A murder case from Shamli, Uttar Pradesh, has reignited a long-standing debate around the burqa, whether it is a matter of personal choice or enforced control. Police say the accused killed his wife following a dispute linked to religious clothing. While the crime itself is being investigated as an act of extreme domestic violence, the case has drawn national attention to how ideas of ‘choice’, honour, and coercion intersect with women’s autonomy in everyday life.
The burqa is often described as a matter of personal choice. Supporters frame it as an expression of faith, identity, or comfort. Critics see it as a symbol of restriction and control. The truth, however, is more complicated, and far more uncomfortable. Whether the burqa is truly a ‘choice’ depends less on ideology and more on context, power, and consequence.
What does ‘choice’ actually mean?
In theory, choice implies freedom. A woman chooses something because she can also refuse it without fear. The fear of punishment, violence, social exile, or economic loss. The moment refusal carries consequences, the choice becomes conditional.
This distinction is often missing from public debates. Saying ‘no one forces the burqa’ sounds reasonable until we ask the next question: what happens if a woman says no?
Law versus lived reality
Legally, in India and many other democracies, wearing religious clothing is a personal right, not a legal obligation. No law mandates the burqa. Courts have repeatedly upheld individual liberty and freedom of expression.
But laws operate in public spaces. Control often operates in private ones, inside homes, families, and tightly knit communities. This gap between constitutional rights and domestic reality is where the idea of ‘choice’ starts to unravel.
A woman may be legally free to step out without covering herself, yet practically constrained by fear of conflict, violence, abandonment, or being labelled dishonourable.
Faith, tradition, and enforcement
Many Muslim women around the world choose the burqa or hijab willingly. They speak of spirituality, modesty, or personal conviction. Their voices matter and deserve respect.
At the same time, it is equally true that in some households, religious clothing is enforced less as faith and more as discipline. The line between belief and control becomes blurred when men position themselves as guardians of morality, deciding what a woman must wear to protect family honour.
Religion, in such cases, becomes a justification rather than the root cause. The driving force is often patriarchy, the idea that women’s bodies represent family reputation.
The problem with the urban lens
Much of the ‘burqa is a choice’ argument comes from urban, educated spaces where women have financial independence, mobility, and social support. These conditions matter.
For women who are economically dependent, live in conservative settings, or lack access to legal or emotional support, choice works differently. Saying no may mean homelessness. Or isolation. Or violence. Choosing without an exit option is not a real choice.
This is why a single narrative does not fit all experiences.
When clothing becomes a test of obedience
In controlling environments, clothing is rarely just about fabric. It becomes a test: Will you obey? Refusal is seen not as personal preference but as rebellion.
Once that mindset takes hold, control often escalates. Today it is clothing. Tomorrow it is movement, phone access, education, or work. The burqa debate, then, is not just about dress, it is about who holds power over women’s lives.
The danger of false binaries
The public conversation often slips into extremes, either the burqa is always oppressive, or it is always empowering. Both positions erase lived complexity.
Some women choose it freely. Some are forced. Some begin wearing it voluntarily and later find they cannot stop. Others remove it at great personal cost. All of these realities coexist.
Reducing the issue to slogans, either for or against, helps no one.
What should the real question be?
Instead of asking ‘Is the burqa a choice?’ a more honest question is:
“Can a woman refuse it without fear?”
If the answer is yes, it is a choice.
If the answer is no, it is coercion, regardless of whether it is justified as culture, religion, or tradition.
This is not about policing clothing. It is about recognising control where it exists and protecting autonomy where it is threatened. When society refuses to acknowledge coercion, it leaves vulnerable women without language, support, or visibility.
Choice cannot exist without safety. And freedom cannot exist where fear governs everyday decisions.
The bottom line
The burqa can be a choice, but it is not automatically one. Declaring it so without examining power dynamics oversimplifies reality and silences women whose experiences do not fit the narrative.
A society that truly believes in choice must defend not only the right to wear the burqa, but also the right to refuse it, without consequences.
That is the standard worth arguing for.
In the end, I am left speechless by what happened in Shamli. A man killed his wife simply because she did not wear a burqa. Can any piece of clothing ever be more important than a human life?
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