Around five years ago, I was turned away from Deals, a bar on one of those narrow side streets of an upscale Zamalek neighborhood. I was sporting a headscarf, being a more observant Muslim at the time, on an evening out with a Dutch friend who wanted to catch up over drinks. Unlike some conservative Muslims, I never minded sharing a space with drinkers.

The bouncer at the door refused me entry, explaining my hijab didn’t fit the bar’s dress code. I had heard of its strict no-veil door policy earlier, but I didn’t think I would be turned away. In a country where an estimated 70% of Muslim women — and counting — wear the veil, I felt his comments like a slap in the face.

Naturally, I was offended.

When I pressed for elaboration on excluding veiled Muslims, the bouncer responded: “These are the rules. You can’t come in, and it’s in respect to your veil.”

I quickly retorted: “Are you saying that I don’t respect it?”

Fast-forward a few months to a trip in Hamburg, Germany. While taking a stroll through the European city’s red-light district with friends, someone suggested a venture into a mixed strip club “for laughs.” I agreed, but being paranoid due to my previous experience, I made it a point to ask if it was okay to go inside with my veil on. The German ticket seller shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly and replied: “Why not? As long you pay the ticket.”

I don’t wear the veil anymore — for both personal and professional reasons. However, I was reminded of my brush with the no-hjiab policy in June when a group of young women, who had just finished their undergraduate studies at the American University in Cairo (AUC), were banned from attending their own after grad celebration by party organizers. The party had a burlesque theme and alcohol was being served. It seems organizers believed the presence of veiled women was inappropriate and would disturb the “festive” mood.

The AUC affair slammed the controversial ban-or-no-ban discussion right back on the table as critics called the decision to ban headscarves in nightclubs, bars, pubs and exclusive parties blatant discrimination, while others defended the move as a sound business decision.

Hardwired by my past experiences, I initially stood in the “discrimination” camp, but slowly my position began to waiver.

The veil is in essence a religious symbol — although some Egyptian women admittedly wear it because they live in conservative neighborhoods, for personal safety or to avoid sexual harassment. Others have molded it to fit their style that includes body-hugging tops, skinny trousers and even knee-long skirts.

Over lunch, I revived the debate with some friends. (They have requested that their names not be mentioned considering the sensitivity of the issue, so I’ll call them Sherif, Sara and Amr)

The conversation soon became rowdy with Sherif flaming the fire by passionately supporting the ban.

“From a business perspective, it doesn’t make any sense [to accommodate hijab-wearers]. It makes people feel guilty, which is a reality of life, especially if you’re talking about Muslim-specific countries. […] You make people realize they have a religion and they’re not following it.”

Amr responded that businesses have an obligation to serve all customers, or else they should make it clear that they’re exclusive. “If I’m opening myself to the public, if I have a sign out there that says ‘I’m open. Come in,’ then I should let people in,” he says. “Although of course, legally, you can’t do anything about if you’re turned away from a club or a restaurant that serves alcohol,” he added in an afterthought.

Sherif pressed on. “Just because I have the word ‘open’ doesn’t mean that everyone is allowed to come in. Clubs, even in Egypt, say that they have a right to [impose] a dress code, to turn away certain people.” He added: “If you just want to listen to music and have fun, there are non-alcoholic bars everywhere that you can go to. There are karaoke bars.”

At first, it’s shocking to hear someone put it so simply — I wanted to turn around to see if anyone overheard the conversation. But at the core of the issue is the fact that many in Egypt are struggling with their lifestyles and not everyone is comfortable with their identities or decisions. So reminders that they are not following certain tenets of Islam could make them uncomfortable.

Sara has been (figuratively) stoned for voicing similar views to Sherif’s before, but she explains that no one appreciates being judged on their actions, particularly when it comes to religion.

“If I go to a club, and I’m drinking and dancing and having fun with my friends, it’s my time and I’m paying good money to enjoy myself,” says Sara. “If I’m standing on a table dancing, and someone stares, [I’d feel offended], because it’s my space, it’s time off. I don’t want to be judged. I don’t want to be in a situation where I’m thinking, ‘are people looking at me and thinking I’m being inappropriate?’”

I had a separate conversation with Nayrouz Abouzid, founder and editor-in-chief of AlterEgo Magazine, to get her perspective as the manager of the nightclub Purple Lounge for two years.

“The mere fact that veiled women were not allowed to make any bookings did create some personal and professional discomfort for me,” she says. “Nevertheless, it seems that most alcohol-serving outlets in Egypt follow a similar [unwritten] rule. The reason behind this ‘attitude’ is unknown. My theory, however, is that women who do not wear the hijab aren’t particularly comfortable with being in the same venue with women who, by choosing to wear a head dress, have made a very specific and conscious lifestyle choice.”

It’s all about the money
Are there repercussions for including veiled women? In short, business owners say it scares away the big-spenders. Bars and nightclubs do make most of their money from selling alcohol, confirms Sherif, who works closely with such venues. “Liquor finances them,” he said.

“Who does the business owner tend to make more money off of?” asks Sara. “If you’re an owner of a bar or a club, if you’re the kind of person who goes in every time and pays LE 1,000 you’ll always be let into the club, and if you go once and pay LE 100 and complain [you won’t be heard]. Every brand targets the people that they want to target.”

Sherif unashamedly says the ban is about being free to choose. “Every choice you make will carry a price. If you choose to be veiled, that means there are certain things that you will be turned away from. This is a fact of life. Veil or no veil, there’s a consequence to choices. So if you go to a club, with a veil, on a purely financial basis, [the bar or club] will say no.”

A friend and journalist Ashraf Khalil wrote a piece a year earlier describing the decision to turn away veiled women from certain venues as perhaps “a modest backlash [to] that piece of cloth and all it has come to symbolize.”

But perhaps it is not so complicated. From a business perspective, banning veiled women may simply boil down to branding. The question changes from “Is it right or wrong to exclude veiled women?” to “Is it good or bad for a business, like a bar or a nightclub, to include them?”

In short, businesses have the right to secure their livelihoods and as private endeavors, they should be the final deciders of what’s best for them, since the politics of religion has no place at the bar or on the dance floor. bt