Fear and Dread

Yesterday I stopped by the newest little mall in my town, and pulled up into a parking space right in front of the shops. As I turned off the ignition, I looked up and saw a woman coming down the walkway dressed in black. She was tall, nearly 6', and hefty. A big woman. Formidable, as the French might say. She filled me with fear and dread.

It wasn't her height or her heft that frightened me. It was what she wearing: long black skirt, heavy black shoes, long black shawl over a black blouse, and a black burka -- a headdress that covered her forehead and fitted over her nose and chin. Except for her eyes, her face was completely covered in black cloth.

It was all wrong. It seemed un-American. In a country that allows all races, all creeds, all political viewpoints, my reaction to this woman's garb seemed intolerant, even to me. But that was my gut reaction. I allowed myself to experience it, and tried to understand it. In that quintessential American setting, a shopping mall, it was jarring to see someone so completely hidden, so spectral. I realized in a flash that we are characterized as a people by our openness. Some of us are more reserved than others, and there are Americans, both urban and rural, who prefer to keep to themselves. But as a nation, we tend toward openness, gregariousness, and informality. In that moment, nothing seemed more formal or closed than someone dressed entirely in black, her face masked in black cloth.

I occasionally see women and girls wearing the hijab, and think nothing of it. I've had casual exchanges with these women, pleasant enough, as ordinary as others I have with people out and about in the day-to-day world. This traditional muslim wear -- long skirts , long-sleeved blouses, and a bandana over the hair -- simply allows me to identify the religion of those who wear it.
But seeing that woman swathed in black, with only her eyes visible, caused a deep-down, primal anxiety. Our eyes met for only a moment, and I watched her walk into a store, a plastic shopping bag in her hand. Did I think of terrorists? Of bombs? No. The truth is, when I see these women on television, in their own culture, in faraway countries where I have never been, I feel frightened for them. Seeing this woman here, I felt frightened for myself. The burka may be dictated by a particular religion, but that religion is ruled by men, and those men place women in a subservient role. Women are to be protected and chaperoned. They must eat separately from men, and they are not to be educated. This is America, this is the 21st century, and it troubles me to have men with that view of women living in the neighborhood. Not only my rights and standing as a woman are threatened by that view, my whole way of life, everything I value, is challenged. In understanding my reaction, I understood that it wasn't really that woman who caused my anxiety. My real fear is of the man who requires her to wear that black burka.