This World Hijab Day, being a visibly Muslim woman comes with new risks.
By Furvah Shah, Cosmopolitan UK’s junior entertainment and lifestyle writer

“Why do you wear the hijab?” is a question I’m often asked. Whether it’s by well-intentioned and genuinely curious people, those who think I’m doing a disservice to feminism, men who think I would look better without it or others with pure vitriol towards women like me. Well, it’s been 10 years since I began wearing the hijab and here is why I do.

I was around 14-years-old, growing up in a small town in the West Midlands and had recently begun practicing my faith when I first put it on. I was born and raised Muslim, but found a new connection to my faith during the Islamic month of Ramadan, when Muslims fast from sunrise until sunset as a way to gain a better consciousness of God. It was the change I needed in my life and wearing the hijab felt like a way to affirm that.

By wearing the hijab, I’m constantly reminded to practice my faith and be the best version of myself due to being a visual representation of my religion. Whether that means going out of my way to help someone in need, giving plentifully in charity or keeping my mouth shut when people walk slowly in front of me during rush hour in London.

It also provides me with an instant sisterhood and sense of solidarity with other visibly Muslim women (there’s nothing quite like the friendships made in prayer rooms and swapping modest fashion tips) and invites people to judge me based on my character, over my hair or body. Overall, Muslim women wear the hijab for a plethora of reasons and it can be a difficult choice, which I’ve found now to be the case now more than ever.

Sometimes, it’s the little things. I’ve noticed people making judgements about me or appear surprised when I’m articulate, funny or opinionated as they don’t expect Muslim women to be any of those things, as if there is a covering over our mouths rather than our heads (side note, for the women I know who do wear full face veils such as the niqab, they’re some of the most interesting people I’ve ever met.)

At worst, it’s the constant discrimination and feeling at risk. For the most part, I’ve been lucky apart from ignorant comments, some shouting and intense stares. Recently, though, I witnessed an older, hijab-wearing woman being called a terrorist and a member of Hamas on a busy London bus. Many of my friends have had similar or worse experiences, such as having their hijabs pulled off and being threatened with physical violence.

Tell MAMA, a charity which records anti-Muslim incidents in the UK, has reported a 600 per cent increase in Islamophobic incidents since Hamas’ attacks in Israel on 7th October, which makes wearing the hijab tougher than ever. Journalist Nadeine Asbali articulates such feelings brilliantly in her book, ‘Veiled Threat’. “[Our] existence is built on the precarious grounds of policy and stereotype, penned in between the twin oppressions of misogyny and Islamophobia,” she writes.

“Our voices drowned out by the endless din of those seeking to save us and others condemning our covered bodies as foreign, menacing, un-British,” Nadine continues. It can be exhausting and dehumanizing to constantly have to prove your humanity to those who simply do not wish to see it, based on stereotypes and misjudgments incited by parts of the media, exclusionary feminist discourses, outright racists and more.

So, despite this, why do I still choose to wear the hijab? Well, it’s become a core part of my identity. It’s a constant reminder for me to practice my faith without fear, better my character and it’s become a normal part of my daily routine. To take off my hijab would be to dilute who I am in hopes of appeasing those who refuse to accept me, either way.

On this World Hijab Day, an annual event founded in 2013, I feel a greater sense of purpose, belonging and empowerment as a visibly Muslim woman. I’m inspired by those around me who show strength in the face of discrimination, trailblazers increasing representation in their industries and the heartbreaking resilience of the women of Gaza. While it can be difficult, wearing the hijab has – and will always feel – like home to me.

Source: Cosmopolitan UK