My Hair is Pink Under This Veil

By Rabina Khan

"This book should be read in every household around the UK. It is educational, insightful and most of all honest." – Nadiya Hussain
"A funny, engaging and moving memoir. Rabina captures nuances and shatters stereotypes." – Fatima Manji, Channel 4 News
"An inspiring, candid insight into the life of a hijab-wearing Muslim woman in Britain." – Bella
***
"In 2015, when I ran to be mayor in Tower Hamlets, a smartly dressed middle-class man saw me wearing a headscarf and asked me what colour my hair was underneath it. I gave him a big smile. 'Pink,' I replied. Did I win his vote? I rather doubt it."
Vivid, astute and full of humour, My Hair Is Pink Under This Veil offers a frank appraisal of life in modern Britain as seen through the eyes of a hijab-wearing Muslim woman. Rabina Khan writes with grace about her family's experiences building a new life in 1970s London before turning her attention to exploring the politics of the veil, white privilege and intersectional feminism. And in depicting her battle to build a successful political career against a backdrop of blame, bias and misogyny – including from her own community – Khan is clear-sighted about the struggles facing Muslim women today.
Now fully updated with new material on the sexism facing women in politics, My Hair Is Pink Under This Veil is at its heart an inspiring story about the power of self-belief and determination to create a fairer world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Biteback Publishing
• Release date: May 20, 2021
• ISBN: 9781785906565

Rabina Khan

Rabina Khan is one of the most influential politicians in the east London Borough of Tower Hamlets, where she serves as a Liberal Democrat councillor. She is married with three children and is proudly working-class. She came to the UK from Bangladesh aged three when her father started working as a docker in Chatham. She writes regularly for The Independent, The Guardian and the Huffington Post, and has delivered lectures at the University of Cambridge and the Royal Society for Arts for BBC Radio 4. She is a contributor to the BBC Asian Network’s Big Debate, Bangladesh newspapers and Channel S. She has appeared on Radio 4, BBC Sunday Morning Live, The Vanessa Feltz Breakfast Show, Drivetime With Eddie Nestor, LBC, The Politics Show and Woman’s Hour.

Book preview

This book should be read in every household around the UK. It is educational, insightful and most of all honest.

Nadiya Hussain

A funny, engaging and moving memoir. Rabina captures nuances and shatters stereotypes.

Fatima Manji, Channel 4 News

An inspiring, candid insight into the life of a hijab-wearing Muslim woman in Britain.

Bella

Full of recollections, remonstrations and witty responses … Rabina Khan sprinkles advice and words of wisdom throughout the pages of her book.

The National

"My Hair Is Pink Under This Veil is honest, painful and very funny … It is filled with a quiet strength, wonderfully written."

Muslim Times

Rabina is an inspiring and powerful role model who has smashed glass ceilings with her strength, grace and tenacity. This book gives an important insight into the experiences of British Muslim women, whose voices are too often marginalised. Rabina’s charming childhood experiences of homemade nativity costumes, bad perms and dressing-up parties are gently interwoven with the painful realities of everyday racism in 1980s Britain, all told with matter-of-fact reflection and optimism for the future.

Jo Swinson, former leader of the Liberal Democrats

MY HAIR IS PINK UNDER THIS VEIL

RABINA KHAN

In memory of my father

CONTENTS

Title Page

Dedication

Preface to the Paperback Edition

Prologue

PART ONE:DISCOVERING THE VEIL

Chapter 1:The Early Days

Chapter 2:Finding Me

Chapter 3:The Choice

PART TWO:BEHIND THE VEIL

Chapter 4:Our Mothers’ Generation

Chapter 5:Young, British and Hijabi

Chapter 6:The Veil – A Fashion Icon

Chapter 7:Handshakes, Hygiene and the Hot Hijabi

PART THREE:UNDERCOVER – THE POLITICS OF THE VEIL

Chapter 8:Islam, Inequality and Integration

Chapter 9:Media, the Veil and Muslim Women

Chapter 10:The Covid Niqab

PART FOUR:A BRITAIN FOR ALL WOMEN – VEILED AND UNVEILED

Chapter 11:Contemporary Muslim Women – Succeeding Through Setbacks

Chapter 12:White Privilege and Muslim Women

Chapter 13:Together in Our Struggles

Chapter 14:My Veil and Hope

About the Author

Copyright

PREFACE TO THE PAPERBACK EDITION

As a hijab-wearing British Bangladeshi woman who took the decision (for the third time) to stand as a candidate for Tower Hamlets’ directly elected mayor in 2022, I am brutally aware of the rampant sexism that still prevails in politics. In April 2022, a Tory MP was accused of watching porn in the Commons chamber and during a select committee hearing. It hardly needs to be said that watching porn while surrounded by colleagues at work is not only offensive and unprofessional but also rather foolish. In the same month, a Mail on Sunday report claimed that Angela Rayner deliberately crossed and uncrossed her legs during Prime Minister’s Questions as a ploy to distract the PM – an outrageously sexist and misogynistic suggestion.

Of my own experiences in politics, the Tower Hamlets elections have a history of being toxic, with allegations of electoral fraud against the former mayor and his subsequent removal from public office. I was part of his Cabinet at the time, and it was a most difficult period. Since then I have been able to rise, take ownership and move on, refusing to allow the experience to ruin my own political career. And although I didn’t feel that I needed to prove my innocence, as people will believe what they want to believe, I did enjoy the challenge of proving my critics wrong and gaining support through hard work, helping people and achieving positive results for my constituents. I also wrote my memoir, the paperback edition of which you are now reading, which covered all the challenges I have faced throughout my life, both personally and professionally.

The 2022 Tower Hamlets election saw the return of the former mayor and a new administration for his party. I lost my seat marginally, but then that is what elections are about: we win sometimes, we lose sometimes. Losing something is about the strength of resilience, determination and moving on. It was strange that so many reached out to me almost in grief and I was the one consoling them. So many women felt a loss for me – even many of the opposition – yet I felt almost liberated. For those of us in public life, we prepare for loss. I saw the political storm coming to engulf me and prepared in advance. That is what women do. We play smart.

And on this occasion, I felt as though it was a blessing in disguise, pushing me towards something I have been wanting to do for a long time. To a new direction. Now, I am preparing for a new life, and I am in training to be a journalist. Perhaps for a while I felt I had outgrown work in public life and wanted to tell the story of my lived social experiences and what my twelve years in politics have taught me.

As a Muslim woman in politics, I am used to harsh judgement, stereotyping and misogyny, but I refuse to let others’ opinions and actions define me. If I were to give up at the first hurdle, I would be doing a disservice not just to Muslim women but to women in general. Every voice is important and everyone has the power to work towards change. Gender inequality is being tackled now more than it ever was, but there is still a long way to go. Women are still disadvantaged in many workplaces and bias – whether deliberate or unconscious – makes it difficult for us to progress. In October 2021, a Global Learner Survey by Pearson found that two thirds of women in the UK felt they were being held back at work because of racial or gender bias. This does not necessarily mean that women are being openly discriminated against on a daily basis, but there are more subtle ways that biases can creep in. For example, Donna Kelly, leader of consulting firm CGI’s south and Midlands business unit in the UK, said,

I feel that the technology industry’s approach to gender equality has evolved, but it still has a long way to go before it can be considered completely inclusive. I have sat in rooms where I was expected to take notes rather than contribute, and it pushed my female colleagues and I to work twice as hard to prove we belonged there on our merits.

I can certainly relate to this. I have waited in line for an interview with a string of men and been mistaken for domestic staff. In previous mayoral elections, I was subjected to defamatory comments from men – both to my face and behind my back on social media and in local group forums – many of whom were from the Muslim community. I have been castigated for pointing out the failings of rival candidates, while male contenders were not equally criticised for doing the same; in fact, some of them were applauded.

Following my announcement to stand in the 2022 election, social media abuse targeted towards me was loaded with sexual connotations, misogyny, defamation and hate speech. Many of these comments were posted publicly on the Tower Hamlets residents’ page. Although the group is private, it takes one click to join and access all the messages, which can also be copied and passed on to anyone. It’s sad that instead of celebrating women’s achievements, championing the causes of those they believe in and doing something useful, some people prefer to expend their energy hiding behind a computer screen or mobile phone, slating others.

A UN report from 2020 analysed biases in areas such as politics and education in seventy-five countries. Almost 50 per cent of men thought they had more right to a job than women and, horrifyingly, a third thought it was acceptable for men to hit their partners. The report showed that only 21.2 per cent of parliamentary seats in Europe and central Asia were held by women. Simply Business research revealed that one in three female entrepreneurs have experienced sexism and one in five have faced unequal access to opportunities. Shockingly, 91 per cent of female business owners said that gender bias or inequality is ‘prevalent in business’. I find these statistics alarming, but what is of most concern is the question of how we change these entrenched attitudes. Do men feel threatened by women, or is it all just macho power play and an inherent sense of entitlement? Although most men would not admit it, do they still on some level believe that a woman’s place is in the home or in the kitchen at work, making endless cups of coffee?

When you add ethnicity to the debate, it is clear to see that women of colour face a triple burden of gender, religious and racial bias. I am the daughter of a docker who lived and worked in the East End. Raising my own family here means that I have experienced the many contrasts and contradictions in our capital city – the wealthier areas contrast starkly with the poverty, deprivation and health inequalities that are sadly prevalent elsewhere. My mother’s generation found it hard to pinpoint their place in British society. As a child, I was brutally aware of my mother’s long, quiet struggle to be accepted and often witnessed her being pushed out of line in supermarket queues or shop-floor assistants putting pork sausages into her shopping basket or claiming she had not paid for something. And growing up in the late ’70s and early ’80s, I often found myself waiting in queues at ice cream vans, shops, health centres or in the school dinner line for so long, being overlooked because I was brown and a girl. Either I was pushed out of line or else when I reached the front of the queue I would often be ignored while the person behind me was served.

Early family experiences of prejudice and injustice, both abroad and when starting a new life in London, have given me a strong sense of identity and an intolerance of all forms of bigotry and injustice. These experiences have also made me determined to fight for equality and empower women of all cultures and backgrounds to fulfil their dreams, regardless of socioeconomic status. Several decades later, I can see the difference in the aspirations of Muslim women. Rather than feeling that they are tied to life as a housewife and mother, they are eager to pursue higher education and professional careers in the same way as white women, even though it is not easy while cruel judgement still prevails. We are all aware that Muslims in the West have been victims of prejudice for years, and Muslim women in particular have faced huge challenges as a result of misperception, misinformation and stereotyping, especially those like me who are visibly Muslim. Following every terrorist attack, the victims of the backlash have been primarily Muslim women wearing the veil or other traditional Islamic attire. We have had to justify our existence.

Nevertheless, for some women such unfavourable environments stimulate their determination to succeed. Throughout my political career, my family and I have faced unacceptable abuse, threats and defamation, which I have borne with dignity. But I hope that my achievements have vindicated me in the eyes of the doubters. I’m not referring to status or public visibility but to my many avenues of work that have benefited or empowered people in some way. My parents taught me to deal with hate and negativity from others politely and to believe that other people are entitled to their opinions but that those opinions do not have to be my reality. Often, people project their own insecurities onto others. While holding my weekly surgery, for example, I have been verbally abused by a rival male candidate in front of constituents who were seeking my help. Instead of responding with harsh words, I remained respectful and professional, which in turn attracted some of my rival’s supporters over to my side.

And on a wider scale, Muslim women are demonstrating their tenacity and rising up against prejudice and outdated ideas to pursue their professional dreams, regardless of what they might be. Instead of being submissive and beaten down by negativity, they are empowering each other and looking to other prominent Muslim women for inspiration.

It takes great fortitude and tolerance to ignore criticism and hate speech and break through the barriers to success. In 2019, for example, Khadijah Mellah made history when she became the UK’s first hijab-wearing jockey, and Jawahir Roble became the UK’s first female Muslim referee, having achieved the English Football Association’s level six qualification. The path to women’s equality has been long and challenging. From activism in the late 1800s and early 1900s to feminism in the 1970s and beyond, female activists have fought hard for parity. The 1980s saw an array of ‘Fix the Women’ programmes, endeavouring to help women become more self-confident, visible and connected. In the mid-’90s, the term ‘ladette’ was coined to describe bolshie women who could out-drink and out-party any man. We saw the arrival of the Spice Girls and ‘girl power’. Comedians Shaparak Khorsandi and Esther Manito were then in their teens and twenties and were expected to conform to male stereotypes; they responded by writing comedy shows about it. Then came fourth-wave feminism, which included the #MeToo campaign, encouraging women to share their common experiences of sexual abuse and harassment.

In a fast-paced world we can expect inclusivity. We need to continue to imagine and inspire a gender-equal world where we question our own sense of bias, stereotype and discrimination in order to reach a more diverse, equitable and inclusive society. A place where all our differences are valued and celebrated together. Together, we can forge women’s equality, including that of Muslim women.

We don’t speak about the change; we make the change.

Rabina Khan

July 2022

PROLOGUE

In 1977, one of the girls in my infant school in Kent asked me if I was a golliwog. I said I wasn’t sure, because I didn’t know what a golliwog was.

In 2015, when I stood as an independent candidate for mayor in Tower Hamlets, a smartly dressed middle-class man saw me wearing a headscarf and asked me what colour my hair was underneath it.

I gave him a big smile. ‘Pink,’ I replied.

Did I win his vote? I rather doubt it.

I was a child of five without a head covering in 1977 and a woman in a headscarf in 2015, with the confidence to respond to the man intent on being unpleasant to me. The transition from a feisty young girl, doing mostly as she was told, but still being outspoken, to an independent, confident Muslim woman in the public eye has been one of tears, laughter and immense challenges. This book draws on those experiences and, I hope, will encourage other women of faith to play pivotal roles in tackling stereotypes and inequality.

So, who is the British Muslim woman?

How does she define herself?

How does she see the future for our people and our country?

Post-9/11, communities described as British Bangladeshi or British Pakistani increasingly found themselves referred to as ‘Muslim’, even though, as with all religions, there are practising and non-practising British Bangladeshis and Pakistanis.

Orthodox Jews, traditionally dressed, are called ‘observant Jews’. When Hindu ladies wear bright saris, they are described as colourful. Buddhist monks in saffron robes are thought of as serene and passive. But a woman in a veil is often treated with suspicion, because the headscarf is seen as a symbol of extremism or oppression.

Sara Khan, former head of the anti-extremist organisation Inspire – let me repeat that word, anti-extremist – has described being ‘spat on in the street’ when she wears a headscarf. People have approached indignantly and sworn in her face. One man in a Union Jack T-shirt called her ‘Osama bin Laden’s wife’. One of her friends had dog faeces dropped on her head. Another woman, who relayed her experience to Sara, was waiting for the bus when a man punched her in the face in a completely unprovoked attack, giving her a black eye.

These are just a few examples of attacks that occur nationwide. In July 2018, the monitoring group Tell MAMA reported a record number of anti-Muslim attacks, with women disproportionately targeted, primarily by male teenage perpetrators.

Let me stress two further points. It is only a small minority of individuals who threaten and attack Muslims; and it is only a minority of Muslim leaders and teachers who have twisted Islam to suit their own questionable agendas, creating fear and division and, in turn, causing all Muslims to be judged negatively and treated unjustly. As a comparison, when a minority of Christians commit fundamentalist terror attacks, it does not create similar levels of mistrust and segregation. Many people will remember Anders Breivik, the Norwegian right-wing extremist who murdered seventy-seven innocent people in 2011 when he detonated a bomb in central Oslo and then opened fire at an island youth camp. He claimed the attacks were necessary in order to stop the ‘Islamisation’ of Norway. Similarly, in August 2019, another young Norwegian, Philip Manshaus, entered a mosque just outside Oslo and opened fire, apparently inspired by Breivik as well as the terrorists behind the attacks in Christchurch, New Zealand, and El Paso, Texas.

Since that world-changing day when al-Qaeda flew aeroplanes into the Twin Towers in New York, the topic of Islam, Muslims and extremism has been debated repeatedly. Female Muslims and their style of dress have emerged as a key focus of media attention and Muslim women have become an easy target, suffering abuse and violence.

After 9/11, when attacks on Muslim communities became more prevalent, many Muslim women who had previously been ambivalent about the veil started to wear traditional Muslim clothes, whether the hijab, the niqab or even the burqa. (There is sometimes confusion among non-Muslim people surrounding Islamic clothing for women and what it is called, as there are several different names to describe each garment. The burqa is the most concealing of Islamic veils and is a loose, one-piece outer garment that covers the entire face and body, leaving just a mesh screen to see through. The niqab, on the other hand, is a veil that covers the hair and face but leaves the eyes uncovered, although it can be worn with a separate eye veil. The hijab is a scarf that fully covers the head and neck but leaves the face clear. Meanwhile, the jilbab is a long, loose-fitting coat that covers the whole body except the face. The abaya is a floor-length, long-sleeved over-garment that covers the body, except the head, but can be teamed with a hijab.) They did so not to please the imam or their male relatives, but in defiance of those who spat at, swore at and criticised women in headscarves.

In 2012, Danny Boyle’s hugely powerful and resonant Olympics opening ceremony portrayed Britain as a land that is tolerant, fair and accommodating of the many tribes, lifestyles and beliefs it houses – a rainbow paradise. However, a rainbow is also an illusion. Naturally, these occasions have to be positive and have become more elaborate over the years, with each country promoting the best side of their nation and, some might suggest, trying to outdo other countries. Britain’s 2012 ceremony concealed the darker elements of our society – the racism, alienation and inequality.

In 2015, three schoolgirls from east London travelled to Turkey before crossing the border into Syria to join ISIS. They were born in England and came from loving families, yet they felt so disenchanted that they believed their lives would be more fulfilling under a brutal terror regime in a war-torn country. We can only assume that this disenchantment made them vulnerable to radicalisation, although many reasons have been presented in various studies conducted on this issue.

By contrast, in the same year, Nadiya Hussain was the popular winner of The Great British Bake Off and was asked to bake a cake for the Queen’s ninetieth birthday the following year. Since then, she has appeared on numerous TV shows, become a columnist for The Times and forged a career as a successful author. In 2017, she was named by Debrett’s as one of the 500 most influential people in the UK – but even she has been forced to endure the racial abuse that has been part of her life for years.

In 2018, Boris Johnson said he opposed banning veils in public but that it was ‘absolutely ridiculous that people should choose to go around looking like letter boxes’. Mr Johnson’s reckless comment shows that the hostility Muslim women face exists across society including, disturbingly, emanating from the nation’s leader. We should therefore recognise the immense fortitude of Muslim women who have fought against harsh judgement, discrimination and abuse to carve out successful careers.

Two of Britain’s top television journalists, Mishal Husain of the BBC and Fatima Manji of Channel 4 News are authoritative and self-confident women, skilled at getting to the root of the political issues their interviewees are promoting. They show that Muslim women can observe their religion while working in the public eye. Mishal Husain does not wear a head covering; Fatima Manji was the first woman to report on British television wearing a hijab. They may have made opposite decisions on how they want to present themselves to the world, but both are equally good examples of modern Muslim women.

Mishal Husain told Zoe Williams in an interview in The Guardian in August 2018, ‘With a name like mine, my career would only have been possible in Britain.’ That is a good definition of Britain.

The same can be said for Shabana Mahmood, Yasmin Qureshi and Rushanara Ali who made history in 2010 by becoming three of the first Muslim women to win seats in Parliament,