As one blogger friend summed up succinctly, Hijab and the City is “a blog for girls who happen to be Muslim and not a Muslim blog for girls.”  The “girly” content follows suit, with the usual rubrics one would find in a mainstream French magazine:  fashion, love, cooking.  The difference is that Hijab and the City also addresses issues of interest to Muslim women or women of Muslim culture in France, with articles like “You Know Eid’s Coming When...” Another article, “Prepare Your Vacation Well” address common issues before going on vacation- how to pack, what to bring, but with a Muslim twist: readers are enjoined to find cat or dog sitters for their animals, because “not taking care of your pet all the way is mistreatment, condemned in Islam” and “we all know what happened [in the hadith] to the woman who didn’t feed her cat.”

“Dumped by texto” is not what you would normally see on a “Muslim” site for girls, but—newsflash, people!—some Muslim girls date!  Some are more serious topics related to Muslimahs treated with aplomb, like “She doesn’t fast,” an examination of the reasons and justifications for those who don’t fast and the people who condemn them. It asks the question, “Is it really shocking for us, as Muslims and westerners, to know that someone in our family, a friend or a stranger at a cafe isn’t doing Ramadan? People who don’t fast often cite the respect of their private life, but is that really the case as often we consider we have the right to say something to someone coming from the same community?” And finally, because it is a “girl” blog after all, the Fashion rubric is French with a Muslim twist, with articles like “Head Scarf Tutorial”  (in English, natch), but also “What to Pack,” which could have easily been a spread in Marie Claire.

As a Muslimah and a self-fashioned tech blogger with her foot in social media, Hijab and the City impresses me.  The language and the tone of their articles is in keeping with the way young French women view their world. Unlike insta-fatwa sites run by men and straight-outta-1998 masjid websites, Hijab and the City is sets itself apart with its sleek design and “web 2.0 compliant” full frontal social media platform (Facebook, Twitter and Youtube). Hijab and the City, with its decidedly French flair, is on trend and in keeping with its time, both in its platform and content.

They have a new ad campaign for “good hijab” (because, you know, chastity really only has to do with women) that includes its centerpiece, “A woman without hijab is like a chair with three legs” (poster pictured on right). The ad campaign has several posters, which range from the strange and incomprehensible to the skeevy, yet well done.  But their message is clear: women without hijab aren’t real, practicing Muslim women and are intellectually and spiritually incapable of measuring the dangers presented by their clothing choices.

“A woman without hijab is like a chair with three legs” is the most incomprehensible of the posters for me, both visually and textually. Why three legs?  Because we as women are somehow incomplete without hijab? Lacking in a solid foundation? Because we can’t be used to sit on? Clothes can do all that? Really?

A second poster (pictured below left) shows a red stiletto on a platform that is being sawed through. Once the sawing is complete, the stiletto will undoubtedly plunge, along with its wearer, straight into the hellfire.  By way of explanation, this poster simply says “Feminism” in two languages, most likely implying that the road to hell is paved with feminists! Also, are red stilettos feminist, then?

Another jewel in the collection is “Eyes are a trap of the devil. Imam Ali (A.S.)”  Does it really refer to the hadith refers to the evil in impure glances, or that wearing colored aqua-colored contacts while looking at people is bad?  As a big fan of lipstick, I was also pleased to find out that 22 lipsticks are sold in the world every second. But what I didn’t know is that lipsticks are also bombs that contribute to the fall of civilization with every little explosion. Interesting…that has never happened to any of my lipsticks.

The masterpiece of politico-religious symbolism, however, falls to two posters using the same texts:

“Each chadori [chador-clad] woman is as a flag of the Islamic Republic of Iran.”

“We are uncountable [many].”

These posters outline what the Islamic Republic wants: all women looking and dressing identically in the chador, as a uniform. As Sarah Khorshid Doost points out (in personal correspondence), these posters hijack the Green Movement slogan “we are uncountable,” which became popular after the election protests of last year. As the slogan is used in reference to unity, its use for such an exclusive and divisive means in this ad campaign is really disturbing. However, there is a history to this and many of the Green movement symbols being hijacked before (as with Ahmadinejad himself wearing a green shawl at his “victory speech” two days after the elections).

So the takeaway for women is: not only is wearing what we are supposed to wear good for our eternal salvation and morals, it is also good because it is what everyone else who is normal, patriotic, and right are wearing.  Go with the crowd!

Going through the posters, I started to wonder what the takeaway message is from this ad campaign for the brothers (other than avoiding loose women in lipstick). Luckily, the campaign has a message for men, too! with two posters showing the same text (one pictured on right):

“Muslim Brother! Your inattention and guarding of your glance will result in our sisters observing their hijab.”

Because we all know that men are less likely to harass a sister in hijab. Yeah, right. Remind me of that next time I get a drive-by marriage proposal in Paris or Philly. And, hey, I think I see some of the brother’s awrah in those tight jeans. Oh, wait, isn’t looking a trap?

Muslim women have always had their Islam judged by their clothing and appearance. True, we live in scary times. However, the lot of Muslim women has hit a new low when people find it necessary to launch an expensive ad campaign to make sure we know exactly what we are supposed to wear.  To drive the point home and blur the lines even more: ”Having little or no haya (shyness/modesty), is a sign of dark-mindedness, not intellectualism, is a sign of ignorance not civilization” So don’t forget, sisters, being a blushing Muslimah is critical to being smart and civilized.  And you can’t have haya in heels and lipstick!

The author and MMW would like to thank Sara Khorshid Doost for her invaluable assistance in this post, namely in translation and in contextual information.

Suzy Ismail's book. Image via Amana Publications website.

The format of When Muslim Marriage Fails is quite unique.  It isn’t loaded with stats and bibliography like a classic social sciences book and not filled with obscure textual references like a textbook on fiqh. However, the choice of format doesn’t mean that the book is lacking in sound research. Each chapter is a case study divided into three sections: a testimonial by the wife, a testimonial by the husband, and a closing with expert commentary. Rather than picking specific couples, Ms. Ismail’s case studies are amalgamations of the most common trends of relationship breakdowns she saw in her research. At a little less than 130 pages, it is a quick read, and the plus to this kind of format is that it lends itself well to different levels of readership and creates a good flow.

The case studies follow several trends.  The first chapter, “Abuse and Power Struggle” outlines the rise and fall of an arranged marriage ending in abuse and ultimately divorce. The next chapter, “Unfaithful” tells the story of a couple whose relationship is doomed by “harmless friendships” on social networking sites. “Culture Clash” is the typical “save the convert” marriage story whereby the marriage falls apart as the couple’s views on religion take different directions. “Embers to Ashes” chronicles the slow burn of a marriage breakdown decades in the making. Finally, “Stress” documents a young couple’s journey through credit card debt, dual-income households and childrearing.

Each chapter outlines pertinent and common issues for married and divorced couples today and the case study format reduces the distance between the reader and the story.

One of the questions I kept asking myself after reading was “were the men patently wrong?” My one criticism of this book is that the female point of view was overrepresented.  I found myself nodding along with practically everything the women said, and found very little to make me sympathetic to men’s points of view. As such, I found myself wondering how biased I must be towards the brothers.

Each chapter had a heartbreaking story of a woman who just wouldn’t be met halfway by her spouse.  In one case, one sister was a victim of financial abuse, in several of the cases the men just shut down completely, and the chapter on physical abuse was particularly not justifiable from any point of view.  One example of how I just couldn’t abide by the brother’s point of view dealt with the chapter on infidelity.  He justified his extracurricular activities (which involved “just chatting”) as “getting his mojo back,” based on his wife’s morning breath and frizzy hair.  While in Islam we are supposed to try to look our best for our spouses, I just don’t know how morning breath can be avoided.  For this reason, the expert commentary at the end of the chapter, by Faraz Khan, rightfully cited that “The problem of ugly behavior is much more serious and harmful than unpleasant physique.”

Despite the natural sympathy I had for the women’s points of view,  I think it is fair to say that each of the stories boiled down to communication breakdown and a lack of sacrifice and compromise on both sides. In every case, each failed marriage started out as something minor that wasn’t said, or wasn’t said properly. It was actually quite painful to read because the couples, who in three out of the five case studies started out as a “love match,” were like two ships in the night who never managed to find common ground. The “slow burn” marriage breakdown is an example of a marriage that lasted 20+ years, yet the couple stopped communicating very early on.  What a sad way to spend the majority of one’s lifetime!

Finally, although an American Muslim by birth, my time as a Muslim has been spent in Europe and my experience in marriage has been with a European Muslim.  On a personal level, this book gave me insights into marriage in the American Muslim community and led me to realize some truths about my own “Americanness.”

Maybe I haven’t understood what can be “hot buttons” in a cross-cultural relationship—things that seem like no big deal to me, where something I had said, or my spouse had said, may have been one of the mini-train wrecks which set everything off.  I found myself particularly sympathetic to the wife described in the last chapter, who thought she was doing well by working hard and providing for her family, while at the same time putting “her” household tasks (e.g. what her husband thought was “her job” at home) on the back burner.

The greatest strengths of Ismail’s book are its readability and its personal testimony from a Muslim point of view. The unique format of When Muslim Marriage Fails makes it an accessible part of the body of scholarship on the subject.

Suzy Ismail’s When Muslim Marriage Fails: Islamic Chronicles and Commentaries, foreword by Mohamed Rida Beshir.  Amana Publications, 2010.

In North African countries, the results of one’s baccalaureate exams are key to scoring increasingly scarce university places, both at home and abroad. So the stakes are quite high. Naturally, as tech girl, I set out to learn more about the techniques these girls use. As a Muslimah, I wanted to know how these girls are represented in the media as women who wear hijab.

The majority of articles imply that exam time can turn some girls into instant hijabis.  In the L’Expression article, certain girls were quoted as saying they were planning to wear hijab and/or jilbab for the express purpose of “increasing their chances” for passing their exams. In fact, the journalist cited in L’Expression mentioned that those caught cheating the most during last year’s exams wore headscarves, but gave no statistics.

I’m quite old school about hijab: I thought you didn’t need a Bluetooth because you could just stick your phone between your headscarf and your ear if it was pinned tight enough. The articles I read mentioned a series of tactics: from the modern day “Call-a-Friend” (whereby your Bluetooth connects you to someone outside of the classroom who reads you a lesson book) to those who record their lessons on their smart phones (either vocally or as files) and select them as necessary depending on the test questions.  The more old-school sisters like me can hide cheat sheets up their sleeves or in the folds of their jilbabs.

But the Bluetooth is turning into the option of choice. Six girls were kicked out of their exams this year in Algiers alone for using Bluetooth devices to cheat. Different campaigns take place to remind these sisters of what can happen if caught cheating, but all focused on the earthly, rather than spiritual, consequences (sanctions involved exclusion from future exams). Preemptive action is also taking place: in Algeria, girls with hijabs will have their heads frisked, while those in jilbab will be frisked by females.

None of the news sources I read mentioned anything about the potential spiritual implications of using hijab to cheat. Interestingly, forum discussions on the topic (bladi.net, marhba.com) were concerned exactly with this point: what is to make of girls who only wear hijab to cheat on exams?  What is to make of women who use the moral authority the hijab “confers” to cover up doubtful test-taking tactics?

While many news sources content themselves with just stating the facts, I felt it odd that they took it as a given that hijab was a natural storage place for Bluetooth, which may be due in fact to a blurring of the lines between cultural Islam and “Islam Islam” in countries with Muslim majorities.  The real issue for me is that, in the forum posts I read, a lot of questions were being asked by people trying to reconcile spiritual and worldly without being given much to go on.  Using hijabs to cheat is a new technological twist on the
“insta-hijab” credibility (when the mere donning of a hijab confers a status of holy and pious). In countries where hijab is allowed or tolerated in public spaces, what impact will this have on women who choose to wear it for reasons other than facilitating test scores?

Gone indeed are the days where the press turned only to Tariq Ramadan or to the imams of the mosques of Lausanne and Geneva to speak for Swiss Muslims.  Last year’s media push in talking to “normal Swiss Muslims” (which came after the minaret vote) has given way to Blancho and his crew, who are being touted as the “new wave” of Swiss Muslims: converts from middle-class families who turn increasingly to what is seen and portrayed as “radical Islam” in the press.

In the press, there is an overriding sense of “Where did [we] go wrong with our young people?” Ferah is described as being a normal Swiss teenager prior to her conversion (who speaks in her local German dialect); she got rid of her jeans and sneakers and suddenly decided to change her lifestyle and choose “militant Islam.”  Her marriage to Naim Cherni, a leader in Blancho’s organization, was like her conversion: against her family’s wishes. Her family considers her a runaway and she is now allegedly in hiding with her husband out of fears for her physical safety after violent episodes with her father over her marriage and conversion.

Blick and Le Temps mention an “instrumentalization” of 17-year-old Ferah, who” fell into the clutches” of the CCIS/IZRS. While Blick (a magazine comparable to The Sun) set out to interview Ferah directly in her home, Le Temps decided to speak to a researcher on conversions from the University of Bern about Ferah’s case within the context of other convert stories, rather than letting Ferah speak herself.

One of the things I personally find interesting–in a positive sense–is that she is portrayed, despite being “second generation,” as a Swiss girl in all of the sources I read. While mention is made of her family’s rather violent opposition to her new lifestyle, other than being sensationalist journalism, there aren’t the same racialized judgment calls I would have seen in the French press.

As the researcher in the Le Temps article mentions that the CCIS/IZRS is a “young association” whose membership is not homogeneous, Tariq Ramadan and others assure that Blancho’s organization is of his own construct and that the CCIS/IZRS is far from being a central, representative body of Swiss Muslims.

Far more interesting is the sensational treatment in the press of Ferah being a normal girl who fell in with the wrong crowd, while her “leader” Blancho is increasingly called upon to give his opinion in the media on all things Muslim. While boys convert and become experts, the Swiss press seems to think girls convert and become brainwashed.

Ferah’s story, as “exotic” as it is now, may well become increasingly common in Switzerland in the coming months and years as its Muslim community comes of age. While the Blick pieces did speak to Ferah directly, there was a sideshow element to the articles (perhaps due to the nature of the magazine), whereas the “high-brow” media outlets like the Hebdo and Le Temps chose to profile non-Muslim experts or Blancho.

Hopefully, one day, the Muslim community will be seen not as a monolith but for the patchwork it is, with the voices of girls like Ferah being heard and seen in the media as part of a spectrum of beliefs, practices and choices, rather than just poor girls who fell in with the wrong crowd.

Her choice of subject isn’t by accident. Since 1996, Khattari’s work has in some way related to veils of all kinds–and now, in the middle of the debate over France’s proposed “burqa ban,” her art is more relevant than ever. The show included patchwork veils, a burqa imprinted with the portrait of the wearer, a naked woman and a veiled woman on the same stage.

One of the burqa pieces for Khattari's Parisian show. Image via the France24 slideshow.

Khattari’s work plays on the ambiguity and ambivalence of the French public to all sorts of coverings. By adopting slogans adapted from marketing campaigns (the one in the title is a take-off on “J’adore Dior”) and putting veils front and center in her shows, she moves the debate out of politics and into the realm of art, which seems to be much more palatable to French people.

In France24, Khattari explains the reasoning behind her burqa-as-runway show: “I find that every time there is a crisis, the female body takes a hit, and I can’t help but ask myself questions about this phenomenon.” After this, the English and French versions of the France24 article differ: the French-language article has another quote from Khattari: “But the reality of the imprisonment of women’s bodies is not only related to the headscarf.” But the English-language article adds an explanatory phrase to this quote, just in case we weren’t clear before: “The artist was careful to point out that religion is not the only source of oppression of women.” (my emphasis) While it is a minor point of translation and doesn’t change the world of the article, why add it? My guess is that the headscarf debate is so common in French, people are used to headscarves being a visible part of the public debate, whereas in the English-speaking countries like the U.S. and the U.K., the headscarf debate isn’t a big deal, but religious freedom is.

Le Monde is quick to point out that Khattari is a “Muslim who never wore the veil,” and got another nice sound-bite out of the article about how she views the place of her work within the public debate. “More than the headscarf issue, the real problems are those of education for both young Muslims and some non-Muslims who are ignorant of the culture of the other. Furthermore, the attacks go back again and again to women. Women should be free to do what they want.”

You can also go to Belgium’s Het Laatste Nieuws to see photos of the show. This link contains images of nude models. The dozen or so comments on the post relate mainly to the nude models, with one commenter rightly mentioning that if you “combine veils with anything sensual or stimulating, the whole debate would be over.”) This was exactly the point of Khattari’s 2007 piece “Sexy Souks,” where the burqa-clad models wore frilly undergarments bought in Middle Eastern markets underneath their coverings.

In France (and Belgium for that matter, who recently became the first European country to enact a full face veil ban) it seems so easy to look at the veil as art, especially performance art (as was the case for my Un Voile article).

My question is, what do art shows really add to the debate? Is this the type of coverage that will make French people change their minds about head coverings?

There are many versions to Quazi’s story—some including a side trip to Dubai, some including a man, some including her father falsifying her visa. The short version is that Quazi went to Saudi Arabia in 2007 at her father’s request for what was originally intended to be a three-month stay. She has been trying to leave ever since, despite having both her passports and all forms of identification confiscated by her father.

In the traditional press, ink has been spilled repeatedly on the story of another Canadian, Nathalie Morin, held in Saudi Arabia by her husband with her bi-national sons. Morin’s case is different in that she, at least initially, chose to live in Saudi Arabia with her citizen husband and children, who have dual citizenship. Quazi is not a Saudi citizen and is being held there by deceit, a shady visa, and definitely not of her choosing.

But Quazi’s story is seeing much less publicity. Why so much coverage for Morin? Is it because her family has mobilized for her, while Quazi’s family are the perpetrators? While Morin’s story is no less painful and tragic, hers involves a Saudi spouse and several bi-national children. Legally, the Canadian government is averse to get involved in Morin’s case because of the dual-citizen children involved.

In the case of Quazi, neither she nor her father is a Saudi citizen. Why is Saudi Arabia obstinately holding on to someone who isn’t even a subject? Why can’t the Canadian government step up?

What is being ignored in this case are Quazi’s feelings, wishes, and basic human rights in favor of the wishes of her father. We’re dealing with a situation where a man has power over an adult woman who is a citizen of a free country.  This is, as one blog commentor noted, a case of “sexual apartheid.” What scares me just as much as Quazi being blocked in Saudi Arabia is the poor treatment she is likely to have received or is still receiving.  The Human Rights Watch report about her case notes a history of parental abuse, which is ongoing. Her psychological and physical welfare is at stake, and the situation becomes more dangerous with each passing day.

Many of the news outlets who have chosen to write about Quazi note that her father used deception to change her visa and make it necessary for a mahram’s (male guardian) approval to travel. But what type of visa she had is moot—the bottom line is that Quazi cannot leave Saudi Arabia and her health and well-being are threatened.

Another reason the media may not be picking up on Quazi’s story is that hers isn’t the one of the poor white woman corrupted by the vile brown Muslim male.  Hers isn’t the sexy Not Without My Daughter type of case—in fact, some news sources have all but alluded to how Quazi’s case is a “Muslim-on-Muslim” problem (Politt’s article mentions the Canadian embassy’s reluctance to get involved due to it being a “Muslim family dispute”).

In other words, because Quazi comes from a Muslim family, her father’s behavior is somehow to be expected, and all we should do is shake our heads sadly at the poor girl who should have “known better” than going to Saudi Arabia, given what happens to women “over there.” The fact that her father is part of the problem aside, Quazi’s case begs the question of race and religion: is the fact that Nazia Quazi is a brown Muslim female working against her? Can Quazi get the type of press coverage, a documentary on TV5, and a concert in Montreal, like Nathalie Morin?

Pressure must be put on Saudi Arabia and Canada: by writing about it, blogging about it, and keeping her name out there. Saudi Arabia must rethink its guardianship laws in light of Quazi’s situation, and the Canadian and Indian governments must be as vocal as possible about her rights.

Lefranc's book. Image via her website.

Un voile, Un certain moi de juin is the story of French artist Bérengère Lefranc’s decision to wear a “burqa” (although she hesitates to define it as such) for one month and write about it.  I was skeptical about this book after reading an initial review of it in Swiss daily Le Temps. Not normally a fan of these “Let’s play dress up” stories, I set out to read the book anyway.  Already, the title bothers me.  ”Voile” is “veil” in French, and the garment Ms. Lefrance wears most closely resembles a burqa.  It seems that for the French, veils and burqas are pretty much the same thing (or maybe, that was Ms. Lefranc’s point).

The premise is simple: she is going to wear a burqa for one month. The only person—male or female—allowed to see her without is her boyfriend Hubert.

She takes great pains to insist she isn’t trying to be “Muslim”- that her journey is about her art, about covering herself up.  ”I didn’t want to slip into the skin of a Muslim, rather, I wanted to hide gracefully from the looks of others. And continue to live normally.” (p. 135) She even shies away from defining her gown as a burqa.

However, the comparisons to Islam and Muslim women are inevitable, something even she is resigned to.  Her female friends even encourage her to “take it off” around them, noting that Muslim women don’t wear their veils around other women.

And if it wasn’t clear enough that she wasn’t doing this to “be Muslim,” she mentions several episodes where she is either smoking or drinking while fully burqa-fied–although she was refused a glass of white wine once because “ladies in burqas aren’t supposed to drink.” She tells the bartender she isn’t Muslim. He tells her in return: “When women are forced to wear it because they have no choice, that is respectable. But if [you are wearing it] for other reasons, well you’re just making fun of women.”  (p. 95)  Lefranc was rightfully scandalized: here was a man trying to tell her not only what she should wear, but how she should feel about it.

Lefranc uses the “I’m not a Muslim argument” as a defense when the going gets too tough. In stores and in shops, she seems quick to insist that what she is doing is an “experiment.” This is evident in the beginning of the book, where her first trick is to go vote.  Since you can’t vote in France if your face isn’t visible, she has a proxy made for her boyfriend, yet still accompanies him to the voting location.

Strangely (or perhaps not so strangely), the fact that it is an “experience” makes it “okay” by some French people in a way a burqa worn for religious reasons would not pass.  In fact, the officials were all smiles when she showed up to vote. What Lefranc does is acceptable because it is art, but what a Muslim woman wears is not acceptable because it is religion. Something even she refers to when she mentions on page 135 (cited above) that she wanted to live normally under her “burqa”, but found that “living normally” was impossible with such a “religious image.”

To be fair, Lefranc goes through a lot of what I went through when I first put on the veil in France (which is likely similar to a lot of places): incomprehension, stares, accusations of provocation.  I found myself even sympathizing with her as the book progressed.  I even thought towards the end that she “got it.”  She was like the new convert little sister, all covered up and guns blazing, ready to go.

The spectrum of emotions she felt under the burqa was not dissimilar to those any person adopting a new lifestyle feel.  Like her, when I first started wearing the veil, I didn’t want to go outside.  It was easier to stay inside than deal with the drama of people’s looks, the weather, even just putting an outfit together.  Likewise, when she took it off at the end of the month, she too had trouble with people looking at her body, saying that the way people looked at her, especially her décolleté, “made her want to scream.” (p. 127)

The strangest bit was her rather frank descriptions of her sex life and her relationship with Hubert, which too seemed to change. She blamed this change on the distance the veil created, even though he was the only one to see her without it.  That was the only part of her diary I felt contrived and out of place because it called her intimacy into question. She wonders in the beginning of the book if her boyfriend’s look will “be enough,” as if somehow we thrive on being looked upon by others. Could he carry this burden himself? (p. 14)

And while I enjoyed her openness, her ability to criticize herself, and her honesty, one passage at the end of the book made me realize that she didn’t get it at all.  And this after one month of “walking in our shoes” and three days after the end of her “experiment,” she writes: “I think about these women who wear the veil, by choice or by obligation.  What is their life that the response is [the veil]? What faith pushes [them] to choose darkness over light?” (p. 151)

For me, Un voile was better than your typical clichéd “let’s wear a burqa” news  story, but falls short in its final analysis. ]]> http://muslimahmediawatch.org/2010/03/berengere-lefrancs-un-voile-un-certain-moi-de-juin/feed/ 2 http://muslimahmediawatch.org/2010/03/small-catastrophes/ http://muslimahmediawatch.org/2010/03/small-catastrophes/#comments Wed, 10 Mar 2010 08:00:46 +0000 Nicole http://muslimahmediawatch.org/?p=5793 In early February, a story broke about a briefing being given to Belgian soldiers departing for Afghanistan. In this briefing, the speaker notably made the following points, as related by the Belgian newspaper Le Soir:

“[Having a] girl to a Muslim usually means that the man has poor sperm quality. I’m not joking. Manly men make boys and men who are not manly make girls. Also obviously because a girl must be married, [girls] costs a dowry; a girl, it’s a small catastrophe because you have to “marry her off” as we say in French (“il faut la caser”), she must get married. A boy is the strength, the warrior, having a boy is very important.”

But the speaker is no hardened military man, or at least, not exactly.  Professor Jacques Rifflet is a Belgian lawyer, author, and scholar of religions.   Furthermore, Rifflet is often asked to speak at interfaith gatherings and roundtables on religion and international politics.

The Belgian press took note of his comments, and one MEP (the CDH deputy Georges Dallemagne) was appropriately outraged. Dallemagne called Rifflet’s comments into question and said, “This briefing is important for our soldiers and their relationship with the local population.  As such, it would seem necessary to avoid making such startling statements which can only be hurtful to Islam or to our allies.”

Furthermore, the Minister of Defense (via a party member acting as spokesperson), in the same parliamentary session, went a step further and “disassociated” himself from the comments in the briefing. Yet at the same time, the Ministry’s spokesperson offered up one weak explanation: that the briefing was in French for a primarily Flemish-speaking public, which necessitated words with “rich imagery.”

However, in this story, the mainstream press seems to be missing the point. It’s not about what he said being hurtful to Muslims or culturally insensitive.  The real problem is that Rifflet is a so-called expert on comparative religion whom people listen to and respect: see the (quite scary French) comments here.

As pointed out in this blog post, Rifflet is a Doctor of Laws, journalist for the RTBF, and Professor Emeritus not only in International Politics but also Comparative Religions.  He is often called upon by the Belgian government to speak to soldiers starting their missions, but also in more diplomatic roles.  So Rifflet is “expert” on Islam who forgets, among other glaring omissions, that in Islam, the future spouse gives the dowry, not the wife’s family.  And he’s still talking, most recently in late February for a Belgian organization called Food For Thought, specializing in “setting up stylish, personalized sessions at exclusive locations for a socially aware audience.”

These are the people that are allowed speak for Islam.  Food for thought, indeed.

Ilham Moussaïd. Image via Reuters.

No, the latest uproar comes about Ms. Ilham Moussaïd, a candidate from the New Anti-Capitalist Party (NPA) in France’s upcoming regional elections who dares to “visually” identify herself as a Muslim and stand for election.  Feminists and politicians are up in arms. While not the first candidate with a headscarf, the buzz around Moussaïd’s candidature is something new.

French media is having a field day (“A covered Muslim woman! In a public space!”), and is airing plenty of criticism against Moussaïd. The first criticism:  a practicing member of a religion shouldn’t be a candidate for a left-wing party with roots in European socialism– anything else is showing off for the media.  A member of the Parti Socialiste admonished the NPA’s leader, Olivier Besancenot, to go “reread Marx.” In the government, spokesperson and Education Minister Luc Chatel accused Besancenot of trying to “make himself interesting” (read: relevant), while the State Secretary for Families Nadine Morano called the candidacy “a media coup against Republican values.”

The second criticism: Moussaïd’s veil is “anti-feminist.” European MEP Jean-Luc Mélenchon says that, “You can’t call yourself a feminist while showing off a sign of submission to the patriarchy.” Government member Fadela Amara (who used to belong to French feminist group Ni Putes Ni Soumises), called the issue serious:

“I say to Olivier Besancenot that what he is doing is very serious because he is banalizing the veil and thus banalizing a tool of oppression of women… the veil, it’s not just ten centimeters of fabric, but the sign of a political plot, the oppression of women and the confiscation of women’s rights.”

Note that Amara does not address Moussaïd directly—only her party leader.

In that vein, the lone dissenting feminist voice in the established media comes from the opinion column in Le Monde and is signed by a series of women (including Karima Delli) connected to the Europe Ecologie, a rival party on the left. Some excerpts:

“In this case, everyone makes the veil say what Moussaïd doesn’t say. What this young lady says seems to barely interest all those who condemn her. In fact, her words do not have the right to belong. She is accused of wanting to say what she [doesn’t say at all].”

The reactions of Moussaïd’s own party provoked this statement from Besancenot:

“Our party welcomes the young, the unemployed, those with precarious employment, employees from all walks of life who see themselves in the ideals of [this] party.  Faith is a personal question and would not be an obstacle to participation in our struggle so long as our party’s fundamental landmarks of secularism, feminism and anti-capitalism are sincerely shared.”

However, the NPA isn’t exactly clear on its “headscarf position”—should there even be one?—as one of its speakers, Pierre-François Grond, campaigned for the exclusion of a veiled girl from her high school outside of Paris in 2003.  Furthermore, a few days after his original statement supporting Moussaïd, Besancenot was careful to backtrack during a meeting of the party’s national committee:  “The headscarf is not only a visible religious symbol, but it is also an instrument of subjugation of women used in various forms and at various times by the three monotheistic religions, even if Ilham does not live it like this.” A colleague on the same list says that Moussaïd’s presence on the list shows that “in these neighborhoods, there are women like her, with or without a veil, who can take part in extreme-left politics. The face of French society has changed, and Ilham is one of the parts of this [new] social mix.”

Indeed, Moussaïd has already come out as pro-choice, and for contraception (among other “feminist” values of the French left). Her party credentials appear flawless—yet it’s the headscarf that everyone seems to be caught on.

Moussaïd’s presentation on the list for the upcoming regional election, while seemingly unremarkable, calls into question the French model of secularism both vis-à-vis the French left as well as in French society as a whole.  French “laïcité,” as many scholars have noted, is “exclusive” (secularism means no religion, period).  This is in contrast to American-style secularism, “religious freedom,” which is “inclusive” (no religion should be given priority). Both are used as founding myths for their respective societies.

Even the group Ni Putes Ni Soumises said as much, noting that Moussaïd’s candidacy could open the door for a more “open” interpretation of French secularism, which according to the group, is very bad because (echoing the words of their former leader Ms. Amara), the headscarf is a symbol of the “submission of women to men… illegal in the French Republic.”

What does Moussaïd herself say in the middle of all this?

“I am very sad to see eight years of my life reduced to my headscarf, I am very sad to hear that my personal belief is a danger to others while I advocate friendship, respect, tolerance, solidarity and equality for all human beings.”

In a media flurry of opinions, Moussaïd’s says it all.