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Veiled Threat: On Being Visibly Muslim in Britain
Nadeine Asbali would be the first to say that a scarf on a woman's head doesn't define her, but in her case, that's a lie.
Nadeine's life changed overnight. As a mixed-race teenager, she had unknowingly been passing as white her entire until she decided to wear the hijab. Then, in an instant, she went from being an unassuming white(ish) child to something sinister and threatening, perverse and foreign.
Veiled Threat is a sharp and illuminating examination of what it is to be a visibly Muslim woman in modern Britain, a nation intent on forced assimilation and integration and one that views covered bodies as primitive and dangerous. From being bombarded by racist stereotypes to being subjected to structural inequalities on every level, Nadeine asks why Muslim women are forced to contend with the twin oppressions of state-sanctioned Islamophobia and the unrelenting misogyny that fuels our world, all whilst being told by white feminists that they need saving.
Combining a passionate argument with personal experience, Veiled Threat is an indictment of a divided Britain that dominates and systematically others Muslim women at every opportunity.
Nadeine's life changed overnight. As a mixed-race teenager, she had unknowingly been passing as white her entire until she decided to wear the hijab. Then, in an instant, she went from being an unassuming white(ish) child to something sinister and threatening, perverse and foreign.
Veiled Threat is a sharp and illuminating examination of what it is to be a visibly Muslim woman in modern Britain, a nation intent on forced assimilation and integration and one that views covered bodies as primitive and dangerous. From being bombarded by racist stereotypes to being subjected to structural inequalities on every level, Nadeine asks why Muslim women are forced to contend with the twin oppressions of state-sanctioned Islamophobia and the unrelenting misogyny that fuels our world, all whilst being told by white feminists that they need saving.
Combining a passionate argument with personal experience, Veiled Threat is an indictment of a divided Britain that dominates and systematically others Muslim women at every opportunity.
222 pages, Kindle Edition
Published January 23, 2024
11 people are currently reading
412 people want to read
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February 21, 2025
Part raw memoir, part biting critique, Nadeine Asbali's "Veiled Threat: On Being Visibly Muslim in Britian" is absolutely the best-written contemporary work on Muslim women's lives in the West.
Akin to books like "It's Not About the Burqa" and (infinitely better than the trash heap that is) "Muslim Women and Misogyny," Nadeine's writing is powerfully, authentically Muslim: acknowledging issues in the Muslim community, but deliberately situating them within the context of colonization, racism, and constant Islamophobia.
Though she writes about the British experience, her analysis applies to those of us outside the UK as well. From the ways that Western media and politics demonize Muslim women and Muslim men, the demands of erasing our Islamic identity, the pervasive hate towards anything remotely Muslim, the double standards and colonial intentions of Western feminism - Nadeine powerfully expresses the anger, frustration, grief, and exhaustion that Muslims in the West live with every day. Along the way, she touches on topics of classism, motherhood, the genocide in Gaza, education, and more.
Her writing is beautiful, descriptive and lyrical and always poignant, evoking deep emotion and providing sharp analysis of culture, politics, media, and more.
Reading Nadeine's book is like having a vent session with a Muslim friend, punctuated loudly with "YES, EXACTLY!" and "OMG WHY DIDN'T I THINK OF THAT" and "AAHHH YES THANK YOU!"
My PDF copy of this book is probably 75% highlighted because of how much I loved EVERYTHING SHE SAID. I cannot tell you what a massive relief it is to read a book by a practicing Muslim woman who NEVER panders to the Western gaze, whose faith fiercely shines through, whose love for the Ummah is behind every word - even when critiquing the akh right. Zero progressive garbage to be found.
If I could give this more than 5 stars, I would!!!
Akin to books like "It's Not About the Burqa" and (infinitely better than the trash heap that is) "Muslim Women and Misogyny," Nadeine's writing is powerfully, authentically Muslim: acknowledging issues in the Muslim community, but deliberately situating them within the context of colonization, racism, and constant Islamophobia.
Though she writes about the British experience, her analysis applies to those of us outside the UK as well. From the ways that Western media and politics demonize Muslim women and Muslim men, the demands of erasing our Islamic identity, the pervasive hate towards anything remotely Muslim, the double standards and colonial intentions of Western feminism - Nadeine powerfully expresses the anger, frustration, grief, and exhaustion that Muslims in the West live with every day. Along the way, she touches on topics of classism, motherhood, the genocide in Gaza, education, and more.
Her writing is beautiful, descriptive and lyrical and always poignant, evoking deep emotion and providing sharp analysis of culture, politics, media, and more.
Reading Nadeine's book is like having a vent session with a Muslim friend, punctuated loudly with "YES, EXACTLY!" and "OMG WHY DIDN'T I THINK OF THAT" and "AAHHH YES THANK YOU!"
My PDF copy of this book is probably 75% highlighted because of how much I loved EVERYTHING SHE SAID. I cannot tell you what a massive relief it is to read a book by a practicing Muslim woman who NEVER panders to the Western gaze, whose faith fiercely shines through, whose love for the Ummah is behind every word - even when critiquing the akh right. Zero progressive garbage to be found.
If I could give this more than 5 stars, I would!!!
February 6, 2024
“Either we are submissive and subjugated, victims of our own patriarchal cultures and faith – or we are a perverse danger, a veiled threat, wrapping our heads and bodies in our outright rejection of western culture and holding tight to religious views which are at odds with superior, enlightened European values.”
Discourse surrounding the rights, lives and freedoms of Muslim women today has a global reach. Whether it be mainstream news, podcasts, articles, books or TV, our existence seems to be a perpetual topic of discussion, with everyone eager to add their two cents to the conversation. It’s difficult to find any other group of individuals that garners as much attention, debate and controversy as Muslim women.
Muslim-majority nations and Western societies alike seem to have the same burning question when it comes Muslim women: to what extent do we allow these individuals be given agency over their own lives, choices and expressions of identity? Unsurprisingly, Muslim women — the very subjects of this conversation — are excluded from participation.
For Nadeine Asbali, this is one of the questions that her debut memoir, Veiled Threat, strives to challenge and interrogate. Asbali’s mixed-race heritage, upbringing and lived experiences as a visibly Muslim woman in modern-day Britain form the foundations of this work, lending authenticity to her analysis of gendered Islamophobia, racism and misogyny many women like her face on regular basis. Asbali navigates the complexities of intersectionality, highlighting how Muslim women often face discrimination not only because of their gender but also due to their religion and ethnicity.
“As Muslim women, it is almost impossible for us to exist outside of the white gaze when our entire life remains under its watchful glare.”
Being half-English, with ancestry in the very land that disputes her right to participate authentically in society, Asbali’s heritage has done little to protect her from the microaggressions, verbal assault, and threats that come with being visibly ‘other’ in Britain. The hijab that she decided to one day don as a young girl hanging out with her cousins in Libya changed everything. Her personal faith and beliefs were now physically manifest for all to see and appraise.
“My hijab has come to shape everything about me - how I am perceived by others and even how I see myself. It negates my biology, eclipses my upbringing and supersedes all other aspects of my identity. At times, it feels like I'm made of chiffon and jersey, metal pins and social expectation instead of flesh and bone.”
Veiled Threat is an aptly named memoir, right off the bat evoking imagery of women whose choice to cover poses a threat to the patriarchal, hypersexualised secular society that thrives off the exploitation, insecurity and objectification of women. Denying strangers access to one’s body by fulfilling a religious obligation is an act so utterly unfathomable to some that they dismiss it as a form injustice rather than the act of spiritual devotion that it is. Asbali’s critique of white feminism demonstrates how women of colour and faith are often excluded from discussions regarding creating a safer and more inclusive society for women.
For some, the notion of submitting to anything remotely spiritual or immaterial is out of the question. For Muslims, however, we know that our purpose in life does not begin and end with the incessant fulfilment of our whims and desires. Islam transcends all man-made philosophies, which is why we are repeatedly reminded in the Qur’an that,
ٱلْحَيَوٰةُ ٱلدُّنْيَآ إِلَّا مَتَـٰعُ ٱلْغُرُورِ
“… The life of this world is only the enjoyment of deception” (Quran 3:185).
When it comes to Muslim women, there are two simultaneous, incongruent concepts at play: fear and infantilisation. This contradictory duo begets a complex dynamic that shapes how Muslim women are seen and treated by others. The fear largely stems from misconceptions about Islam that are popularised by media portrayal and political rhetoric, while the infantilisation manifests from paternalistic attitudes towards Muslim women that view us as incapable and helpless. One of the unfortunate consequences of incessant societal scrutiny and judgement is the gradual loss of one’s identity. In order to fit into British society, we must strip away all elements of our ‘otherness’, whether it be our faith, appearance or beliefs to prove that we truly belong. And even then, that’s not enough.
“I quickly learned that Muslims are accepted in Britain, so long as we are the ‘good ones’. Britain requires us to dilute our identities until we become nothing but Muslim in name – and sometimes not even then. Even our names must be repackaged, reduced, bleached of their Muslimness.”
Alongside her examination of the treatment of Muslim women by non-Muslim society, Asbali also explores how the Muslim community itself treats Muslim women. In a chapter entitled ‘Muslim Masculinity’, Asbali discusses the impact of controversial figures like Andrew Tate, the emergence of the akh-right, and the repercussions for Muslim women when when religious dogma is weaponised to validate and justify harmful misogynistic beliefs. Whether it’s using outdated pseudo-science/psychology or invoking evolutionary biology to legitimise the ‘innate’ differences between (strong, intelligent) men and (weak, dense) women, the influence of these allegedly scientific ‘facts’ on our brothers in faith is concerning.
It is also alarming that Islamophobic societies work overtime to villainise and dehumanise Muslim men, perpetuating harmful stereotypes and contributing to systemic discrimination. The dehumanisation of Muslim men is most pertinently exemplified by the callous reporting of the ongoing massacre of Palestinians by media outlets, politicians and world leaders. Palestinian men are unjustly portrayed as aggressors and terrorists, further fuelling prejudice and justifying oppressive policies against them. The dichotomy between the reporting of white Ukranian men and brown Palestinian men — both of whom are sacrificing their lives to resist a violent occupying force — has never been so glaringly exposed.
“Brown Muslim men who embody the same strength we venerate in white men are barely even granted the luxury of living, let alone being celebrated or seen as human.”
In all, Nadeine Asbali’s Veiled Threat is an informative piece that educates and enlightens the reader on the challenges faced by Muslim women within their own cultural and religious spheres and broader society. By shedding light on the unique experiences of Muslim women, she invites readers to confront their own biases and misconceptions, fundamentally advocating for a more inclusive and egalitarian society. Her work serves as a powerful call to action, urging individuals and institutions alike to recognise and address the systemic barriers that prevent Muslim women and men from fully participating and prospering in their communities. Veiled Threat is a compelling reminder that the journey towards justice is ongoing and requires the collective efforts of all individuals committed to building a more just and inclusive world.
Discourse surrounding the rights, lives and freedoms of Muslim women today has a global reach. Whether it be mainstream news, podcasts, articles, books or TV, our existence seems to be a perpetual topic of discussion, with everyone eager to add their two cents to the conversation. It’s difficult to find any other group of individuals that garners as much attention, debate and controversy as Muslim women.
Muslim-majority nations and Western societies alike seem to have the same burning question when it comes Muslim women: to what extent do we allow these individuals be given agency over their own lives, choices and expressions of identity? Unsurprisingly, Muslim women — the very subjects of this conversation — are excluded from participation.
For Nadeine Asbali, this is one of the questions that her debut memoir, Veiled Threat, strives to challenge and interrogate. Asbali’s mixed-race heritage, upbringing and lived experiences as a visibly Muslim woman in modern-day Britain form the foundations of this work, lending authenticity to her analysis of gendered Islamophobia, racism and misogyny many women like her face on regular basis. Asbali navigates the complexities of intersectionality, highlighting how Muslim women often face discrimination not only because of their gender but also due to their religion and ethnicity.
“As Muslim women, it is almost impossible for us to exist outside of the white gaze when our entire life remains under its watchful glare.”
Being half-English, with ancestry in the very land that disputes her right to participate authentically in society, Asbali’s heritage has done little to protect her from the microaggressions, verbal assault, and threats that come with being visibly ‘other’ in Britain. The hijab that she decided to one day don as a young girl hanging out with her cousins in Libya changed everything. Her personal faith and beliefs were now physically manifest for all to see and appraise.
“My hijab has come to shape everything about me - how I am perceived by others and even how I see myself. It negates my biology, eclipses my upbringing and supersedes all other aspects of my identity. At times, it feels like I'm made of chiffon and jersey, metal pins and social expectation instead of flesh and bone.”
Veiled Threat is an aptly named memoir, right off the bat evoking imagery of women whose choice to cover poses a threat to the patriarchal, hypersexualised secular society that thrives off the exploitation, insecurity and objectification of women. Denying strangers access to one’s body by fulfilling a religious obligation is an act so utterly unfathomable to some that they dismiss it as a form injustice rather than the act of spiritual devotion that it is. Asbali’s critique of white feminism demonstrates how women of colour and faith are often excluded from discussions regarding creating a safer and more inclusive society for women.
For some, the notion of submitting to anything remotely spiritual or immaterial is out of the question. For Muslims, however, we know that our purpose in life does not begin and end with the incessant fulfilment of our whims and desires. Islam transcends all man-made philosophies, which is why we are repeatedly reminded in the Qur’an that,
ٱلْحَيَوٰةُ ٱلدُّنْيَآ إِلَّا مَتَـٰعُ ٱلْغُرُورِ
“… The life of this world is only the enjoyment of deception” (Quran 3:185).
When it comes to Muslim women, there are two simultaneous, incongruent concepts at play: fear and infantilisation. This contradictory duo begets a complex dynamic that shapes how Muslim women are seen and treated by others. The fear largely stems from misconceptions about Islam that are popularised by media portrayal and political rhetoric, while the infantilisation manifests from paternalistic attitudes towards Muslim women that view us as incapable and helpless. One of the unfortunate consequences of incessant societal scrutiny and judgement is the gradual loss of one’s identity. In order to fit into British society, we must strip away all elements of our ‘otherness’, whether it be our faith, appearance or beliefs to prove that we truly belong. And even then, that’s not enough.
“I quickly learned that Muslims are accepted in Britain, so long as we are the ‘good ones’. Britain requires us to dilute our identities until we become nothing but Muslim in name – and sometimes not even then. Even our names must be repackaged, reduced, bleached of their Muslimness.”
Alongside her examination of the treatment of Muslim women by non-Muslim society, Asbali also explores how the Muslim community itself treats Muslim women. In a chapter entitled ‘Muslim Masculinity’, Asbali discusses the impact of controversial figures like Andrew Tate, the emergence of the akh-right, and the repercussions for Muslim women when when religious dogma is weaponised to validate and justify harmful misogynistic beliefs. Whether it’s using outdated pseudo-science/psychology or invoking evolutionary biology to legitimise the ‘innate’ differences between (strong, intelligent) men and (weak, dense) women, the influence of these allegedly scientific ‘facts’ on our brothers in faith is concerning.
It is also alarming that Islamophobic societies work overtime to villainise and dehumanise Muslim men, perpetuating harmful stereotypes and contributing to systemic discrimination. The dehumanisation of Muslim men is most pertinently exemplified by the callous reporting of the ongoing massacre of Palestinians by media outlets, politicians and world leaders. Palestinian men are unjustly portrayed as aggressors and terrorists, further fuelling prejudice and justifying oppressive policies against them. The dichotomy between the reporting of white Ukranian men and brown Palestinian men — both of whom are sacrificing their lives to resist a violent occupying force — has never been so glaringly exposed.
“Brown Muslim men who embody the same strength we venerate in white men are barely even granted the luxury of living, let alone being celebrated or seen as human.”
In all, Nadeine Asbali’s Veiled Threat is an informative piece that educates and enlightens the reader on the challenges faced by Muslim women within their own cultural and religious spheres and broader society. By shedding light on the unique experiences of Muslim women, she invites readers to confront their own biases and misconceptions, fundamentally advocating for a more inclusive and egalitarian society. Her work serves as a powerful call to action, urging individuals and institutions alike to recognise and address the systemic barriers that prevent Muslim women and men from fully participating and prospering in their communities. Veiled Threat is a compelling reminder that the journey towards justice is ongoing and requires the collective efforts of all individuals committed to building a more just and inclusive world.
February 18, 2024
Wow! This book was truly a masterpiece. Nadeine writes in a way that is blunt yet humorous, sarcastic yet critical, all whilst covering such a vast range of topics related to being a Muslim woman in Britain in a way that is not heavy or dull in the least. As someone who has grown up living in a community with a large South-Asian, Muslim presence, surrounded by people with a similar background to me, it was quite eye-opening to read about Nadeine's personal experiences with Islamophobia, and the sheer ignorance in Britain by many, regarding why a Muslim woman would make the decision to cover herself. In this book, Nadeine details the systemic racism and otherisation of Muslims by politicians and the media, the societal stereotypes that are pushed upon Muslim men seen as violent and dominating, and Muslim women as weak but at the same time seen as a potential threat. She talks about how Islamophobia and racism form a barrier to career progression and social mobility. Thus Muslims stay stuck in a classist system, where poverty and political disenfranchisement are rife, further alienating us. The message for us is always the same, to acquiesce and assimilate fully, or get left behind.
Nadeine explains the 'liberalisation' of the education system, despite schools supposedly being an 'apolitical' setting. How the government uses the classroom and the curriculum as a 'front-line' for proliferating its ideals on gender, race, nationalism and British Values. The Education Act of 2002 gave all schools the duty of ensuring a child's spiritual, moral, cultural, mental and physical development, giving schools the freedom to proactively shape children's formative years. Schools teach us how to be British, and how to uphold this through British Values. The PSHE curriculum sets the acceptable norms on sex, relationships and gender. Furthermore, 90 percent of teaching staff are white, in comparison to 80 percent in the overall working age population. With this overwhelmingly white monopoly, despite the student body in some areas being almost exclusively Muslim, it is common for white teachers to see this as an opportunity to deliberately liberalise their and teach the 'correct' values to their Muslim students, who surely hold certain unacceptable values, thus enshrining the ideas of Muslims as being backward and primitive in the next generation. On issues regarding the ongoing genocide in Gaza, students voices are suppressed and silenced, and if they do speak up they are being isolated, excluded, or even being referred to Prevent.
On women wearing the hijab, Nadeine states "If we define ourselves using only the vocabulary given to us by those who have no interest in your liberation, we get no further than the limits they dictate for us". Muslim women are not seen by the West to be capable of any autonomy, including in making the decision to cover themselves, lest we derive the meaning of our life from something other than the nation state. But, as Nadeine claims, being Muslim is the only thing we fully, truly have, free from being defined by governmental agendas and social expectations. This is where we belong.
Nadeine explains the 'liberalisation' of the education system, despite schools supposedly being an 'apolitical' setting. How the government uses the classroom and the curriculum as a 'front-line' for proliferating its ideals on gender, race, nationalism and British Values. The Education Act of 2002 gave all schools the duty of ensuring a child's spiritual, moral, cultural, mental and physical development, giving schools the freedom to proactively shape children's formative years. Schools teach us how to be British, and how to uphold this through British Values. The PSHE curriculum sets the acceptable norms on sex, relationships and gender. Furthermore, 90 percent of teaching staff are white, in comparison to 80 percent in the overall working age population. With this overwhelmingly white monopoly, despite the student body in some areas being almost exclusively Muslim, it is common for white teachers to see this as an opportunity to deliberately liberalise their and teach the 'correct' values to their Muslim students, who surely hold certain unacceptable values, thus enshrining the ideas of Muslims as being backward and primitive in the next generation. On issues regarding the ongoing genocide in Gaza, students voices are suppressed and silenced, and if they do speak up they are being isolated, excluded, or even being referred to Prevent.
On women wearing the hijab, Nadeine states "If we define ourselves using only the vocabulary given to us by those who have no interest in your liberation, we get no further than the limits they dictate for us". Muslim women are not seen by the West to be capable of any autonomy, including in making the decision to cover themselves, lest we derive the meaning of our life from something other than the nation state. But, as Nadeine claims, being Muslim is the only thing we fully, truly have, free from being defined by governmental agendas and social expectations. This is where we belong.
April 8, 2024
This book has my heart. It’s my thoughts of being a British Muslim woman all in a book. It talks about the hardships, discrimination and prejudice hijabi Muslim women have to face. How white feminism is not the feminism for us, and the constant “threat” we as Muslim women pose, because of the veil on our heads.
There was so much sadness whilst I read the book. My heart hurt because everything Nadeine writes and talks about is everything I feel and have felt, and will probably feel forever.
This is a perfect book to be able to understand what it is like being visibly Muslim in Britain, and grasp what it’s like living in constant worry.
Definitely favourited and a 5/5 star read.
There was so much sadness whilst I read the book. My heart hurt because everything Nadeine writes and talks about is everything I feel and have felt, and will probably feel forever.
This is a perfect book to be able to understand what it is like being visibly Muslim in Britain, and grasp what it’s like living in constant worry.
Definitely favourited and a 5/5 star read.
March 20, 2025
RTC but this was everything - I have quotes highlighted on nearly every page
February 1, 2024
She said everything that needed to be said.💯💥
I would recommend everyone muslim or not, to read this book so they can get an insight on how it is to be a muslim living in the uk/europe.
"The only freedom i have found is in rejecting all of that and thinking of myself not Libyan, not English, not this, not that. Just a muslim"
I would recommend everyone muslim or not, to read this book so they can get an insight on how it is to be a muslim living in the uk/europe.
"The only freedom i have found is in rejecting all of that and thinking of myself not Libyan, not English, not this, not that. Just a muslim"
September 12, 2024
This was such an excellent and necessary book. The chapter on Muslim masculinity, Mincels and Andr*w T*te was particular interesting and laudable - a recent yet important addition to the commentary of what it means to be a visibly Muslim woman in the West. Strongly recommend for all.
June 7, 2024
First ever review. This is going to be long.
So, I don’t want to flame this author. I really don’t. This book covered good ground, and had some great moments. And it did what it said on the tin: it explored what it was like to be visibly Muslim in Britain, often through anecdotes from Asbali’s life.
The media analysis was pretty good, as was some of the class commentary and discussion about the public’s perception of Muslim women. Some of the chapter about Muslim masculinity was pretty funny too; we’ve all seen their antics on Twitter.
There were sections in the chapter about motherhood that were beautiful, and many more that were disheartening. Many times, when she was describing the ignorance of those who surrounded her, it was impossible not to share her anger.
I also completely agree with her that those with anti-Muslim prejudice should not weaponise Muslims’ accounts of intra-community issues to their advantage. Their “told-you-so’s” will always stifle discussion and growth. So, I like all that, and I don’t disagree with what she has said (in this interview) was meant to be one of the main takeaways of the book (i.e. that the hijab is important to hijabis, and the vast majority of hijabis aren’t being forced to wear the hijab in the UK). I obviously think people should be allowed to wear whatever they like. So, why the low rating?
A lot of reasons. I’ll try to get them all down, and I hope they make sense.
First: Palestine. This is a relatively small criticism compared to the others, but I didn’t feel completely comfortable with the manner in which she discussed this. Don’t misunderstand me: I am pro-Palestinian. The vilification of Palestinians in the news is completely unacceptable, and Asbali is right to point out the hypocrisy of it all. But - while there are anti-Muslim narratives threaded through news coverage - not all Palestinians are her “siblings in faith”. They are not all Muslim, though it often seems as though she forgets this as she is talking about this issue. I did feel that at times she underplayed the existence of other religious groups present in that region, and that in turn underplayed the central role of race and racism in a discussion about their oppression.
Anyway, second criticism: the apologetics and the bad history. Her apologetics are pretty typical of those who follow the Abrahamic faiths, but here they just felt especially lazy. “Islam is often accused of favouring men, but, in reality, it grants men a significant responsibility over women…” This is not a rebuttal of that argument and also, this is… very condescending. I won’t get into every little thing, but I will say that - on top of that - discussions about the obligation to materially provide for one’s wife are dishonest if you don’t acknowledge the fact that the husband’s material provisions are (theoretically, at least) a trade-off for the wife’s sexual exclusivity, as well as both her sexual and non-sexual obedience - none of which the husband owes to the wife.
The bad history - a feature of her apologetics - does kind of make me laugh. Walk this through with me: Asbali tells us that “Islam came to liberate women in the ancient Arab world,” and that “pre-Islamic notions of women [viewed them as] being barely more than insentient slaves”. If this is an accurate summary of how all pre-Islamic Arabs felt about women, how did Khadija manage to gain any level of success as a businesswoman? It doesn’t sound like Asbali’s researched pre-Islamic Arabia at all. It simply seems as though she’s swallowed the dominant, caricature-narrative of these past peoples. It’s odd to me that Asbali is comfortable taking the huge variety of pre-Islamic cultures, conflating them into this Single Enemy Mass, before regurgitating unsubstantiated claims about said Enemy Mass which flatten and malign said cultures. Is this not precisely what she accuses white people of doing throughout this book?
But anyway, next up in Hypocrisy: the book’s homophobia. There’s a lot of it, though I’m sure Asbali would deny this. Her misrepresentation of the “sex education” protests was one of the more egregious examples. She complains that: “Muslim parents who want greater control over what their children learn at school are outcast as bigots.” Interesting. Let’s look at a case study. One of the key protests she seems to be referring to here took place at Anderton Park Primary, in Birmingham, 2019, during which a group of (to my knowledge, entirely) Muslim parents protested the fact that their children were being taught about the existence of same-sex parents. These individuals engaged in an active campaign of harassment and fear mongering, allegedly telling parents that they would “go to hell” if they allowed their children to attend school. Their behaviour escalated to threats and assault - going so far as to throw eggs at counter-protesters and at the children of counter-protesters (so much for protecting the kids). The entire debacle led to an uptick in homophobic hate crimes throughout the area. You can read about this here and here. I’m also pretty sure Sarfraz Manzoor also wrote about this incident in his book, They, though that might have been another school. So, is Asbali’s summation of situations like these a fair one? And why do I say she’s being hypocritical?
Well, Asbali is an English teacher, so let’s do a bit of comparative work here. In another strain of thought, Asbali makes it clear that she is aware that children are “adept at absorbing and perpetuating the prejudices that rule our world”, and - more specifically - “whatever they see at home”. This is why, she tells us, we see racism and anti-Muslim prejudice perpetuated by children so young. But children need to broaden their perspectives, and marginalised kids need to feel seen, don’t they? For the sake of non-white pupils, Asbali argues the school curriculum should be diversified, because she wants them to “open the book and see themselves right there on the page, humanised and valid”. And this is a great idea. But...
…Is this a joke? How is she staring down the point like this without clocking it? Ok, new question: how do you think Asbali would feel about the children of far-right racists being allowed to opt out of her suggested curriculum? Do Reform UK parents have a right to dictate what is taught about brown people or Muslims in the classroom? Would Asbali stand by their right to do that, and scold the world for “out[casting them] as bigot[ed]” racists if they were criticised? Or, to put it another way: if white people opted their children out of her syllabus en masse, would she view this as being a morally neutral exercising of their parental rights? Somehow, I doubt it. I doubt it because I do think Asbali understands that a child who knows nothing but a racist home life is going to inflict racism on their peers. And that racism will go on to have a long-lasting effect on those kids of colour, as Asbali herself can testify. Those types of educational changes she’s talking about aren’t simply about making brown children feel seen, but about mitigating - to the best of our ability - discriminatory behaviour before it occurs.
So, what’s with the disconnect? Why does she advocate for brown and Muslim kids to experience “the rare, heady joy of recognising yourself in a book or a poem”, but not queer ones? You may argue that she does - after all, doesn’t she say that she’s “all for elevating minority perspectives in the classroom”? Doesn’t she say she takes offence to the idea that Muslims are “homophobic because of their religion”? Sure. She does say both of those things. But she also says that the “liberal agenda” uses the education system for the “pernicious purpose” of “dictat[ing] what is acceptable and normative… and what must be educated away”, that educating children on “gender ideology” is akin to “bombing liberal values into backwards Arabs halfway across the world”, and that teachers are using education to “proselyte liberal values”. And what’s one of the examples she cites to evidence this phenomenon? Teachers “deliberately choos[ing] books that cover issues such as LGBT relationships” when teaching Muslim children.
She can talk around this a thousand ways - in fact, she has already; she repeatedly couches her opinions in vague statements about how Britain hates Muslims’ political stances - but it’s fairly clear what she’s dog-whistling about. So, I ask again: why does she advocate for Muslims and brown children to feel safer and more represented in the classroom, but not queer kids?
Only Asbali can answer that.
Asbali is right about some things. She is right when she says that “what happens at school forms a trajectory for the rest of [a] person’s life”. I agree with that. In fact, to take this a step further, I would argue that what happens at school can decide whether a person’s life continues at all.
So I’ll say this: I went to school with a lot of kids from a pretty diverse range of backgrounds. I can testify that queer kids, if they were out or were clocked, were absolutely hounded about it. They were bullied, subject to constant, quiet mockery and microaggressions. They were sexually harassed. They were threatened. They were physically assaulted. One tried to kill themselves because of this, and several missed significant periods of school. Their grades and social lives suffered as a result. And, not all, but a lot of the people who victimised those kids were Muslim. A disproportionate amount. When questioned about it, many fell back on their faith as a means of justification for their behaviour.
Not much has changed since then. And I have to wonder: if the boys in my year had been educated on this subject when they were younger, would they still have bullied them? Would the kid in my class (who, coincidentally, was from a homophobic, Muslim family, and definitely would have been forced to opt out of these “sex education” lessons if they had been available) still have tried to hang themselves? I don’t know. But Asbali isn’t curious. And that’s the thing that gets me. I read Ms Asbali’s words and all I can see is yet another teacher turning a disinterested blind eye to the threats of brutalisation that queer kids face.
And that’s so frustrating! Because she knows what it's like! She is someone who knows exactly what it’s like to be made feel ashamed of who she is. She is someone who understands exactly what it is like to be targeted for sexual harassment because of an immutable feature of her identity. She is someone who understands exactly what it is like to be policed for the behavioural markers of her identity. She is someone who understands exactly what it is like to hate her body. And she wants us to acknowledge - in many ways, quite rightly - that white, non-Muslim society otherizes Muslims, that we as a social group are collectively responsible for so many of the things I have just listed above, happening to Muslims.
But when it comes time to turn her eyes on her own community’s troubled relationship with queerness? No. Criticism of the behaviours or beliefs of British Muslims done by outsiders is simply one more contribution to the concerted effort to strip Muslims of their Muslim-ness, which - it seems, to Asbali - includes religiously-motivated, homophobic stances. And as for how their beliefs might come to affect others - both insiders and outsiders? Well, it’s as I said: Asbali isn’t curious.
And that is a problem.
This is such a profoundly incurious book. That’s ironic, because part of its sales have and will rely on outsiders’ curiosity. Asbali strikes me as a person who is broadly incurious about those who she doesn’t share an identity with. You can see this in the ways she describes non-Muslim society. Does she care to accurately represent it, or present any variations throughout in non-Muslim thought? No. She will describe to us the variations of opinions amongst British Muslims, and then she will describe Us. This 2D, uniform - and, if I might say so - unrelatable us. She’s here to tell us what we believe: we’re not Christian or Hindu or Buddhist or irreligious. We’re polytheists. We worship “British values''. We worship “the ego”. We worship liberalism. Does it occur to her that some of us walk through life worshipping nothing? It doesn’t seem to. If you read her articles (essentially a continuation of her book), you will discover that Western non-Muslims also worship Salman Rushdie, a venerated “literary deity”. Yes, The Satanic Verses is our new Bible, you see. We all keep it in a little case and have a shrine full of pictures of Rushdie's sleepy-looking face in our bedrooms. And that’s because we have an agenda - a very liberal agenda.
Liberalism, liberalism, liberalism. I don’t think I’m ever going to encounter a Guardian contributor who hates this word so much again. Liberalism, we learn from her introduction, has an “unshakeable hatred of covered bodies.” …Which is why many of its ideas took seed back when women wore dresses to the floor.
It struck me as odd when I first started reading - how much virulent hatred she has for this word. After all, many of liberalism’s core principles could be deftly used to justify wearing anything from a miniskirt to a full niqab. In fact, the principle that individuals have the right to wear what they like is probably one of the most common (liberal) defences of the hijab you will encounter in Western society. But the more I think about the ideas swirling around in this book, the more I think that her hatred of liberalism stems from the fact that liberalism is antithetical to her interpretation of Islam. Liberalism isn’t a system of thought that can effectively condemn all that she wants condemned. Her railing against it has got very little to do with the hijab.
I hope this review doesn’t come across as angry or uncharitable. I really did want to like this book. I mean, I paid nearly twenty pounds for it. But I found reading it an upsetting experience for more reasons than I think Asbali intended. All I can say is that, when I set it down, I felt as if I had wasted a lot of time and a lot of compassion on trying to understand the perspective of a person who doesn’t have time, and doesn’t have compassion, for people who aren’t like her. Who doesn’t seem to have anything at all for people who aren’t like her, for people like me, except contempt, and rage. I don’t think I have the words for what a depressing experience that is. I don’t know what she means when she defends “[Muslims] whose politics are inspired by… Islam”, but I’m working my way through Bukhari, and I feel like right now, I don’t want to know. I don’t want to read any more.
This is a long review, and I doubt any/many people are going to bother to read this. But if Ms Asbali ever does, I hope she mulls at least some of this over. Apparently she wants to write more books; maybe she can improve on some of this stuff. But if she doesn’t, then, that’s fine too. What’s it to me? I’m not going to buy any more of them.
So, I don’t want to flame this author. I really don’t. This book covered good ground, and had some great moments. And it did what it said on the tin: it explored what it was like to be visibly Muslim in Britain, often through anecdotes from Asbali’s life.
The media analysis was pretty good, as was some of the class commentary and discussion about the public’s perception of Muslim women. Some of the chapter about Muslim masculinity was pretty funny too; we’ve all seen their antics on Twitter.
There were sections in the chapter about motherhood that were beautiful, and many more that were disheartening. Many times, when she was describing the ignorance of those who surrounded her, it was impossible not to share her anger.
I also completely agree with her that those with anti-Muslim prejudice should not weaponise Muslims’ accounts of intra-community issues to their advantage. Their “told-you-so’s” will always stifle discussion and growth. So, I like all that, and I don’t disagree with what she has said (in this interview) was meant to be one of the main takeaways of the book (i.e. that the hijab is important to hijabis, and the vast majority of hijabis aren’t being forced to wear the hijab in the UK). I obviously think people should be allowed to wear whatever they like. So, why the low rating?
A lot of reasons. I’ll try to get them all down, and I hope they make sense.
First: Palestine. This is a relatively small criticism compared to the others, but I didn’t feel completely comfortable with the manner in which she discussed this. Don’t misunderstand me: I am pro-Palestinian. The vilification of Palestinians in the news is completely unacceptable, and Asbali is right to point out the hypocrisy of it all. But - while there are anti-Muslim narratives threaded through news coverage - not all Palestinians are her “siblings in faith”. They are not all Muslim, though it often seems as though she forgets this as she is talking about this issue. I did feel that at times she underplayed the existence of other religious groups present in that region, and that in turn underplayed the central role of race and racism in a discussion about their oppression.
Anyway, second criticism: the apologetics and the bad history. Her apologetics are pretty typical of those who follow the Abrahamic faiths, but here they just felt especially lazy. “Islam is often accused of favouring men, but, in reality, it grants men a significant responsibility over women…” This is not a rebuttal of that argument and also, this is… very condescending. I won’t get into every little thing, but I will say that - on top of that - discussions about the obligation to materially provide for one’s wife are dishonest if you don’t acknowledge the fact that the husband’s material provisions are (theoretically, at least) a trade-off for the wife’s sexual exclusivity, as well as both her sexual and non-sexual obedience - none of which the husband owes to the wife.
The bad history - a feature of her apologetics - does kind of make me laugh. Walk this through with me: Asbali tells us that “Islam came to liberate women in the ancient Arab world,” and that “pre-Islamic notions of women [viewed them as] being barely more than insentient slaves”. If this is an accurate summary of how all pre-Islamic Arabs felt about women, how did Khadija manage to gain any level of success as a businesswoman? It doesn’t sound like Asbali’s researched pre-Islamic Arabia at all. It simply seems as though she’s swallowed the dominant, caricature-narrative of these past peoples. It’s odd to me that Asbali is comfortable taking the huge variety of pre-Islamic cultures, conflating them into this Single Enemy Mass, before regurgitating unsubstantiated claims about said Enemy Mass which flatten and malign said cultures. Is this not precisely what she accuses white people of doing throughout this book?
But anyway, next up in Hypocrisy: the book’s homophobia. There’s a lot of it, though I’m sure Asbali would deny this. Her misrepresentation of the “sex education” protests was one of the more egregious examples. She complains that: “Muslim parents who want greater control over what their children learn at school are outcast as bigots.” Interesting. Let’s look at a case study. One of the key protests she seems to be referring to here took place at Anderton Park Primary, in Birmingham, 2019, during which a group of (to my knowledge, entirely) Muslim parents protested the fact that their children were being taught about the existence of same-sex parents. These individuals engaged in an active campaign of harassment and fear mongering, allegedly telling parents that they would “go to hell” if they allowed their children to attend school. Their behaviour escalated to threats and assault - going so far as to throw eggs at counter-protesters and at the children of counter-protesters (so much for protecting the kids). The entire debacle led to an uptick in homophobic hate crimes throughout the area. You can read about this here and here. I’m also pretty sure Sarfraz Manzoor also wrote about this incident in his book, They, though that might have been another school. So, is Asbali’s summation of situations like these a fair one? And why do I say she’s being hypocritical?
Well, Asbali is an English teacher, so let’s do a bit of comparative work here. In another strain of thought, Asbali makes it clear that she is aware that children are “adept at absorbing and perpetuating the prejudices that rule our world”, and - more specifically - “whatever they see at home”. This is why, she tells us, we see racism and anti-Muslim prejudice perpetuated by children so young. But children need to broaden their perspectives, and marginalised kids need to feel seen, don’t they? For the sake of non-white pupils, Asbali argues the school curriculum should be diversified, because she wants them to “open the book and see themselves right there on the page, humanised and valid”. And this is a great idea. But...
…Is this a joke? How is she staring down the point like this without clocking it? Ok, new question: how do you think Asbali would feel about the children of far-right racists being allowed to opt out of her suggested curriculum? Do Reform UK parents have a right to dictate what is taught about brown people or Muslims in the classroom? Would Asbali stand by their right to do that, and scold the world for “out[casting them] as bigot[ed]” racists if they were criticised? Or, to put it another way: if white people opted their children out of her syllabus en masse, would she view this as being a morally neutral exercising of their parental rights? Somehow, I doubt it. I doubt it because I do think Asbali understands that a child who knows nothing but a racist home life is going to inflict racism on their peers. And that racism will go on to have a long-lasting effect on those kids of colour, as Asbali herself can testify. Those types of educational changes she’s talking about aren’t simply about making brown children feel seen, but about mitigating - to the best of our ability - discriminatory behaviour before it occurs.
So, what’s with the disconnect? Why does she advocate for brown and Muslim kids to experience “the rare, heady joy of recognising yourself in a book or a poem”, but not queer ones? You may argue that she does - after all, doesn’t she say that she’s “all for elevating minority perspectives in the classroom”? Doesn’t she say she takes offence to the idea that Muslims are “homophobic because of their religion”? Sure. She does say both of those things. But she also says that the “liberal agenda” uses the education system for the “pernicious purpose” of “dictat[ing] what is acceptable and normative… and what must be educated away”, that educating children on “gender ideology” is akin to “bombing liberal values into backwards Arabs halfway across the world”, and that teachers are using education to “proselyte liberal values”. And what’s one of the examples she cites to evidence this phenomenon? Teachers “deliberately choos[ing] books that cover issues such as LGBT relationships” when teaching Muslim children.
She can talk around this a thousand ways - in fact, she has already; she repeatedly couches her opinions in vague statements about how Britain hates Muslims’ political stances - but it’s fairly clear what she’s dog-whistling about. So, I ask again: why does she advocate for Muslims and brown children to feel safer and more represented in the classroom, but not queer kids?
Only Asbali can answer that.
Asbali is right about some things. She is right when she says that “what happens at school forms a trajectory for the rest of [a] person’s life”. I agree with that. In fact, to take this a step further, I would argue that what happens at school can decide whether a person’s life continues at all.
So I’ll say this: I went to school with a lot of kids from a pretty diverse range of backgrounds. I can testify that queer kids, if they were out or were clocked, were absolutely hounded about it. They were bullied, subject to constant, quiet mockery and microaggressions. They were sexually harassed. They were threatened. They were physically assaulted. One tried to kill themselves because of this, and several missed significant periods of school. Their grades and social lives suffered as a result. And, not all, but a lot of the people who victimised those kids were Muslim. A disproportionate amount. When questioned about it, many fell back on their faith as a means of justification for their behaviour.
Not much has changed since then. And I have to wonder: if the boys in my year had been educated on this subject when they were younger, would they still have bullied them? Would the kid in my class (who, coincidentally, was from a homophobic, Muslim family, and definitely would have been forced to opt out of these “sex education” lessons if they had been available) still have tried to hang themselves? I don’t know. But Asbali isn’t curious. And that’s the thing that gets me. I read Ms Asbali’s words and all I can see is yet another teacher turning a disinterested blind eye to the threats of brutalisation that queer kids face.
And that’s so frustrating! Because she knows what it's like! She is someone who knows exactly what it’s like to be made feel ashamed of who she is. She is someone who understands exactly what it is like to be targeted for sexual harassment because of an immutable feature of her identity. She is someone who understands exactly what it is like to be policed for the behavioural markers of her identity. She is someone who understands exactly what it is like to hate her body. And she wants us to acknowledge - in many ways, quite rightly - that white, non-Muslim society otherizes Muslims, that we as a social group are collectively responsible for so many of the things I have just listed above, happening to Muslims.
But when it comes time to turn her eyes on her own community’s troubled relationship with queerness? No. Criticism of the behaviours or beliefs of British Muslims done by outsiders is simply one more contribution to the concerted effort to strip Muslims of their Muslim-ness, which - it seems, to Asbali - includes religiously-motivated, homophobic stances. And as for how their beliefs might come to affect others - both insiders and outsiders? Well, it’s as I said: Asbali isn’t curious.
And that is a problem.
This is such a profoundly incurious book. That’s ironic, because part of its sales have and will rely on outsiders’ curiosity. Asbali strikes me as a person who is broadly incurious about those who she doesn’t share an identity with. You can see this in the ways she describes non-Muslim society. Does she care to accurately represent it, or present any variations throughout in non-Muslim thought? No. She will describe to us the variations of opinions amongst British Muslims, and then she will describe Us. This 2D, uniform - and, if I might say so - unrelatable us. She’s here to tell us what we believe: we’re not Christian or Hindu or Buddhist or irreligious. We’re polytheists. We worship “British values''. We worship “the ego”. We worship liberalism. Does it occur to her that some of us walk through life worshipping nothing? It doesn’t seem to. If you read her articles (essentially a continuation of her book), you will discover that Western non-Muslims also worship Salman Rushdie, a venerated “literary deity”. Yes, The Satanic Verses is our new Bible, you see. We all keep it in a little case and have a shrine full of pictures of Rushdie's sleepy-looking face in our bedrooms. And that’s because we have an agenda - a very liberal agenda.
Liberalism, liberalism, liberalism. I don’t think I’m ever going to encounter a Guardian contributor who hates this word so much again. Liberalism, we learn from her introduction, has an “unshakeable hatred of covered bodies.” …Which is why many of its ideas took seed back when women wore dresses to the floor.
It struck me as odd when I first started reading - how much virulent hatred she has for this word. After all, many of liberalism’s core principles could be deftly used to justify wearing anything from a miniskirt to a full niqab. In fact, the principle that individuals have the right to wear what they like is probably one of the most common (liberal) defences of the hijab you will encounter in Western society. But the more I think about the ideas swirling around in this book, the more I think that her hatred of liberalism stems from the fact that liberalism is antithetical to her interpretation of Islam. Liberalism isn’t a system of thought that can effectively condemn all that she wants condemned. Her railing against it has got very little to do with the hijab.
I hope this review doesn’t come across as angry or uncharitable. I really did want to like this book. I mean, I paid nearly twenty pounds for it. But I found reading it an upsetting experience for more reasons than I think Asbali intended. All I can say is that, when I set it down, I felt as if I had wasted a lot of time and a lot of compassion on trying to understand the perspective of a person who doesn’t have time, and doesn’t have compassion, for people who aren’t like her. Who doesn’t seem to have anything at all for people who aren’t like her, for people like me, except contempt, and rage. I don’t think I have the words for what a depressing experience that is. I don’t know what she means when she defends “[Muslims] whose politics are inspired by… Islam”, but I’m working my way through Bukhari, and I feel like right now, I don’t want to know. I don’t want to read any more.
This is a long review, and I doubt any/many people are going to bother to read this. But if Ms Asbali ever does, I hope she mulls at least some of this over. Apparently she wants to write more books; maybe she can improve on some of this stuff. But if she doesn’t, then, that’s fine too. What’s it to me? I’m not going to buy any more of them.
October 30, 2025
Veiled Threat is a powerful and deeply resonant exploration of what it means to be a visibly Muslim woman in Britain today. Nadeine Asbali writes with clarity, grace, and a vulnerability that pulls you in immediately—even as someone who doesn’t usually gravitate toward nonfiction, I found myself completely absorbed.
Asbali’s unique perspective as someone who is half-white and half-Libyan adds nuance to her reflections. She navigates identity from the margins and the centre simultaneously, allowing for a layered discussion around belonging, visibility, and the quiet negotiations that come with both. Her writing is compelling and intimate; there’s an honesty in these pages that disarms you.
The chapter on motherhood particularly struck me, not only because I’m currently in that stage of life myself, but because it shines a light on the loss of identity that can come with becoming “Mum” in every appointment and interaction. I hadn’t fully realised how often my own name disappears until reading this. While Asbali grapples with idealism shaped by not growing up around visibly Muslim mothers, I found that my own upbringing—surrounded by confident, hijab-wearing women—helped shield me from some of those anxieties. It reinforced how deeply environment and representation matter; the lack of positive Muslim motherhood on screen and in society isn’t just a visibility issue, it shapes our internal narratives too.
Her chapter on white feminism is equally powerful. The frustration she expresses is shared by so many of us who care about gender justice yet find ourselves othered within mainstream feminist spaces—seen as less empowered because our empowerment is rooted in faith rather than secular ideals.
One of the most poignant discussions is her reflection on names, and whether choosing a name that blends in could offer children protection from Islamophobia—a “get out of jail free card.” Asbali explores this tension honestly, and it made me reflect too: at some point, no matter how much we try to fold ourselves into a box, acceptance can’t be earned through dilution. There comes a moment where we must decide to be unapologetically ourselves and insist the world adjust, not the other way around.
I found myself nodding along at this quote:
“I think it’s important to separate Islam from Muslims, my faith from my fellow believers. Whilst I believe Islam to be a perfect way of life, Muslims are flawed human beings who bring their own baggage, their own prejudices, their own inadequacies to the way we practise what we believe God has ordained.”
It’s an articulation many of us know and live, but rarely see expressed so beautifully in mainstream discourse.
Perhaps the most compelling thread is the journey of the hijab itself—how Asbali grows through each chapter and arrives at a place where hijab becomes crystalised again, not for society, not for acceptance or rebellion, but for God alone. That reclamation is powerful. Watching her reach a point where faith becomes the anchor, and the hijab’s meaning becomes spiritually re-centred, feels like a soft, steady mic-drop moment.
The conclusion? Utterly deserving of a standing ovation.
This is not just a memoir or commentary—it’s a mirror, a hand held out, and a reminder that our choices, our faith, and our visibility are ours to define.
A thoughtful, heartfelt, and necessary read.
Asbali’s unique perspective as someone who is half-white and half-Libyan adds nuance to her reflections. She navigates identity from the margins and the centre simultaneously, allowing for a layered discussion around belonging, visibility, and the quiet negotiations that come with both. Her writing is compelling and intimate; there’s an honesty in these pages that disarms you.
The chapter on motherhood particularly struck me, not only because I’m currently in that stage of life myself, but because it shines a light on the loss of identity that can come with becoming “Mum” in every appointment and interaction. I hadn’t fully realised how often my own name disappears until reading this. While Asbali grapples with idealism shaped by not growing up around visibly Muslim mothers, I found that my own upbringing—surrounded by confident, hijab-wearing women—helped shield me from some of those anxieties. It reinforced how deeply environment and representation matter; the lack of positive Muslim motherhood on screen and in society isn’t just a visibility issue, it shapes our internal narratives too.
Her chapter on white feminism is equally powerful. The frustration she expresses is shared by so many of us who care about gender justice yet find ourselves othered within mainstream feminist spaces—seen as less empowered because our empowerment is rooted in faith rather than secular ideals.
One of the most poignant discussions is her reflection on names, and whether choosing a name that blends in could offer children protection from Islamophobia—a “get out of jail free card.” Asbali explores this tension honestly, and it made me reflect too: at some point, no matter how much we try to fold ourselves into a box, acceptance can’t be earned through dilution. There comes a moment where we must decide to be unapologetically ourselves and insist the world adjust, not the other way around.
I found myself nodding along at this quote:
“I think it’s important to separate Islam from Muslims, my faith from my fellow believers. Whilst I believe Islam to be a perfect way of life, Muslims are flawed human beings who bring their own baggage, their own prejudices, their own inadequacies to the way we practise what we believe God has ordained.”
It’s an articulation many of us know and live, but rarely see expressed so beautifully in mainstream discourse.
Perhaps the most compelling thread is the journey of the hijab itself—how Asbali grows through each chapter and arrives at a place where hijab becomes crystalised again, not for society, not for acceptance or rebellion, but for God alone. That reclamation is powerful. Watching her reach a point where faith becomes the anchor, and the hijab’s meaning becomes spiritually re-centred, feels like a soft, steady mic-drop moment.
The conclusion? Utterly deserving of a standing ovation.
This is not just a memoir or commentary—it’s a mirror, a hand held out, and a reminder that our choices, our faith, and our visibility are ours to define.
A thoughtful, heartfelt, and necessary read.
February 28, 2024
a really good analysis of how britain criminalises and subjugates muslims, especially muslim women. i learned a lot about the meaning and the importance behind muslim head and face coverings, and the role they play for many muslim women as a way to subvert the male gaze and be seen as a person rather than just a body.
the only thing was that it got a wee bit repetitive at times, for example in some of the anecdotes. but it was really interesting to see the author’s journey from a white-passing mixed race person to a hijabi whose identity is centred around her faith rather than her ethnicity, and i’m glad to have a deeper understanding of what faith means to people when it is so heavily policed and surveilled.
“Being a Muslim is the only thing I have ever fully, truly been with my entirety. It is the only category I have all the credentials to inhabit, and that is why I am no longer willing to rummage around in the rubbish of what nation states and human movements say I am allowed to be. As colonised people, marginalised people, persecuted people, we have for too long had our personhood dictated by government agendas and social expectation. If a lifetime spent trying to find somewhere to belong has taught me anything it is that neither whiteness nor otherness is my home. I never belonged in either because I was never meant to be defined by fictional, nationalistic, convenient categories that serve everyone’s aims but my own. The only freedom I have found is in rejecting all of that and thinking of myself as not Libyan, not English, not this, not that. Just a Muslim.” p. 270
the only thing was that it got a wee bit repetitive at times, for example in some of the anecdotes. but it was really interesting to see the author’s journey from a white-passing mixed race person to a hijabi whose identity is centred around her faith rather than her ethnicity, and i’m glad to have a deeper understanding of what faith means to people when it is so heavily policed and surveilled.
“Being a Muslim is the only thing I have ever fully, truly been with my entirety. It is the only category I have all the credentials to inhabit, and that is why I am no longer willing to rummage around in the rubbish of what nation states and human movements say I am allowed to be. As colonised people, marginalised people, persecuted people, we have for too long had our personhood dictated by government agendas and social expectation. If a lifetime spent trying to find somewhere to belong has taught me anything it is that neither whiteness nor otherness is my home. I never belonged in either because I was never meant to be defined by fictional, nationalistic, convenient categories that serve everyone’s aims but my own. The only freedom I have found is in rejecting all of that and thinking of myself as not Libyan, not English, not this, not that. Just a Muslim.” p. 270
Read
March 1, 2025"If I have learned anything about being Muslim in Britain, it's to always presume the worst", Nadeine Asbali writes in this fiery critique of the Islamophobia and fear-mongering around wearing the hijab. Rage is evident in her condemnation of double standards Muslim women face or the institutional silence around Israel's atrocities against Palestine, but there's also joy in Asbali's accounts of why she finds it fulfilling to wear the hijab and become comfortable in her Muslim identity. I particularly appreciated her close analysis of media images surrounding Muslim women, such as Boris Johnson's infamous "letterboxes" comment, and how alt-right figures like Andrew Tate co-opt stereotypes of Islam to promote misogyny, with this book offering an incisive critique of how Islam is misperceived and stereotyped.
However, there were also moments where I would've liked Asbali to give her analyses more nuance, or propose ways in which these institutions or cultural norms could change. For instance, while she persuasively condemns Islamophobia in the education system, she only briefly mentions how some Muslims are dissatisfied with the liberalism of sex education; I would've been curious to see her examine how British education could be reformed to handle such conflicts of value systems.
However, there were also moments where I would've liked Asbali to give her analyses more nuance, or propose ways in which these institutions or cultural norms could change. For instance, while she persuasively condemns Islamophobia in the education system, she only briefly mentions how some Muslims are dissatisfied with the liberalism of sex education; I would've been curious to see her examine how British education could be reformed to handle such conflicts of value systems.
February 17, 2024
A MUST read. Veiled Threat effortlessly explored LOADS of topics with a frank and unapologetic tone.
Despite being a short read, this book really packed a punch. Nadeine explored assimilation, imposter syndrome, white supremacy, the troubles growing up mixed race, being othered, the UK's systemic racial profiling masked as a counter terrorism programme, how Muslim women are expected to be invisible whilst simultaneously also being hypervisible, how the hijab is politicised, white feminism, gendered Islamophobia, hypocrisy of Western nations, the toxic "manosphere" of male influencers, and sexism within her own community. She does all that in less than 275 pages btw!!!
It was a really valuable read for me, and I'm a non Muslim white woman, so for a Muslim, mixed race or hijabi woman I hopr it would be a super empowering read. I hope it gives British hijabi women a sense of belonging, I hope it reassures them so they feel less alone and they can find solace and resilience in how well Nadeine articulates the visibly Muslim experience in a society which so often vilanises their very existence.
A truly wonderful piece of non fiction.
Despite being a short read, this book really packed a punch. Nadeine explored assimilation, imposter syndrome, white supremacy, the troubles growing up mixed race, being othered, the UK's systemic racial profiling masked as a counter terrorism programme, how Muslim women are expected to be invisible whilst simultaneously also being hypervisible, how the hijab is politicised, white feminism, gendered Islamophobia, hypocrisy of Western nations, the toxic "manosphere" of male influencers, and sexism within her own community. She does all that in less than 275 pages btw!!!
It was a really valuable read for me, and I'm a non Muslim white woman, so for a Muslim, mixed race or hijabi woman I hopr it would be a super empowering read. I hope it gives British hijabi women a sense of belonging, I hope it reassures them so they feel less alone and they can find solace and resilience in how well Nadeine articulates the visibly Muslim experience in a society which so often vilanises their very existence.
A truly wonderful piece of non fiction.
September 16, 2025
haven't read a book more relatable to my life before reading Nadeine's story. all her heartbreak, her sadness, her happiness, and sense of belonging, found family and friends - was summarised so beautifully. unfortunately, it is such a sad world we live in where your skin colour, your choice of modest clothing, your political and religious views, a piece of hijab worn over our heads, could easily cast you out of your community without a bat of an eye.
i started donning my hijab last year, and while i received many support from friends and my relatives - no one understood how i felt when my mom reacted to my decision, unlike Nadeine. i felt seen but at the same time i felt.. so sad. how could a piece of garment bring out such a reaction from the very person i wanted support from. to all my muslim sisters, do not let one's arrogance and toxicity stop u from making that brave step. you are not the only one - we are all in this together, and most importantly, He is there for us every step of the way.
i started donning my hijab last year, and while i received many support from friends and my relatives - no one understood how i felt when my mom reacted to my decision, unlike Nadeine. i felt seen but at the same time i felt.. so sad. how could a piece of garment bring out such a reaction from the very person i wanted support from. to all my muslim sisters, do not let one's arrogance and toxicity stop u from making that brave step. you are not the only one - we are all in this together, and most importantly, He is there for us every step of the way.
May 27, 2024
This book is essentially a rant.
A much needed rant. A well written rant too. The struggles faced and no topic was shyed away.
I'm sure most will read this and nod with agreement, nodding away as they relate to the struggles. Likewise some will agree and sympathise with the struggles faced. There's solidarity with the struggle but unfortunately with how things are going I don't see little changing for us being affected.
The ones who are the root of the issues would never touch this book or even consider it. It won't come up in their feeds or suggested titles to browse.
A much needed rant. A well written rant too. The struggles faced and no topic was shyed away.
I'm sure most will read this and nod with agreement, nodding away as they relate to the struggles. Likewise some will agree and sympathise with the struggles faced. There's solidarity with the struggle but unfortunately with how things are going I don't see little changing for us being affected.
The ones who are the root of the issues would never touch this book or even consider it. It won't come up in their feeds or suggested titles to browse.
February 16, 2024
This book is a masterpiece. The prose is so beautiful, passionate and emotive sometimes it’s hard to remember that I’m not reading poetry! Veiled Threat really is a work of art. Asbali does not shy away from raising important issues that affect our community. It is unapologetic which is so refreshing in today’s day and age. I would highly recommend this book to Muslims and non-Muslims alike.
June 24, 2025
Written from lived experience and with searing insight into our current society. This should be required reading for everyone, to promote better understanding and to encourage more open conversations which would, it can be hoped, bring us together
January 1, 2026
Not growing up in Britain would make a huge part of this book unrelatable to you but I learned a lot about what Muslim in Britain went through esp how their identity is shaped.
A successful feat
Book club read
A successful feat
Book club read
February 11, 2024
Fantastic book, loved reading every moment of it and I was inspired by some of the hard-hitting lines I had discovered in it.
April 11, 2024
Quite uncomfortable reading at times, well written exploration of being visibly Muslim in Britain today. Would recommend it.
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