A Teacher's Tale

My career in Quebec ended because I chose to keep my hijab

- Fatemeh Anvari

THE HIJAB'S MEANING is unique to each woman who chooses to wear it. My own relationship with the veil began when I started school in Tehran at age six. At first it was just part of the uniform, but soon I noticed how the women in my family wore it. They seemed so mature-so I started wearing it every day. It became a part of who I was.

I spent my childhood in Dubai and Tehran, then moved to Ottawa when I was 10 years old. We returned to Iran after a few years to be near family. There, I earned an English literature degree and taught English to students of all ages; working with young children brought me the most joy. In 2017, when I was 23, I moved back to Canada and eventually pursued a master's in education at the University of Ottawa. I'd spent most of my life in Iran, where the ruling regime restricted many of our basic freedoms and controlled women's bodies and appearances. Canada seemed like a place where I could fully be myself, where diversity and freedom of expression were celebrated.

Or so I thought.

I heard about Quebec's proposed Bill 21 in my first year of grad school, during a discussion with one of my professors. The bill was part of Premier François Legault's push for laïcité, a secular principle that emphasizes the separation of religion and state. It would ban public servants in positions of authority-including teachers, police officers, doctors and judges-from wearing religious symbols. This meant no Christian crosses, no Muslim hijabs, no Sikh dastars and no Jewish kippahs. I was shocked. How could this happen in Canada? My professor reassured me the bill wouldn't go through. However, in June of the following year, it passed into law.