writing_womans_lives_symposium_paper_book_v2

Taliha started veiling when she turned twelve. In her closely‐knit Turkish community veiling
was viewed as a developmental marker; it marked the end of childhood and beginning of young
adulthood, working as a rite of passage from which they derived positive feelings. As she was
recounting her experience of veiling with gusto, the emotional charge of the conversation changed
when the subject came to its perception by classmates.
I was going to a normal Christian school. I was the only one veiled. They were not
scared of me or something. But occasionally it happens. Someone says something. But like
maybe two per cent of the people. Just like those kinds of people are everywhere, they
can be in the classroom too.
Taliha had been on occasion subject to unpleasant remarks in her Christian school, such as
when someone said she had a theedoekje (dish rag) on her head. In fact, she had anticipated this
criticism long before. Her veiling at the age of twelve was a strategic action: she veiled right before
she was about to start at the new secondary school, entering a new context with new students. She
wanted to establish herself already as a veiled girl in the new context. A similar concern is reported
by Rana:
I started to veil at around age thirteen. This is for most people the same. Otherwise
you have to worry about hearing some nasty comments from Dutch students, or
experiencing being cast out from the group. Otherwise, the ones that know you from
before, they ask questions. So at the end of primary school, we decided to veil right away
with friends, so that we do not have to veil in the middle of the school years. So everyone
would meet us as veiled.
Expecting various questions and negative attention, Rana anticipated a social discomfort
associated with manifesting such a visible marker of difference in school where the majority was
ethnic Dutch. Therefore, one strategy in curbing belonging uncertainty our respondents adopted was
to veil at the onset of middle school and meet other students as veiled when they knew that they
would be veiling later on.
Teachers’ feedback and attitudes can also contribute to ambiguity in belonging. Berna
primarily received questions from her surprised class teacher who asked to talk to her father: “She
asked whether my family pressured me, why all of a sudden I did this, or whether I got engaged. It
took her a while to get used to the idea that I’m still the same person and not retreating from
everything.” Berna’s teacher was highly concerned with her educational progress upon her veiling.
Berna resented her teacher’s inquiries and the presumption that veiling would undermine her
classroom participation.
Emel recalls an instance in which she came to question her teacher’s attitude:
Recently we were discussing 9/11, terrorists, America... When the teacher said
terrorist, he looked at me. Maybe on purpose, maybe not. I am the only veiled one in
class. And I make myself noticeable. Classmates always say that I am very open and
outspoken. So I said to the teacher, “Why are you looking at me when we talk about this?”
And he said “Oh I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.” So, we shouldn’t relate everything to
discrimination. My teacher was like “I didn’t do it on purpose. I was just looking that way.”
But there’s no need to be coy about this. Sometimes some teachers say you will not
manage the degree. You will not graduate. How shall I say …., they feel a certain aversion
to you. They might say “This is too difficult for you. Go do something else.” Yes they exist
too, but perhaps one out of ten teachers.
Dominant social discourses outside class can intensify belonging uncertainty as some topics
discussed work to engage minority identities. Given recent juxtaposition of Islam and terrorism, Emel
questioned her teacher’s intent on whether or not he is implying something. Emel’s identification as
a practicing Muslim creates a certain a strong feeling of uncertainty in whether she is being
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