‘I hope they never force you to wear it, and I hope they never force me to take it off’

Veils attacks a subject head-on which we are all too afraid to really talk about, a subject that constantly lies just beneath our national consciousness, coated in impenetrable layers of white feminism. And when these layers are finally chipped away, the conversation usually results in the West turning up their noses at the Muslim East.

Veils is an unapologetically honest stamping out of the anxieties surrounding the discussion of the Muslim veil.

As a Western society, we too easily sweep every Muslim woman wearing a hijab with the same brush, a brush that paints our pity at their male-imposed oppression. ‘Poor them’, we say, sipping our Pret coffee and congratulating ourselves on discussing a non-Western news topic. But Veils is in open defiance of every stereotype and judgement surrounding the topic of women and equality.

Veils presents this story in the only way that they can: with two women at the forefront. These two characters, Samar (Zelina Ribeiro) and Intisar (Isaura Barbe-Brown), are fleshed-out, surprising storytellers in their Cairo saga.

Intisar, an American black woman who wears the Muslim veil, arrives at the American Egyptian University as Samar’s roommate. Instantly, we are confronted by their sheer difference; Intisar is modest, religion-driven and peace-searching while Samar is a passionate extrovert, pursuing a profession in life-threatening political journalism. These vastly different portrayals are refreshing at first, and continue to grow throughout the piece. They are constantly shifting and orbiting around each other, able to understand the other’s viewpoint and, most importantly, able to question them.

What results is a nuanced debate about the symbolism of the Muslim veil; the connotations of female sexual oppression, the control of men over women, but also the self-empowerment of the veil, the connection to one’s religion and ancestral history.

Set against the backdrop of the impending Arab Spring, these issues are magnified with escalating political unrest and police brutality. Yet, amongst such confusion and strife, the piece was not exclusive or alienating to non-Muslim audiences and there was certainly a place carved out for British audiences. They explained the different types of veil (hijab, niqab, burqa) and the different pronunciations of hijab in the different Arab countries. They invited us to the debate rather than stamping their belief onto us.

Veils is refreshing theatre. It does not hide away from the complexities of these female characters and their burdens. We are told to engage with them, understand their different struggles, and appreciate the embarrassing ignorance we had about the topic. And, most importantly, it opens up this topic to an audience without stealing the narrative from its true owners: Muslim women.

 

Veils is playing The So & So Arts Club until 30 July. For more information and tickets, see the Women and War website.