The first is about not politics, but exercise. Abby Ellin writes in the Times about the unique challenges some Muslim women face in maintaining both fitness and modesty. Some prefer not to work out in front of men, while others are dissatisfied with the choices of exercise-wear available to them (one woman interviewed finds the embattled burkini too formfitting when wet). What's surprising about Ellin's article, though, is it take on exercise, modesty, and beauty.

Ellin writes, "On the one hand, Muslim women are spared some of the body-image issues that other women face; on the other, that freedom can be a detriment to their physical well-being." Then she quotes personal trainer Mubarakha Ibrahim, who says,

We don't have the external motivation that non-Muslim women have. There is no little black dress to fit into, no bathing suit. When you pass through a mirror or glass you're not looking to see ‘Is my tummy tucked in? Do I look good in these jeans?' You're looking to see if you're covered.

Ibrahim's words make a certain amount of sense — after all, much of American exercise culture is geared towards looking good. But did Ellin really have to recast this by implying that freedom from body image issues is bad for Muslim women's health? In fact, the rest of the article makes it sound like a dearth of women-only gyms and the inadequacy of modest workout wear are bigger health risks to Muslim women than an inability to see their "tummies" in a mirror. Isn't it possible that modest dress might make Muslim women healthier, by exempting them from the pressure for a "bikini ready body" that can lead to eating disorders and feelings of inadequacy? Maybe not if Ibrahim has anything to do with it. She tells Ellin,

One of the ideas I promote is that when you are married and you take off your clothing, your husband should not be like, 'You should put this back on.' Even if you wear a burqa, you should be bikini-ready. You should feel comfortable and sexy in your own skin.

Take out the burqa part, and you've got Self magazine. Apparently modesty on its own doesn't free women from the idea that the point of fitness is to please men — at least, not if they're Ibrahim's clients.

Meghan Daum examines this issue further in an editorial in the LA Times. Inspired by the recent release of Lubna Hussein, a Sudanese woman arrested for wearing pants, Daum looks back at Naomi Wolf's essay in praise of Muslim dress. In it, Wolf wrote,

I put on a shalwar kameez and a headscarf in Morocco for a trip to the bazaar. Yes, some of the warmth I encountered was probably from the novelty of seeing a Westerner so clothed; but, as I moved about the market - the curve of my breasts covered, the shape of my legs obscured, my long hair not flying about me - I felt a novel sense of calm and serenity. I felt, yes, in certain ways, free.

Wolf's description of herself here is weirdly sensual — it sounds like she's saying, "thank God for this veil to hide my lush hotness." And Daum accuses Wolf of fetishizing modesty. She writes, "Wolf, for her part, is hardly the first Westerner to find a kind of romance in the idea of being covered. [...] It's not difficult to understand how demureness and chastity can be a source of fascination, even a kind of fetish, for all kinds of people."

Apropos of Lubna Hussein, Daum is mostly concerned with reminding readers that not every woman gets to choose whether to wear a headscarf (or pants), and this is a valid reminder. But what Wolf's somewhat tone-deaf piece also shows is that non-Muslim women (of which I am one) may not really understand Muslim dress and its relationship to beauty. Wolf seems to think of the veil as a nice respite from a critical, catcalling world. But as Ibrahim's words show, veiled women aren't necessarily immune to body criticism. Ibrahim clearly doesn't speak for all Muslim women, but her comments show that bikini rhetoric is spreading to affect even those who don't wear bikinis.

As Latoya noted last week, there are many reasons Muslim women choose to cover. For many, it's a religious decision. I'm speculating here, but I'd imagine that for these women, not having to look good in a swimsuit is an ancillary, rather than a central benefit. And while Wolf may enjoy the fact that modest dress takes the attention off her body, many women in Europe and America find that the veil actually draws attention to them. But they wear it anyway.

Wolf seems to want to show how different Muslim women are from non-Muslims, how much freer and even sexier life is when lived in modest dress. But really, women face many of the same pressures, veiled or not. As much as Westerners like to talk about the oppressive Middle East, much of the same sexism is visible here. And as much as Wolf trumpets the freedom of modesty, restrictive beauty standards may affect Muslim women too. Rather than romanticizing the veil, as Wolf does, or banning it, as France threatens, we should be campaigning to keep women from being judged on how they look — just one of many issues that affect all of us.

Fitness Tailored To A Hijab [NYT]
The Chador And Feminism Don't Always Fit [LA Times]

Earlier: Is There Feminist Discourse Beyond The Veil?

The first article, from the new Economist, is actually a book review titled "Out from under." It covers Mania Lazregs' Questioning the Veil: Open Letters to Muslim Women.

The summary really says it all:

Marnia Lazreg, an Algerian-born professor of sociology at the City University of New York, feels passionately that Muslim women should not wear the veil, as both her mother and grandmother obediently did. She is particularly bothered by the trend of "reveiling" in the West and Islamic countries, whereby the daughters of women who went unveiled decide to cover up. But she also thinks that democratic governments should not impose dress codes by law. So she has written this collection of letters to Muslim women to try to coax them out from under the veil.

I toyed with rehashing things already written, with asking Fatemeh or Sobia to come and discuss why Muslim women may find themselves feeling the need to cover, either out of piety or political solidarity, why the fear of the headscarf is rooted in ideas of a frightening other, or how there are many Muslimahs who don't feel the need to cover (like Fatemeh) who still resent the imposition and policing of her beliefs by anyone.

But you know what? That gets enough air time and I'm sure there will be more segments on the news shortly. So let's talk a new film out of Egypt called Scheherazade: Tell Me a Story. From the Yahoo! article:

"Scheherazade: Tell Me a Story," screened at the Venice film festival outside the main competition, tells the story of Hebba, a successful talk-show host whose husband urges her to steer clear of politics in order to forward his own career.

As the deputy editor of a state-run newspaper in Cairo, Karim has been told by officials he is in line for the top job as long as his wife tones down the provocative content of her popular television slot.

But by inviting women to tell their personal, tragic stories, she unwittingly exposes fundamental flaws in Egyptian society where, the film argues, women are treated as sexual trophies and used and abused as men see fit.

When a man who tricks one of the women in order to extort money turns out to be a senior party figure, Hebba's comfortable life and seemingly perfect marriage begin to fall apart.

So here's the story of a woman, who asks other women to speak their truth and becomes an accidental whistleblower. Hebba, the heroine of the story, isn't trying to do anything but explain what is going on in the lives of the people she puts on her show. Yet, in one of the best illustrations of how the personal is political, her quest for the truth leads her to run afoul of powerful interests, and cause strife between Hebba and her ambitious husband. Check out the trailer (and a translation would be appreciated, if anyone speaks Arabic):

Domestic violence, marginalization, abortion - this film is tackling the standard fare of women's issues head on. In addition to this feat, the filmmaker had even loftier goals:

In production notes for the movie, Nasrallah said that as well as addressing "the misogyny prevailing in Egyptian society," his aim was to put women back at the center of Egyptian cinema which marginalized them for more than 20 years.

In the film, women are show both veiled and unveiled, but still struggling under the crushing weight of society. And this is why I feel like epics written about the act of veiling fall short. Is it good to examine the motivations for why women veil? Sure, why wouldn't we? It's kind of like why we examine black women's hair choices. These are personal things that are also very politicized and our choices send a message, whether we agree with the transmission or not. But it is important to remember that just like the issue with black hair isn't about what's growing out of our heads, but racism and dominant beauty standards, questions about the lives of Muslim women shouldn't be ascribed solely to the headscarf when we're really talking about misogyny.

(Oh, and the pic illustrating this post? They are school girls in Belgium protesting a headscarf ban.)

Official Site [Muslimah Media Watch]
Out From Under [The Economist]
Muslim Lookout [Official Site]
Scheherazade, Tell Me A Story [Screen Daily]
Egyptian Film On Women's Role Draws Ire And Praise [Reuters]

The hijab is a highly charged topic in France, where it's been the subject of debates about the role of religion and secularism in French society. In the artist's own words, "I’m an advertising hijabist. In other words, I cover all advertising with a black veil, which is a dark symbol, a reference on pop culture, and a way to hide elegantly advertising. It is also a study on territories and identities." While little is known about the artist - including her sex or religious affiliation — like the anonymous British street artist Banksy, Princess Hijab has been embraced by the art world, and her work will be displayed in a number of upcoming exhibitions. [Muslimah Media Watch]