The hijab row is back – when will we stop policing women’s choices?

It’s midnight and, instead of sleeping, I find myself fixated on the news about India’s hijab row – here is a debate there about whether Muslim girls can wear the hijab in schools and colleges, and wearing it has even been banned in some schools in southern India. I also read about celebrities like Bella Hadid who’ve stood up for the right for women to wear the hijab without persecution, and about the French senate voting on banning the hijab in sporting competitions last month. Hijab news goes on and on.

I grew emotional; it seems that no matter what we do as women, there will always be those who try to dictate our choices. It’s time people stop policing what we wear and let us be. I often find myself reflecting on why I wear the hijab, its purpose and why I hold such a deep-rooted connection with it.

When I first wore the hijab, it was in year eight of secondary school. Bursting with excitement to share this new chapter of my life with my classmates, I walked into class. But suddenly, I could feel the curious eyes, piercing through me. That’s when someone approached me and said, “Oh wow, you wear a scarf now Faiza? Ah, you looked so much better without it”. I froze completely, responding with an anxious “OK”.

It wasn’t exactly what a teenager struggling with the way they looked wanted to hear. At peak puberty, I was acne-ridden and knew I wasn’t the prettiest, so that comment hit hard. After putting on the hijab, I felt the pressures of society weighing down on me; would I now be stereotyped and put into a box? I knew I looked different, but I didn’t realise those differences were something I needed to learn to love and embrace.

I would always have the same conversation with myself. “Why didn’t you just put it on before secondary school, Faiza?” Now I had put the hijab on, I felt like I was considered less beautiful than before I had worn it because of society’s beauty standards. Back then, there were no cover girls rocking a hijab, no role models to look up to and few Muslim voices were amplified in the media positively.

But this only motivated me to continue wearing the hijab and to accept it for what it is. The hijab became my light in the darkest of days. It was time to rewrite how the media saw me, paint a picture of peace and not let a minority of people define what Islam or the hijab stands for.

I struggled for the first few months of wearing the hijab, and wasn’t sure if I should keep wearing it. It took me a while to realise that deep down, I felt a sense of emptiness without it. I found my love for the hijab through my mother. I was inspired by her resilience and courage. She is an Afghan immigrant paving her way through a land so far from home, but she didn’t remove her hijab despite judgements, racism or ignorance in society.

The hijab let her form a peaceful bond with her faith, and I wanted to be a part of it too. My mother’s endless resistance encouraged me to wear the hijab with pride, reminding me to embrace my differences and seek comfort in the beauty of the hijab.

Eventually, I found my peace while wearing it. Secondary school became a whole lot easier, besides a few silly remarks that I'm sure many women have encountered. One boy came up to me in class and asked how long my hair was, while another asked if I shower with it on. Besides the obvious curiosity, I no longer let the remarks bother me. The hijab was and is, in a way, a relieving experience that I am truly grateful for.

No one can dictate the choices I make. We will not stand for racism or allow it to stop us from standing our ground. Now that the hijab row is back, it’s time people stopped policing how women choose to dress. The hijab is my home and I will not let anyone take that away from me.