The leader of the opposition, Kemi Badenoch, called for bosses to be able to ban the burqa in the workplace. Following the example of the former Labour minister Jack Straw, who in 2006 sparked the first burqa debate by asking constituents at his surgeries to remove their face coverings, she stated that she does not see constituents at her surgeries if they have their faces covered, “whether it’s a burqa or a balaclava”.
These comments from politicians hoping to appease rightwing voters have real repercussions for the safety of Muslim women like me. Muslim women, especially those who wear coverings ranging from the headscarf known as the hijab to the full body and face covering known as the burqa, have become a symbol in UK politics of migration and integration. They – or perhaps the perceived oppressive men in their lives – are outsiders who refuse to live by British values. When politicians call to ban the burqa, they position themselves as defenders of a way of life under threat from outside forces.
When our national leaders parrot catchy soundbites such as “ban the burqa”, what they are really doing is normalising Islamophobia by making it part of mainstream political conversations. Islamophobic incidents rose by 375% in the week after Boris Johnson called veiled Muslim women “letterboxes” in 2018.
As a visibly Muslim woman, I have never felt as afraid as I do right now. Last summer’s far-right riots targeting mosques and calling for Muslims to be taken off the streets are etched into my mind. I was born in this country, it’s my home, yet I can’t shake a feeling of unease.
The irony of this debacle is not lost on me. Last time I checked, Britain prided itself in not being the sort of country that told women how to dress.
Source: The Guardian
