HIJAB: FEMININE ALLURE AND CHARM TO MEN IN TUNIS Simon Hawkins Franklin & Marshall College This article examines a group of men in Tunis’s old city, and the ways they watch and interact with women. It focuses on the complicated relationship between hijab and desire. Contrary to common assumptions, hijab does not necessarily reduce sexual desire in men, which takes many forms. Which women the men find attrac- tive depends on context and the men’s social identity. What appears as a common expression of desire, calling to women on the street, is oriented toward reinforcing homosocial bonds. While they may not call out to women in hijab, many young Tunisian men flirt with them because they interpret hijab as a sign the young women are interested in marriage. (Tunisia, hijab, gender, desire, sexuality) Returning to Tunis in 2006, after doing doctoral field work there seven years earlier, the vast increase of women in hijab1 in downtown Tunis was striking. They previously had been unusual, but now were common. This was sufficiently interesting that I asked friends and informants about the transformation. One young man who sold crafts to tourists explained, “It’s quite simple, they are looking for husbands. They think that it will be easier to find a good husband if they demonstrate good character (‘aql). The girls don’t really care that much about religion.” I asked if young men really wanted to marry women in hijab. “Oh, yes,” he said, but added that he himself did not. When asked about a friend who had a serious girl friend who does not wear hijab, he responded with a smile. “We will marry bad girls.” The term “bad girls” was an inside joke. A couple of days earlier he had seen a young European woman wearing a tight t-shirt that read “bad girl.” He raised his eyebrow and asked me, “Is she really a bad girl?” The category of “bad girl” does not simply connote sexual promiscuity. His imagined marriage contrasts with that of another young man, a silversmith who was part of a social group that met regularly in the evenings during Ramadan. One evening, when asked whether he would marry a woman in hijab, he quickly replied, “Oh yes, I want to marry a woman who wears hijab, prays, and reads the Qur’an.” I protested that he did none of those things. “True,” he said, but “I would like to in the future.” The danger of these examples is that they suggest a simple dichotomy between good and bad girls, good being associated with purity and bad with sexuality. However, the way the young men view women is more complex. Women marked as “bad” may not be the most sexually desirable, and hijab may 1 ETHNOLOGY vol. 47, no. 1, Winter 2008, pp. 1–21. ETHNOLOGY, c/o Department of Anthropology, The University of Pittsburgh, Pittsburgh PA 15260 USA Copyright 2009 by The University of Pittsburgh. All rights reserved. 2 ETHNOLOGY not mark a women as particularly modest. The man who sold crafts boasted of seducing a woman in hijab, and some of the more actively religious young men I knew stated that they wanted a woman who behaved properly, and that hijab had little to do with this. While hijab is commonly seen as a marker of modesty, in practice it is read in different ways depending on the form of the hijab, the age and social identity of the wearer, her behavior, the context in which it is worn, and the social identity of the viewer. Hijab is a polysemous sign that is inter- preted differently by different observers, and it is reasonable to suppose that those wearing hijab experience it in multiple ways. As this article demonstrates, for the young men in Tunis, wearing hijab does not mark a woman as undesirable. Other factors besides the display of female flesh arouse male desire. The criteria for a desirable woman are not clearly defined, as the nature of desire depends on both the specific social aspirations of the individual young man and the broader social context in which desire might be elicited. A woman who might be desirable to a certain man in one context might be less desirable in another. When young men gather in groups to watch women, they focus on different kinds of women than when, as individuals, they flirt with women. Indeed, a group that catcalls at women, while seeming to display desire, must also be seen as building homosociality. While women in hijab may be ignored by such groups, they are not ignored by individual men, who view hijab as indicating a wish for marriage, rather than as a religious indicator. How men react to hijab depends on their thoughts about marriage and possible marriage partners. The different contexts associated with desire demand different conceptions of, and theories about, desire. The men in groups watching women in the passing stream of pedestrians resemble a scopophilic audience, in which “pleasure in looking has been split between active/male and passive/female. The determining male gaze projects its fantasy onto the female figure” (Mulvey 2000:39). In this context, the men focus on the display of the woman’s body. However, this audience is not an atomized collection of individuals, but a socially cohesive group, and their gazing at women is as much about establishing the group’s male identity as projecting a fantasy onto them. The active displays of male hetero- sexual desire often play a key role in homosocial bonding (Allison 1994, Grazian 2008). In contrast to this are the individual flirtations, in which group cohesion is lost as the woman becomes a comparatively more active subject. As Simmel (1984) suggested, in flirtation it is not the display of the body but its concealment that excites desire, which is fueled by interaction rather than passivity. If the homosocial gaze on the passing women is impersonal, the interactive glances in flirtation are experienced as powerfully personal. HIJAB IN TUNIS 3 While these different examples might each indicate “desire,” to lump such different practices under the same heading becomes problematic. The disparate behaviors described here are put into one category, because this reflects conver- sational practice among the young men I worked with. When talking about women they were attracted to, they did not distinguish between ogling from afar and engaged flirting. They generally use the same verb, hubb (love or like), when talking about an attractive woman (“I hubb her”) as they do to describe their rela- tion to a serious girlfriend. The commonality between these different emotions is an attraction that has a sexual component, but the nature of the attraction varies widely. As this article will show, young men in the old city (the medina) in Tunis distinguish between different forms of attraction when describing women, referring to women who are regarded as displaying sexuality as leqleq (a local slang term) while referring to modest yet possibly flirtatious women as hisham. To understand how young men in Tunis perceive young women, whether Tunisian or foreign, requires knowing the social significance of clothing options available to women and men. While much has been written about hijab, fashion, sexuality, marriage, and desire in the Arab Middle East, the overwhelming majority of it has been drawn from historical, literary, and theological sources (Bouhdiba 1985, El Guindi 1999, Mernissi 1991:44), or ethnographies that focus on women (Abu-Lughod 1986, Ghannam 2002, Macleod 1991, Mahmoud 2005, Ossman 2002). Much of this work has examined and analyzed the complex experiences and social systems of gender, but there has been comparatively little ethnographic work on how men in the Middle East think about women. This article helps to fill that gap, if only for a very specific population. It may not necessarily be generalizable to the broader Islamic Arab world, but it does suggest some useful avenues of inquiry for understanding the complex ways in which men make sense of hijab. Hijab in Tunisia is less common than in much of the Muslim Arab world, and it has been a complicated symbol in Tunisian history. During the 1930s, national- ist leader Habib Bourguiba defended the right of women to wear hijab as a mark of their national identity and culture (Hopwood 1992). However, as president he championed legislation in 1981 that banned hijab in public buildings, arguing that the practice retarded development and limited the freedom of women. He linked his position on hijab to changes in the personal status code that outlawed polygyny and guaranteed equal rights for women, setting hijab in opposition to modernity. Because of the clothing’s officially proscribed status, it is difficult to make accurate estimates of how many women wore or now wear hijab. Yet, over the past decade there has been a noticeable “return of the veil” (Chouikha 2007). 4 ETHNOLOGY In the 1990s it was unusual to see women wearing forms of hijab in Tunis. While it may not now be the dominant mode of dress for women, it has become common. Still, women may be barred from schools, universities, or government employment for wearing hijab. Periodically, the government cracks down on wearing hijab in official institutions, but at other times will be lax. It is not always clear what form of hijab is proscribed. A young lycee student who wanted to wear hijab told of conflicting advice that she received. One person told her that any kind of head scarf would be banned, while another said that a scarf that covered the hair and ears would be permitted, but not something that encircled the face. Some women wear modest clothing that is not marked as hijab, so as not to cause trouble in an office. For example, a loose outfit with long pants, long sleeves, a turtleneck, and a turban might satisfy religious dictates for appropri- ately modest clothing, but would not indicate hijab to a casual observer.2 When the Tunisian media show women in hijab, they are invariably elderly, and quite frequently rural, thus constructing hijab as a marker of tradition that may not fit in a modern world. However, defining clothing as either modern or traditional lacks nuance. Sonbol (1994) suggests distinguishing between modern (i.e., Western) and tradi- tional women’s clothing in Islamic society, and certainly some forms of clothing in Tunis are marked as modern (e.g., jeans and t-shirts) while others are read as traditional (a long white cloth, safsari, wrapped around the head and body). But the categories quickly meld into each other with actual practice, as with a woman wearing a safsari over a t-shirt. The identities Tunisians construct through clothing are multivocal and ambiguous. It is not clear, for example, if hijab fashioned from clothing imported from Europe would be categorized as modern or traditional. Jeans, a long sleeved t-shirt, and a scarf around the head may be read as hijab. Similarly, a woman wearing a long skirt and a flowing long-sleeved shirt can be regarded as modest, even though the components of her clothing are “modern,” as they derive from contemporary European fashion. It is impossible to use categories such as modern or traditional, or even hijab, for these garments without placing them in the fuller context of clothing options available to young urban Tunisian women (Mamoun 1998). Although there is debate over what constitutes proper hijab, there is general agreement with what constitutes an attempt at hijab. Hijab must cover the legs to the ankles, arms to the wrists, with a scarf or some other covering over the hair. In Tunisia, forms of hijab that cover the hands or parts of the face are fairly uncommon. HIJAB IN TUNIS 5 RESEARCH IN THE ORIENTALIST BAZAAR Fieldwork was conducted in the plaza at Zeituna mosque in the medina during the summer of 2006 and the late summer and fall of 2007, which included the Ramadan of 2007. This location is the geographic center of the medina and the symbolic heart of the city. As such, it has a flow of foot traffic, tourists, worshipers, foreign and Tunisian shoppers, and people passing through. One side of the plaza is lined with shops that mostly cater to tourists. During the summer, a coffeehouse sets tables in the plaza in the afternoon, where people sit until evening or night. With colder weather, the tables are not put out, but reappear during Ramadan, when the plaza fills almost exclusively with men smoking chicha (tobacco infused with various flavors smoked in water pipes) and drinking coffee, tea, or sodas. I spent my days with the workers in the stores and was a regular at the coffee house in the evenings. Eventually, I became a regular at a table which held an important role in the plaza social structure. The hierarchy that elevates the older men at this table plays an important part in the thinking and actions of some of the young men. My gender gave me access to the joking of the young men, while my identity as a married man gave me sufficient gravitas to sit with the more prominent men. Conversation was usually in Arabic, with some French and occa- sionally English thrown in. Given the common popular Western stereotype of Arab men consumed by lust, any paper that examines how Arab men watch and discuss women must be treated with suspicion. Many of the assumptions about the relation of men and women in the Arab world turn on the stereotypical notion of an Arab man whose lust will be aroused at the sight of exposed female flesh. “The image of the insolent, penetrating glare attached to Arabs as a group; they were ‘obscene,’ that is excessively and unacceptably sexual” (Scott 2007:52). To discuss how some Tunisian men watch women runs the risk of reinforcing this stereotype. Yet sexuality should not be simply ignored. There has been insightful work examining the creation of racial minorities and colonial subjects as prob- lematically sexualized beings in a complex power relationship with the West (Alloula 1986, Massad 2007, Stoler 1995). However, those texts tend to emphasize the discourses in the West, along with their reverberations in the post- colonial world, that construct the fantasies and paranoias regarding sexuality, rather than examining local discourses about desire. Having examined French colonial postcards from Algeria, Alloula (1986:14) discusses how “the photog- rapher’s studio will become, then, a pacified microcosm where his desire, his scopic instinct, can find satisfaction.” Stoler (1995) demonstrates how sexual 6 ETHNOLOGY ideologies analyzed by Foucault were formed by and dependent on colonial experiences. As the Dutch colonial bureaucracy grew . . . civil servants . . . took over as the new scientific, administrative, and cultural arbitrators on hygiene, education, morality and sex. This trans- formation not only instilled a more explicitly bourgeois morality, it also made the formalization of racial categories contingent on the management of sex. (Stoler 1995:44) Colonial judgments were taken up by Arab elites. “Arab intellectuals also internalized the epistemology by which Europeans came to judge civilizations and cultures along the vector of something called ‘sex’ as well as its later deriva- tive, ‘sexuality’” (Massad 2007:6). The present article is not meant to critique those works, but there is a need to examine how desire plays out in the daily life of a group, such as the men working in the plaza. Gutmann (1996) notes that “facile expectations of Mexican male gender identities” were largely driven by observers “capriciously glossing over significant differences among men based on class, generation, region, and ethnicity, among other factors” (Gutmann 1996:3). Similarly, in Tunisia there are important differences driven by relations to social structures in the Tunisian men’s expressions of sexual desire. But as Gutmann also notes, individuals often display seemingly contradictory behavior patterns. Much of the work on sexuality and desire in relation to the colonial or post- colonial Other turns on the assumption and construction of the racial Other. As quoted above, Stoler (1995) linked the creation of racial categories to the management of sex. As a revolutionary, Fanon (1968) described a Manichean world in which the native gazes at the settler’s realm with “a look of lust, a look of envy; it expresses his dreams of possession—all manner of possession: to sit at the settler’s table, to sleep in the settler’s bed, with his wife if possible” (Fanon1968:39). In conversations with me, Tunisians saw the world in racial terms, but they did not see themselves as being the racial Other to Europe. Rather, there was a tendency to view Tunisia as ethnically and racially linked to the northern shores of the Mediterranean and distinct from a sub-Saharan Africa. While seeing themselves as different from black Africans, Tunisians posited a continuum of difference with Europe. Italians may be similar to the Tunisians, but the Germans are not, and the Spanish fit somewhere in between. The desire that a Tunisian man may feel for a European woman cannot, therefore, neces- sarily be seen as transgressing a boundary or a playing out of a Fanonian fantasy of revenge. Such categorizations are relevant on occasion, but not in all instances, as the levels of difference and relations of power are complex. Certainly the men in the plaza experience resentment, but it is as likely to be directed at elite HIJAB IN TUNIS 7 Tunisians as at foreign tourists. In the plaza, race and ethnicity are not high- lighted as much as economic status. LEQLEQ AND SKIN Pay is low for work selling in the medina. The young men I knew lived at home, unable to afford moving out. The hours are long, and there are long stretches each day with no customers. Their chores include cleaning and rearrang- ing the merchandise, sorting and unpacking deliveries, but most of the day remains unoccupied. Individual salesmen will run personal errands, window shop, go to the barber, and the like, but much of each day is spent sitting on or near the steps of the mosque and chatting with friends who stop by. Cigarettes are borrowed and lent, jokes are told, the passing throng is observed, and the young men3 particularly like to watch the women. This pastime invites a discussion of desire, for it is here that they display their own desires. There is a strong current of thought that links desire to the exposure of flesh. Indeed, this is one of the justifications given by some Tunisians for hijab, that it reduces male desire. Whether or not this is the most important function of hijab is debatable, but what this debate fails to question is the extent to which desire and flesh are linked. The example of the men in the plaza suggests not so much that the linkage is incorrect as that it is inadequate. Yes, the display of flesh stimulates desire among the men, but not always, and covering flesh did not necessarily reduce desire. The case for desire and skin can be made quite easily. The men made no secret of how much they liked looking at scantily clad women, frequently calling out to such women and nudging others around them to take a look. The community developed its own term, leqleq, to describe particularly desirable women. Leqleq functions as both a noun and an adjective (roughly translatable as “sex” and “sexy” respectively), such that one could say one liked leqleq, but also describe a woman as leqleq. While there was much debate on the steps as to what constituted a leqleq woman, the common denominator was clothing that revealed the body and could be interpreted as conveying sexuality rather than simply trying to keep cool in hot weather. Exposed women’s skin and leqleq went together. A slightly older and religiously observant man who worked in the mosque was explicit about the link between desire and skin. He was trying to think pure thoughts during Ramadan, but found it hard with all the women passing by in revealing clothing. He said that it prompts “excitation” and this is why hijab is so beneficial. Covering the body would prevent men’s passion from being inflamed. Yet, while the young men would whistle and call out to women in revealing clothing, these were not necessarily the women with whom they would 8 ETHNOLOGY flirt or pursue. For all the sexuality that these bodies were assumed to display, there was little attempt made to engage that sexuality in any kind of reciprocal fashion. One such encounter highlights how the sexuality was rendered passive. A tall blond Spanish woman wearing a tight t-shirt over her large breasts was waiting in a shop while her friend made a purchase. Dangling around her neck was an electronic device with earbuds. An unengaged salesman came up to her and asked (in English, even though he spoke reasonably good Spanish) “What is? Telephone?” “No,” she replied, “music.” “Music!” he said in apparent surprise, although he was familiar with such players, and then mimed wearing earbuds. She smiled and gave them to him, which placed his head next to her chest. He smiled appreciatively and gave her a thumbs up of approval about the music. He even began to dance a bit, thrusting his pelvis quite close to, but not touching, her leg. He looked up at me, watching him from a short distance, and gave a big wink. When her friend finished, the woman said she had to go, and the salesman politely returned the earbuds. As soon as she was out of sight, he rushed to the shop next door to relate what had happened. The significance of this interaction is that it was not in the least flirtatious, as he did not try to encourage her interest in him. Rather, he tricked her, even if this meant making himself seem ignorant and slightly foolish in her eyes. His sexual behavior was tolerated rather than admired. He even downplayed his own language skills, a mark of status and pride among salesmen, in order to draw close to her. In the encounter, she is passive, apparently unaware of what is happening. While her body is constructed as a highly sexualized object, there is no hint of sexual assertiveness or desire on her part. Indeed, her perceived obliviousness was a crucial part of the encounter and a source of much of his pleasure. Although he came physically close to her, she remained socially distant. More socially intimate encounters, whether flirtatious or not, included some level of reciprocity, whether through shared laughter, exchanges of personal information, or other mutual experiences. There was no reciprocity in this exchange. As his wink to me and his rush to retell the incident to his friends suggest, the encounter may have more to do with homosociality than with satisfying desire as an end in itself. A more active female sexuality that was threatening to the men contrasts with this example. Late one afternoon, an Italian woman in shorts and a short-sleeved shirt sat alone on the steps to the mosque. The fact that she sat there was not unusual. Many people, Tunisians and foreigners alike, use it as a convenient resting place. Nor was her choice of clothing remarkable. A Tunisian woman would not wear shorts in the medina, but the Italian’s clothing was not as revealing as what some tourists wear. What made her stand out was that she was HIJAB IN TUNIS 9 alone and unmoving. She leaned back on the marble stairs and did nothing—as though she were sunbathing, but the steps were in shade. Most tourists sit for a while before moving on, or take an active interest in the people in the plaza, but not this woman. While it was impossible to know her intentions (without asking), the men in the plaza were sure that she was there for sex. However, none approached her. I asked various young men why no one was talking to her, but only received evasive answers—perhaps so-and-so would talk to her a bit, but no one did. While the men discussed her body as they might a woman passing through, their comments were rather desultory and without enthusiasm. Indeed, when asked about her, the men seemed uncomfortable with the topic. Masculine homosociality demands that a woman who displays her sexuality be the object of attention, but this norm is predicated on the woman quickly moving through the space and leaving. That she might stay and openly accept the group’s gaze was destabilizing. What is more, by taking her place on the steps, the men’s favored position for watching women, it was as if she had occupied their auditorium. The “illicit voyeurism” (Mulvey 2000:45) of the young men was overturned. Like the women they had gazed at, they could not return her gaze but could only examine her from marginal positions, the metaphoric wings to the stage of the pedestrian street. While the sexuality of the body was coded as desirable, the presumed assertiveness of the woman was not. Control over sexuality was very important in male desire. Being in control appears in examples of contrasting encounters with potential customers. In one, Abdsalem was trying to sell a small chicha pipe to a blond woman in short shorts and a tank top. With negotiations deadlocked, she left. Another salesman watching her go told Abdsalem that he should have accepted her offer if she would have kissed him. This was meant as a joke and a comment on her attractiveness, but this proposal would require him to take the initiative. In another case, two British women, also in skimpy clothing, walked by carrying a birdcage they had bought. Abdsalem asked what price they had paid, a standard way of starting a conversation and also keeping track of what prices other stores were getting. When he heard the price he said it was a “gift price,” meaning that the price was so low the object was almost a gift. This was not true, but it is a common ploy to compliment customers on their haggling powers. The woman in question smiled and pointed at her cleavage, saying “I think it’s because of that.” The British tourists asked the price of things in the store and complained in simpering voices that the prices were too high. Saying that the goods should sell for less is usually treated by salesmen as an invitation to justify the prices or discuss possible reductions, but Abdsalem did not reply. Nor did he flirt with them, which was an anomaly for him. Instead he paid them little attention, and they left. In this case, Abdsalem began the interaction by asking about the 10 ETHNOLOGY birdcage, but when the women used their sexuality as a means of bargaining, he appeared to lose interest. At issue is not so much whether sexual banter might be used in lowering a price, but who controls the sexuality. HISHAM AND MODESTY These examples illustrate a wish for control in sexually charged situations, but this does not mean that the men want passive women who accept their control. While assertive female sexuality is threatening and a passive body can be admired, the most desirable woman for the young Tunisian men is one who balances the two, who is not assertive but participates, and is modest but not to the point of reticence. For all their ogling of scantily clad tourists, the young men expressed greater desire for different kinds of women. To illustrate, a pair of European college girls studying Arabic, Olga and Amelie, were frequent visitors to one of the shops. Both wore long skirts with loose t-shirts in an effort to be respectful of local norms. Olga came for help with her homework, and her earnest demeanor made most of the young men bored with her. Amelie was less concerned with academics, but because she spoke little Arabic, conversation was difficult and she did not join in the group discussions. Some salesmen would talk with her in halting conversations. She frequently blushed and looked away with a half-smile. This behavior captivated a couple of salesmen, who remarked on her beautiful smile. They approvingly described her as hisham, which in this usage means shy or bashful. “Hisham” has shifting meanings. Abu-Lughod (1986) describes it as reflect- ing modesty among the Bedouin of Egypt. In Tunis, its usage is different and describes a reticence that can be overcome—a modest rejection but not an outright refusal. The eyes avert, but the mouth smiles. The desire invoked by the hisham woman is hardly that of the sexualized body (although they are not necessarily exclusive), as the allure of the hisham woman is predicated on inter- action. Her desirable qualities are manifest during her engagement with another figure. Her charm is in her actions but she remains passive, as her charm can only be expressed in response to the actions of another. The differences between the two forms of desire described here are similar to the distinction between pornography and the desire between individuals having a mutual attraction. Both include erotic desire, but while the latter is intimate and personal, pornography is addressed to no specific person but to the anonymous public (Cameron and Kulick 2003:116–17). This distinction appears between the men’s flirtation with hisham women, which is specific and individual, and their reaction to the display of women’s flesh, which is assumed to be displayed for the public. The Italian tourist on the steps of the mosque, therefore, becomes