most curious point of all is the unity with which all major French political parties proclaim the need to defend laïcité, apparently under attack. But among France’s main political traditions – the Front National, the Gaullists, Christian-Democrats and Socialists – one finds stout defences of laïcité. Among the more minor traditions – the Greens, Muslims, Communists and Trotskyists – one finds some debate and qualification about the nature of laïcité, but certainly nothing like a head-on attack. In fact, in the course of my research, I have only found one writer who criticized the basic principle of laïcité: a contribution to the anarchist weekly Monde libertaire, which was presented even in this publication as a minority opinion.106 One can therefore question this basic premise that laïcité is faced with such a serious onslaught that radical measures are needed in order to defend it.
Attempting to reach a conclusion on such a multifaceted concept like laïcité is difficult. It has been of central importance in the formation of French society. It has worked as a means by which to construct a certain type of modernity, dependent on the evacuation of religious authorities from any integral status within the state and – rather confusingly – it has also created a political space for dialogue between peoples of faith and peoples without faith. More recently, in place of liberty, equality and fraternity, laïcité has become the concept that defines the nature of republicanism. For these reasons, it commands a deep, almost instinctive, sympathy from many French people. However, if one turns to consider how it functions today, the defence of laïcité appears not as the defence of a rational, constitutional principle, but as the construction of an intangible sense of French-ness, in a form which renders the accommodation of new cultures and identities singularly difficult.107 In its current interpretations, it is a cultural ideal which is unsuitable for a world that is increasingly marked by the rapid and easy international transfer of goods, services, ideas and people.
The veil
There is a major problem in discussing this term: the veil does not exist. There is no single Arabic word for this garment, in the form that it is understood by French (and western) commentators.108 And in truth, gentle reader, all my previous references should therefore have been to ‘the veil’ and not to the veil.
Let’s begin our analysis of this term with a true story, from a school in eastern France. An elderly schoolteacher, liked and respected by her colleagues, is beginning her last year before retirement. To her colleagues’ surprise, she appears on the first day of term wearing a Simone de Beauvoir-style bandana. Behind her back, they talk. Obviously, as the teacher in question is French, white and from a laïque family, covering her hair cannot be an indication of her Muslim faith. But why has she adopted it? Is it a fashion statement? Some, mischievously, suggest that she’s been reading too much S de B. Others, more seriously, wonder whether she’s beginning to go bald, and the bandana is to cover up her thinning, grey hair. Someone else points out that women who undergo chemical treatment for cancer often lose their hair: this point creates some sympathy for the teacher in question, but also inhibits her colleagues from directly asking her why she has taken to wearing a bandana. The teacher serves out her last year and leaves. Afterwards, the ‘horrible’ truth becomes known: this woman was a Muslim convert, and her bandana was an expression of her religious commitment.
One question that arises from this is: what is a veil? This is rather like the old philosophical conundrum: does a tree falling in a deserted forest make any noise? Does a piece of cloth that everyone recognizes as a bandana count as a veil? This point explains the difficulty in counting the number of veiled pupils in French schools: who is wearing a bandana, a large beret and an Islamic veil?
Let us now consider some representative statements by French commentators, all of whom participated in the ‘debate’ of 2003–4, concerning the veil and its meanings:
Anne Vigerie and Anne Zelensky: ‘[The veil] symbolises the place of women in Islam as interpreted by Islamism. That place is in the shade: it’s her relegation, her submission to men.’109
Michèle Vianès: ‘[the veil is] … a symbol of degradation … it is a “marker” for discrimination, of sexual apartheid, preventing convergence, and preserving the tutelage of women.’110
Libération: ‘a symbol of oppression’.111
Michel Gauchet: ‘The veil is a religious symbol but, obviously, it’s something else as well. It is fundamentally a sign of the subjection of women, and that’s what causes the problem.’112
François Bayrou: ‘[The veil means that] men and women have a relationship which is not one of equality.’113
Union des familles laïques (The Union of Laïque Families): ‘[The veil is] symbolic of women’s oppression.’114
Raymonde Coudert and Thérèse Filippi: ‘While the turban worn by Sikh boys and the kippa worn by practicing Jewish boys are not signs of sexual subjection, the headscarf is.’115
Martine Billard: ‘[The veil] is, in all cases, either a sign of submission or a sign of alienation.’116
In these quotations, we can see some similarities with the manner in which laïcité is debated. There is the same tendency to make big, abstract, free-standing statements, with no attempt to provide evidence or contextualization, and no reference to the more serious, nuanced analyses of the topic. In this case, there is a surprising consensus among these varied commentators. However, it is important to identify the exact nature of this consensus. These commentators are not saying ‘The rule of the Taliban in Kabul made women’s lives a living hell, and their imposition of the burqa was the most visible sign of their authoritarian and tyrannical power.’ These commentators are not saying ‘The legal enforcement of veil-wearing on women in Saudi Arabia is an essential part of a law code which severely and unjustly oppresses women.’ These commentators are not saying ‘The regulations on veil-wearing in Iran are unjust, and produce a situation in which police authorities harass and humiliate women.’ All these statements are empirically verifiable, politically sensitive and accurate. In the statements by the French commentators, there is a skidding between cause and effect: they sidestep issues of political and religious authority, they ignore context and they invest the veil itself with a particular and eternal meaning. The veil itself, however, is merely a piece of cloth: it has no more meaning than, for example, trousers. It is context which gives it meaning.
What is the origin of this idea that the veil itself is, intrinsically and irremediably, an instrument of women’s oppression? It is not an explanation for its origins. The veil pre-dates Islam, and among the ancient societies that grew up around the Mediterranean it was ‘a mark of exclusivity, status, privilege and privacy’.117 It certainly cannot be found in the Koran. In fact, there is no direct reference to veiling in the Koran, although there is a specific instruction that women should not go topless, and there is a more general injunction that men and women should adopt modest dress. It is from this second reference that the connection between Islam and veiling starts: many Muslims have interpreted ‘modest dress’ to mean veiling. However, there is no implication that modest dress is a means to demonstrate female inferiority: on the contrary, it seems rather a way of affirming women’s legitimate, public presence in society. In passing, we can note that veiling has certainly entered French culture in this way: for centuries, pious Catholic women have been expected to cover their hair in public and even Marianne herself was usually depicted by nineteenth-century illustrators with her hair covered.
Among the French veil-wearing Muslim women of our time, a variety of explanations are given for their choices. Hervé Flanquart conducted a series of in-depth interviews with twenty-five Muslims girls, of whom about half wore the veil. He found that all of them, veiled and unveiled, automatically
