By Nioucha Homayoonfar
Authorities at a public pool in France recently booted a woman out of the facility for wearing a so-called "burqini."
For those who may not know - myself included until just recently - a "burqini" is a head-to-toe Islamic swimsuit. Since it is designed to protect the modesty of a Muslim woman it has a lot more in common with the controversial burqa than the French version of the bikini, which leaves little to the imagination.
This event followed an announcement by the French minister for Urban Regeneration, Fadela Amara, a Muslim of Algerian origin, urging the ban of burqas in France. To her, the clothing represents "the oppression of women."
These recent developments are forcing me to break my long self-imposed silence on what I've always considered a sticky and rather complex issue. I have struggled with my feelings on hejab (a Muslim woman's veil or cover) for years.
I was raised in Iran, during the 1980s when the country became an Islamic Republic. All women older than nine were forced to wear proper hejab or else they were arrested and sometimes whipped for not obeying the rules. I covered myself throughout my teenage years and was reprimanded for improper hejab (either for showing a bit of hair, neck, or forearm) by the religious police patrolling the streets of Tehran numerous times.
Once a year, my French mother and I would travel to her native country and spend two glorious months on French beaches. It was jarring to be among hidden bodies on the streets of Tehran one day and to be seated the next on a beach as topless women sunbathed and men strutted by wearing Speedos (incidentally, why haven't those been banned?). It would take me a good week before acclimating to my hejab-less state. I felt exposed and provocative for showing my hair, arms, and legs, parts otherwise tucked away while in Iran.
My experience in Iran has given me a deep-seated resentment toward hejab. I wish Muslim women after leaving their countries could throw away this smothering garment and embrace a freer lifestyle. But that doesn't always happen. Regardless of my opinions, I have learned to respect a woman's decision to exercise her religion -- as I believe governments should.
Many Muslim women living outside of their own countries are forced by their husbands, fathers, brothers, relatives back home, and community to hold on to traditional values and to fight the temptation to become Westernized.
For these Muslim women, is it fair that they must walk the streets of France bearing the brunt of a society that visibly shuns them? What are they to do when they live in fear at home, but are also catching hell from the French? Is banning them from practicing their religion regardless of why they are doing so also not a violation of their basic human rights?
When I was 16, I briefly lived with my uncle in Paris. One afternoon, as I walked back home holding a baguette under my arm, a young man stuck his head out the window and called me a dirty Arab. I never understood what provoked this hateful act, given I don't look Arab or wear hejab. But the experience was so humiliating and hurtful that I hid in my uncle's apartment for the next few days. I can't even begin to understand how difficult it must be for Muslim women to deal with such harassment whilst living in a supposedly democratic country that espouses the universal declaration of human rights.
There are, of course, numerous Muslim women that openly embrace the hejab, considering it an integral component of their faith. Contrary to popular belief, not all Muslim women who don the garb are uneducated, oppressed women. These myths only perpetrate discriminatory views toward Muslims.
Verbally attacking women and banning them from public places is not the right path for France to choose. These actions only serve to further isolate Muslim women from society.
Ostracizing and critiquing women for what they either choose to pursue or are forced to pursue shows a complete lack of civility. It is itself an act of oppression towards women. Haven't women suffered enough? Now we have to ridicule them for pursuing public modesty?
Nioucha Homayoonfar is a Program Officer at Freedom House.