‘It’s my choice. It’s my life’: 9 French Muslim women make themselves seen and heard in headscarves
Banning the burqa won’t stop these powerhouses from fighting ‘state-sponsored’ Islamaphobia, Ruby Mellen and France Keyser are told
Your support helps us to tell the story
From reproductive rights to climate change to Big Tech, The Independent is on the ground when the story is developing. Whether it's investigating the financials of Elon Musk's pro-Trump PAC or producing our latest documentary, 'The A Word', which shines a light on the American women fighting for reproductive rights, we know how important it is to parse out the facts from the messaging.
At such a critical moment in US history, we need reporters on the ground. Your donation allows us to keep sending journalists to speak to both sides of the story.
The Independent is trusted by Americans across the entire political spectrum. And unlike many other quality news outlets, we choose not to lock Americans out of our reporting and analysis with paywalls. We believe quality journalism should be available to everyone, paid for by those who can afford it.
Your support makes all the difference.It was, to many observers, just an ordinary campaign poster. Two women and two men, dressed in business casual, stood smiling in front of what looked like a park. Above their heads, in bold but cheery font, read the words “Different, but united for you!” in French.
But the candidate on the left, Sara Zemmahi, was wearing a headscarf – a decision that has become decidedly unordinary in French politics.
Zemmahi, a 26-year-old Muslim woman and lab technician, was running in local elections in Montpellier beginning Sunday with the backing of French President Emmanuel Macron’s party, Republique En Marche. The party withdrew its support over the poster in May; its general secretary, Stanislas Guerini, said its values were “not compatible” with “wearing ostentatious religious symbols” on a campaign document.
Sara Zemmahi, 26, is running for local office in Montpellier.
“It’s part of my personality. It’s part of me, but it doesn’t prevent me from being a French citizen, from working in my neighbourhood, from participating. I’m free, I work, I have a diploma. It’s part of me, but it doesn’t prevent me from doing anything.”
“For me, with or without a veil, I continue to work in my neighbourhood, and that’s the end of it.”
The controversy was the latest to bring the issue of the headscarf back into the conversation in France, whose secularism has for years imposed restrictions on where and when Muslim women can wear head and face coverings. In April, the French Senate voted to bar girls under 18 from wearing headscarves in public – a move that is unlikely to become law because it lacks political support in the legislature’s lower house and is widely seen as unconstitutional. Another amendment would prevent mothers who wear hijab from accompanying their children on school trips.
In 2010, the government passed legislation banning full face coverings, including the burqa and niqab, in public, citing concerns about safety and inequality. In 2004, France passed a law banning overt religious symbols – such as head coverings – in public schools.
“It’s nothing new,” said Rim-Sarah Alouane, a French legal scholar and expert in religious freedom. “It’s interesting to see that more Muslims are being constantly accused of not assimilating, not taking part in society. It’s not true. The more they’re participating in society and democratic life, the more it becomes a problem.”
Zemmahi and the three candidates on her ticket are running as independents. “We’re not giving up,” she told Reuters. “This is my neighborhood, I was born here. The headscarf wasn’t an issue for the four of us.”
She’s a clear but rare voice in the debate. Analysts noted that when the issue emerges in French politics, Muslim women’s voices are usually glaringly absent from the conversation.
While Zemmahi’s story captured national attention, Muslim women throughout France – teachers, writers, entrepreneurs, mothers – face challenges around their headscarves every day.
In 2021, we are forced to choose between staying home or taking off the veil to have a career
Nine of them told The Washington Post their stories. Though many in France may see it as a symbol of submissiveness, for these women, the hijab is a symbol of strength and commitment to their culture and religion.
(Translations have been edited for clarity and brevity.)
Nawel Boumedhdi, 33, lives in Nice.
“People think that all veiled women are the same, that the one in Saudi Arabia is the same as the one in the US or the one in France. But we’re all different, with different values, with different histories and with different legacies. We are diverse in our complexities and our unity.”
“I’m Nawel Boumedhdi. There is just one. I have my hobbies, my passions, my jobs. I want to be defined by my actions, my ambitions, my projects, my values. And not by what I wear.”
Saliha Koussa, 57, is a writer who lives in Cannes.
“Once again, we see men with power decide what women should wear.”
“[They say:] ‘We give them the veil, they have to wear it. We don’t give them the veil, they can’t wear it. Women should stay home. They can’t supervise school outings, they can’t go swim, they can’t do sports.’ We have to be invisible.”
Amira Zeiter, 31, is a caregiver living in Saint Jeannet.
“The more we talk about Islam, the veil or separatism, the more we’re singled out in the street... It creates a state-sponsored Islamophobia, as well as Islamophobia in our daily lives.”
“While I’m allowed to wear the veil in a private space, I chose to take it off at work because I wanted to avoid stupid criticism from my colleagues. But they found out that I was wearing the veil outside of work ... and I had to take days off of work because I was tired of hearing them say, ‘Oh, Amira is going to plant a bomb!’ All because I was wearing the veil.”
Nathalie Bendjilali, 44, is a stay-at-home mother of seven and lives in Marseille.
“This latest legislation goes against the republic’s values. We are one community: the French community. Just because we are visibly Muslim it doesn’t mean we can’t be an integral part of the French Republic.”
“We’re in France, we all have a choice. Most women in France choose to wear it. If tomorrow I want to take it off and start wearing short skirts, it’s my personal choice, and no one can prevent me from doing that.”
Lili, 40, is a writer and mother of three in Nice. She agreed to speak on the condition that The Washington Post withhold her last name to protect her privacy.
“During school outings, a veiled mother doesn’t go around asking if the kids believe in God. They are there to make sure nothing happens to the kids.”
“Children have an innocent outlook on the world. When they see a mum, they say, ‘That’s his or her m’m.’ They don’t see the veil. What we’re doing is imposing on kids a stereotype that they didn’t see before; the stereotype of the stupid veiled woman who doesn’t talk about anything, who doesn’t master the language of Moliere, who doesn’t have an opinion.”
Hager Barkous, 27, is a student living in Nice. She said she was fired from her job in 2018 because her employer deemed that she wasn’t following the company dress code.
“Being able to wear the veil is a right guaranteed by the constitution and the universal declaration of human rights. But in France, that’s not how we live it. Each time, we have to justify why we wear the veil. When you go to a job interview, you’re not asked about your competencies, you’re asked about the veil.”
“In 2021, we are forced to choose between staying home or taking off the veil to have a career. We are told that a veiled woman is submissive, but it’s society and today’s laws that make her submissive.”
Najla Marzouki, 34, is an entrepreneur with a master’s in risk management living in Nice.
“People look at us oddly. When the media talks about ‘separatism,’ it creates a false equivalence. I can see it in people’s eyes.”
“We wear the veil, but we have a brain under that veil. It’s a brain that allows me to communicate, to talk, to love. We are human beings with or without the veil.”
Ines Lachhab, 46, has seven children and lives in Nice. She has applied for citizenship twice and has been denied twice - once because of her headscarf, she said.
“French society is so focused on the veil, but the veil doesn’t hurt anyone. Most people think that a veiled woman is a submissive woman, that she’s oppressed.”
“But my husband doesn’t even practice Islam. I’m free. It’s my choice. It’s my life.”
Nora Belmahi, 43, is a life coach who lives in Nice.
“There is a minority of extremists in Islam, but people just put everyone in the same basket. Meanwhile, most Muslims live in peace.”
“What I want to say to veiled women is to continue to fight. Those who have diplomas: Start your own businesses. Be confident. We have to show our competence, our potential. We have to be motivated. We have to be proud of our religion, of our veil.”
© The Washington Post
Join our commenting forum
Join thought-provoking conversations, follow other Independent readers and see their replies
Comments