I would be remiss if I didn't write a little about the experience of being in Cairo as a Western woman. Back home in the U.S. I find myself defending my Muslim students against the Islam-bashing that is so pervasive in the media, in the context of daily U.S. news stories, and in the perceptions and misperceptions that Americans have generally about Islam and the Muslim world. This semester I had three women in my literature class who wore their hear covered in a head-scarf (what's known in the Arab/Iranian world as a "hijab"). Those young women (Palestinian-American, Iranian-American, and Pakistani-American) all elect to cover their hair at of an act of choice and to express their devotion to their faith. I know they encounter rude comments, glaring looks, and at times outright hostility. They've told me. One woman told me she was unsure about speaking up in class because she is aware of how people perceive her as a Muslim woman--negatively. I've done my uttmost in my class to find ways to help people reflect and become more respectful of religious differences, particularly Muslim women who choose to visibibly identify themselves. The rhetoric that is "Islam bashing" in the U.S. is potent and I found myself very disturbed last weekend when I was in New York City for a conference on "Poetries of the Islamic World" and as I approached my hotel (which was right across from the Ground Zero site of the 9/11 bombings) and saw a woman with an enormous American flag, with budges and buttons denouncing Islam, and holding a sign reading "All I ever needed to know about Islam I learned on 9/11." Being here, the fact is, I realize, I know very little. I have only a studied and minimal understanding of Islam, but being here in Cairo, a huge North African country (yes, I am in Africa), where Islam is part of daily life, makes me realize how woefully ignorant Americans are about this religion and its practice and cultural influences in the daily lives of billions of people all around the globe.
Yesterday, when Amy and I went to the Coptic Museum, we took the metro, and we sat in the "women's car." To an American, this might have seemed a form a segregation, but hearing my friend Amy speak, I understood it to be a welcome function of women's desire to be free from harassment by men, and to also have a space that respects the autonomy of women. Amy says she likes riding in the women's car for those obvious reasons (as a Western woman, you're more prone to being verbally engaged in what are unwelcome ways by men and yes, you stand out here) but also because it's a different space of life. I was struck by how many women wear the veil here and it is by no means obligatory. At least in the parts of Cairo I've been in, 75-80 percent of women veil by choice. This is in stark contrast to a place like Iran where veiling is mandatory and women probably (at least a large percentage of them, and especially the young ones) would give anything to leave their veils behind. Here, women choose to veil. Amy says that it is partly fashion, partly conforming, and partly an outgrowth of women's desire not to be bothered by men. The women here are in all kinds of states of veiling --from colorful headscarves that are meticulously wrapped around their heads, layered and pinned, and matching colors they are wearing; women with very tight clothing and high heels wearing headscarves and makeup; and their also a fair number of women wearing the niqab, the all black which covers the entire face except for a few slits around the eyes. We were by far among a handful of women on the metro car for women NOT wearing a headscarf. Even younger women, ages 17-30 are wearing headscarves. Amy's view of it is that it is ultimately not piety, but practicality that has made it the norm for most women. But the headscarves are colorful, and sometimes seeing them looking at me in a kind of scrutinizning way, makes me understand how some of my Muslim students at San Jose State feel. These women, even in the 80+ degree heat seem to be comfortable and accustomed to the veil, and it obviously provides some measure of social comfort. Amy also observed that the niqab has become more prevalent among women who have lived in the Gulf States, and who also are among poor classes and might sell stuff on the metro (hairclips, eyebrow pencils, stockings) or are simply begging for money. The niqab provides a kind of anonymity and might, in a way, both express a kind of uber-piety, or simply the perception of piety (which might go further with begging).
In any case, I found myself unable to take my eyes off these women. The veil does something---it covers yes, but it also reveals. Their faces are so much more prominent, and as such, their eyes meet yours. You smile or they smile. They look at you with that sort of gaze that attempts to read you in all your exposedness.
Their voices on the metro were animated and engaging, and yes, far from docile. Two of them on the street commented and Amy, who speaks Arabic, replied back, "salaam alekum," and then they were taken aback that she could understand them. "Oh she speaks Arabic," one of them said. The merchants, desperate for shoppers and commerce look at you too. "Madame, you speak French?" "Madame, come and see my things, just come in a see my shop." I can see why some people find the headveil a comfort. It renders you less visible, less foreign, more a part of what is here.
I wanted to take pictures of the women in the metro car, but you feel as if you're invading their space, commodifying them in their own turf. I know a little about that western gaze and I don't want to fall into it. But it is important to see this. To see women choosing the veil, choosing to employ all its many significations without the assumed oppression that we in the U.S. immediately assume it is. And for this I am grateful to my many Muslim students--for teaching me that their choice to wear it, or not to wear it, is a personal decision.
I am humbled by being here. I truly am.
Yesterday, when Amy and I went to the Coptic Museum, we took the metro, and we sat in the "women's car." To an American, this might have seemed a form a segregation, but hearing my friend Amy speak, I understood it to be a welcome function of women's desire to be free from harassment by men, and to also have a space that respects the autonomy of women. Amy says she likes riding in the women's car for those obvious reasons (as a Western woman, you're more prone to being verbally engaged in what are unwelcome ways by men and yes, you stand out here) but also because it's a different space of life. I was struck by how many women wear the veil here and it is by no means obligatory. At least in the parts of Cairo I've been in, 75-80 percent of women veil by choice. This is in stark contrast to a place like Iran where veiling is mandatory and women probably (at least a large percentage of them, and especially the young ones) would give anything to leave their veils behind. Here, women choose to veil. Amy says that it is partly fashion, partly conforming, and partly an outgrowth of women's desire not to be bothered by men. The women here are in all kinds of states of veiling --from colorful headscarves that are meticulously wrapped around their heads, layered and pinned, and matching colors they are wearing; women with very tight clothing and high heels wearing headscarves and makeup; and their also a fair number of women wearing the niqab, the all black which covers the entire face except for a few slits around the eyes. We were by far among a handful of women on the metro car for women NOT wearing a headscarf. Even younger women, ages 17-30 are wearing headscarves. Amy's view of it is that it is ultimately not piety, but practicality that has made it the norm for most women. But the headscarves are colorful, and sometimes seeing them looking at me in a kind of scrutinizning way, makes me understand how some of my Muslim students at San Jose State feel. These women, even in the 80+ degree heat seem to be comfortable and accustomed to the veil, and it obviously provides some measure of social comfort. Amy also observed that the niqab has become more prevalent among women who have lived in the Gulf States, and who also are among poor classes and might sell stuff on the metro (hairclips, eyebrow pencils, stockings) or are simply begging for money. The niqab provides a kind of anonymity and might, in a way, both express a kind of uber-piety, or simply the perception of piety (which might go further with begging).
In any case, I found myself unable to take my eyes off these women. The veil does something---it covers yes, but it also reveals. Their faces are so much more prominent, and as such, their eyes meet yours. You smile or they smile. They look at you with that sort of gaze that attempts to read you in all your exposedness.
Their voices on the metro were animated and engaging, and yes, far from docile. Two of them on the street commented and Amy, who speaks Arabic, replied back, "salaam alekum," and then they were taken aback that she could understand them. "Oh she speaks Arabic," one of them said. The merchants, desperate for shoppers and commerce look at you too. "Madame, you speak French?" "Madame, come and see my things, just come in a see my shop." I can see why some people find the headveil a comfort. It renders you less visible, less foreign, more a part of what is here.
I wanted to take pictures of the women in the metro car, but you feel as if you're invading their space, commodifying them in their own turf. I know a little about that western gaze and I don't want to fall into it. But it is important to see this. To see women choosing the veil, choosing to employ all its many significations without the assumed oppression that we in the U.S. immediately assume it is. And for this I am grateful to my many Muslim students--for teaching me that their choice to wear it, or not to wear it, is a personal decision.
I am humbled by being here. I truly am.
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