Andy Robinson is a 3rd year transfer student from Hanover, PA. He is pursuing a B.A. in journalism.

All photographs in this gallery © Andy Robinson

After the bombings, we tried to go back to work and return to normalcy. We were all “Boston Strong,” but we wanted to know who attacked us and why. At my office we listened intently to a CNN live stream all day awaiting the latest developments from BPD, Deval Patrick, and the FBI. CNN’s John King reported that the suspect was a “dark-skinned” male; that he was arrested and en route to Moakley Courthouse. There was a sense of jubilation that law enforcement had brought our lingering fears to a swift end. Then the FBI released the following to the press:

“Contrary to widespread reporting, no arrest has been made in connection with the Boston Marathon attack. Over the past day and a half, there have been a number of press reports based on information from unofficial sources that has been inaccurate. Since these stories often have unintended consequences, we ask the media, particularly at this early stage of the investigation, to exercise caution and attempt to verify information through appropriate official channels before reporting.” – FBI Boston

The media lied. It is so easy to be cynical about the news, but there is an understanding that the media is supposed to be timely and accurate with its reporting. In an effort to be timely in the age of Twitter, it seems the media needs to break news before it happens in order to compete. Instead of conducting investigative journalism to get the most accurate information, the media took up conjectural journalism to act first and fill in the facts later. During the lockdown on Friday, it seemed that news anchors were getting paid by the theory. A Channel 7 News WHDH commentator hypothesized that Suspect #2, Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, had a suicide vest and was on the boat to go down in a blaze of glory. This was not true.

Because anyone on Twitter can be a journalist and anyone on reddit can be a sleuth, there’s an effort on the part of the media to beat them to the punch. This was a problem when the New York Post ran a picture of the “suspects” on the front page:

These were not the suspects. These were two innocent high school students.

There is a measure of pride to be had at being the first to know, or first to comment, or first to tell. However, there is no pride to be had in being first if you are wrong. Yet, the big news agencies are too big to be scathed by being wrong. CNN was completely incorrect in reporting the Supreme Court ruling on Obamacare, and the only visible punishment they received was at the hands of the Daily Show.

April 15-19 was the most chaotic week I have ever faced. First there was the bomb, then Obama came to comfort Boston, and then the lockdown occurred. Although I’m slipping back into a routine, it is hard to forget what Boston went through. I cannot forget that the people whose job it is to inform the public were so greatly misinformed.

I am proud of Boston, its police, and its people. I am proud that I am part of the city and that I am “Boston Strong.” There were so many heroes last week by which to be impressed. However, there is a tarnish on our city of heroes because of shoddy reporting. We donned our Red Sox hats and shouted, “Boston Strong”, but there was fear that week. The media’s journalism generally did not alleviate those fears. There is no need for yellow journalism anymore. There is no need to embellish when the facts are already scary enough.

The week of the Marathon was a troubling time from which we are still recovering. We learned just how capable and courageous we are as a city, and I believe that these events will make us smarter. There was a lack of information in the days after the bombing that caused people to fill in their own facts. There were no unexploded devices at the marathon, the bombs were not in trash cans, and the culprits can hardly be described as “dark-skinned.” Reddit did not help much either when its users set off a witch hunt for innocent people with backpacks. Reporting the news is a lengthy process involving interviews, eyewitness accounts, pictures, video, and analysis. There is not enough room in 140 characters for all that.

Eric Massak
Political Science ’14

Click here for Katie Dillon’s perspective

When your city is terrorized, how do you react? Judith Butler says that we ought not to react to violence with violence. We should take a different approach. Butler does not suggest that we ignore the perpetrator, or let him or her walk free. Instead, we ought to give the criminal a trial, and not launch an attack that could result in the deaths of innocents…

Click here for Brendan Hill’s perspective

Prompted by the attacks of 9/11, Butler’s critique of the US response to fear and mourning is indeed contrary to the average American sentiment. While the official response to the attack on the World Trade Center was vehement censorship, militarization, and breaching of citizens’ rights in the name of security, Butler suggests something of an alternate world: “What would it mean, in the face of violence, to refuse to return it?”…

Click here for Wendy Chu’s perspective

I wrote the outline for this essay on Monday, April 15th. It had been an especially good day: I had even won myself a coveted window seat on the third floor at Snell Library.

I was reading Judith Butler’s Precarious Life when I heard the news. I should have panicked. I should have been terrified. I should have been emotionally distraught over the bombing’s victims. But I had spent a few days inside Butler’s head, and I couldn’t pull away from our glaring vulnerability. There’s nothing I can do, I thought… 

All photographs in this gallery are courtesy of Delia Harrington.

In the aftermath of this year’s heinous bombing of the 117th Boston Marathon, the drive for greater security again threatens American liberty. Not the liberty of an entire nation, as after the events of 9/11, but of a single young man: Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, the 19-year-old Cambridge resident charged in the attack. Americans rallied to #prayforboston and stay “Boston Strong” in the hours after the bombing, but two weeks out, a new chorus has spread from Copley Square to Capitol Hill: that a man who would shatter American security does not deserve the protections of its liberty.

Four days after the marathon, Dzhokhar was apprehended by city, state, and federal authorities just miles north of Boston. He answered their questions for sixteen hours the following day, falling silent only when a magistrate judge and a representative of the U.S. Attorney’s office arrived at his hospital bed. The magistrate had read him his Miranda warning, informing him nearly a day late that he had the right to remain silent — and that anything he did say could be used against him a court of law.[2] By this point, reports suggest he had already admitted his and his brother Tamerlan’s guilt, blaming American actions abroad as motivation for the attack.[3][4]

In the eyes of House Intelligence Committee Chairman Mike Rogers (R-Michigan), reading Dzhokhar his rights was judicial activism of the worst kind. ”We can’t have, in a case like this, the judiciary deciding… that they were going to somehow intercede in this,” he said, demanding the Justice Department explain its actions.[5] Other Republican lawmakers, including Speaker of the House John Boehner (R-Ohio), have echoed such sentiments.[6] Some officials and citizens have even called for Dzhokhar to be labeled an “enemy combatant” and brought before military rather than civilian court, despite there being no evidence that he himself had ties to al-Qaeda, the Taliban, or any other overseas radical group.[7]

Why afford such a man any of the protections enshrined in the U.S. Constitution? Because Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, radical and suspected terrorist, is an American citizen. Like all Americans, he supposedly enjoys the Fifth Amendment protection against self-incrimination and the Sixth Amendment right to “a speedy and public trial.” And the Eighth Amendment prohibition against “cruel and unusual punishment,” though that hasn’t stopped pundits and political figures from suggesting authorities torture him for more information.[8] Others have asked if his actions justify searches, seizures, and wiretaps of Americans mosques seemingly in violation of the Fourth Amendment.

To some, it is only natural that Americans rethink key tenants of the Constitution in times of crisis. New York City Mayor Michael Bloomberg warned that the country’s interpretation of the document would “have to change” to prevent future attacks.[9] “We live in a complex world” he reasoned, a world in which suspected terrorists should apparently be subject to a set of rules different from those drawn up in Philadelphia.

Make no mistake, Dzhokhar and his brother Tamerlan stand accused of a truly monstrous crime. If convicted, the younger suspect will spend the rest of his life in federal prison. Even so, it may be a short stay should prosecutors seek the death penalty. As a society, Americans should expect no less for a man who killed 3 innocent bystanders and injured nearly 200 others.[10] But the death penalty and life imprisonment are punishments meted out by a constitutional system of justice. Americans cannot ask that someone be exempted from that system’s process and protection while demanding they bear its consequence.

Perhaps it’s all to be expected. The PATRIOT Act exists largely in abstraction, and Dzhokhar Tsarnaev was until 2012 a foreigner with an unfamiliar name and a misunderstood religion.[11] It is easy to dismiss or even encourage the violation of another’s civil liberties, particularly when they have violated the sacred trust of citizenship. In such cases, it may be unwise to heed the wisdom of Franklin’s warning. It may be impossible. That is supposedly why America’s constitution exists at all, to safeguard the promise of liberty against the emotional impulse to trade it all for peace of mind.

Long before the Red Scare or 9/11, Americans were better than this. “Give me liberty or give me death!” they cried, proud and defiant. How quickly they themselves have betrayed that great legacy. If terror stems from hatred of American freedoms and democratic way of life, why do Americans time and again trade those very attributes in the pursuit of safety? “That’s how the terrorists win,” some might say. Indeed, it would appear they already have.

Daniel Shea
Political Science and Economics, ‘14

[1] http://www.pewresearch.org/2011/02/15/public-remains-divided-over-the-patriot-act/
[2] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Miranda_warning
[3] http://www.cnn.com/2013/04/22/us/boston-attack
[4] http://articles.washingtonpost.com/2013-04-23/national/38751370_1_u-s-embassy-boston-marathon-bombings
[5] http://thehill.com/homenews/house/296339-top-intelligence-panel-lawmaker-blasts-doj-over-miranda-rights
[6] http://thehill.com/video/house/295241-boehner-says-boston-bomber-shouldnt-be-read-miranda
[7] http://www.realclearpolitics.com/articles/2013/04/22/why_graham_and_mccain_are_wrong_about_military_detention_for_dzhokar_tsarnaev_118061.html
[8] http://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation/2013/04/22/ny-state-senator-torture-boston/2104547/
[9] http://politicker.com/2013/04/bloomberg-says-post-boston-interpretation-of-the-constitution-will-have-to-change/
[10] http://www.cnn.com/2013/04/15/us/boston-marathon-explosions
[11] http://abcnews.go.com/US/boston-marathon-bombing-suspected-tsarnaev-brothers/story?id=19000426#.UX2u_LWG2So

Philip Kravtsov is a freshman journalism student at Northeastern where he is pursuing a B.A. in journalism. Philip is an editor at RIA Novosti.

All photos in this gallery © RIA Novosti /Philip Kravtsov

April 15^th was just like any other Marathon Monday. We were waiting by the Prudential Center for my aunt and family friend to turn the corner. “Any minute,” my friend said to me. “They’re at mile 25 now.” Suddenly, the sky exploded with a reverberation that shook Boylston Street.  The air around us filled with a chalky white dust, followed by screams of pure terror that will remain in my memory forever. Chilling images of runners halting mid-pace, their faces changing from elated to petrified as they turned back around to run from the explosion, are a part of me now.

When you’re in the midst of a tragedy like that, too far to see carnage, but close enough to see the act of terror, your brain tries to rationalize what happened. It tries to tell you that it wasn’t a bomb, that it was just a celebratory gesture. It will try to tell you that those screams of sheer terror were just your imagination and the sulfuric smell was just some Revolutionary War reenactment, that the noise still ringing in your ears was just a cannon blast. It isn’t until later, numb with terror and fear, that you begin to process it. Someone attacked your city. Someone wanted to kill people like you.

A nation watched as Boston police chased down a suspect.  It was around this time that I began drifting out of the fog in which I had been floating for a few days and remembered Judith Butler.  Butler speaks of many things, from vulnerability to how we grieve, and how we as a society react to situations like this. On page 29, she says that we didn’t grieve enough after the events of 9/11. As a nation, we fear grief. Maybe we see it as a weakness; maybe we’re afraid that a strong display of emotion will make others think that our strength is gone. Essentially, it makes us vulnerable. As strong and resilient Americans, we would have none of that.

Butler speaks of the way President George W. Bush called for action 10 days after the attack. He called for a direct attack on Afghanistan and on “terror” because of the turmoil and tragedy they brought upon the American people.  Butler says this was a mistake; that we ought to take more time to reflect on life’s vulnerability, on the precariousness of life because when we grieve, we are reflecting on the victims and what they meant to us. We are reflecting on our broken community and how we will repair it. We are reminding ourselves that it could have been us. We could have been at the finish line at the wrong moment.  “Mindfulness of this vulnerability can become the basis of claims for non-military political solutions, just as denial of this vulnerability…can fuel the instruments of war” (Butler 29).  However, Butler is not suggesting we let the Boston bombers go. The criminals and anyone found to be responsible for the attacks should be brought to justice and tried in whatever court deemed necessary.

But for whom should we grieve? How do we decide who we should and should not grieve for? Reports of a bombing in Afghanistan surfaced on Monday as well. 30 people at a wedding were killed. Later in the week, a fertilizer plant exploded in West, Texas. As I was processing the events that occurred at the Boston Marathon, Butler encourages us to grieve for the loss of all human life in the same way. The loss of any human life is to be regarded as an assault on human rights.

“But those lives in Afghanistan, or other United States targets, who were also snuffed out brutally and without any recourse to any protection, will they ever be as human as Daniel Pearl? Will the names of the Palestinians stated in that memorial submitted to the San Francisco Chronicle  ever be brought into public view? (Will we feel compelled to learn how to say these names and to remember them?)” (Butler, 37).

I felt annoyed with classmates who scoffed at this. I’m a humanist, I thought. I’m informed. I know about these things, and I feel shame at the fact that only white American men are ever called heroes. I feel shame that we don’t know the names of the 30 Afghani people who were also tragically killed Monday. I feel guilty that the earthquakes in China, Iran and Pakistan, and the tragedy in West, Texas got swept up in our own madness and terror here in Boston. But still, I grieved more for Boston. I wept openly in the days that followed. I sat, wide-eyed and groggy on Friday morning, a fresh new wound opening in my heart as I watched the news for hours, waiting and watching. It was here that I also thought of Butler. Did I still agree with her argument, one I furiously defended just one week earlier?

Yes, I still agreed with Butler. In the days that followed, I made it my promise not to be complacent any longer. It’s a shame that it took an assault on Boston and the death and injury of innocent people to put this into perspective. Butler is not saying that we shouldn’t grieve deeply for the loss of life at the Boston Marathon, or in any other tragic event that is relative to us. What Butler is saying is that we should dial that back to our “human community,” because if we just grieve for those close to home, we are deciding which lives are worth grieving, and which lives are not.

It’s tempting in these circumstances to grieve for the lives lost and torn apart by the Boston Marathon bombings. I know that I will continue to wrestle with questions of why and feelings of grief for weeks and months to come. But in spite of all that, we cannot grow complacent to people in corners of the world we’ve never heard of. We must recall our feelings of anguish and suffering and realize that someone goes through this kind of horror every day.

Katie Dillon
Political Science ’15

Butler, Judith (2006). Precarious Life. Verso.

Butler’s argument in terms of what we know as “acts of terrorism” must first be understood in terms of the process of grieving in general. Butler claims that, while we place different priorities on the lives of different people, there are certain factors that connect us all and this should make the lives of all people grievable. Everyone is capable of grief; thus, everyone is capable of loss. To have lost, one must have had. To have had, lost, and grieved, one must have wanted. This realization provides a context for individual lives as they relate to the larger political structure of the world: as Butler puts it, despite our best efforts, we are always “undone” by others. Our lives hinge on the actions of others, and others’ lives hinge on our actions. While this may sound like a simple conclusion, the post-9/11 condition of the US showed, and continues to show, that many citizens of the country have failed to realize this. Perhaps because of its geopolitical background – being bordered only by Canada and Mexico, only recently emerging from isolationism, and historically having few attacks conducted by foreign forces on its homeland – citizens of the US subconsciously take for granted that they are removed from the tumultuous nature of interstate violence. Rather than recognizing their dependence on the rest of the world, attempting to reconstruct their world view, and trying to understand the events leading up to this act of violence, citizens developed a sort of victim complex. On an individual level, this is understandable. Individual loss should not be overlooked, and grieving over the lives and sense of security lost should not be trivialized, but this grief is also not something that needs to be compensated for with immediate violence. And so we return to Butler’s question: what would happen if we did not return the violence that was given to us on 9/11? What is the proper response to an event like this?

Taking Butler’s argument into account, I don’t necessarily believe “violence” in terms of retaliating against those who attacked us is wrong in terms of preventing a future attack of the same nature. However, there is something to be desired in the way the US handled 9/11. Rights were breached in the name of patriotism and security. We blindly partake in systems reminiscent of totalitarianism in airports, constantly fearing that someone might repeat the attacks on the World Trade Center. We associate the act of “terrorism” almost exclusively with “Al Qaeda,” or in more extreme cases, “Middle Eastern” people in general. The initial reaction to the Boston Marathon bombing was that, being an act of terrorism, it must have been related to this group. We have developed an “us versus them” attitude, where we are invariably in the right and the death of our enemies is the only accepted solution to our grief.

The people of Boston took to the streets in celebration last Friday after the news hit that suspects had been detained. To many of them, the death and capture of these two men gave a satisfying conclusion to the tragedy of the marathon bombing. The average person’s interest in the topic extended only as far as “who did this, and how can we get revenge at their expense?” Once those answers were satisfied, few seemed to care about anything else. While the actions of the government and law enforcement were commendable, should we, as a collective group of citizens, have allowed solely this notion of revenge to bring closure to our grief?  Ideally, we should have used this event to reflect in the same way we should have but we didn’t after 9/11. Chiefly, we should have asked, “Why and how did this happen?” Not just in terms of the preventative measures we could have taken – especially since asking the question in this context tends to lead to more restrictions on rights, such as the Patriot Act – but in the wider context of the political world. We also could have drawn comparisons to similar events that happen to the east; those events that we have traditionally felt so far removed from. How do the people of the Middle East react to loss when a suicide bomber decides to blow up a bus full of innocent victims? Can we relate to them? We may have found that we could. Could this relation lead to a greater understanding of each other? We may have found it did. We did not make a unified effort to do this, however, and those who did were silenced by those wielding the flag of patriotism.

While Butler’s argument may hinge on an ideal scenario, I believe her approach is correct. While some retaliation is understandable, the US needs to heavily reevaluate its relationship with the world and its reaction to attacks on its home soil. Rather than close the curtain on grief with revenge, we should have, and must in the future, close it with a greater understanding of ourselves and our place in the world.

Brendan Hill
Political Science ’14

I was reading Judith Butler’s Precarious Life when I heard the news. I should have panicked. I should have been terrified. I should have been emotionally distraught over the bombing’s victims. But I had spent a few days inside Butler’s head, and I couldn’t pull away from our glaring vulnerability. There’s nothing I can do, I thought. What is the use in panicking? I guess now I understand how the Afghanis feel on a regular basis.

Forgive me. I know that this essay is in pieces. On the other hand, Butler has already made the excuse for my incoherence: in grief, my self-conscious narrative would be interrupted and undone by the unraveling of myself.[1] Nowadays, I clutch onto Butler’s description of grief to diagnose what I feel. I was nowhere near the bombs, and none of my friends were physically hurt. I don’t feel like I have the right to say that I am grieving. Still, I do identify with what Butler calls the “submission” to grief. We understand that, with loss, we cannot be “masters of ourselves.”[2]

To Butler, grieving is an identification with suffering itself, and a chance for public and patient political reflection.[3] When we are grieving, we are forcibly reminded how vulnerable we are to loss, both relational and physical.  Our grief should inspire us to end violence and strengthen our global political community. Taking an eye for an eye is counterproductive, because it leaves everyone blind.[4]

These ideas are not new. Abstractly, everybody knows that the “right” thing to do is to end the cycle of hate. However, in the United States, restorative justice rarely supersedes retributive justice; politicians that favor the former system are seen as “soft on crime”. Butler acknowledges the practical difficulty of her position, stating that ethics is “precisely a struggle to keep fear and anxiety from turning into murderous action.”[5]

The events of 9/11 left the United States contemplating a decidedly retributive reaction. At the most fundamental level, its recognition of the subject of vulnerability presupposed that “vulnerability” deviates from the norm. It is not that we’ve never had security; it’s that our security has been taken away from us. In understanding vulnerability to be “soft” and “feminine”, the U.S. resolved to take decisive action in order to “restore the loss”.[6] In order to secure its borders, the U.S. suspended constitutional rights and spied on its citizens.[7] In order to avenge its victims, the U.S. invaded and left collateral damage in its path. In order to assert its sovereignty and recover its mastery, the U.S. acted self-centeredly and lost the respect of other nations.

Butler is making a simple and gentle suggestion: that we become mindful of the precariousness of life. In many ways, she echoes Richard Rorty, who believed that human rights could simply be achieved with a “sentimental education.” [8] It is not that we need to lock in an essential understanding of what it means to be human, it’s that we need to genuinely recognize different people as human. It is not that we are sociopathic to human suffering, it’s that we are apathetic to “pseudo-human” woes. Despite this innocuous “no strings attached” approach, I still find Butler’s suggestions emotionally exhausting. To what extent, for example, should I recognize the Tsarnaevs as human? Would it be unethical to parade in the streets over Dzhokhar Tsarnaev’s capture? Not only do Butler’s suggestions make me constantly vulnerable, but they also make me constantly responsible for everyone. Upon hearing of the Boston Marathon bombs, my friend’s first thought was to go to Boylston Street and help out. Upon hearing of the bombs, my first thought was one of resigned acceptance. Have I become so overwhelmed that I’ve given up?

I also doubt whether my reactions were ethical. As runners rushed to donate blood, as homeowners offered their space to stranded runners, as students painstakingly wrote heartfelt Facebook statuses, I couldn’t stop myself from thinking of First World privilege. The outpouring of support was well-intentioned, but it also showed the enormous disconnect between “us” and “others.” There were so many people that wanted to help where help wasn’t needed; the Red Cross did not need extra blood, and the runners had no need for extra housing.  Why couldn’t we extend the same compassion to Afghani families or even homeless Americans?

At the same time, is there any way that I could be truly satisfied with anyone’s response? If I point out that Afghani citizens balk under terrorism every day, would that belittle the Marathon victims? Why can’t I just focus on what is happening in front of me; why do I have to overthink everything? Why can’t I just buy the Boston Marathon t-shirt for $15 and be done with it? Am I being critical for the sake of being critical?

As I write this, White Hat is being hunted by the police. My first final has been canceled; my essay outline has been widely ignored; everybody has been drawn to the TV screens. I call my parents. They are blithely and maddeningly nonchalant, they are “invulnerable.”

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” I confess. “I can’t even distract myself with class work. I have to constantly confront myself on this issue—there’s no way to forget about it. I’m so sick of everything.”

“You can’t think so deeply about this,” my dad chides. “You can’t feel so much. Write your essay without thinking too much. You haven’t even been directly impacted by this! We know—we were there during 9/11. You have to stop opening yourself up like this.”

Wendy Chu
Political Science & Economics ’17

[1]Butler, Judith. Precarious Life: The Powers of Mourning and Violence. London: Verso, 2004. 21. Print.
[2]Ibid., 21.
[3]Ibid., xii.
[4]“An Eye for an the Whole World Blind.” N.p., 27 Dec. 2010. Web. 19 Apr. 2013.
[5]Butler, Judith. Precarious Life: Eye Will Make The Powers of Mourning and Violence. London: Verso, 2004. xviii. Print.
[6]Ibid., 29.
[7]Ibid., xi.
[8]Hayden, Patrick. The Philosophy of Human Rights. St. Paul, MN: Paragon House, 2001. 254. Print.

Before 9/11, Americans had a far more limited perception of Muslim women. Middle Eastern Muslim women were lumped in with views of other Asian women, which often unfairly painted them as exotic and content with being appendages of men. The Iranian Revolution and the Iran hostage crisis in 1979 thrust Muslim women into American media. The hostage crisis attracted so much attention in the U.S. that news channels had a countdown of all 444 days the hostages were held, and President Carter’s popularity was obliterated. Images of women in hijabs protesting suddenly appeared in all forms of media.[5]

This was only the beginning of the hijab’s life as a powerful symbol in the U.S. After the hostages were safely returned, veiled Muslim women were depicted as severely oppressed and without any semblance of agency, yet their voices were excluded from this dialogue.[4] Islam was attacked for gender inequality, while many other religions with similar gender politics were relatively free from such criticism.[4] [8] Meanwhile, the numbers of Muslims increased in the U.S.[7]

Many Muslim Americans reference their experiences in the U.S. in relation to 9/11. The terrorist attacks intensely altered the way America perceived Islam, and the way it treated Muslims within its borders.[5] Sweeping misconceptions characterized depictions of Muslims, particularly the myth that all Muslims were somehow associated with terrorism or “the enemy.” Those who visibly displayed their religion were especially targeted, and the hijab was the most easily recognizable way to display Islam.[3] Many veiled Muslim women found that no matter how devoted they were to their country and their religion, they still were not accepted as fully American.[3] [4]

American public opinion has conceptualized Muslim women as simultaneously permanent victims and guilty terrorist sympathizers since 9/11. Perceptions of Muslim women as not having agency have not fully diminished, but have been forged with suspicions of terrorism and the enemy at home.[3] Immediately after 9/11, many Muslim women were eager to continue wearing the hijab to prove that the majority of Muslim women had agency, were peaceful, and could still be devoted to their religion.[6] [8] However, over the years, the responsibility of being a representative of Islam and the burden of ignoring all the stares and assumptions became too heavy for some of these women.[6] Meanwhile, many more Muslim women remained or became committed to veiling.

In the American public sphere, Islam was increasingly portrayed as a political stance and a legitimate security threat rather than a religion. The wars in Iraq and Afghanistan along with the attacks on the civil rights of Muslim Americans have frequently been presented in a “Clash of Civilizations” framework that makes American and Islamic coexistence seem impossible.[3] Political fear mongering also contributes to convincing some Americans that Muslims are naturally adverse to American values or prone to violence and extremism. This rhetoric allows a country that has always fiercely defended religious freedom to avoid realizing that it is being hypocritical when it steps on a minority religious group’s right to practice their religion.

In debates over several proposed blatantly anti-Muslim laws, strong arguments for religious freedom for Muslims have been noticeably absent. The treatment of Muslim public spaces as anti-American or as terrorist bases and of hate crimes against Muslims have frequently not been described as displays of religious intolerance. The NYPD distributed training material to its officers that profiled Muslims as terrorists, and many other police departments across the country then used the same materials.[3] [6] In Rutherford County, Tennessee in 2010, citizens filed a lawsuit to try to prevent the construction of a mosque and Muslim community center. In the case, they testified that Islam is not a religion and that the construction of the mosque is part of a Muslim plot to replace the U.S. Constitution with sharia law.[3] [9]

In this context, the hijab is seen a hostile and confrontational political marker and a symbol of being a suspicious other, rather than as a religious choice. This view empowers some Americans to discriminate against Muslims without feeling that they are engaging in religious discrimination.[3] Veiled Muslim women are left to cope with the politicization of their religion and of the hijab, which often interferes with their ability to find employment, receive an education, and even interact safely in the public sphere.[3] [4]

American society as a whole presents many challenges and pressures for veiled Muslim American women, but so do Muslim communities. These communities present new and equally complex rewards and ramifications for veiling. The majority of Muslim communities have patriarchal leaders and representatives, which further hinders Muslim American women’s ability to control their representation.[1] [3] All Imams are male.[8] Some male Muslim leaders are outspoken about gender equality and women’s rights being major tenets of Islam, and many Muslim American women are active and important members of their religious communities.[4] [8] However, this cannot possibly circumvent the need for Muslim women to hold leadership roles and to represent themselves to the American public.

International debate over the merits of hijab and its role in Islam is diverse, and these views are represented in American Muslim communities.[4] Wearing the hijab sometimes provides Muslim American women with close-knit social bonds with other veiled Muslim women, because of a shared experience of being an outsider in the U.S. post-9/11.[4] They can also gain moral and religious legitimacy in Muslim communities through veiling.[1] [10] Many feel that this legitimacy grants them greater freedoms and insulation from restrictions usually placed on unmarried or unaccompanied women.[10] However, often not veiling has the opposite effect for women. Muslim women who choose not to wear a hijab can feel othered and unaccepted in Muslim communities because they are unveiled.[4] [10] Muslim women can receive positive social sanctions in their communities for veiling and negative social sanctions for refusing to do so.

Muslim women experience many other conflicting pressures within Muslim communities in the U.S. Some American Muslims see embracing modernity and American culture as the cure for the poor treatment they have received post-9/11. To those who see conforming to American culture as a necessity, women in hijabs are resisting modernity and hindering Muslims from being accepted as Americans.[4] Many Muslim feminists have attacked the hijab as a cultural relic and a symbol of patriarchy, rather than an icon of religious devotion. Some veiled Muslim women feel that they are reduced to willing supporters of patriarchy in the eyes of these feminists.[1] [4] Veiled Muslim women can also feel resented by unveiled Muslim women, because they are perceived as trying to compete over who can be the most religiously devout.[4]

Muslim women who choose to veil often find that the hijab can affect their relationships. Within Muslim families, generational pressures influence women’s choice to veil. Some first generation American Muslim women, especially in their teens and twenties, feel pressured to veil as a means of maintaining the older immigrant generation’s culture. These women need to balance their American identity with the pressure placed on them to maintain their family’s culture.[10] However, sometimes when young Muslim women with westernized parents choose to veil, older unveiled Muslim women in their families follow their lead.[1] [10]

A major component of religious devotion is performance of religious rituals and beliefs. This performance does not end for devoted Muslim women when they leave the mosque or finish praying. It characterizes their choices in many arenas of their lives, including whether or not they veil.[2] Many veiled Muslim women highlight the role of conscious choice to veil and commitment to that choice as important in their religious lives. Because they see the hijab’s significance as originating in conscious religious choice, they feel that wearing it is a major part of their personal identities.[10]

The concept of conscious choice and commitment in religion is vital to dismantling the overly simplistic view of women in hijabs not having agency, but there are many more personal reasons why Muslim women choose to veil. Some American Muslim women find veiling empowering, because it is a display of pride in being Muslim, loyalty to their culture, or anti-imperialism.[4] Many Muslim women choose not to veil for feminist reasons, but there are also many who cite their feminist beliefs as a reason why they choose to veil. Muslim intellectuals disagree over whether veiling is religiously mandated by the Quran or whether is it a cultural tradition that has been attached to the religion through custom.[8] [10] Muslims who feel that the hijab is vital to women’s religious devotion frequently reference the role of modesty in Islam. They see modesty as a very important Islamic value for both genders, but believe men and women must express it in different ways.[10]

Another important aspect of the veil’s personal significance to women is the role it plays in their sexuality. Many veiled Muslim women express the belief that American culture exploits women by over-sexualizing and sexually objectifying them. These women see the hijab as liberating them from feeling sexually vulnerable to men and from being approached or harassed by men for explicitly sexual reasons. This empowers them to have more active lives outside the home in universities, workplaces, mosques and other public settings.[4] [8] Some veiled Muslim women report that their internal qualities are more likely to shine through when they are veiled, because the hijab draws attention away from their physical appearance.[4]

Interviews with veiled Muslim women about the hijab revealed an essentialist understanding of gender that favored equity and appreciating differences over what was seen as a more American push for equality, sameness and ignoring natural differences.[10] Some of these women even perceived the way their hijabs differentiated them from men as granting women their natural place of being more special and valuable.[4] Another component of this essentialist view is the frequently underlying belief that men cannot control their sexual urges and women owe it to themselves and to men to act as gatekeepers.[8] [10]

There are currently about one million Muslim women in the U.S., and about 43 percent of them choose to wear a hijab all or most of the time.[7] As the number of American Muslim women increases and the U.S.’ relationship with Islam becomes further complicated, even more pressures and considerations will impact women’s choice of whether or not to veil. The importance of acknowledging the complex nature of this choice and the need to dismantle arguments that seek to overly simplify it will increase as well.

Sarah Lombardo
International Affairs ’15

[1] Abdul-Ghafur, Saleemah. Living Islam Out Loud. Boston: Beacon Press, 2005. 1-201. Print.
[2] Avishai, Orit. “”Doing Religion” in a Secular World: Women in Conservative Religions and the Question of Agency.” Gender and Society. 22.4 (2008): 409-433. Print.
[3] Aziz, Sahar. “From the Oppressed to the Terrorist: Muslim American Women in the Cross-Hairs of Intersectionality.” Hastings Race and Poverty Law Journal. 9.2 (2012): 191-264. Print.
[4] Bartkowski, John, and Jen’nan Read. “To Veil or Not to Veil: A Case Study of Identity Negotiation among Muslim Women in Austin, Texas.” Gender and Society. 14.3 (2000): 395-417. Print.
[5] Herndon, Kathleen. “Images of Muslim Women in the American Media.” Times and Issues Forum. Weber State University. Utah, Ogden. 06 2010. Lecture.
[6] Khalid, Asma. “Lifting the Veil: Muslim Women Explain their Choice.” National Public Radio 21 Apr 2011, n. pag. Print.
[7] Kohut, Andrew. “Muslim Americans: Middle Class and Mostly Mainstream.” Pew Research Center. N.p., 27 2007. Web. 11 Dec 2012.
[8] Rauf, Feisal. Moving the Mountain: Beyond Ground Zero to a New Vision of Islam in America. New York City: Free Press, 2012. 107-134. Print.
[9] Severson, Kim. “Judge Allows Muslims to Use Tennessee Mosque.” New York Times 18 Jul 2012, n. pag. Print.
[10] Williams, Rhys, and Gira Vashi. “Hijab and American Muslim Women: Creating the Space for Autonomous Selves.” Sociology of Religion. 68.2 (2007): 269-287. Print.