UPDATE: |’The fact that I wear the hijab is the least interesting thing about me’ News

Amna Abdullatif has served as a councillor in Ardwick for more than six years. Greta Simpson talks to her about her hijab and the discrimination she faces.

It’s a warm spring day in Ardwick. On the green, bright yellow daffodils sway in the gentle breeze as traffic on the A6 trundles past.

The young magnolia trees in the centre of the park are just beginning to bud, their petals a dusky mid-tone pink.

By coincidence, they match Amna Abdullatif’s hijab almost perfectly. She’s one of three local councillors for this ward and has been in her post since 2019.

She’s also one of only three out of 95 Manchester City Councillors who wears the hijab or headscarf – and is the first councillor of Arab descent ever to serve the city that has been her home for 25 years.

Now 41, Amna began wearing the headscarf when she was eleven, in ‘quite random’ circumstances, she told the M.E.N.

“I had really long, thick hair at the time,” she said. “My mum would always plait it. But she was away visiting my grandparents – and my dad had no idea how to plait hair.”

“So his thinking was, if I wore a headscarf, then it wouldn’t matter what my hair looked like underneath. So it was supposed to be a temporary fix.

“If my mum had never gone away then I might have started at a later point – but then I just couldn’t take it off. There was a connection I felt with it, and it just became a part of who I am.”

Shortly before the pandemic, Amna took part in a documentary directed by British-Bosnian Samir Mehanovic, entitled My Hijab, My Choice. Following five British women who wear the hijab and some of the discrimination they have faced, the documentary recently aired on al-Jazeera.

“Wearing the hijab doesn’t bother me, but I do notice how people react to it,” said Amna. “I notice the lack of ease that some people feel when I’m in the room, in meetings and when I meet new people.

“I feel like I have to do more to break some of those barriers that people might have towards me.

“A lot of people are really surprised that I can speak English, that I could give a good speech, that I can hold my own in a conversation or challenge them back on things.

“It used to silence me a lot, because I’d be worrying, what are they thinking about me? But I’ve learned to get over it a bit.”

But sometimes, the reactions from others are not subtle looks or facial expressions, but real verbal assaults. “When I’m out shopping, or when I’m with my kids, you get the odd word of ‘terrorist’ under somebody’s breath,” she said matter-of-factly.

“I get ‘go back to your own country’, or people trying to give me advice about how Islam is evil. You get all of that just going about your business.”

TellMama, the reporting service measuring incidents of Islamophobia, received over 6,000 reports last year, the highest number ever recorded in what it described as a ‘sharp and upward trend’.

These figures were spiked by, among other things, the Southport murders in July 2024, which led to widespread race riots after speculation spread online that the perpetrator had been Muslim.

“I think it’s probably the only time in my life that I felt really unsafe in this country,” said Amna.

“I made the conscious decision on the days where there was potentially going to be riots, not to actually leave my home.”

“It’s something I hated doing. Why should I have to restrict my movement, as somebody with power and agency, as somebody who travels a lot?”

She continued: “There’s a lot of learning to be done about tackling rising Islamophobia, that is changing people’s attitudes towards people who look like me.

“The only way to do it is by challenging it. I feel like what happens at the moment is that we’re trying to appease a lot of these narratives. I think we’ve done that for too long.”

Having had an active career in social justice organisations before her entry into politics, she is most frustrated by the misconceptions others have around her faith.

“The biggest gripe for me is about choice,” she said. “I get a lot of saviourism or people feeling sorry for me – no. This is my choice – and I will fight really hard for a woman’s choice not to wear it as well.

“This idea that Muslim women do not have the ability to make choices about their own bodies is the biggest gripe. At least wait until you hear me speak – don’t make assumptions.

“It’s just an annoying thing to have to debate – why does it matter what I wear? It’s the least interesting thing about me.”

At the same time as not defining her, it clearly means a lot to her and her identity. “The hijab is a representation of my faith,” she said.

“It showcases who I am as a Muslim woman. I grew up with women who were very powerful, who had a lot of opinions, who just happened to wear the headscarf – it’s a form of empowerment for us.

“I’ve worn it for such a long time, that it’s a bit of a security blanket as well and it makes me feel safe.”

After six years in her post (she had formerly been a Labour councillor but left the party to stand as an independent in 2023) she is not planning to stand again in the next elections – but said she has loved her time in the role.

“This is my community, my home, and I love the work that I do. I think it’s a really privileged role to have,” she said.

“When I first got elected, I drove around the ward boundaries with my kids to show them what it covers. I don’t take it lightly at all that over 15,000 people are my responsibility.”

Only one of three hijabi councillors in Manchester, she is regularly invited to local schools and universities to speak at events – but was keen to add that she has never felt tokenised.

“It just makes a difference to have broad representation of different people in public office, and in public-facing jobs,” she said.

“If I’m the first Arab person to ever be elected then there’s a gap. There’s second and third generation Arab communities now in Manchester. What voice and representation do they have in local politics?

“I’ve grown up with this idea that where you can help people, you help people. And where your voice matters, you should use it.

“If there are young Muslim women and girls, who see themselves in me, and think, if she can bloody do it, I can too – that for me is a a great thing.”