The governmental overreaction to a minor burkini incident on
a public beach has, once again, shone a spotlight on a peculiarly French
tendency to complicate life and lose control of the issue in question. The
sacrosanct French principle of secularism (laïcité) used by local authorities to ban the
burkini does not apply to public beaches, and its wearers (few and far between)
do not pose a recognized threat against public order. But a jittery population,
traumatized by repeated islamist terrorist attacks, is easy prey for
opportunistic politicians who prefer to fan these fears for their own political
gain rather than to send a unifying message to its pluri-ethnic citizens,
nearly 10 percent of whom are Muslim. This immigrant group, mostly from former
French colonies in west and north Africa, lives largely in the urban ghettos
called cités, where petty crime and
high unemployment are endemic and where the unemployed young are tempted into
islamic radicalization. Efforts to improve the integration of this population
into the French mainstream have been timid at best, and today's unnecessary
burkini fight only drives a further wedge between "them and us".
If the burkini has become the hot topic of the season, it
has not only divided public opinion but the socialist government as well, where
two female ministers (Education, and Health) took prime minister
Manuel Valls to task over his pro-ban position and warned of a danger of unleashing racist
rhetoric and stigmatization at a time of tension.
When the ban that began in Cannes in early August spread to 30
other coastal communities, including one in Corsica following a violent fight between
three Muslim families and a group of locals resulting in injuries, it became
international news. And the foreign press was happy to take it on and teach
France a lesson. While they couldn't understand what all the fuss was about,
the foreign media interpreted the burkini ban as both racist and ridiculous.
The absurdity of the situation was made painfully clear in a photo sequence
shot by an English photographer that shows three armed French policemen forcing
a lone burkini-clad woman on a public beach in Nice to disrobe or be fined − a
scene reminiscent of the "morals police" of theocratic Iran.
Although it is proud to call itself the land of Human
Rights, it is no secret that France has an anti-semitic streak. It also seems unable to see its Muslim population as equal citizens of the republic despite its lofty national motto of Liberty, Fraternity and Equality for all. Like in George Orwell's Animal Farm, some are more equal than others. There is no doubt that the context of the
recent terrorist attack that killed 86 people in Nice has created a volatile atmosphere
and may have evoked an emotional response, but this does not justify the
creation of any special laws, said the administrative court.
The burkini battle has also revived the French identity
crisis which is never far from people's minds. Does the immigrant population
from former French colonies in black sub-Saharan Africa and the Maghreb region
of North Africa − people who do not look like us, tend to dress differently
from us, and have more children than us − threaten our French identity?
Can they assimilate into our society and adopt our way of life or to what point
do we have to accommodate theirs? Frequent "clashes" indicate
that there are no easy answers, but also show that assimilation has not been
facilitated by government policy and that there are still many pockets of
marginalized and disenfranchised immigrants in France, even if they have French
citizenship.
While catholicism is still the main religion in France, the
principle of secularism, voted into law
in 1905, guarantees the free exercise of any faith and the state's neutrality
in all matters of religion. Why then, I asked a friend one day, are there still
so many official Catholic holidays in France? "Tradition," was his
answer, which goes some way to explaining the fuzziness and confusion of so
many French rules and regulations.
Tradition can also mean a fear of change, so palpable in
France where change is often seen as a loss of something rather than a
potential gain and to be resisted as long as possible. Hence, the rather
perplexing fervor with which labor unions and socialists reject the right to
open shops on Sundays. The weekly day of rest, rooted in the Catholic
tradition, is turned into an obligation, a way to keep change at bay, even at the
expense of those who voluntarily offer to work on Sundays in exchange for
double pay. It may make France less competitive, but the idea of
"protecting" workers from perceived exploitation, in other words, to
keep things as they have always been, still prevails.
Schools are re-opening this week and politicians are
flocking back to Paris, where the burkini will be slowly displaced by newer
crises. Strikers won't be far behind, voices and banners will again be raised
in the streets, and the whole diverse and complex world of French society will
do its level best to keep it all together. It's the way it's always been.
