One night in an impromptu makeshift dance party in Mosul, in Iraq, I met a young girl of age 20 who I started to talk to about Iraqi politics. We spoke in English - her fractured English was a lot better than my fractured Arabic – and discussed topics as broad as the disconnect between the political class and the people, to the Bollywood blockbuster Slumdog Millionaire.

I fondly remember that conversation, for one simple reason - Lubna was wearing the niqab, or, what most Australians would refer to (incorrectly) as the burqa. She wasn’t what I had envisaged a typical niqab wearing woman to be like.
She was partying and dancing next to both males and females who were drinking alcohol and rocking out to Katy Perry. She was progressive, easy going and open-minded.
For me, she turned the stereotype of the oppressed Islamic woman who wore the niqab completely on its head. She was very accepting of differences, and had a very strong admiration for American culture.
She’d even learnt English by watching pirated American DVDs and listening to pop music she’d downloaded illegally off the internet. In a subsequent conversation she told me of her desire to travel to America to watch Green Day play.
Lubna was not married, she had had several boyfriends, and had stayed over at one of their houses. She was progressive, even by Iraqi standards. She insisted that wearing the niqab was a personal choice, and not something her father or family had forced upon her. Most people at her mosque didn’t wear one, and so it wasn’t imposed on her by a religious leader either. In a chuckling voice she told me that she that one of the best things about wearing the niqab was that she didn’t have to do her hair or put make up on in the morning.
The expression in which she spoke did a lot to make up for ‘what was lost’ when she wore the veil. Looking back, I am not too sure that I lost any meaning at all, I think I gained more meaning by focusing on what she said, not what she looked like, it was no way an impediment to expression as I talked with her in the same way I would talk to anyone. The argument that the burqa limits expression is about as true as saying that people lose meaning when they listen to the news on the radio as opposed to watching it on TV.
I am not going to go as far and say every niqab wearing woman is like Lubna but, for me, she epitomized a wave of feminism that has swept the Islamic world. A wave of feminism that doesn’t care what you wear, but the ideas and the conversation that you make.
A great deal of the women I spoke to went even so far as being critical of some Islamic countries actions towards women - I even struggled to find a young Iraqi woman that agreed that it is okay to force a woman to cover her hair, like what happens in Saudi Arabia or Iran. It was told to me that if someone wanted to wear something then that was a choice and not one that should be made arbitrarily by the state. In fact, a good deal of my Iraqi female friends did not bother with the veil at all unless it was a special occasion or they were heading to the mosque. In each group there were often women who wore the niqab, women who wore the hijab and women who wore no headscarf at all. People walking down the street did not judge people who wore full garb, nor did they think that someone not wearing any sort of headscarf had any less moral codes – I think a lot of Australians could learn from this attitude.
Back at home, I can count on one hand the people I know in Australia that wear a full face veil.You would have to go out to Haldon Street in Lakemba, in western Sydney, to even have the off chance of meeting someone wearing one. Even in many Islamic countries it isn’t common place to find women wearing the niqab, either inside or outside of the home. But despite this, even if it makes a handful of women feel comfortable participating in civil society here in Australia then it is not worth banning.
It indeed is sad that Lubna felt she lived in a society where women are judged on their sexual attributes rather than their intelligence. But I couldn’t count the hundreds of times I have heard women in Australia say exactly the same thing. Wearing the niqab was Lubna way of dealing with this. It was not an oppressor, it was a liberator – she felt she could go out to parties, go to university, and hang out with friends because she felt comfortable in her environment.
To this day I respect and admire her choice. Wearing the burqa is not the great oppressor many think it is, it’s a social liberator to allow Islamic women who choose to wear it the keys to greater participation in civic society. We cannot afford to try to protect liberal democracy by undermining the very tenet of its existence – freedom of choice.
- Alistair Campbell is a university student from Sydney and spent considerable time in the Middle East, specifically Jordan and Iraq, working on youth development and empowerment projects during 2008…
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