|
|
Damned If You Do, Damned If You
Don't?
Writer: Azza Khattab
Photographer: Mohsen
Allam
As a growing number of professional
women take the veil, their right to practice their religion is
clashing with employers' right to hire whomever they want. Is
it just a workplace issue? Or a symptom of deeper social
tensions between the adamantly secular and an increasingly
religious majority?
 |
| Nerin Salem
| | | Nerin Salem is the kind of woman who turns heads,
whether in a bathing suit, a uniform - or an old flour sack,
for that matter.
The audience
couldn't take their eyes off her flawless figure as she was
crowned Miss Egypt 1989, but what those admiring the way she
could fill a tiny bikini didn't know was that Salem's
ambitions ran higher than a beauty pageant stage: 35,000 feet
higher, in fact. After training in the United States, Salem
returned home to become one of Egypt's first female commercial
pilots. In a sea of beards and mustaches, her long black hair
marked her as the only woman among Shorouk Air's
pilots.
But in 2001, the
35-year-old aviator turned the heads of even those who had
come to expect the unexpected from her when she took hijab
(the veil) after watching a religious television serial.
Salem's decision to put on the veil left her husband
scratching his head - and her supervisors having
fits.
"They kept urging me to
turn back to my normal life, not to walk down that path - as
if I was working as a pilot in the morning and a belly dancer
in the evening. It wasn't as if I was caught in a whorehouse!
When you're in a bikini, people see you as an open-minded,
modern, independent girl; but put on the veil and you become
backward, ignorant, submissive."
Salem claims Shorouk officials didn't take her
decision to wear hijab seriously at first, urging her several
times to take off the veil, but realized she wasn't kidding
the day she turned up on the flight line wearing a dark blue
one under her uniform cap. The flight's captain demanded Salem
take it off. She refused. The flight operations officer
settled the dispute in favor of the captain, appointing
another co-pilot in Salem's place.
Salem tried to appeal up the chain of command to
the chief pilot, but hit a dead end: "He wouldn't have
anything to do with me," she alleges, claiming he told others
Salem shouldn't consider herself "part of his crew" as long as
she wore the veil.
With no way out, Salem agreed to a meeting with
the airline's administration manager. After jousting back and
forth, the admin manager finally lost his temper, shouting
that it was the company's policy not to allow veiled women to
fly. "I asked for a copy of the policy. He refused, of course,
because they would be in trouble - it's illegal," she alleges.
But Salem was the one in
trouble: Shorouk gave her one last chance, she says,
suggesting she might find it hard to make ends meet without a
job. "By the end of the conversation, I expected something
like, 'Renounce your beliefs or we'll ram a red-hot iron
through your ear,'" she laughs, quoting a favorite movie.
In December 2001, 15 days
after Salem took the veil, the chairman of Shorouk's board of
directors chose to fire her instead, touching off a legal
battle that continues to this day: Salem headed straight to
her lawyer, who filed a complaint with the Labor
Office.
"[The Labor Office]
couldn't force them to take me back, but we filed for
compensation. And as you know, court cases take a little bit
of time - something like seven or eight years," she smiles.
A Shorouk official contacted by telephone
declined to comment on Salem's case, noting that it was still
before the courts. Court papers show the airline has filed a
countersuit against Salem, demanding she pay $45,000 in
damages for breaking her contract. "They claim I forced them
to fire me," Salem smiles. Although the airline's policy
manual at the time made no mention of hijab, Shorouk's lawyers
allege she had to be fired because of her persistent
violations of the company's uniform code.
Asked about the allegations, Salem first counters
that she was always in uniform, even down "to the socks."
Later, though, she admits she didn't always wear her uniform
cap before she took the veil.
"Part of my appeal was the Miss Egypt title. Miss
Egypt learned how to fly and they, unlike other companies that
don't accept female pilots, took her on crew. How open-minded
and progressive! I used to let my long hair flow down my back
and nobody dared talk to me," she claims. "I asked several
people at the company if it was okay, and they were very
welcoming, telling me, 'Sure! The manual doesn't say anything
about female pilots, do whatever you
want.'"
No longer, it seems.
Salem claims her personal decision to take the veil has
prevented her from keeping the one job she's wanted since
childhood: flying. She's not alone. As a growing number of
well-educated women in the workforce opt to take the veil,
their right to openly practice their religion is coming into
conflict with employers' rights to hire whomever they want.
That conflict is just the tip of a much larger
iceberg, analysts suggest. Society has become a ball of
contradictions and competing interests. The government is
advancing a secular agenda, brushing away suggestions that a
Muslim nation is by definition a backward breeding ground for
terrorists. International pressure plays a role here, as does
the state's need to control groups pushing to establish a
theocratic state. Feeling torn in an increasingly confusing
world, a growing number of Egyptians are turning to religion
to try and impose some semblance of order in their
lives.
Veiled women have
become pawns in the game. Islamists and secularists alike
agree the number of muhajibet is growing; some on both sides
of the debate interpret that fact as a sign of the public's
desire for an Islamic state - a suggestion that infuriates
Salem and others like her. However they may wish it were
otherwise, the workplace remains one of the stages on which
social tensions are playing out - tensions unlikely to ease
soon regardless of how the court rules in Salem's
case.
Not an easy
decision
Salem was never
impressed by veiled women, and while she would confess to a
grudging admiration for their courage on a hot summer day, she
could never imagine herself in hijab. Tanning by the pool was
a social norm she never violated in
summertime.
A Ramadan
religious serial changed all that.
"I usually don't watch those shows. I'm just not
a big fan. But I watched this one and, for the first time, I
felt a compelling urge to wear the veil. I just acted. My
husband, like everyone else, thought it was just 'Nerin acting
on a whim.' But it is the only decision in my life I took
instantly and never regretted."
Today, Salem puts herself at the vanguard of a
new generation of women out to change old stereotypes. You
know the ones, she says: Good Muslim men have to grow beards
and wear short trousers; women have to wear hijab, stay at
home and not speak to men because their voices are awra (a
defect that must be hidden or covered).
"This isn't our Islam," she asserts. "Today,
there's kind of a reformist move. Your morals and behavior
count more than your appearance. We have to be better people,
be it in the workplace or at home. Besides, wearing the veil
doesn't mean neglecting your appearance. I just happen to
believe that I don't have to show my tummy anymore to look
attractive or chic."
Zeinab
Afifi, a respected journalist with Akhbar El-Youm, couldn't
agree more. But unlike Salem, it took Afifi eight years of
deliberations before she first put on hijab. In the end, her
husband decided for her.
"I
thought he was trying to tie me down, that he was limiting my
success as a modern, open-minded woman, so I used to put it on
before I left home and, once in my car, I took it off until I
was back home. I even read the Qur'an and hadiths for ways to
get off the hook by saying hijab isn't mandatory. Now, I
remember that and laugh," she says.
Like Salem, Afifi was less worried about how
wearing the veil might affect her job security than about how
it would change her appearance. (Not that Afifi worried about
missing her bikini: She never wore one. Jeans and baggy shirts
were her thing, she explains, saying the look is comfortable
whether you're modern or conservative.)
"Hijab wasn't as popular eight years ago as it is
today. Society wasn't that tolerant towards it," Afifi says.
"The perception was that a veiled woman was covering bad hair
or neglecting her appearance. Since she wasn't presentable
enough, she wasn't eligible to be in a top job - especially
one that required elegance and style.
"My stories were always my passport to my
readers, not my looks. My hair didn't help me write, so when I
got veiled I didn't worry that it would change my direction at
work."
But the transition
wasn't so smooth, Afifi reluctantly admits. "I'd rather not
get into the details," she says. Let's put it this way: Afifi
used to cover the tourism beat, now she writes for the women's
section. New friends and sources have replaced the ones she
lost.
"I was disappointed by
many colleagues and friends who were supposed to be very
well-educated, cultured and open-minded. They call themselves
intellectuals, but when I took the veil, those who call for
freedom denied me my own. I used to be invited to talk shows
before the veil. After I got veiled, I started telling them,
'For your knowledge, I'm veiled now.' Many were uncomfortable
and reluctant to host me, others said, 'What's the problem?
There are veiled psychologists and doctors on
TV.'"
Amina El-Said and Iqbal
Baraka are two who do see a problem: The renowned journalists
have been highly critical of the rising number of veiled
women. "The desire for progress isn't there any more. Women
now carry the image of their grandmothers inside themselves,"
Said was once quoted as saying. Baraka was recently on a
popular satellite television show saying those who put on the
veil are actually drawing a curtain over their abilities to
reason and analyze.
 |
| "How many times do you
see a girl wearing tight jeans and short shirt covering
her head? Isn't that a strange formula?" |
Nihad Abu
El-Komsan
|
 | "We
can't pretend that society is breeding only moderate,
professional, career-oriented veiled women," says Noha
El-Sewed, a mass communications student at Cairo University.
"How many times have you been stared at by a veiled woman in
the street for what you're wearing? How many times has a
veiled student lectured a female colleague about how good
Muslims should take the veil? Some are still debating whether
a Muslim woman can wear a bathing suit in the presence of a
non-Muslim woman in a women-only swimming
pool."
"There's this cultural
and political fear that the extremists might turn us into
another Algeria," adds El-Sewed.
But Afifi asserts that the increasing number of
women taking the veil doesn't mean society is becoming more
fundamentalist.
Nihad Abu
El-Komsan agrees. The head of the Egyptian Center for Women's
Rights, Abu El-Komsan is far from sure that society is
becoming more religious. Religion, she notes, has more to do
with behavior than appearance.
"I want to clarify that the recent phenomenon of
the veil doesn't indicate religiosity as much as it is a
political trend," Abu El-Komsan says. "The government, by
default or intentionally, closed down some political paths,
but it didn't shut down the mosques or
churches."
In the 1960s, she
continues, veiled women were less common, but the nation was
more religious. "My mother wore the veil late in life. Being a
good Muslim was revealed more by your behavior. People weren't
corrupt, they didn't steal, lie or take bribes. Now, we're
witnessing a rise in the veil, but also rising incidences of
corruption and moral crimes. We're minimizing religion through
appearance. That's not Islam."
Too often, the veil is not even about modesty:
"How many times," she asks, "do you see a girl wearing tight
jeans and a short shirt covering her head? Isn't that a
strange formula?" In fact, she adds, wearing hijab sometimes
has more to do with social pressure than religion: "You can be
living in a neighborhood that gives more respect to 'covered'
women. To avoid harassment, many women, especially those who
live in conservative neighborhoods, take it as
protection."
Veils
come in different colors...
Abu El-Komsan traces the clash of employer and
employee rights to Egypt's shift since the early 1990s toward
a service economy.
"Our labor
market is no longer oriented toward industry and production,"
she explains. "Instead, we're leaning toward a
service-oriented economy, and service industries rely heavily
on appearances." Having a veiled employee in a customer
service position, she says, "is different than having an
attractive woman who attracts clients."
The job market for women has also become more
competitive: The government is no longer employing every
university graduate, Abu El-Komsan says, while the nation's
young private sector doesn't have the same principles as the
private sector abroad.
And
multinationals aren't always safe havens. A customer-relations
manager in an international company watched as a friend's
contract wasn't renewed after she took the veil. "I'm scared
to lose my job," she says, "especially since I fought hard to
get this position. I'm praying regularly and try to make up
for not wearing the veil. I'm not ready to risk my job,
honestly: I sacrificed my social life to get there, for God's
sake."
Private-sector
employers, Abu El-Komsan claims, "want the maximum out of you
for the minimum possible. There are no longer things like
fixed hours and overtime pay for overtime work. If they could
force you to work for 24 hours a day, they would do it. In
this battle, women often don't live up to the test. They have
social obligations. If they're wives, they have families to
look after. If they're single, they have reputations to uphold
and social pressures to consider."
|
| "Some see the veil as
an obstacle to women's liberation. It's a mindset that
has always been there. It's the everlasting conflict
between secularism and Islamism." |
Montasser
El-Zayyat
|
| Perhaps
veiled women should simply accept that certain jobs just
aren't for them. After all, says Montasser El-Zayat, a
prominent Islamist lawyer, veiled women aren't usually
expected to stay away from their homes late at night, or be
alone in the office or on the road with male colleagues when
working on a project.
"Some
see the veil as an obstacle to women's liberation," El-Zayat
says. "It's a mindset that has always been there. Those who
don't employ veiled women usually look at women as a commodity
to attract clients and market products, so they prefer their
female employees modern and un-veiled. It's the everlasting
conflict between secularism and Islamism."
Mostafa Murad, the manager of an import export
company he would prefer not to name, makes it crystal clear
that both his wife and daughters are veiled. So really, he
says, he's got nothing against hijab - even though he won't
hire veiled women.
"I used
to, but veiled women come with trouble, at least in my
experience," Murad says. "They dictate their own conditions.
They have a list of don'ts: They don't stay late. They don't
attend functions where liquor is served. I don't drink myself,
but it seems the nature of our work doesn't suit them - and
that's okay. But what's not okay is to leave my place and
spread the word that I'm against the veil. We don't have
public hangings for those who are looking to marry an unveiled
woman; we respect it as a personal choice. At the same time,
we don't frown on men who will only consider a veiled woman as
a prospective bride. We don't sue them because they denied the
unveiled a fair chance, do we?"
For Murad, the decision not to hire muhajibet is
based on what he thinks are reasonable predictions about job
performance. For Mona, a marketing department manager and
Muslim who won't hire veiled women, the objection is far more
visceral: She herself doesn't believe in hijab.
"I believe that the veil was
dictated only to the wives of the Prophet (P.B.U.H.). I can't
listen to those who claim that my hair is a sin that I have to
cover up. I don't think I could ever supervise someone who
looks at me that way. We're facing enough problems the way it
is. The West thinks we're a bunch of people who blow ourselves
up to go to heaven. People are confusing religion with old
traditions. I don't want to walk by a desk and see someone
holding his Qur'an and feel embarrassed to tell him to read it
at home, because if I do, he'll label me a 'Bad Muslim.' And I
certainly don't want to wake up one day and find myself living
in another Iran."
"Unlike
Iran, we're not a religious state," Abu El-Komsan counters,
"but they have a vice president, and she's veiled. They have
female judges, TV announcers, movie directors - all
veiled."
Can the veil
be restrictive at work?
Of
course it can. Some jobs demand uniforms that include short
skirts or tight pants that just don't suit the veil.
It gets more complicated
when veiled women won't sing the same tune as the rest of the
team. Last month, the Cairo Opera House issued a warning to
members of its a cappella chorus, informing them that wearing
hijab in concerts violates dress code. Anyone who insists on
wearing it during performances will be banned.
|
| "How can an opera
singer stand on stage, wearing a historical costume to
participate in Aida while wearing the veil? ... Every
job has its requirments, and every place has its
traditions." |
Hamada
Hussein
|
| Amid the
chorus of shrieks and condemnations visited upon the head of
the Opera House, some have risen to his defense. Hamada
Hussein, a noted journalist with Rose El-Youssef magazine, is
chief among them.
"They have
the right to wear the veil, but they don't have the right to
sing with it on," Hussein says. "How can an opera singer stand
on stage, wearing historical costume to participate in the
opera Aida, for example, while wearing the veil? We don't
condemn the Opera House for trampling someone's personal
rights and freedoms by requiring a formal dress code for
anyone who wants to watch an opera, do we? No, we respect it
as part of the Opera House's tradition. We expect those who
work there to show the same respect. They should know better:
Every job has its requirements, and every place its
traditions.
"More than 80
percent of the Opera's chorus is veiled, but they take it off
during concerts," Hussein continues, "replacing it with a wig.
Nothing justifies them trying to show up for work in a veil.
And now we're hearing about a singer who resigned because
she's against the singing of a cappella material. Do we really
want to open that door?"
Although she's adamant there is no job a veiled
woman can't do, Abu El-Komsan does admit that employers'
decisions on whether or not to hire muhajibet are often based
on considerations of image.
"Some private sector companies, especially those
who deal with foreigners, prefer not to employ veiled women,"
she says. "Even the government prefers unveiled women for some
leading posts, be they political or
bureaucratic.
"Besides, let's
say five-star hotels slowly become open to hiring veiled women
because those wearing hijab become a majority in our society.
The hotel also receives tourists, most of whom are foreigners
who are unaware of our culture. The hotel may have to worry
that its image will be [too religious]. It's another obstacle
- a fact we can't underestimate."
Salem, though, says the notion that veiled women
have no place in the hospitality industry is nonsense. "There
are around 297 hostesses working for EgyptAir who take off the
veil when they're on board the plane and put it back on when
they land. They're pleading with the national carrier to adopt
a new uniform like Emirates, but to no
avail.
"Emirates isn't losing
passengers because its hostesses are wearing [new-style] veils
under their hats. It's one of the best and most respected
carriers worldwide. If the veil restricted air hostesses from
doing their jobs, the IATA would have forbidden them from
serving," Salem says, referring to the international body that
regulates air traffic.
Abu
El-Komsan herself faced similar challenges for having taken
the veil: "There's this image of a shallow, narrow-minded
woman who took the veil because she thinks she's awra. Those
who meet me for the first time are usually shocked after an
hour of chatting: 'We're so impressed you think this way,'"
she says of their reactions to her liberal views.
Still, she has some sympathy for those who feel
uncomfortable with veiled women at work. At her own center,
most applicants for job openings tend to be veiled. "The
majority here are veiled, so I tease them: 'Whoever walks in
here will think he's dropped into Muhajiba Land.' But we
welcome anyone who can take us the way we
are."
Abu El-Komsan says it
took time for the donor community - most of whom are
foreigners - to judge her center on the basis of its work, not
on the outward appearance generated by having such a high
proportion of veiled women. "At first, people were suspicious
and worried - and I'm totally understanding. They have a right
to know where they're sending their
money."
Akhbar El-Youm's
Afifi is similarly adamant that despite early problems, taking
the veil hasn't affected her work. She still attends
conferences, interviews high-profile personalities, discusses
intimate relationships, and doles out advice on how to manage
one's life.
"What does the
veil have to do with how I think? Do I have to be half-naked
to cover the Cannes Festival?" she asks. After an up-hill
struggle, she is more optimistic today about the status of
veiled women at work, saying, "I remember when you couldn't
have found a veiled woman working as an editor. Now you
can."
But not every media
outlet is that understanding.
Picture perfect?
Veiled women most often pop up on television not
as hosts, anchors or reporters, but as guests - with the
exception of specialized satellite broadcasters such as Iqraa
and explicitly religious programs on non-religious networks.
Egyptian Radio and
Television Union (ERTU), the state-run television system, has
particularly strong reservations about veiled women, Afifi
complains.
"Look at Iqraa's
announcers: They're so pretty, chic and smart. Hijab doesn't
veil their thinking. They're more presentable than some TV
announcers with artificial hair colors and tons of make up
that make them look like aliens," she
says.
No one knows that
better than Maha Samir. You probably know her face: Samir once
kept many Egyptian families company every day. A graduate of
Cairo University's Faculty of Mass Media and Communications,
Samir always wanted to be a TV announcer and was among the
first to apply to Channel 3 when it launched. She got her
start when the state-run broadcaster hired her to host
entertainment and service programs.
But Samir also wanted to be
veiled.
"For a while, I
forgot about the hijab, but never neglected my relationship
with God. To those around me I seemed schizophrenic: I went to
work in full make up and with my hair on my back, and then
asked my bosses during Ramadan, 'Please don't give me
assignments in the evenings because I'd love to go to the
mosque for prayers.'"
Eventually, Samir waded into troubled waters. She
started wearing hijab behind the cameras, whipping it off
before she went on air, a practice she stopped after being
summoned for a chat with a senior television official. In
1989, she returned from hajj wearing the veil - and clinging
to the hope that ERTU would reconsider its policy about veiled
women, or at least accept her.
She quickly gave up her entertainment program.
Her request to stay with the service show was promptly turned
down. Could she at least host a religious affairs show? That
didn't work out, either. Finally, she asked to be allowed to
do voice-overs for on-air commentaries. No deal, though veiled
women are allowed to do voice-overs today.
"I love my work, it's part of who I am. Yet I
spent a year getting paid to do nothing. It just didn't feel
right." Eventually, she applied for a transfer to ERTU's radio
arm, where division chief Helmi El-Bolok was happy to take her
on, declaring, "Don't be sad! Television's loss is radio's
gain, Maha."
El-Zayat
couldn't agree more. Unlike many, the Islamist lawyer, is not
a fan of specialized religious channels that employ primarily
veiled women. "Why are we insistent on being schizophrenic? We
want society to be balanced, to be fairly represented, to have
the veiled and the non-veiled. And a TV announcer shouldn't be
working because she's veiled or not, but for her
qualifications. This is true freedom."
El-Zayat looks highly upon Kariman Hamza, the
renowned Egyptian TV announcer who won her battle to stay on
air and has been hosting a religious program for some time.
Others, he says, lack the courage to
fight.
"A pilot used her
legal right and sued the company," he says, referring to
Salem, "but no TV announcer has done the same. They're worried
about ruining their careers. After all, they can hold
administrative jobs there or work for an Arab channel. They
donwant the headache or trouble."
|
| "The picture has
changed now. Moderate veiled women are the majority
today. They're on the rise. We can't deny their
existence or pretend they're not there." |
Maha
Samir
|
| The root
of ERTU's reluctance to put veiled women on air goes back at
least as far as the assassination of President Anwar Sadat by
Islamic extremists in 1981. Then, fear of "Islam and
terrorism" was an internal fear, not an international one,
making it hardly surprising that state-run television had a
zero-tolerance policy for anything that legitimized an Islamic
image. The least desirable of them all would have been that
conjured by feeding viewers a steady diet of veiled women,
Samir explains.
"But the
picture has changed now. Moderate veiled women are the
majority today. They're on the rise. We can't deny their
existence or pretend they're not there," she
says.
El-Zayat chuckles at
Samir's naiveté. The situation is worse today than when Egypt
was a battleground for fanatics in the 1980s and early 1990s:
What was once an internal problem has become an international
one. With many American officials now linking terrorism and
violence with Islam, the problem has only gotten
worse.
"Since decision makers
don't want to nurture this so-called 'culture of violence,'
they're working hard to down-size the 'veiled' image,"
El-Zayat suggests.
Although a
little less blunt, Azza Koriam agrees. A researcher at the
National Center for Social Studies, Koriam says the dearth of
veiled women on terrestrial television has everything to do
with officials' desire to reflect "global fashion and Western
trends" of appearance and behavior. The government, she says,
has adopted a liberal, secular attitude - one that clearly
appeals to the United States. "There's also the belief that
the veil doesn't portray progress and development but presents
suppression and backwardness," she says, "The fact stands:
there is resistance to veiled women from the official side" in
broadcasting.
The irony of it
all, Abu El-Komsan says, is that while ERTU minimizes the
number of veiled announcers, it has increased its volume of
religious programming and is increasingly showcasing sheikhs
on social and religious programs alike. "It seems they don't
have a single official line. So they're not against religion,
but they're against veiled announcers. This is a little bit
confusing and conflicting," she says.
Samir and other veiled ex-broadcasters aren't
demanding that muhajibet take over the airwaves, but that they
be fairly represented. "Let's have one veiled announcer for
every 10 un-veiled," she suggests. "Let them do it on a trial
basis and see how it turns out."
But she isn't optimistic.
"In my day, there were more restrictions in TV
than today," she says. "We used to follow a strict dress code:
no one was allowed to wear short sleeves or revealing clothes.
Today, it's different, it's more lenient and liberal. It's a
trend that diverts from the hijab. But on the other side,
there's a wave of newly veiled women. It epitomizes the
contradictions in our society."
Some prefer her
veiled
To many employers,
Layla El-Morshady must be the embodiment of those
contradictions. On the phone, she's easily mistaken for an
American. The 29 year-old was raised and educated in the
United States. Her impressive CV lists an MBA and leisure
activities that include horseback riding and
swimming.
And she has a cool
new hair cut. After an hour under the steamer with a
nourishment mask for her hair, El-Morshady's phone rings. Her
mother's voice comes through, worried as usual: "How was your
job interview?"
"They loved
me!" El-Morshady says, still commanding attention (even that
of the female hairdressers) as she reaches for her veil.
"I didn't realize the power
of my hair," she teases. "It's like Samson and Delilah: Once
you lose your hair, you lose your power. People love me over
the phone, and they brag about my CV. But they're shocked when
they see me in person. 'Oh! You're veiled!' I can see the
disappointment in their eyes. Usually, they tell me that
they're really impressed, but they never get back to
me."
El-Morshady takes it in
stride. "I really can't blame them! Look at my mother, she's
been boycotting me since I took the veil. It feels like
there's something cultural against the hijab, even among those
who fast and pray. They don't want to express their belief
through their outward appearance. They have the same
stereotypes as the West and don't want their daughters to be
stigmatized. My mom thinks I won't get married because the
veil is taking so much of my beauty. But what's really driving
me crazy is that no employer is honest and brave enough to
look me in the face and tell me, 'It's your
veil.'"
But as El-Zayat could
tell her, few employers are willing to publicly announce that
they won't hire or promote a woman because of her veil. Those
who were once that open have learned to be smarter after a
handful of women began filing lawsuits against their
employers. El-Zayat has represented some of them, successfully
suing the Ministry of Education on behalf of veiled teachers
who lost their jobs as well as on behalf of those who wear the
niqab in public schools.
El-Morshady isn't ready to sue - yet. Instead,
she says, "I'm teasing my dad, urging him to open a business
for 'us.' We'll have a big sign: 'Veiled Women Only,' and you
won't even be allowed to visit unless you're veiled. No
worries: We'll hand them out at the door," she laughs.
The idea may not be as crazy
El-Morshady thinks. Some private sector companies are carving
out a religious image by hiring only veiled women and bearded
men. The non-veiled and the clean-shaven need not apply as
these companies seek profit from the outward image of
religiosity.
"The owner of
the Tawheed We El-Nour, the household and clothing chain,
[might as well declare that he is] Muslim Brotherhood with his
hiring practices," Abu El-Komsan says. "He's attracting a
certain segment in the market by employing only veiled women
and long-bearded men. He wants to convey that particular image
to appeal to a certain group, and it's working out really well
for him."
Yet some employers
prefer the veiled woman less for public relations reasons than
for reasons of workplace harmony between the sexes.
"Conservative as she is, the muhajiba doesn't make problems
for the employer by wearing revealing clothes, even in the
absence of a dress code - that's how some employers look at
it," Koriam notes.
Lifting the veil of
silence
I never had a clue
Iman was veiled until I ran into her in the street. This time,
she was wearing a big, white veil.
"Mabrouk," I told her.
"I've always been veiled," she said with a
defensive look.
Iman, who
works as a manicurist at a Maadi hair salon, says she has to
take off her veil at work to keep her job. "I'm not doing
anything wrong. I'm working to feed four kids and their
father. This can't be wrong. Besides, my work is mainly with
women. If you're wondering about the monsieur and the three
other men at the shop, they're like my
brothers."
Except that they
are not, strictly speaking. Many reject Iman's innocent
defense, claiming women who take off their veils at work are
somehow weaker in their faith. As Afifi and Salem both say:
"Who are we obeying and pleasing here? God - or a manager?"
But Afifi notes that some
women have indeed been granted a 'license' to take it off.
"The mufti allows Muslim women in the US to take their veils
off if they feel it's resulting in persecution. We can't
demand that American society understand right away that our
Islam has nothing to do with terrorism. This needs intensive
media and PR campaigns."
Salem sees it the other way. "I can't tell God,
'Sorry, I took it off for the sake of my company.' And I'm
sure as hell my company won't settle that little dispute with
God on my behalf. There are many jobs out there. If some won't
take you for your veil, others will. May God bless your new
job even more, even if it doesn't pay as much."
Iman, the sole breadwinner
for a family of six, doesn't have the same luxury of accepting
a pay cut as God's will.
"Some call me a hypocrite and say I shouldn't
take it off if I'm a good Muslim," Iman says. "Even non-veiled
friends at work say this. I read the Qur'an, and I know that
as a Muslim I have to be veiled. I wish I could wear it at
work, but I can't."
God, she
says, shows mercy in this life and the next. Those who condemn
her here and now never do.
Where does all of this leave muhajibet and their
prospective employers? Perhaps it's best to live and let live,
as Salem says.
"If society
is restricting my ambitions because of how I look, then it's
the one that needs to lift the veil of ignorance, not me. I'm
just trying my best to do the right thing the way I see it.
I'm not pushing those around me to take the veil, so why
should they force me to take it off?" she
asks.
"It will take time and
won't be welcomed easily," Afifi adds. "Things won't change
until people accept that the veil doesn't automatically turn
you into this insane woman chasing after your co-workers with
a stick, bellowing at them to pray on time or else. Wearing
the veil is like praying and fasting. Have you ever heard of
someone not being hired because they pray or
fast?"
Not really. But as
analysts point out, society as a whole is locked in a conflict
that needs to be resolved.
"Society appears to accept girls baring their
belly buttons on the street next to women in niqab," says Abu
El-Komsan, "yet tensions are still boiling beneath the
surface." et
![]() | |
![]()
|
