What my ‘hijab’ means

“TERORISTA” IS a label that has brought many Muslims in the Philippines into disrepute. “Mamasapano” is another colorful moniker given to us by other people who know little to zilch of the tragic incident.

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I decided to start wearing my hijab (head covering) two years ago. Frankly, I was a bit hesitant because the decision to cover meant a lot of responsibility. We are a misunderstood minority in the Philippines; I should represent the Muslim Ummah (nation, or community) in a way that would invite other people to get to know us more, as well as our history and culture.

Before I made my decision I had been able to blend well with the crowd. My scarf stayed more on my shoulders than over my head. I spoke both English and Tagalog without a trace of a Maranao accent. In the eyes of the masses, I was a Filipino just like them.

The day I put on my hijab was the day I started standing out in the crowd. It became my identity. Everywhere I went, people would look at me funny. At the airport, the security people would double-check my bags and be thorough with body inspection. That’s okay because they were just doing their job, except that I felt like I was being picked on because they did not give the same attention to other travelers.

And don’t get me started on taxis. Cab drivers shun me. The times I’ve lost face to onlookers who watched me get practically shooed out of a taxi (because the driver suddenly remembered an errand to go to, or he was suddenly low on gas or at the end of his shift), I can no longer count.

Every day that I would go to non-Muslim-populated areas, I would fear for my life. There was an instance when I could no longer endure the burning stares of the people I passed; I recall that the Charlie Hebdo issue was a big controversy then.

I tried to do a little experiment and loosened my hijab. I was able to catch a cab immediately. Inside, I put my hijab back on and noticed the taxi driver watching me in the rearview mirror. He wondered what had happened to me: “Bakit po kayo nakaganyan?” I told him I’m a Muslim. His brows creased as if in confusion, and he said I didn’t look like one: “Hindi ho kayo mukhang Muslim.” I smiled and asked what a Muslim was supposed to look like.

The taxi driver said he saw a “beautiful” Muslim only rarely. “Usually,” he said, Muslims were dark, round-faced, tacky dressers (“baduy manamit”) and noisy. He was not apologetic as he continued to nitpick my brothers and sisters in the faith. I said he had not met all Muslims, so we couldn’t all be just as he described. He laughed and kept talking nasty about my people.

Then he went to the topic of terrorism. He asked about “murderers,” about being “allowed to kill under Islam,” as well as our God: “Yun pong mga kasama nyong Abu Sayyaf at MILF (Moro Islamic Liberation Front), mga mamamatay-tao, ano? Bakit po sa Islam, pwedeng pumatay? Bakit ganyan ang Allah nyo?”

I explained to him that Islam is about peace and Allah (exalted and majestic is He) does not sanction the taking of lives, whether innocent or vile. We refuse to call murderers Muslims. Shouting “Allahuakbar!” before executing a human being does not give the deed Islamic color. One person, two, three, or a group of rebels who push for peace, in my opinion, does not represent the entire Muslim community. The media should not associate their acts with our religion. Their motives are usually political, cultural, social, or geographical in nature. “The fight for peace” is inherently present in their agenda (at this point, I make it mine as well) as a minority seeking the rest of our country’s recognition and acceptance, but the moment the “fight” for “peace” becomes violent, it loses its Islamic tone. I discontinue my support for it… not in my name.

More questions ensued and, Alhamdulillah (thank God), I was somehow able to clear up his clouded mind. When I got off the cab, he still thought Muslims’ only means of livelihood is selling DVDs in Quiapo and that not all of us are pretty. That’s fine for now. Baby steps.

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Evidently, there are some of us in the Philippines who have blundered and warped the world’s opinion of the Muslim community. Kudos to the different media practitioners who have a field day during these occasions, but there is no single religion in existence whose believers never sinned. My point is we all have our own share of bad guys. I wish the media would stop associating the deeds of these wrongdoers with Islam.

Often, I can’t help but feel that our country still sees us as a marginalized sector with which it does not want to be identified, or a group that has to be pulverized, according to a political figure who gave us two choices: desist from perpetrating terroristic acts (yes, he just categorically labeled us as terrorists), or be wiped out from the face of the earth should we refuse to yield. I can’t believe my family and I voted for him!

It shatters my heart whenever people who live in the comfort of their homes, islands away from where the battle takes place, make snap judgments about us. While some of my brothers and sisters explain in tears our side of the story, innocent lives continue to be snuffed out. It doesn’t matter whether they participated in the skirmish or were just caught in the crossfire. The decisive factor would be whether they are Muslims or not. If a non-Muslim dies, he is a hero. If a Muslim dies, there is no media coverage, little to no sympathy… no need to ask around what his story is. What’s the point? The public has already made its conclusive opinion of us. Apparently, in our country, if you die during a war, pray you die as a non-Muslim. Otherwise, you die labeled as a terrorist.

I know I can make things easy for myself by removing my hijab; it sure will fix my transport problems. But my hijab is my identity. It makes me who I am—a Muslim-Filipino. Not everyone accepts us as fellow Filipinos, but much like the talks on the Bangsamoro Basic Law (which many fear as a potential national conflict should its failure become definite), we will keep waiting and hoping that in due course, those who think lesser of us, those who call us ignorant (“musmus at walang alam”), those who see us as regressive, will eventually come around and give us the chance we have all been praying for, In Shaa Allah (God willing).

It’s funny how a simple head covering can turn my world 360 degrees. It’s a constant struggle every single day, but the experiences that come with it are lifelong lessons I will carry with me until the day I tell the story of how the Philippines has become open and loving to all Muslims like me. The picture is a frightening blur at the moment but I’m optimistic we will get there, In Shaa Allah.

Lady Hanifah R. Mindalano, 29, is a professor of English at Mindanao State University in Marawi City. She holds a diploma in industrial relations management from De La Salle University in Manila.