Letters: Bring back mutton
Man out of time
Sir: That Mary Wakefield left Rowan Williams 'with my questions for the most part unresolved' will come as no surprise to his former students, myself included ('The ABC of faith', 19 April). As a 'mature' student at Cambridge, there was something very inspiring about Williams the academic, but also comfortingly peaceful about the man; someone always on the journey of discovery and therefore reluctant on many issues to be dogmatic or final about them.
His genuine surprise at how the real world operated one easily forgave; his naive approach to other issues, such as Islam, was dangerous but never disingenuous. As an Arabist I did find this hugely irritating. Unlike many shamefully careerist bishops, he found himself chosen for a role as Archbishop of a hugely flawed institution in which – despite the pressures to bend or prevaricate – he always maintained his great integrity. He was undoubtedly born out of time and would have been much more at home among the Fathers of the early Church. He once told me that he had never played team games and was instead always in a book. I think this explains much.
R.C. Paget
Marcham, Oxfordshire
Woolly issue
Sir: Olivia Potts writes that if we eat lamb at Easter, we are eating it in the wrong season, as lambs are born in early spring and need to grow for several months ('Ewe bet', 19 April). That means that much of the lamb we eat at around this time of year is from New Zealand. There is, of course, a better way. We should be allowing our lambs to live longer and we should eat hogget – the meat of a sheep of between one and two years of age.
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I can still recall the first tentative day that I stepped outside my home not wearing my usual hijab but with my own pixie-cut hair on display and a breeze on my ears – a completely new feeling to me. This was six years ago when I was 31 and studying for a master's degree in philosophy at the Simon Fraser University in Vancouver, Canada. At the time I was married with a three-year-old son. I had worn the hijab since the age of nine, and had always felt it was part of the package of being a Muslim, but in recent years I had begun to have doubts. Islam has a set of rules which cover various aspects of Muslim life, from religious practices to personal matters. I had always been curious about these laws, and had previously completed a master's degree in Islamic studies. Why I stopped wearing the hijab But the more I learnt the more I felt that the methodology of Islamic jurisprudence (the theory and philosophy of its rules) was problematic for women. 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The next day, when I walked into the university, I had mixed emotions of uncertainty, excitement and freedom. There were a few awkward encounters with colleagues who didn't recognise me. But most people were understanding, and I have not worn the hijab since. Banning the burka The decision was a key moment for my Muslim identity. For it seems being a Muslim woman today is tiresomely linked to wearing a hijab or burka. There is always a great debate. Should you cover your hair? Your face? Are these items symbols of oppression or merely an expression of faith? Oh, and we know how these topics fire up the public imagination. Sparks flew just recently in the House of Commons when Sarah Pochin, the Reform UK MP for Runcorn and Helsby, called on Sir Keir Starmer to 'ban the burka'. 'Will he,' she asked from the back benches. 'In the interest of public safety, follow the lead of France, Belgium, Denmark and others and ban the burka?' Thankfully, the question got rebuffed by both the Prime Minister and Pochin's Reform UK colleagues, who said it was not their policy. But it still left me – now a post-doctoral researcher at the University of Manchester – feeling sad and threatened. I worried I might have been wrong in my perception of Britain as a liberal and tolerant place for different religions. Mainly what I struggle with, however – whenever the issue flares up in Parliament – is how on earth politicians think they can prescribe to women how to deal with such a complex and personal issue. For in my case alone, my perception of being a Muslim has changed considerably over time – and I am only 37. I grew up in Iran's capital, Tehran, a super-crowded city that was beautiful to me in many ways. I was surrounded by a loving, happy family, who were religious, but me especially so. As a child, I donned the hijab (the burka isn't big in Iran), and began fasting and praying. I came to love the three elements of Islam: the spirituality, the practising, and the community. And because I was an anxious child, I found an incomparable comfort from reading passages from the Koran and common prayers, while the rituals and rules calmed my busy mind and gave me a sense of satisfaction. I also benefited from the Muslim community that was shaped around anti-imperialist political ideas in Iran. 'Misogynistic essence' of Islamic laws I studied a chemical engineering degree at Sharif University in Tehran, but then – like so many of my educated friends – got married at 22 and moved to London (we had an almost semi-arranged marriage and are now divorced), and it was here that I first encountered the diversity of religious life. Unlike in Iran, I began to see that being religious could go with all types of lifestyles, and it gave me a new perception of how I could live. When we moved to Vancouver in 2017 (I wanted to study in America but Trump had banned Iranians from entering the US), I still wore my hijab. But my dislike for the misogynistic essence of Islamic laws which shaped the culture of my community began to grow. Politically I was also changing. I came to see the scale of crime and deception from the Islamic Republic in Iran, and I came to detest its version of anti-imperialism and its suppression of women. I did not want to give up on my spirituality but I began to refine my version of being Muslim, starting with removing the hijab. When I moved back to London in 2020, to begin a PhD in philosophy at the London School of Economics, my own beliefs were strengthened by those I met. In the prayer room at the university, for instance, I was very pleased to find Muslims like me with no hair covering befriending women in the full burka, and bonding over their common interest in Islam's spirituality. 'I understand why some find it offensive' Now – six years on since I first removed my hair covering – I feel psychologically better. I have begun to think that although I had a happy childhood, I was perhaps brainwashed in some respects and probably missed out on exploring my feminine side and having a diverse social life. Now, I have chosen a version of being Muslim that is true to me, and to some extent I think I have inspired my own friends to do the same. As for the draining debate about the burka, I believe Muslim women wear it for all sorts of reasons. They may think it is part of a package of rules which is meant to strengthen their willpower and bring about a special type of spirituality. While I may think the rule is misogynistic, it does not imply that those who observe it are misogynists. But I also understand why some find it very offensive or dangerous. It is natural, perhaps evolutionary, to want to see someone's face in order to connect. And obviously, wearing a burka highlights that the person is an immigrant, and we know many in the UK do not like immigration. Still, the decision to wear a burka or not must be decided by the women themselves. It is very paternalistic for a government to decide how a person might practise their religion. Also, should it be banned, the Muslim community would be enraged. This is what happened in Iran in 1936 (before the Islamic Republic took over in 1978). The Shah Reza Khan Pahlavi banned head coverings in a bid to modernise the country. But that violation has remained in people's memories for generations. Despite the current hatred towards the Islamic Republic and mandatory hijab, people still rage for having their choice taken away. You have to remember, a ban does not just affect the one person wearing the burka. A large circle around that person will feel violated, regardless of whether they are Muslim or not. Also, even discussing such a ban can, I fear, cause a rise in Islamophobia. If you have a hidden tendency towards Islamophobia, and something public like this happens, it may only embolden you. Hopefully, however, nothing like this will happen. I have always felt there is something special about Britain – in how it treats Muslims and religions in general, and in how diverse and liberal it is in this regard. I really hope it stays that way.
