Brian
asked me a few weeks ago if I’d guest blog about the niqab. I agreed, and then immediately
regretted it. It’s a huge topic, full of secret trapdoors and perilous
questions of cultural relativism and all kinds of things that could get me in
all kinds of trouble with my Western and Yemeni friends alike.
Still,
I’ve given my word, so here are my thoughts. Please, feel free to set me
straight.
But
first, because Western journalists are always messing this up, here’s a
definition of what we’re talking about:
The niqab refers to the black veil that a woman wears over her face,
obscuring her chest, neck, mouth, nose and – often enough – her eyes. (Niqabs
come with a thin cloth layer that women can wear flapped down over their eyes.)
The niqab is not to be confused with the hijab, which covers only the head and
hair. The balto, a.k.a., the abaya, is the long formless cloak; the burqa is
the head-to-toe cloak with mesh for the eyes, most often worn in Central Asia .
Conservative
Yemenis and (often male) Western journalists often refer to the niqab as “just
another item of clothing.” I’d like to go on the record to say that’s
completely absurd. It’s a lazy phrase that, while presumably an attempt at assuaging
cultural imperialism, completely misses the point. The niqab is not like a tie.
It’s not like a t-shirt. It’s not like high heels. It is a long black cloth
worn over the face. The very function of
the niqab is to obscure a person’s identity. It’s an invisibility cloak by
design. No other “item of clothing” does that.
Which
brings us to the function of the niqab. All the imams, sheikhs and conservative
politicians I’ve spoken to on the subject say the end goal of the niqab is
twofold: 1) to preserve a woman’s modesty, and 2) to protect her brothers’/father’s/husband’s
honor, which is assailed if their women’s modesty is compromised by, say, being
seen by someone outside her family. “If a man were to see a woman’s body and
face” – a woman’s lips, he said, are similar to her private parts – “the man
would be overcome with sexual yearning, which would endanger the woman,” an
imam from Sana’a told me last fall. Women in the West don’t wear niqab, which
is the reason we have so much rape, he told me. An Islamist member of
parliament, Sheikh Ali al-Werafi, likened
women to gems, and told me they must be protected from thiefs: “Wouldn’t you cover up your jewels?”
It
should be mentioned here that, contrary to popular belief, there is nothing
about the niqab in the Koran. Any mention of women’s dress in the Koran and the
accompanying hadiths stipulate only that a woman must dress modestly, according
to Ramzia Aleryani, the director of the Women’s Union
in Sana ,
and devout Muslim. Showing her face and hands is fully acceptable.
Most
Yemeni women, in my experience in Sanani kitchens, henna shops and salons, have
varying opinions on the Niqab Issue.
Some hate it. Others like it, as a public demonstration of their piety.
Most have never really thought about wearing or not-wearing it; it’s just what
their grandmothers wear, and what their mothers wear and what their friends
wear. In Yemen , both Sana’a
and the villages around Yemen , almost 90
percent of women wear niqab. Little girls dress up in elastic “training
niqabs”; teenage girls take wearing the niqab as a sign of being “grown-up.”
That
wasn’t always the case. Women from the former South Yemen didn’t wear
the niqab (when it was under British, Socialist, and later, Communist rule). In
fact, most women from the South didn’t even start wearing hijab until the ‘90s,
when South Yemen unified with the more
conservative North Yemen . As a result,
lots of Yemeni women who are in their 30s and 40s today grew up dressing in
Western-style clothing.
For
some, the transition to niqab has been difficult. I spoke to one woman who had
gone to a co-ed school in Aden, a port city in Yemen’s south, had male friends,
played on sports leagues and wore knee-length skirts (a scandal by today’s
standards). Now, she’s clothed in head-to-toe black cloth. She despises it, but
said it’s “not worth it” to buck the rules. “If you go out on the street
without a niqab, your life is miserable.
People will judge you, your sons, your brothers, your husband. It will
bring shame on everyone,” she said. “They will think you’re naughty.”
My
friend Faisa Hussein – one of the few Yemeni women with a
university education and a job – completely disagreed. She chooses to wear the
niqab and is annoyed by Westerners and Western politicians who look at it as a
symbol of oppression. “I wear [the niqab] because it makes me feel
free. When I wear it, I can talk and laugh and eat and smile, and no one looks
at me,” she said.
(And that, of course, brings up an interesting
point: Why does she not feel comfortable talking, laughing, eating and smiling
in public?)
At any rate, any discussion of the niqab is, of
course, a veiled discussion of women’s rights (a horrible pun; apologies). And
it shouldn’t be any surprise that women’s rights in Yemen
are abysmal. Worse than abysmal. A quarter of all Yemeni girl-children
are married before they’re 15 – some as young as 8 or 9 – and half before
they’re 18. Most bear 6.3 children; most
never have access to family planning, much less adequate medical care. The
majority never learn to read, and those that do – the wealthy, the lucky –
still need their brothers’ or fathers’ permission to travel, to enroll in
school or to marry, and her testimony is worth only half of a man’s in court.
Most spend their lives bearing children. Referring to a woman by name is
considered rude in many circles; she is a “wife of” or a “daughter of.”
In
that context, Faisa’s right. Western politicians’ obsession with the niqab as a
symbol of oppression is annoying – mostly because it dramatically misses the
point. Women in Yemen – indeed,
women in much of the Middle East – are up
against illiteracy, poverty, domestic abuse, child marriage, honor killings,
poor heath care and unequal access to legal representation. Let’s address that,
and then worry about what they’re wearing on their faces.
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