they didn’t hurt me, no, they asked me questions about my Muslim faith and my relations to Palestinians, and the sheikhs I listen to, and my intentions for visiting. They didn’t hurt me, but I am so lucky. It has not been the same for too many others.

“Just wear a hat next time,” someone said to me when I recounted my experiences at the hands of the Israeli customs. But my hijab should not be to blame; it is their bias, and their hate, and their vicious paranoia that the world will decide we want justice. I will not hide who I am. I will walk through customs and see the bejewelled skies of Jerusalem, and touch my head to the ground beneath the Dome of the Rock. And so I did: I prayed in Palestine, wearing my hijab, with other Muslim women all around me, smiling. When I reached the golden dome, and traced my eyes along the blue mosaics, it was as if I had climbed a mountain and could finally see the sunshine sparkling across the oceans below. We should not have to be put in danger because of our choice to wear the hijab. And we should not have to compensate for the prejudices of others. We know of these risks, but we choose the hijab anyway; it is a choice of love, of bravery, it comes from my heart and the hearts of my sisters.

“One thing that I love about the hijab is that it reminds me of my responsibilities as a Muslim. I feel protected and feel like myself the most when I’m wearing the hijab. It’s taught me courage and has liberated me from the fear of judgement by others.” - a sister, anonymous

I spoke about my bright hijab and my journey up a mountain in northern New Zealand, because for me, that memory represents so much. My hijab is a journey, and I have learned not to mind when it makes me stand out like pink against blue. Navigating the world as a Muslim woman is a trek, it has steep slopes and footfalls and I have to keep my focus to stay upright on the path. But if I’m there for the right reasons, there with the right people, everything becomes beautiful. I reached the highest point and I saw the magnificent view; and my hijab was part of the landscape. My hijab is right where it’s meant to be, whether among those trees, or in an airport, or at school, or in Palestine.

“As long as my soul stays in my body,
I am a slave of the Qur’an and the dust on the path of Muhammad, the Chosen One.
If someone interprets my words in any other way,
That person I deplore, and I deplore his words.”

- Jalal ud-Din Rumi