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 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.
Khattab, A. (2003, September 1). Damned If You Do, Damned If You Don't? Egypt Today, 80-89.
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
Khattab, A. (2003, September 1). Damned If You Do, Damned If You Don't? Egypt Today, 80-89.
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."
Khattab, A. (2003, September 1). Damned If You Do, Damned If You Don't? Egypt Today, 80-89.
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 welleducated, 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.
"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 ElKomsan 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?"
Khattab, A. (2003, September 1). Damned If You Do, Damned If You Don't? Egypt Today, 80-89.
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."
Perhaps veiled women should simply accept that certain
jobs just aren't for them. After all, says Montasser ElZayat, 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.
Khattab, A. (2003, September 1). Damned If You Do, Damned If You Don't? Egypt Today, 80-89.
"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.
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
Khattab, A. (2003, September 1). Damned If You Do, Damned If You Don't? Egypt Today, 80-89.
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.
Khattab, A. (2003, September 1). Damned If You Do, Damned If You Don't? Egypt Today, 80-89.
"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 staterun 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 staterun 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."
Khattab, A. (2003, September 1). Damned If You Do, Damned If You Don't? Egypt Today, 80-89.
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 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 zerotolerance 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.
Khattab, A. (2003, September 1). Damned If You Do, Damned If You Don't? Egypt Today, 80-89.
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.
Khattab, A. (2003, September 1). Damned If You Do, Damned If You Don't? Egypt Today, 80-89.
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 nonveiled 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 longbearded 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."
Khattab, A. (2003, September 1). Damned If You Do, Damned If You Don't? Egypt Today, 80-89.
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
Khattab, A. (2003, September 1). Damned If You Do, Damned If You Don't? Egypt Today, 80-89.