France is very near to adopting a partial ban on the full Islamic veil, the burqa or niqab, being worn in some public places – specifically “high risk” security zones. The Council of State, France’s top administrative body, warned President Nicolas Sarkozy that the preferred option of a total ban could well be unconstitutional. Some groups in Britain are clamouring for a similar sort of prohibition to be introduced in this county.
These are interesting if somewhat disingenuous arguments, especially as the loudest calls emanate from the far right. And the far right is no more concerned with gender equality now than it was when Emily Davison threw herself under King George V’s horse at the 1913 Derby in the cause of universal suffrage.
The manoeuvring of the extreme right is a no more than cover for its racism and xenophobia.
Discussion about a ban on the burqa should form part of a much wider debate about female equality and women’s rights. France is not alone in wanting to curb what women choose to wear. In Sudan, a woman can end up in court and even be sentenced to be flogged for “dressing indecently” – that means wearing trousers in defiance of the country’s strict Islamic laws. A number of Middle Eastern countries demand that women cover their heads in public – whether they are natives or visitors. That’s something to contemplate when considering possible holiday destinations. Yet for women all over the world, choosing what they want
to wear is often the first step in a journey of self-discovery and empowerment.
Why, in the 21st century, does anyone still feel they have the right to dictate how women should or shouldn’t dress? Shouldn’t we have moved on by now? After all, female heads of state have been elected in at least four continents over the past 100 years. Incidentally, Asia has produced at least three female heads of state. Europe – and Britain in particular – should take note.
Statistics show that two women every week are killed in incidents of domestic violence in Britain. Globally, one woman dies every minute in childbirth or from pregnancy-related complications. Sixty million girls throughout the world do not have any access to education. Aren’t these more important issues than what they are wearing?
The question of whose rights take priority is a veritable minefield. Further, would men accept having to wearing the burqa? Or choose to? Do children who cover their heads do so out of choice? And whose choice? Do some views carry more weight than others? Should the religious take precedence over the secular?
The debate about what women can and cannot wear may be seen as part of a deeper and more complex need by men to assert their authority in an increasingly confusing, changing and imbalanced world. How else could a total ban on abortion in Nicaragua, even including after pregnancy by rape or incest, be justified? That’s not merely unjust. It shows that, in some part of the world, women’s rights are not even considered.
The status and treatment of women can be regarded as the barometer whereby we measure the direction our society is taking – progressive or otherwise. Fundamental rights for women have been fought for and won over many years and often at a very high cost. From the astonishingly low conviction rates for rape in Britain – ranging from 7 per cent to 14 per cent, depending on which report you read – to women being caned in Malaysia for having extra-marital sex, there is plenty of evidence of how far we still have to go.
The spectrum of opinion ranges from: “We are liberated because our women have the option of displaying their breasts as a career choice” to: “Our women are so precious that they should only be seen by their male relatives”. Let’s hope the sisterhood wakes up before the coffee starts brewing.
