In the spring of 2006, I attended an international diversity awareness event that I had randomly registered for and had later forgotten about – till I got the actual invite and traveled to Dubai for the same. While I was the only Pakistani attending, other participants hailed from varied backgrounds including those from Far East Asia, Canada, the United States (US), and Britain.
We had one offsite during the three days we had for this training; this session (conducted by a British trainer— known for his keen interest in the said subject) focused on diversity at the workplace and I sat next to a young Mauritian girl.
Now, with each slide that exhibited images of employees working at the offices of Britain-based organisations, this Mauritian would shake her head and frown. Finally, after seven such slides, she raised her hand.
“Excuse me,” she said and stood — before starting to speak: “Why do you people have to continuously show Muslim women in hijabs in your pictures?”
Our trainer seemed surprised by the question. Raising an eyebrow, he said: “I am sorry; I don’t understand?” As he said this, he quickly but closely studied the hijabi Mauritian, wearing an abaya.
“Every time you people speak about diversity in your country, you show all Muslim women as hijabis. Why is that?” she asked.
The British guy, still very evidently perplexed, just shrugged his shoulders and said: “Sorry, I still don’t follow.”
Another hand went up. It was of a young Palestinian girl — in blue jeans and a T-shirt, wearing a trendy set of eyeglasses. “May I?” she asked.
“Yes, please” the trainer replied, as if relieved by the intervention. The Palestinian stood up: “Is there no other way for you guys to depict Muslim women?” she asked.
“How else do you want us to show them?” the oblivious Briton replied, seemingly annoyed with the ensuing exchange. Before the Palestinian could answer, the Mauritian girl, who was still standing, interrupted: “No, no, this was not what I meant!”
A young man (wearing the traditional Muslim skull cap and kurta-pajama) seated just ahead of us, nodded rather vigorously. “Yes, yes, she did not mean that,” he quietly said, as if to himself.
The Palestinian, while placing herself back on her seat, smiled: “I know, sister, this was not what you meant. But this is what I mean.”
The Briton suddenly raised his voice: “We are getting distracted here. Can we continue with what we are here for?”
And that we did. But this short, sharp exchange intrigued me; so, during the next coffee break, I approached the Mauritian.
After introducing myself, I asked her what exactly was it that she was trying to point out. She said: “These Westerners refuse to understand the meaning of our faith. They don’t go beyond how we look.”
I slowly nodded my head and then politely added: “I think it cuts both ways. How well do we understand their faith?”
The Mauritian retorted, “What faith?”
I shrugged my shoulders: “Well, for example, Christianity? Or the fact that some might have no faith at all. That, too, is a faith, no?”
She smiled: “My question to him was that they needed to understand our faith a little more deeply.”
I again nodded my head: “Well, yes, showing Muslims in beards and hijabs is (in a way) stereotyping them.”
Hearing this, the Mauritian almost spilled her coffee: “No, no, not stereotypical. That is the correct way of showing us Muslims. But they need to look deeper still.”
I couldn’t help but ask: “So, what you’re saying is that showing a Muslim with no beard or hijab is incorrect.
Westerners love to associate people’s identities with their dress. This makes them feel superior. And as Muslims, we love dressing up for them. Who gave us this bearded / hijabi 'look'? We now dress up exactly how the West perceives us.
Alternatively, showing them as bearded or hijabi is correct — but needs to be given more thought?”
“Yes, that is what I meant. You understand because you are Muslim. He (the Briton) won’t.”
“Actually, I don’t,” I retorted, trying to maintain my cool. Then added: “Maybe I should look deeper still?”
She went quiet for a moment; then striking a thoughtful pose, nodded and softly proclaimed: “Yes, Yes …” With this, she took her cup of coffee and just left.
Later that day, I ran into the Palestinian girl in the smoking area. She admitted to agreeing with the Mauritian girl’s question, but not with the intent.
Hearing this, I shared my earlier exchange with the Mauritian. She laughed:
“You see, Westerners love to associate people’s identities with their dress. This makes them feel superior. And as Muslims, we love dressing up for them. Who gave us this bearded / hijabi 'look'? We now dress up exactly how the West perceives us. We love to get their attention. But, bro, Muslims like you and I will never be in those pictures”, she added with a laugh. And that last line caught my attention.
The following evening the Palestinian, an Algerian, a Chinese, another Pakistani and I strolled into a nearby cafe. Our Briton trainer was already there. Though our conversation centered around the workshop, the Palestinian did bring up the hijab question again.
“Listen,” said the Briton, “when we exhibit diversity, we show some Caucasians, some blacks, some Chinese, and so on and so forth. So, in exhibiting religious diversity, we show people from different faiths together. So how do we show that somebody is Muslim? Obviously with the hijab, beard, and all.”
“Hmm. The point,” said the Palestinian.
“Good, now let’s order, already!” said the Briton, opening the menu card.
But just as we were about to order, the Palestinian interrupted: “But … if, in a picture, a woman must be shown as a hijabi and a man bearded to portray that they were Muslims, I was wondering how would you guys show a Christian? Do you dress him up like the Pope?”
Everyone at the table snickered, with the Chinese guy saying that at least his people were not shown wearing Mao Cap anymore to show where they were from. The Briton cracked a resigned smile: “Okay, Ms. Palestine, you made your point.”
Ms. Palestine raised her glass: “Oh, I was just wondering — that’s all. Cheers.”