By Melanie Gouby

Often, French political and societal issues create more debate abroad than on their own soil. The proposed partial ban on the Islamic burqa is one typical example, and as on so many occasions, it has largely been misread by foreign commentators.

Racism, feminism, multiculturalism, religion, integration, the burqa, and more generally the veil encompass so many delicate issues faced by modern society that they are bound to stir passions and disagreement.

Although France is not the first country to legislate on the issue, the legal moves to ban the burqa and the niqab in certain public places have caught the attention of the global media.

Interestingly – though unsurprisingly to me as a French woman – the disagreement lies between France and other countries (mainly Britain and the US) and not within France itself.

Indeed two out of three people in France are actually in favour of a complete ban on the burqa in public places, which goes further than the proposal the French parliament will act on this spring.

In other words, two thirds of France thinks that wearing the burqa in public should be completely banned and is “contrary to our values and to the ideals we have of women’s dignity”, as Mr Sarkozy said.

Now let’s be clear about one thing. Unlike the implication made by Laurie Penny in her recent article for The Samosa, the burqa law is not Sarkozy’s newest fad but the subject of a very serious investigation led by a parliamentary commission, in which the president has nothing to say.

The commission comprised MPs from all parties and its conclusions will be discussed in the French parliament, which is to legislate in the spring. Let’s remember here that Parliament is composed of democratically elected MPs representing all sides of French society.

Female MPs were part of the commission and women are very much involved in the debate at national level. No-one in France thinks this debate is about Western men imposing their will on poor Muslim women.

This is not a hypocritical debate hiding the misogynist, racist or anti-Muslims feelings of a white male minority, but a legitimate discussion.

The fact that I even have to justify this angers me. After all, these are French politics and if anyone wishes to comment, they should at least be thoroughly informed.

To forget that France is the country which proclaimed the Declaration des Droits de l’Homme et du Citoyen in 1789 is to forget everything France stands for and indeed why so many people come to live in this country.

The British talk about civil liberties, the French talk about human rights

French and British cultures have, at heart, a radically different approach to the public space, religion, multiculturalism, and justice. This is reflected in our different legal systems and if we look at these differences, it may explain the different approach to issues such as the burqa.

To be in public in France, is to be in front of a public. You don’t walk down the street ignorant of other people like you might do so easily in Britain.

You behave and dress accordingly, and this is valid for men as much as for women. I can assure you that punks attract as much attention as someone wearing a burqa, because it is perceived as an aggressive statement.

Moreover, France has been a laic state since the French revolution. The idea that religion should be separated from the State and kept as far as possible from the public sphere was advocated by French philosophers during the Enlightenment and is very much anchored in people’s mindset.

Wearing a veil or a burqa when working for the State simply runs counter to one of the main republican principles; hence the law passed a few years ago prohibiting the veil for civil servants.

But the main difference lies in our approach to freedom. “Free” in Britain means to be allowed (or at least not forbidden) to do what you want. “Free” in France means to “have the right”. While British activists fight for “civil liberties”, French activists fight for their “rights”.

What does that mean in the case of the burqa?

Put simply, it means that while in Britain a law against the burqa would be perceived as aggression against your liberty to do what you like, in France it is seen as a necessary step to ensure the rights of women are respected.

The burqa ban follows this logic that the law needs to defend the people and guarantee them the respect of humanity. France is a laic state where women are considered the equal of men. So let’s be honest here – what does the burqa stand for, except the opposite of these two principles? Not to mention that the “integral veil” is actually a tradition and not a religious obligation.

Of course some women “make the choice” of wearing the burqa and the law may seem outrageous to them. They would like to “have the liberty to do what they like”.

In the eventuality that such a choice can be made by an educated rather than an influenced or traumatised woman, it seems odd that such a woman would not think about the liberties she, in fact, despises. Such a choice would resonate like an insult addressed to the millions of oppressed women fighting, braving male violence and sometimes death, to one day be able to enjoy the right to show their faces to the world.

The insult is not only directed against oppressed women but also to those welcoming them in their country. Indeed, to many French women, it is also their own rights they are defending through the law.

After all, it was not such a long time ago we had to fight for our right to vote, to abortion and the pill, or even to independently open our own bank accounts. In the minds of women who fought for these rights, the burqa is a symbol that this freedom is fragile; it is a slap in the face.

One of them, Elisabeth Badinter, a pioneering figure of French feminism and a respected scholar and writer in the vein of Simone de Beauvoir, wrote in Le Nouvel Observateur to women wearing the burqa: “In a modern democracy, where we try to establish transparency and equality between the sexes, you brutally signify to us that it is none of your business, that relations with others don’t concern you and that our fights are not yours. So I asked myself: why not reach the Saudi and Afghan lands where no one will ask you to show your face?”

I could not agree more. If I were to go to Afghanistan, I’d have to wear a veil, and I would do it not because I am forced to, but out of respect. Why would you want to live in France if it is not to interact with French society?

Defenders of religious tolerance, such as the Imam of Drancy, have clearly stated that the voile integral is not an obligation but simply a tradition. So why bring with them the shame imposed on them in those foreign lands if they truly have a choice on whether or not to wear the burqa?

The Imam of Drancy has regularly been attacked by extremist groups, and one can only wonder whether any woman wears the integral veil out of choice.

To those women who do not have a choice

This debate, I reiterate, is not about men telling women how they want them to dress. The burqa goes beyond that. Legislation pro-miniskirt or against ugly underwear, now that might interest French men. But the burqa? Really, I give men more credit than that.

In the end it is not about how men feel, because even if the law had been initiated by the wrong person for the wrong reason, there are still legitimate grounds for feminists to pick up the fight.

Do we, in our heart, feel that any women wearing the integral veil, be it a so-called choice or not, is right? Don’t we feel outrage that anyone would ever think that women are objects of temptation? That they are not worthy of showing their face to other people? And why don’t men have to cover their face too? That is the bottom line to me – it is simple and it is clear and there is no need to get into complicated analyses of the why and how.

To me and many French women I have talked with, the only real debate is whether a law banishing the burqa and the niqab from certain public places will worsen the life of those women who are forced to wear it.

Will they be forced to stay home? Will they be further withdrawn from human society by their husband, father, brother?

This is my real worry, and I hope it will be too for those women who “chose” to wear the burqa and will be able to take it off. For many veiled women it won’t be that simple; have they ever thought of that?

Related articles:
Laurie Penny on why banning the burqa is wrong