How it feels to be an outsider
By LOUISE PEMBLE
13nov05
http://www.sundaytimes.news.com.au/printpage/0,5942,17225286,00.html
TO walk around Perth dressed as a Muslim is to be treated
as an outsider in your own town.
In a week of allegations that Muslims were plotting a
terrorist attack in Australia, I donned full Islamic garb and walked through
the city to gauge public reaction.
Would people see me as a harmless shopper, or would they
suspect I was hiding a bomb under my clothes?
UNCOVERED: Reporter Louise Pemble dressed as a Muslim.
My mission was to test tolerance towards Muslims by
dressing as one for the day.
I had the full support of the Australian Federation of
Islamic Councils, whose president, Ameer Ali, viewed it as a chance to
highlight some of the issues faced by Australia's Muslims.
I visited shops and cafes in Forrest Chase, Northbridge
and Hay St Mall, before catching a bus and train.
I was surprised at how accepting younger people were,
suggesting that Perth may be able to shrug off racism.
But I wasn't prepared for the hostility from older
Australians. The first cheap shot came from an elderly woman walking through
Forrest Chase. "Stupid woman," she hissed at her mate as they passed
me.
Later, as I was waiting at the crosswalk outside Perth
railway station, a woman in her 60s saw me standing beside her and said to her
companion: "Move away from the bomber."
With the help of Perth's Muslim community, I was fitted
in black trousers, a long black dress called an abya, a headscarf (hijab) and a
facepiece (niqab).
My eyes were the only visible part of my body.
I chose the facepiece because I wanted to test its impact
on others, but my Muslim adviser told me it was up to individuals to decide
whether they wore just a headscarf or covered their entire face.
My senses were on high alert the minute I stepped out of
The Sunday Times building.
Most people did a double take on seeing me and then
either gave me a hostile stare or – in the case of several young women – smiled
encouragingly.
It soon became obvious that many people thought I was
dressed this way as an act of defiance. In their view, I was snubbing my nose
at the anti-Muslim feeling said to be running high in the Australian community.
I had heard of Muslim women being spat at and abused. One
woman even had her headscarf torn from her head at Carousel Shopping Centre.
In the morning, I was accompanied by a Muslim woman
wearing the headscarf, but not the facepiece that I wore. In our two hours of
walking around the city we were twice subjected to vilification.
"Imagine how this must affect you if it happened
every time you left your house," she said.
It was then I realised how much we take for granted our
right to feel safe in our own community and how people take only seconds to
decide if you are friend or enemy.
But for every snide remark and hostile stare, I was
surprised by the extra respect I was shown by young men and women.
Every shopkeeper I approached was much more polite than I
had experienced when dressed in my usual clothes.
And on a train, where I feared I might be regarded as a
suicide bomber, I was twice offered a seat. It was a similar story on a bus,
which was standing-room only.
By this stage I had removed the niqab so that my face was
showing – but nothing else. This seemed to ease some of the tension I had
sensed earlier in the day.
Back at the office, workmates asked me how uncomfortable
I had been walking around Perth in my Muslim clothes.
The icy stares on the street had forced me for the first
time in my life to be wary of anyone who came near me.
Of all the garments I wore, the facepiece caused the most
discomfort. With it positioned just under my eyes, I found it difficult to look
straight down.
It also made drinking a juice in a city cafe a challenge.
On the plus side, I found being hidden under all those
garments surprisingly liberating. For the first time I was able to walk down
the street without the usual scrutiny of my figure, face and hair.
On the downside, dressing as a Muslim woman showed me how it feels to leave home every day unsure of your own safety.