The tangled politics of hair, from Iran to Israel

The politicisation of religious power minimises women’s roles and removes their choices. My heart goes out to the women and men of Iran who are challenging that power.

I have a former colleague in Jerusalem who dresses provocatively. It’s her silent protest against the Orthodoxy and conservative dress standards that have become more prevalent in the increasingly conservative city.

While I might not make the same clothing choices, I think it’s hugely important to support a woman's choices. Women, like men, should be allowed to choose how they dress. Autonomy over attire, head coverings, access to education and healthcare are increasingly under threat for half the world’s population, as ultra-conservatives gain more political power.

Nowhere is this clearer than the recent protests in Iran, sparked by the death of 22-year-old Mahsa Amini after three days in custody, following her arrest by the Islamic Republic’s morality police for not covering enough hair when wearing her hijab. Her death, and the subsequent deaths of over 230 protesters, and the imprisonment of many more, is a response to years of pent-up frustration and rage against the ultra-strict interpretation of Sharia law by the Islamic Republic.

These brave protesters have had enough of the ongoing human rights violations of the brutal regime, as well as the increasingly challenging economic conditions they face. Whether they will succeed remains to be seen. The Islamic government has not faced such an outcry since its establishment in 1979, though it has previously quashed large-scale peaceful protests such as the Green Movement in 2009.

Women and men around the world have joined the Iranian movement’s cry for “Women, Freedom, Life.” Placards include slogans like: “My clothing, My rules” or “My hair, My rules”, as well as “Did you know that letting your hair blow in the wind is a crime in Iran”.

Mimicking Iranian women who are courageously burning their hijabs or cutting their hair in protest, celebrities, feminists, TikTokers and others are cutting their hair in public to show their support. A few weeks ago, Israeli National Unity Knesset member Sharren Haskel cut her hair at a Jerusalem Christian conference in front of 2000 people. The Israeli foreign ministry has produced videos proudly proclaiming “Israeli women stand with Iranian women.” A protest was held in Jerusalem in early October.

How did we get to a state where a woman's hair is considered such a licentious object?  And where does it end?

I am not comparing even the strictest interpretation of Judaism to what women are facing in Iran. But I think it would be remiss not to recognise the connection. When we allow men to dictate how women should dress or behave, we give men power over us. When this religious power is politicised, as is the case in both Iran and Israel, it minimises women’s roles in the public sphere and removes our choices.

I didn’t always see it this way. As a new bride in Jerusalem, I remember excitedly shopping for hats to wear to synagogue to show off my new status as a married woman. I tried to buy into the whole idea of your hair being something only to be shared with your partner but ultimately couldn’t accept this ideology, nor the inequity that the status of married men was not reflected in their wardrobe.

Part of this came from the diverse interpretations around what qualified as an appropriate head covering for married women, as interpreted from biblical times, by men: a headscarf, a hat, a wig, a wig with a hat, a shaved head with a wig, etc. 

Over time I realised the issue of controlling women was much larger than how they covered their hair.

In Israel, where marriage, divorce and burial are controlled by the religious courts, a Jewish woman’s right to leave her husband and start a new life is not a given; she must first receive a gett from her former partner. Many agunot (chained women) spend years waiting for their recalcitrant husbands to release them. This also happens in the Diaspora.

As the religious demographics change in Israel, it is often easier not to have women sing or dance in public forums so as not to violate the halachic prohibition on kol isha, where men are forbidden by Jewish law from listening to a woman sing.

Non-Jews must find this as strange and obscure as the Iranian government’s ban on women attending sporting events. I suggest watching Offside, an Iranian movie about female sports fans who dress up as boys to try and get into a stadium to watch their football team play. It’s on Netflix.

Only after FIFA insisted that women be allowed to attend more football games as a condition of Iran’s participation in the 2022 World Cup were some women allowed to attend a league match in Tehran in August, albeit in separate seating, controlled by policewomen.

I have probably watched too much of The Handmaid’s Tale at this point, but the minute that women are no longer seen as individuals, but rather as a category like mothers, carers, or procreators, with only one role, their individual identity is erased.

When men find women’s hair to be immodest and use it to control, and even imprison and kill them, it is at odds with nature. Hair is part of our body, despite the beauty industry’s best efforts to pretend otherwise.

My heart goes out to the brave women and men of Iran willing to challenge the state’s interpretation of how they should live. I hope for a future where religion is something people can choose to privately practice without the intrusion of politics.

RELATED STORY

Why are Orthodox Jewish women in Israel no longer covering their hair? (Jerusalem Post)

To better understand what’s happening in the hearts and souls of Orthodox women who undergo a shift in their appearance, we spoke to five local women, all Anglo immigrants, about their journeys. 

Photo: An Iranian woman in Istanbul cuts her hair during a protest following the death of Iranian Mahsa Amini (EPA/SEDAT SUNA)