A feminist's choice to wear the hijab | Attiya Latif | TEDxUVA

The Hijab, a head covering worn by some Muslim women, is often associated with female oppression and silence - but why can't "Hijabi" women be feminists, too? In a first-person account of her experience as a young Muslim woman, University of Virginia student Attiya Latif challenges monolithic Western notions of female oppression in Islam.

This talk was given at a TEDx event using the TED conference format but independently organized by a local community. Learn more at http://ted.com/tedx

It was in her eyes,
the way she looked at me.

You could tell that this question
was incredibly important,

this question was a matter
of life and death itself.

It was also the last thing
in the world I wanted to answer

after a long day of school.

She reached out,
placed her hand on my arm,

and with such eloquence,
such consideration

it would have made Shakespeare
turn over in his grave, said,

"Attiya, are you bald?"

Really, for the record, I'm not bold.

The hair I do have is not neon green
or painted UVA colors.

On the days that I choose to wear
my hijab as a turban,

I'm not pulling a Quirrell
and hiding Voldemort.

I don't sleep with it on,
I don't wear it in the shower,

and no, I am not oppressed.

I have been wearing the hijab or headscarf
since sixth grade, of my own volition.

So, for years I've struggled
with divisive stereotypes

that threatened my identity
as a human being.

I was 11 years old when my English teacher
pulled me aside during class, and said,

"Attiya, don't you feel ugly
compared to the other girls

with that thing on your head?"

I don't feel ugly.
In fact, I feel rather beautiful.

I was 12 when one of my good friends
decided to take it upon herself

to apologize on behalf
of whatever cruel being out there

had forced me to put this on my head,
whether that was my dad or my mom.

For the record, it was me.

So, I guess she was apologizing for me.

I was 14, when in the hallways
of my middle school,

someone knocked my books from my hands,

and called me a terrorist.

Someone I didn't know,
someone who didn't know me,

didn't know what I was like.

I was 15 years old, when
in the irony of all ironies,

I found a letter in my government notebook

bearing the words: "Go back
to where you came from.

Kill yourself, terrorist."

It was signed "Love, Jesus".

These words were addressed to me,
a teenager like any other,

different only because of the fact
that I chose to wear upon my head,

a hijab, a headscarf.

To truly understand what a headscarf is,
which is the purpose of my talk today,

it's important to take a brief lesson
in Arabic semantics, Arabic grammar.

In Arabic, words are composed
of trilateral roots.

That's three letters that create
a root word that holds meaning

for every other word that branches out
from that sole root word.

In the case of hijab,

the three root letters
are "ha," "jeem," and "ba."

When put together, they form
the term "Hajaba,"

which literally means "To conceal
or hide from view."

So, at its base level in the Arabic
language, at its root word,

the word hijab means modesty, it means
concealing, hiding from view.

Whether that means being humble
in your daily conversations,

whether that means wearing
loose clothing, modest clothing,

and whether that means putting
a scarf upon your head.

This idea of the hijab, the headscarf,
is not only inherent to women,

it's inherent to men as well:

It's this idea that Muslim men,
as well as women, lower their gazes;

they are humble; they are pious;
and they wear loose clothing,

clothing that isn't immodest
or tight-fitting.

It's this idea of finding empowerment
through the lack of sexualisation

within your own body.

In today's culture, this idea of modesty
is often seen as outmoded or primitive.

People hear "modesty" and think
of body-shaming, oppression of women,

systematic oppression of women.

But in reality, Islam's perception
of modesty is something that is meant

to empower people who carry it out.

It's this idea of rejecting
the objectification of a body,

and instead focusing
on your individualism,

your identity as a person
without the sexualized aspect of yourself.

Muslim men and women
reject sexual objectification,

and choose instead to be intellectualized,
personalized, that we are human beings.

And yet, how do you explain
this idea of modesty

in a world that promotes the sexualization
of women and young girls?

We live in an age where
you have to be sexy in order to fit in,

or find an attractive other.

In order to find an attractive other,
you have to compete

with current plastic surgery trends
or fashion trends.

There's an author named Wendy Shalit,
and she wrote a book called:

"Modesty: Recovering the Lost Virtue."

In this book, she writes that modesty
is an empowering and yes, feminist tool,

whereby women can, not only accord
themselves self-respect,

but also, demand respect from others.

To say, "I'm only showing you
what I chose to show you.

And the only people who get to see
special parts of me are the people

who I wish to see
to those special parts of me."

For everyone else, look at my personality,
my identity as an individual,

my identity as a fellow human being,
regardless of what is on my head,

and what is not on my head.

Where does this rhetoric about the hijab
as an oppressive institution come from,

if it's such an empowering concept?

Why does the West have this idea
of the hijab as an oppressive institution?

"Muslim women are oppressed!

Look at her, she's standing on stage
giving a Ted talk about this.

What is she saying!"

In reality, in order to find
the source of this rhetoric

you have to look back
at the times of early colonization.

Leila Ahmed wrote this book
called "Women and Gender in Islam."

In this book, she writes
that in the 19th century,

when British and other European colonists
entered Muslim countries,

they were looking for a means to justify,

as they had always done,
their colonization.

They were looking for a way
to prove that this is okay.

The way they did that was to dismiss
the traditional culture as backwards,

as regressive.

They chose to fixate upon the hijab
that Muslim women wore, in order to say,

"We want to liberate you from this
horrible thing that you are wearing."

They used feminism as a colonial tool.

People such as Lord Cromer, for example,

the governor of Egypt
in the early 19th century,

would often tell women,

"You Egyptian women, you are so oppressed.

Let me liberate you,
and introduce you to western ideals."

In reality, Cromer was a pretty awful guy.

What he did was he raised
tuition fees in women's schools,

so that women who had already
been gaining a primary education

prior to the British influence,
suddenly couldn't go to school

because they couldn't afford it
in peasant communities.

He limited the actions of female medics,
new medics in society,

people who were empowered,
who were ready to embody their knowledge,

to midwifery, saying that "Science
was the realm of men."

To top it all off, the icing on the cake,
this guy, back home in Britain,

was the leader of the Men's League
[Opposing] Women's Suffrage.

He was replacing, maybe a medieval,

maybe a Middle Eastern
concept of patriarchy,

with his own British medieval
concept of patriarchy.

There's patriarchy in both cultures,

and it was a matter
of choosing one over the other,

rather than allowing these women
to find their own meaning,

to find their empowerment
in their own culture,

to define feminism for themselves.

The saddest part of it all is that even
the concept of the hijab as a discussion

that we're having today,

is something that was handed over
to Muslim feminists,

as something that they had to talk about
because the West gave it to them.

In every other culture you talk about,
perhaps the West itself,

you have symbols that you choose
for yourself: bras, skirt, pant, dresses.

This is something that we chose
to talk about ourselves.

Yet for Middle Eastern feminists,

we were given the hijab
as a source of conflicts,

as something that detracted away
from the ultimate discussion

of women's education and women's rights.

Malak Hifni Nasif was a feminist
in the late 19th century.

She often wrote about this.

She said that our faith does not dictate
that whether or not you wear the scarf

is what makes you a feminist.

Our scarf doesn't have anything
to do with this.

In reality, we need to talk
about women's education,

we need to talk about
what's truly important for women,

and we need to ignore that the West
is giving us this object, this symbol,

to have contention
about between ourselves.

So, we've established this is the root
of Western rhetoric on feminism.

This is where it all comes from:

Western feminists telling Muslim women
and women of other cultures

that they can't create their own
conceptualization of feminism.

Instead they must adhere
to a Western construct,

they must adhere
to Western ideals of feminism.

In reality, feminism is a diverse,
beautiful movement,

in which women from various cultures,
backgrounds, religious upbringings

can find meaning for themselves
and what they are doing,

can determine equality for themselves,

and can determine how to advocate
that equality for themselves.

I personally consider myself
to be a feminist.

I know, scary, right?

I'm not going to jump
at you all, don't worry.

Yes, I consider myself to be a feminist,

and what this means to me
is that my hijab,

rather than inhibiting me
from embodying that feminism,

further allows me
to propagate that feminism,

allows me to to embody this idea
that I am no longer a sexual object,

that I am a human being
and I have a voice,

that I am someone who
is an aspiring future lawyer,

an aspiring human rights activist.

Someone who already actively
involves herself in social rights,

and social activism on grounds.

The hijab, in my opinion,
does not detract from that in any way.

And yet, I am told by society
that I cannot be proud of my scarf,

that I cannot be both hijabe and feminist.

I'm told that I'm oppressed.

I'm told to be depressed
about my so-called "oppression."

And when I'm happy with what I have,
I'm told that I am regressive, radical.

What am I doing?
Why am I wearing this on my head?

It's up to me to define
what I choose to do with my body.

And it's up to you,
up to everyone around me

to not tell me what I should
and shouldn't be doing,

to not dismiss my intelligence,

but to accept it,
to acknowledge it, to respect it.

It is sad that in today's culture
we don't have that respect,

we don't have that knowledge
and acceptance.

In Australia, Muslim women who choose
to go to their House of parliament

have to sit in glass-enclosed galleries,
apart from their fellow Australians,

because of their religious garb.

While United Nations
commissioner, Tim Wilson,

said that this is segregation
on the basis of religious apparel,

the prime Minister of Australia
doesn't seem to mind.

He has actually been quoted saying:

"I wish people didn't wear it,
it's so confrontational."

Yes, because my American flag headscarf
is very confrontational.

All the bright red, white, and blue.

Pretty creepy, huh?

In France, burka bans have incited
violence against women for a long time.

Violence that is often gone
under looked, and over looked.

Just a couple years ago,

a women was walking back home
on her way from work,

and she was attacked by several men
who began to beat her.

She threw her hands over her head

and yelled, "I'm pregnant,
I'm pregnant, stop hitting me."

And they began to hit her harder,
to the point where she miscarried.

She lost her baby
to violence and intolerance.

Is that something we are going to allow
to perpetuate in our society?

Is that something we are going to allow
to spread in the United States?

Where young women who wear the hijab
already have horror stories of their own

to tell, much like my own?

Friends, it's not.

We can do something about this.

People already have been
doing things about this.

In Australia, campaigns
like #wish, #illridewithyou,

have begun to make Muslim women
feel safe within communities,

and show that whether or not
the government cares,

the citizens care
about injustice anywhere.

In America, at UVA itself,
World Hijab Day was brought to grounds.

And a moment of true solidarity
with women who choose to wear the hijab,

a moment where we, as UVA students,

said that would respect
people's decisions,

regardless of what they wore,
and acknowledge the fact that yes,

in the world there are some people
who don't have that choice.

It's true.

Somewhere out there
in the world, there's a women

who can't leave her front door without
being shot down by the guns of patriarchy,

a women who's forced
to wear certain clothing,

a woman who has to wear all black garb
without her own choice

being involved in the matter,

a women treated
like livestock, like cattle.

But I'm here today
to represent my own perspective.

I'm not saying that there is justice
in all forms of the hijab.

I'm saying that my perspective
is beautiful to me,

I, a first-year college student
in the United States,

cannot, in any way, represent
1.2 billion Muslims across the World.

It's just not feasible.

I mean it'd be pretty cool,
I would feel really awesome,

I'd feel amazing actually,
but I can't do that.

So, I'm here today to ask you to broaden
your horizons, to open your minds,

to realize that there is a diverse culture
behind what you are making a monolith of,

that Islam, in and of itself
has a diverse culture

that is a unique religion
just like every other religion.

And that what you hear on the news,
what you hear on social media,

is biased and untrue.

The majority of Muslims are peaceful,
happy, freedom loving people,

and you have the opportunity to meet them.

I stand before you today
as one of those happy Muslims,

happy with her religion,
happy with who she is,

happy with what she chooses
to wear upon her head

So don't tell me I can't be both
feminist and Muslim.

Don't tell me I can't be both
Potterhead and rag-head.

Let me label myself.
Let me define myself.

Let me choose what it is
that I wish to embody,

what I wish to live for in my life.

The hijab is after all my right,
my choice, my life.

Thank you

(Applause)