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OPINION - FRANCE'S VEIL BAN

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OPINION: When France banned the burqa it ‘created a monster’

A French professor who has spent years studying the impact of France's burqa ban tells The Local it has been a "complete failure" and even helped create a real threat to France.

OPINION: When France banned the burqa it 'created a monster'
Has France's so-called burqa ban been successful? Not for some critics. Photo: AFP

Five years after France introduced its controversial ban on wearing the full Islamic face veil in public, the subject still bitterly divides opinion.

While public opinion polls suggest most French are in favour of the so-called 2010 burqa ban, as is the Socialist government, some experts who have studied its impact tell a different story.

Agnès de Féo, a sociologist and filmmaker who has explored the subject for ten years and studied the impact of the 2010 law, says it has been “a total failure”.

‘We created a monster’

She argues it has both encouraged Islamophobia as well as given Muslim extremists more cause to feel the need to rise up against the French state.

“We created a monster,” De Féo tells The Local.

“Those who have left to go and fight in Syria say that this law is one of things that encouraged them. They saw it as a law against Islam. It had the effect of sending a message that Islam was not welcome in France,” she says.


(A woman wearing a niqab (C) arrives to visit the yearly meeting of French Muslims organized by the Union of Islamic Organisations of France (UOIF) in Le Bourget, outside Paris, on April 6, 2012. Photo: AFP)

The 2,000 or so women who wore the niqab before 2010, “were hardly a threat to French culture or society” De Feo says, unlike the home-grown jihadists who represent a real menace to social cohesion in the country.

“These are people who want to kill, they want to be martyrs,” she says.

In May last year the French government said there were 137 French women fighting in the Middle East, including 45 teenagers.

Defenders of the 2010 law, brought in under the presidency of Nicolas Sarkozy, argued that its main aim as part of a security measure to bar anyone from being able to hide their identity in public.

Secondly supporters said it would help promote freedom and respect for women. Those who flout the ban are subject to €150 fines, while some undergo citizenship courses.

But critics, like De Féo argued at the time that the law was simply brought in to win votes and pander to Islamophobes.

“Islamophobia works very well in France,” she says. “Both on the right and the left”.

“People had the impression that the women wearing the veil were abused by men. But in ten years I have never met a woman who was forced to wear the veil by a man,” she says.

“People presented this cliché that Muslim women needed to be saved from men.”

De Féo says the 2010 ban has only helped to normalise and encourage Islamophobia in France.

“We now live in a society where people think it’s normal to insult Muslim women wearing the full veil just because they are disobeying the law,” she says, pointing to several unsavoury incidents in recent years including women being attacked and having their veils pulled off their faces.


( A picture taken on January 9, 2014, shows a woman wearing a niqab, a type of full veil, as she walks in a street in the center of Roubaix. Photo: AFP)

“The more these women are insulted, the more they feel they are not accepted in France. It’s a total rupture with society.”

She argues the law has encouraged the kind of “communitarianism”, which France is ever desperate to avoid, because those who insist on wearing the niqab stay in the housing estates where they live.

“The don’t leave for fear of being insulted or stopped by police,” de Féo says.

Before 2010 there were considered to be only around 2,000 Muslim women wearing the veil in France, but according to De Féo the motivation for many women who wear the veil now has altered.

Many niqab wearers are young converts, single women and often divorced.

“Before the ban most Muslim women wore the veil for religious reasons,” she says. “Now a lot of the women who wear the niqab, started doing so after the law was introduced. They converted to Islam and began wearing the veil because it became an identity to them.

“For them it’s an act of resistance against the state, just like the punk or skinhead movements. That’s why they are happy to pay their €150 fines.”

Nicolas Cadenne from France Secularism Observatory agreed.

“Certain women who wear the veil just want to provoke. They wear it in public to cause annoyance or fear and they are not scared of the police,” he told The Local.


(Women protesting the burqa ban in 2010 show identity cards to police. Photo: AFP)

One niqab-wearing woman in France confirmed that view to Le Monde newspaper.

“It’s my way of fighting, to say no to the government, who took away my liberty,” said a woman named Leila who began wearing the veil after 2010.

That view is backed up by the figures released from France’s interior ministry to coincide with the five year anniversary since the law was brought in.

Since the burqa-ban came into force a total of 1,623 stops have been made by police and 1,546 fines of €150 given out, but only against 908 women.

That’s because many of those controls have involved stopping repeat offenders. Indeed one woman has been fined 33 times and five women have been fined more than 14 times each.

And the number of fines being handed out is on the rise, with 234 being issued in 2011 compared to 397 in 2014.

The way the law has been applied has also been a problem with many police officers more inclined to turn a blind eye, especially in sensitive suburbs, where relations between local youths and police are already fraught.

In 2013 one police check on a woman wearing the veil provoked three days of rioting.

Despite the views of De Féo and other critics, the ban seems here to stay.

In 2014 it was given the backing of the European Court of Human Rights.

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OPINION AND ANALYSIS

OPINION: Why Germans’ famed efficiency makes the country less efficient

Germans are famous for their love of efficiency - and impatience that comes with it. But this desire for getting things done as quickly as possible can backfire, whether at the supermarket or in national politics, writes Brian Melican.

OPINION: Why Germans' famed efficiency makes the country less efficient

A story about a new wave of “check-outs for chatting” caught my eye recently. In a country whose no-nonsense, “Move it or lose it, lady!” approach to supermarket till-staffing can reduce the uninitiated to tears, the idea of introducing a slow lane with a cashier who won’t sigh aggressively or bark at you for trying to strike up conversation is somewhere between quietly subversive and positively revolutionary – and got me thinking.

Why is it that German supermarket check-outs are so hectic in the first place?

READ ALSO: German supermarkets fight loneliness with slower check outs for chatting

If you talk to people here about it – other Germans, long-term foreign residents, and keen observers on shorter visits – you’ll hear a few theories.

One is that Germans tend to shop daily on the way home from work, and so place a higher premium on brisk service than countries where a weekly shop is more common; and it is indeed a well-researched fact that German supermarket shopping patterns are higher-frequency than in many comparable countries.

Bavarian supermarket

A sign at a now-famous supermarket in Bavaria advertises a special counter saying “Here you can have a chat”. Photo: picture alliance/dpa | Karl-Josef Hildenbrand

Another theory is that, in many parts of the country (such as Bavaria), supermarket opening hours are so short that there is no other way for everyone to get their shopping done than to keep things ticking along at a good old clip.

The most simple (and immediately plausible) explanation, of course, is that supermarkets like to keep both staffing and queuing to a minimum: short-staffing means lower costs, while shorter queues make for fewer abandoned trolleys.

German love of efficiency

Those in the know say that most store chains do indeed set average numbers of articles per minute which their cashiers are required to scan – and that this number is higher at certain discounters notorious for their hard-nosed attitude.

Beyond businesses’ penny-pinching, fast-lane tills are a demonstration of the broader German love of efficiency: after all, customers wouldn’t put up with being given the bum’s rush if there weren’t a cultural premium placed on smooth and speedy operations.

Then again, as many observers not yet blind to the oddness of Germany’s daily ‘Supermarket Sweep’ immediately notice, the race to get purchases over the till at the highest possible rate is wholly counter-productive: once scanned, the items pile up faster than even the best-organised couple can stow away, leaving an embarrassing, sweat-inducing lull – and then, while people in the queue roll their eyes and huff, a race to pay (usually in cash, natch’).

In a way, it’s similar to Germany’s famed autobahns, on which there is theoretically no speed limit and on which some drivers do indeed race ahead – into traffic jams often caused by excessive velocity.

Yes, it is a classic case of more haste, less speed. We think we’re doing something faster, but actually our impatience is proving counterproductive.

German impatience

This is, in my view, the crux of the issue: Germans are a hasty bunch. Indeed, research shows that we have less patience than comparable European populations – especially in retail situations. Yes, impatience is one of our defining national characteristics – and, as I pointed out during last summer’s rail meltdown, it is one of our enduring national tragedies that we are at once impatient and badly organised.

As well as at the tills and on the roads, you can observe German impatience in any queue (which we try to jump) and generally any other situation in which we are expected to wait.

Think back to early 2021, for instance, when the three-month UK-EU vaccine gap caused something approaching a national breakdown here, and the Health Minister was pressured into buying extra doses outside of the European framework.

This infuriated our neighbours and deprived developing countries of much-needed jabs – which, predictably, ended up arriving after the scheduled ones, leaving us with a glut of vaccines which, that very autumn, had to be destroyed.

A health worker prepares a syringe with the Comirnaty Covid-19 vaccine by Biontech-Pfizer. Photo: John MACDOUGALL / AFP

Now, you can see the same phenomenon with heating legislation: frustrated by the slow pace of change, Minister for Energy and the Economy Robert Habeck intended to force property owners to switch their heating systems to low-carbon alternatives within the next few years.

The fact that the supply of said alternatives is nowhere near sufficient – and that there are too few heating engineers to fit them – got lost in the haste…

The positive side of impatience

This example does, however, reveal one strongly positive side of our national impatience: if well- directed, it can create a sense of urgency about tackling thorny issues. Habeck is wrong to force the switch on an arbitrary timescale – but he is right to try and get things moving.

In most advanced economies, buildings are responsible for anything up to 40 percent of carbon emissions and, while major industrials have actually been cutting their CO2 output for decades now, the built environment has hardly seen any real improvements.

Ideally, a sensible compromise will be reached which sets out an ambitious direction of travel – and gets companies to start expanding capacity accordingly, upping output and increasing the number of systems which can be replaced later down the line. Less haste now, more speed later.

The same is true of our defence policy, which – after several directionless decades – is now being remodelled with impressive single-mindedness by a visibly impatient Boris Pistorius.

As for the check-outs for chatting, I’m not sure they’ll catch on. However counterproductive speed at the till may be, I just don’t see a large number of us being happy to sacrifice the illusion of rapidity so that a lonely old biddy can have a chinwag. Not that we are the heartless automatons that makes us sound like: Germany is actually a very chatty country.

It’s just that there’s a time and a place for it: at the weekly farmer’s markets, for instance, or at the bus stop. The latter is the ideal place to get Germans talking, by the way: just start with “About bloody time the bus got here, eh?” So langsam könnte der Bus ja kommen, wie ich finde…

READ ALSO: 7 places where you can actually make small talk with Germans

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