Wearing a burqa

Today I did something that might have gotten me arrested had I done it publicly in France.

     I wore a burqa, “an enveloping outer garment worn by women in some Islamic traditions to cover their bodies when in public,” as Wikipedia defines it.

     It was only for a while and entirely in the privacy of my home, but it stirred many thoughts about women and religion and liberties and plain old comfort.

     It wasn’t what I expected.

     It was tight-fitting at the top of the head – to secure it, I suppose – and so flowing and unusual that my dogs circled and barked when I first put it on.

     And it was dark. I had trouble seeing through the mesh in front of the eyes, even with the kitchen lights on, so much so that I had to lift it to read the mail.

     It was also hot inside, even on this coolish September night.

     But it is what many Muslim women around the world wear, in keeping with ancient religious tradition, and what many of them fight to continue wearing, even as some other European nations considering joining France in banning burqas in the name of national security.

     I’m not Muslim and I didn’t wear the burqa (borrowed from a friend) for religious reasons, but to try to understand another culture and religion (wouldn’t the world be a better place if we all did more of that?).

     A small part of me found it appealing – the anonymity it granted, the cocoon-like security – but not so much that I’d consider wearing one again.

     The better part of me found it unfamiliar and uncomfortable, which is why I won’t.

     But ban it?

     It occurred to me only after I tried on the burqa that I was doing so on 9-11, the anniversary of the worst terrorism attack in U.S. history, initiated by Muslim fanatics.

     They were attacking our freedoms – including freedom of religion, freedom of expression.

     Seems to me wearing a burqa is one of those freedoms.