I wore a burqa for a decade. The real danger to Muslim women isn't the veil – it's the politics

When I watched Australian senator Pauline Hanson walk into parliament in a burqa to promote her bill to ban it, I recognised the performance immediately. It was not concern. It was not protection. It was political theatre. I wore the burqa for more than a decade, and I can say with certainty that stunts like hers do nothing to support Muslim women. They simply drown out our voices.

Hanson’s actions may have taken place in Australia, but the sentiment behind them is familiar in Britain too. Here, the burqa has long been debated by people who have never needed to understand its complexities. The woman under the cloth disappears, replaced by whatever fear or frustration a politician wishes to amplify. I know what it is like to be that woman, spoken about but never spoken to.

My years wearing the burqa were not driven by spiritual choice but pressure. Coercion slowly reshapes your understanding of yourself. It makes you feel as if you have no right to question, speak or seek help. Silence becomes its own form of entrapment. By the time I reached the point where I knew I had to remove it, I felt alone. There were no services, no safeguarding routes and no space where I felt safe to ask for help. That absence is still felt by many women today.

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What changed things for me arrived almost by accident. The man who wanted me to continue wearing it went to three Lancashire Imams, expecting them to reinforce his view. Instead, they supported me. They reminded him – and me – that a woman cannot be forced to wear the burqa by anyone, and that “there is no compulsion in religion,” including in dress. Their support helped me take a step I had long believed was out of reach. But it came only because he sought their approval, not because any formal safety net existed for women experiencing this kind of control.

Despite this, whenever the burqa is discussed publicly, Islam is often blamed for forced covering. But coercion does not come from scripture. It comes from individuals misusing power. Hanson’s performance ignored this reality and reduced a complex issue to an easy political target.

Britain has played its own part in this. Between 2010 and 2014, Conservative MP Philip Hollobone attempted several times to introduce legislation widely described as a burqa ban. It never passed, but it shaped years of debate that focused more on identity and discomfort than on the lived experiences of women.

Then in 2018, Boris Johnson compared Muslim women in face coverings to “letterboxes” and “bank robbers.” It was framed as a joke, but the consequences were immediate. Tell MAMA recorded a rise in anti-Muslim incidents in the weeks that followed, many targeting women who covered their faces. Words from political leaders do not disappear. They settle into the public mood and shape who becomes vulnerable.

Every few years, the same arguments return: a ban would protect women, or strengthen security, or reinforce national values. But the women at the heart of this debate are rarely asked what we need. There are women who freely choose the burqa. There are women who are pressured. And there are women like me who have lived both realities. The complexity makes for a difficult headline, but it is the truth.

A ban solves nothing. It criminalises personal choice, deepens isolation for women already under control and makes it harder for those who want to remove the face covering to seek help. I found support only because faith leaders stepped in unexpectedly. That should never be the only route.

There is also an Islamic historical context that rarely reaches the public conversation. In the early Muslim community, women who conducted business would unveil themselves when trading because those they dealt with had the right to know who they were. Islam has always balanced modesty with accountability. When I wore the burqa, I always removed my face covering in official settings. It is entirely possible to honour privacy while meeting public responsibility.

What Britain needs is not more noise or more political stunts. It needs honesty. That means safeguarding for women who are coerced, and respect for those who choose the veil. Most of all, it requires centring the voices of Muslim women rather than letting others speak over us.

Hanson’s stunt may have sparked this reflection, but the real issue lies here at home: a Britain still struggling to understand Muslim women beyond the headlines and still failing to separate genuine concern from political point scoring.

Hameeda Khan is the founder and CEO of People Empowering People (PEP Enterprise CIC), a Northwest based organisation driving change across education, employment, wellbeing, sport and media.

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