After three months in France, I’ve learned one important lesson: how you dress matters. Mid-calf socks, shorts and a polo, for example, scream “I’m American!” and if you have want to look French, all you need is a striped shirt and some dark jeans.
For the French, how you dress is even more important when it comes to religious symbols, a controversial subject that has dominated French headlines for weeks.
On August 23, four French police officers on Nice’s beaches approached a Muslim woman wearing a variant of the burkini—a burqa-like beach garment that covers a woman’s entire body, save hands, feet, and face. The officers forced her to remove her tunic, stating the outfit was illegal per city law—Nice was one of 30 French towns along the Cote d’Azur that de facto banned the burkini this July.
Despite an amusing nickname—“the burkini crisis”—the episode has somber context.
After celebrating Bastille Day this July, my host parents, a retired editor and elementary school teacher, remember waking to gruesome headlines: over 80 dead in Nice after an Islamic extremist terrorist plowed through spectators on the boardwalk. The third major attack in less than two years.
It is within this context of repeated grief, frustration, and confusion that the debate on religious freedom in France has been re-launched.
To understand the burkini debate one must first grasp the concept of laïcité, a century-long, French tradition and constitutional tenet that requires the complete separation of the public and religious spheres in order to protect the liberty of conscience for all citizens. For many French, the commitment to laicité is a unifying force for the nation. My Religion and Politics professor, for example, champions laïcité as one of the few uniquely French values.
While it is true that most French support laicité (the notorious burqa ban, for example, enjoys over 70 percent approval), I’ve come to realize that French opinions on religion freedoms, specifically on the burkini question, are actually quite diverse.
In a seminar debate on the subject, my Religion and Politics class split into three camps. The first, populated by a third of the class as well as our professor, felt the garment imposes Islam in the public sphere and infringes upon citizens’ liberty of conscience. Most within this group also argued that like the burqa, the burkini degrades women and directly contradicts French values of égalité.
A second, more ambivalent group pointed out that few Muslim women actually wear the burkini, and most French people will probably never see someone wearing it. My host parents shared similar thoughts and, like many French, were bothered by the violent criticism France received in response to the incident—the most popular hashtag on Twitter following viral pictures of the arrest read #WTFFrance.
Finally, I joined the last third of the class to defend the right to wear a burkini. We argued the ban of an ostensibly Muslim garment violates the same religious liberties laicité is meant to protect. One French Muslim student claimed the outfit actually liberates Muslim women, who previously felt uncomfortable going to the beach, for it required more revealing dress.
Whether or not laicité justifies the burkini ban, one thing is clear. The debate on religious symbols in the public sphere is a facet of a wider question French society must resolve: what place does Islam have in French society?
As the percentage of Muslims in France increases via immigration and the refugee crisis, the question becomes more and more important. If enough French leaders construct Islam as a threat and legislate accordingly, they risk further excluding Muslims from the national identity, an outcome France cannot afford as marginalization engenders extremist ideologies with no place in any society.
Despite the debate’s dark context, there are reasons for optimism.
The French have an enormous capacity for dialogue and political discourse. While the country works to reconcile national pride with growing diversity, it might well heed the advice of an old French classic:
“The start of fraternité is called tolerance.” – Victor Hugo
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