– A.K. Kukila
At first glance, the recent decision by gold shop owners in Bihar to prohibit burqas, hijabs, niqabs, masks, and helmets from their premises appears to be a routine security measure. Theft prevention is, after all, a legitimate concern for any business dealing in high-value commodities. However, a closer look at the rationale, timing, and manner of this ban reveals deeper and more troubling implications – ones that go far beyond concerns of security and venture into the dangerous terrain of selective suspicion and institutionalised Islamophobia.
The ban, initially implemented in Bihar and now spreading to parts of Uttar Pradesh such as Varanasi and Jhansi, has been justified by the National Association of Gold Shop Owners on the grounds that face coverings conceal identity. This explanation might seem reasonable if the ban were limited strictly to garments or accessories that obscure the face. Yet, the association’s decision to include the hijab and burqa – neither of which necessarily covers the face – raises serious questions about intent, understanding, and prejudice.
A hijab is a headscarf. A burqa is a loose outer garment. Neither automatically conceals the face. It is difficult to believe that a national-level association of traders lacks this basic knowledge. When garments that do not obstruct identification are grouped alongside masks, helmets, and niqabs, the argument of “identity concealment” begins to ring hollow. What, then, explains this sweeping categorisation?
This is where the issue ceases to be about theft and becomes about symbolism. By including hijab and burqa in the list of prohibited items, the ban implicitly links Muslim women’s attire with criminal suspicion. This is not a neutral act. It subtly but powerfully sends the message that certain religious identities are inherently suspect and that Muslim women, by virtue of their clothing, are potential threats in commercial spaces.
If theft were the real concern, the policy would have been framed very differently. Theft is not committed by a particular community or mode of dress. People steal wearing sarees, trousers, jeans, chudidars – and often with their faces fully visible. History is replete with examples of crimes committed without any form of disguise. Criminal intent does not reside in fabric; it resides in human action. To single out specific religious clothing as a preventive measure is to fundamentally misunderstand crime – and to misrepresent an entire community.
The timing and geography of the ban further deepens the unease. Why Bihar? Why now? Bihar is not among India’s major gold-buying states. That distinction belongs to states like Kerala, Karnataka, Tamil Nadu, and Telangana. If the association’s concern was genuinely economic or security-driven, logic would dictate that such a policy be tested first in high-volume gold markets. The choice of Bihar instead suggests that something else may be at play.
It is also difficult to ignore the political context. The ban comes close on the heels of controversies surrounding Muslim women’s attire, including the niqab removal incident involving Dr. Nusrat Parveen. The proximity of these events raises an uncomfortable question: is this policy part of a broader attempt to normalise restrictions on Muslim identity under the guise of regulation and order?
To be clear, there is nothing unreasonable about asking customers to reveal their faces for identification in sensitive spaces like banks, airports, or jewellery stores. Such practices already exist and are widely accepted. Many women who wear niqabs or veils voluntarily lift them when required for verification. Gold shops could easily implement clear, respectful procedures for identity checks without resorting to blanket bans. CCTV surveillance, security staff, and entry-point verification are far more effective, and far less discriminatory, solutions.
What is troubling is not the pursuit of security, but the selective nature of this pursuit. When policies disproportionately affect one community, especially a marginalised one, they cease to be merely administrative. They become political acts with social consequences.
There is also the danger of precedent. Today it is gold shops. Tomorrow it could be shopping malls, supermarkets, public transport, educational institutions, or government offices. Once a discriminatory practice is normalised in one domain, it becomes easier to replicate it elsewhere, each time justified by a freshly manufactured “security concern.” Step by step, exclusion becomes routine.
This is how fear is cultivated – not through dramatic proclamations, but through everyday restrictions that subtly reshape public perception. When Muslim women are repeatedly portrayed as security risks, suspicion becomes social instinct. The burqa and hijab are transformed from articles of faith into symbols of threat. This is precisely how Islamophobia embeds itself in society: quietly, incrementally, and with plausible deniability.
The analogy with other social issues makes this clearer. We do not ban vehicles because accidents occur; we penalise reckless drivers. We do not ban religions because riots happen; we arrest those who incite violence. Collective punishment based on identity is widely recognised as unjust – except, it seems, when it comes to Muslim attire.
If theft is the problem, then theft should be addressed. Improve surveillance. Train staff. Strengthen policing. Identify and prosecute offenders. What must be rejected is the lazy and dangerous logic that associates crime with culture, and security with exclusion.
At its core, this issue is about the kind of society we want to live in. One where diversity is managed through dialogue and fairness – or one where fear dictates policy and difference invites suspicion. The ban on burqa and hijab in gold shops may appear small, even trivial, to some. But its implications are anything but security.
It is not just about entry into a jewellery store. It is about who belongs in public spaces without having to justify their existence. It is about whether Muslim women can move through society without being treated as problems to be managed. And it is about whether India’s commitment to pluralism will withstand the slow erosion caused by policies that disguise prejudice as prudence.
For these reasons, this ban deserves not quiet acceptance, but critical scrutiny – and firm resistance. Government institutions, educational centres, there may be a plan to implement this ban one by one. Not only that, to justify this, they can create theft or some other artificial problem. They can find justification for the burqa ban by showing that those who wear burqa are involved in such acts.
Therefore, the ban on burqa should be viewed with concern. This is not a development that is limited to Bihar. It is more likely that those who want to make this ban nationwide have chosen Bihar as an experiment. If we look at it in this context, it seems right to question this ban. If people are stealing while wearing niqabs, masks, helmets, etc., then instead of banning them, it would be more appropriate to check such people at the entrance and make them remove them before entering the gold shop, or to keep an eye on such people. No one is forcing a ban on vehicles because there are accidents. No one is demanding a ban on religions because there are clashes. Instead, those who participate in riots are searched and arrested.
Action will be taken against those responsible for the accident. If there is theft in gold shops, banning a specific type of clothing is not the solution. Those who want to steal can steal without masks, niqabs, helmets, or guns. Their weapon is cunning. Inspection and surveillance are the only two measures that are right to stop them. Leaving aside that, targeting and banning the clothes worn by Muslim women and justifying theft only increase the suspicion of Islamophobia. It only strengthens the suspicion that this ban has been imposed with the malicious intention of spreading fear about the burqa-hijab.
[The writer is Editor Sanmarga Weekly]
