Politics

It is a scene that wouldn’t be unfamiliar in France or Belgium: a woman’s hijab is snatched away by strangers on the street from her head despite her protest. She is told she shouldn’t wear it, or rather, she has no right to because her wearing it mocks other women and femininity itself. But it is not an episode of Islamophobic rage that is recounted by Shuniyya Rumaha Haiibalah, but an incident in her native Indonesia that would later become the title of her best-selling memoir, Jangan lepas jilbabku! (Please do not remove my jilbab!)

The great majority of Bangladesh’s 160 million citizens are Muslims, making it one of the world’s largest Muslim communities. Bengali Islam is distinctive, shaped by a long history in which adherents of different religions lived side by side. A Muslim family prayed five times a day, but also went to the Hindu temple. Bengali Islam was seen as tolerant, infused with the poetry and language of love of the Sufi traditions. Bengali women rarely wore head coverings. People speak, with pride, about traditions where neighbors not only respected each other’s religions but joined in celebrating all festivals.

Last week AltMuslimah explored feminism and faith in relation to patriarchal movements, and concluded that it is not possible for women of any faith to thoroughly enjoy their God-given rights in a society where “God” is replaced with “men.” Saudi Arabia is perhaps the quintessential example of the modern display of faith gone awry when religion is defined by men.

There I was, with my first Muslim client, confronting a predicament where the American legal tools at my disposal did not promise the best result for my client. Pouring over Zainab’s case in those first few days, I felt dejected. In recent decades, most states have passed legislation that makes divorce a “no fault” issue. This means simply that if either a husband or wife asks a court for a divorce, it is automatically granted without anyone having to prove conditions such as adultery or abandonment, as was the case in decades past.

I picked up Zainab from the motel where she had been abandoned by her husband, Said. Married only a year earlier in Amman, Jordan, she could not drive and spoke little English. Zainab, whose name I’ve changed to protect confidentiality, had left friends, family, and a job behind to be with a man who had promised her a life of comfort in the United States. They had met at a wedding two years before, when her cousin had wed one of his brothers. Punctuated with the romance of the wedding, one of the few instances when young men and women could socialize in Amman without the usual restrictions, they had a few clandestine conversations.