Debates on the encroachment of religion into the public sphere were recently reinvigorated in France, when images of a Muslim woman on a French beach forced to remove part of her attire were plastered over the Internet and mainstream media. Several French coastal towns then moved to ban the “burqini”, a type of swimming attire favoured by Muslim women which covers the female form and hair. While there is nothing Islamic about the burqini apart from allowing Muslim women to cover their aurah (non-Muslim women can also choose to dress modestly), it is seen as an outward marker of Muslim religiosity and Islam. France’s model of secularism is increasingly at odds with the religious diversity in the country, while the political right-wing groups fanning anti-Muslim and anti-immigration sentiments in the country are only adding oil to fire. The policing of gear and clothing worn by certain sections of the society adhering to their respective faiths have mostly been political, and debated upon within the secular French society. How far can secularism be the solution to managing religious diversity today?
“MARKER OF RELIGION” VERSUS “MARKER OF RELIGIOSITY”
The movement to ban the burqini in France is not sui generis (unique), and continues from the banning of other forms of gear deemed as markers of religiosity. In 2004, the French government banned all “conspicuous” religious symbols from public spaces such as state schools. While the move did not specify which symbols should be banned, the fervent focus of the controversy was the headscarf worn by Muslim women. In 2010, the government banned the full face covering called the “burqa” from being worn in public. Other controversies in France include the sacking of an employee from a private day care centre, who had refused to remove her headscarf at work – a concern which French Muslims fear can act as a precedent to future bans in the private sector.
The recent burqini bans followed the terrorist attacks in Nice and Paris, which inevitably, albeit unfortunately, heightened the suspicions and fear the country has of Muslims in France. While France’s top administrative court has since overturned the ban – prompting the cities of Nice, Cannes, Villeneuve-Loube, Frejus and Roquebrune to do likewise – other local mayors have pledged to keep them in place to “protect public order”. Regardless, Cannes mayor David Lisnard had asserted that the burqini was like a “uniform, a symbol of Islamist extremism”, while Prime Minister Manuel Valls suggested that it was “a political sign of religious proselytising”.
The banning of the burqini goes beyond just France’s national security imperative. The attacks in Nice and Paris had only provided another political impetus for the reeling in of any (or all) markers of the Islamic faith in the public sphere, due to the fear that they have the potential to threaten and destabilise France’s long-standing and prized model of secularism. It also points to an underlying uneasiness which the French public has towards immigrants – most are of North African descent – and religious minorities within the state. Here, there should be a distinction between “marker of religion” and “marker of religiosity”.
“Marker of religion” suggests the low-level regard to any symbol representing the religion, void of connotations apart from its purpose in facilitating the identification to the said religion. For example, a piece of cloth usually worn as a headscarf may be regarded as a “marker of religion”. Conversely, “marker of religiosity” suggests meaning and reason as to why the marker is being utilised by adherents of a religion in practising their faith. It suggests individual agency associated to the wearing or utilisation of the marker, but also the agency and perception of others who may not practise the same faith in contributing to an established notion of that marker of religiosity. In this vein, a “marker of religiosity” may take on positive or negative connotations.
Therefore, the wearing of the cloth by Muslim women as headscarves in public, or wearing the burqini on the beaches of France may be perceived as “markers of religiosity” by the non-Muslims. The French public may misconstrue these acts as the increasing assertion of religion in the public sphere, against the backdrop of terrorist attacks in the state. What is observed then, is the strengthening of France’s model of secularism, or laïcité, as a counter measure to validate controversial decisions such as the burqini ban.
SECULARISM IN THE MANAGEMENT OF RELIGIOUS DIVERSITY
Laïcité followed from France’s historic 1905 Constitution, which decreed the separation of the Church and state after the Republic’s successful struggle against the Catholic religious order. The Constitution allows the freedom of religion and the freedom to practise religion in France, but also the stringent maintenance of state neutrality. To some extent, this suggests the necessary quelling of religious identity and any form suggesting religiosity in the public sphere to conform to a French “way of life”. Most significantly, the assimilationist nature of French society is compounded by the government’s expectations for immigrants to take up secular values and standards, to protect the unity of the Republic. In theory, laïcité provides that each individual is equal in the eyes of the state.
However, the state and religion cannot remain indifferent to each other in practice. Multicultural theorists such as Lord Bhikhu Parekh and Tariq Modood have questioned the ability of states to be purely secular, or if secularism has been fair in managing religious diversity. In the case of France, secularism is a double-edged sword. Instead of encouraging the freedom to practise religion in a secular environment, secularism is also often (mis)used as a means to lessen the prevalence of perceived “markers of religiosity”. This is often the case for French Muslims; Danièle Hervieu-Léger, a French sociologist, suggests that Islam’s place in France is a “question of the relation between particularity and universality in the very definition of French identity”.
LESSONS FOR OTHER STATES FROM FRANCE’S EXPERIENCE
Two points can be drawn regarding secularism in the management of religious diversity as observed in France. First, while values attached to laïcité are widely upheld, secularism may still be forced upon those who wish to practice their faith freely, especially the religious minorities. The burqini ban is therefore paradoxical – it does not promote the libertarian ideals which laïcité supposedly embodies, but may brush sections of the French society into exclusion by disregarding their deeply held beliefs and freedom to practise religion. While the burqini is arguably a compromise for Muslim women who want to adhere to religious requirements and participate in the French public life, banning the burqini only removes these women from the public sphere.
Second, secularism is taken to be a standard measure which the French should adhere to, where every individual should be viewed as equal in a secular state. However, how does the state ensure the equality of treatment amongst the different religious groups as it seeks to protect secularism? The debate surrounding the burqini ban has raised several questions on the unequal regard French authorities have towards Muslims, and adherents of other faiths. Questions have also been raised as to probable double standards in the public perception of different “markers of religiosity”. For example, nuns or men wearing the Jewish kippah in public spaces – arguably – may not be required to remove the items or garb deemed representing their religion.
In this light, much of France’s policies promoting secularism should be reconsidered if true unity of the Republic is to be achieved. These can serve as lessons for other states expounding on secularism to manage religious diversity. States should not be secularistic, where secularism becomes the only value in the land. According to Parekh and Modood, this only cements boundaries between religious minorities and the rest of society. Secularism should be balanced with other values or needs within a secular state, in recognition of the deeply held beliefs of the various religions. The religious minorities, such as the Muslims in France, should also not feel handicapped in practising their faith within the state.
At the same time, context matters in the receptiveness, identification and uptake of secular values. Prior incidences and controversies confronting the freedom to practise religion may affect how secularism is accepted amongst sections of society. In the case of France, the underlying uneasiness and lesser regard towards the immigrants’ and minorities’ religious needs may limit their receptiveness to secular ideals. Others, such as academic Farish Noor, have suggested how France’s colonial history and ‘civilising mission’ over North Africa previously may have left irreversible effects in the largely Muslim immigrant community’s social memory. It is therefore only fair for more efforts to be focused in the integration of different religious needs, balancing them with the secular needs of the state.
In all, secularism may still find relevance in managing religious diversity – if the state does not limit the freedom to practise religion and provide the equality of treatment in policies surrounding perceived “markers of religiosity”. France’s experiences show how religious diversity can be better managed, and how secularism may still be able to unify the state. ⬛
Nur Diyanah Anwar is a Research Analyst with the Centre of Excellence for National Security (CENS) at the S. Rajaratnam School of International Studies (RSIS), Singapore. She attained her Master of Science (Asian Studies) from RSIS, and her Bachelor of Social Science (Hons) in Political Science with a minor in Sociology from the National University of Singapore. Her focus in the Social Resilience Programme revolves around identity issues, multiculturalism, social policies, inequality, and the relations between state and society.
