When Hijab becomes Cultural and is not Observed (Properly)

بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم
In the Name of Allah, Most Merciful, Most Compassionate

Assalaamu alaykum

Wearing ḥijāb was never easy for many. I started covering in my early 30s when I realized that hijab is obligatory for women. Yes, I never knew that it was obligatory until I came across a hadith in a halal and haram book which I was reading to my young children back then.

Narrated Aisha, Ummul Mu'minin (may Allah be pleased with her):

Asma, daughter of Abu Bakr (may Allah be pleased with them), entered upon the Messenger of Allah (Allah bless him and grant him peace) wearing thin clothes. The Messenger of Allah (Allah bless him and grant him peace) turned his attention from her. He said: O Asma', when a woman reaches the age of menstruation, it does not suit her that she displays her parts of body except this and this, and he pointed to his face and hands. [Abu Dawud said: This is a mursal tradition (i.e. the narrator who transmitted it from 'Aisha is missing) Khalid b. Duraik did not see 'Aisha].

It was a challenge, but it slowly became my identity. I learned lessons through wearing ḥijāb that I might not have learned otherwise. It gave me confidence, self-respect and taught me to stand up for my beliefs even if I had to swim against the tide. I lost friends but I also found friends, Muslim and non-Muslim, who didn't care how I looked or how I dressed; rather, they respected me for myself and valued my friendship despite of my “strange” clothes.

A piece of cloth that made me look different, caused many to stare and laugh at me, slowly became my pride. It was not just ḥijāb anymore; it made me realize what it meant to do something for no other purpose than to please Allāh alone; to be tested and along the way to become stronger (inshā'Allāh).

Ḥijāb became a responsibility. It was a symbol or worship and servitude to Allah. I was representing my religion every time I stepped out of my house. I started enjoying being an ambassador. I used my ḥijāb to avail every opportunity to make da'wah.

There were tough times too, especially when my children noticed their mother was different from others. There were times when they stood out just because their mother looked different. Or when people at the supermarket parking lot laughed at me asking “Hey what's on your head?” Even intellectuals and professionals like among my law school classmates or my lawyer colleaques would pose such questions as, "Why do you have that thing on your head?" "Did your husband made you wear it?" "Are you bald (had chemo)?" And non-lawyers mistaken me for a non-lawyer and was chastised for waiting in the attorney line for service or using the attorney fast lane, or in court, a judge mistaken me for a client, not an officer of the court.

In the West, ḥijāb is frequently misunderstood as “cultural”. I was often appalled at this misrepresentation. It was not until I stayed in the middle east and other so-called Islamic countries for an extended period of time that I understood the grounds of Western arguments. I realized accusing ḥijāb as a cultural practice forced on women by their men folk, holds water.

Ḥijāb and jilbabs are very common there, but the oppression is reflected through the way ḥijāb is worn. Sometimes, it feels like women are in a prison waiting to break out. A sheer piece of black cloth carelessly resting midway across their head, the layers of hair slipping attractively out from the front makes these women look no less stunning than Princess Jasmine. Layers and layers of make-up makes me wonder if they get ready at salons every day. Many women use artificial hair-buns under their hijabs, making it look like a perfect “camel-hump”.

Many women wear front-open abayas that split open up at every step they take; a glance of their tight skinny jeans and high heeled sandals only make them seem far more alluring.

That's not all. Jilbabs are tight. Some women cover their faces (which is mostly forced by their families) but their skin-tight jilbabs, designed especially to enhance body curves, are enough to catch anyone's attention; forget the faces.

Many women there do not want to wear ḥijāb but are forced to by their families. I don't know how ḥijāb evolved into culture, but unfortunately it did. Even the welcoming package and little leaflets designed for expatriates introduce ḥijāb as a cultural dress code.

What would be the impression all those non-Muslim expatriates take back to their respective countries? Can they be blamed for accusing Muslims of imposing ḥijāb on women?

There is always khayr (good) in whatever happens in our lives. Firstly, difficulties and challenges are not unnecessary, rather, they reform us.

Secondly, not all Western accusations are unfounded.

We should realize that it is partially our own fault that ḥijāb is misunderstood. Had our Muslim brethren not sent out the wrong message, much against ḥijāb would have been easier to clarify. Some progressive females, who label ḥijāb as a forced cultural practice, are as ignorant of ḥijāb as many Muslim women in “Muslim” countries.

We have a lot of work to do from within. At times, it seems easier to make da'wah to non-Muslims and non families than Muslims themselves and our own families. Just look in your Facebook...so many of our friends, our youth and even older people are displaying their bodies or parts of them, by their pictures posted on their FB. Some of these people are part of practicing Muslim families, knowledgeable people or active members of Muslim communities. What kind of message are we sending to our youth, new Muslims and non-Muslims?

May Allāh make the real knowledge of Islam sink into our hearts and return us our glory and 'izzah (honor) that we have lost at our own hands. Ameen.

Allahumma salli 'ala Muhammad wa 'ala aalihi wa sahbihi wasallam.

And Allah knows best and is Most Wise, and He alone grants success, and to Him is the final return of all.

Wassalaam