Citizenship and Religion: A Fundamental Challenge for Democracy [1st ed.] 9783030546090, 9783030546106

Citation preview

Citizenship and Religion A Fundamental Challenge for Democracy Edited by Maurice Blanc Julia Droeber Tom Storrie

Citizenship and Religion

Maurice Blanc  •  Julia Droeber Tom Storrie Editors

Citizenship and Religion A Fundamental Challenge for Democracy

Editors Maurice Blanc University of Strasbourg Strasbourg, France

Julia Droeber Ludwigsburg University of Education Ludwigsburg, Germany

Tom Storrie Honorary Director of Consett College of Higher & Further Education Durham, UK

ISBN 978-3-030-54609-0    ISBN 978-3-030-54610-6 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-54610-6 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive licence to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG. The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

Preface

The present book has its origin within a francophone research network, which brings together colleagues from several countries from around the Mediterranean Sea. They regularly met and exchanged ideas in order to consider the theme of ‘sustainable development and social bonding’ (développement durable et lien social). This work relies upon a social science perspective and, at the exploratory stage of a research on the relationship between Humankind and Nature, an unexpected result of our discussions was the emergence of Citizenship and Religion as key issues. This was the starting point of this book, giving the authors the opportunity to structure their thoughts on these issues.

F rom Humankind and Nature to Citizenship and Religion In 1987, the famous Bruntland Report1 offered the concept of ‘sustainability’ as a path towards the reconciliation of the Nature with the Economy and the Society. However, it severely under-estimated the many  Report of the World Commission on Environment and Development: Our Common Future. https://sustainabledevelopment.un.org/content/documents/5987our-common-future.pdf. 1

v

vi Preface

obstacles to its acceptance, specifically in the religious, political and also economic fields: ‘productivism’ found its legitimation in the Bible when God gave to Adam and Eve the ‘mission’ to submit Nature. Underdeveloped countries saw in the sustainable development a trick used by ‘Western’ countries for maintaining their domination by preventing them to get access to technical ‘modernity’. Wars may have political and/or religious causes; they do not only kill and wound human beings but also destroy Nature. Turning back to Ancient Greece, the myth of Antigone is a good introduction to the complex relationship between citizenship and religion. Antigone was the daughter of Oedipus and, after her father’s death, she acted as a citizen when she ignored the arbitrary orders given by her uncle Creon, who had full powers: he was at the same time head of the family and, as a King, the political and religious leader of the city. Antigone gave her brother a decent funeral and, for doing so, she was condemned to death. This form of ‘heroic citizenship’ has two main features: it is an insurgent citizenship and it considers humanist values have precedence on unacceptable political rules. However, other forms of citizenship also play their part in this book. After a long historical process, which cannot be described here, these three levels—political, religious and familial (including the domination by males of their female partners)—became relatively autonomous but never fully independent. This is the reason why the changes in their relationship today need to be explored in more detail. The current coronavirus crisis is part of this multi-facetted world crisis, raising the issues of equality and solidarity among human beings and their relationship with nature. The illegal trafficking of wild animals in Asia is suspected to be a powerful factor in the worldwide dissemination of the pandemic. This is a major reason for linking health with environment, but it is not enough: as fundamental values are at stake, both citizenship and religion must also be taken into account, but how?

 Preface 

vii

How to Deal with Such Complex Issues? The contributors to this volume were and are very aware that some forms of religious fundamentalism now constitute one very powerful and negative element currently fuelling many conflicts and ‘terrorist’ activities across the world. This seriously distracts attention away from the imminent environmental crisis, which now threatens the world as a whole. Environment policy can no longer be considered as a ‘sectorial’ policy: as in many other fields, it can only be addressed within a global policy. The approach used here is innovative. Every contributor presents his/ her own ideological and/or religious attachments. It is unusual as most researchers consider their personal link with religion as a private matter, which should neither appear nor interfere in the scientific sphere. Neutrality is of course an essential requirement, but the path towards neutrality is arguable. Religious attachments have an unconscious influence on the analysis as long as they are not explicitly taken into account. They need to be expressed in order to be ‘neutralised’ by a reflexive analysis, as suggested for instance by Anthony Giddens (1990). As well as the highly relevant issue dealt with here, its ‘dialogical’ approach makes this project unique. The model used attempts to replicate the movement of a successful conversation, exchanges between persons who have taken the trouble to listen to each other and who can then work reflexively on their differences, disagreements and misunderstandings while remaining in sympathy with each other.2 Strasbourg, France Ludwigsburg, Germany 

Maurice Blanc Julia Droeber

 A special issue in French was a first milestone in this long process: Storrie, T. & Blanc, M. (Eds.) (2018). Citoyennetés, Laïcités et Religions autour de la Méditerranée, Pensée plurielle, no. 47. https://www.cairn.info/revue-pensee-plurielle-2018-1.htm. 2

Acknowledgements

Finishing this book, we have a special thought for our friend, Tom Storrie, who was the driving force behind this project, until his death in July 2018. Fortunately, he concluded his two contributions shortly before leaving us. We also thank his family who used to be supportive of this book project.

ix

Contents

1 Introduction: Citizenship, Religion and Moral Values  1 Maurice Blanc, Julia Droeber, and Tom Storrie 1 Our Struggles with Citizenship, Religion and Secularism   4 2 Is Religion a Resource or a Barrier for Active Citizenship?   6 References  9 Part I Our Struggles with Citizenship, Religion, and Secularism  11 2 Citizenship and Religion: A British Perspective 13 Tom Storrie 1 A Personal Retrospective: Solidarities and Reforms  13 2 New Citizenship Dimensions  19 3 Tipping-Point in Space and Time  21 4 Religious Disaffiliation and Local Religious War  23 5 The Return of Religion  26 6 What Framework for What Citizenship?  29 References 32

xi

xii Contents

3 Citizenship, Secularism and Religion: A ‘Triangle’ in Permanent Tension 35 Maurice Blanc 1 ‘Where I’m Speaking From’  37 2 Secularities (laïcités) and the Place of Religions in the Public Domain  44 3 Citizenship, Public and Private  49 4 Conclusion: Taking Religion Seriously but Without Complacency 53 References 54 4 How Is It Possible to Be Muslim in France? 57 Bruno Michon 1 Retrospective  58 2 Muslim Impossible? Towards an Anthropological Understanding of Religion  64 3 Catho-Laicity  66 4 The Laicity of Incompetence  67 5 A Feminist Secularism  68 6 And Then Came Those Acts of Terrorism  69 7 Sociology and Expertise  70 References 72 5 Are Algerian Women Full Citizens? 75 Cherifa Bouatta 1 Introduction  75 2 The Constitution, the Family Code and the Women’s Fight 78 3 Some Historical References  80 4 Mobilisation for Equality  83 5 The Islamists and the Construction of the Enemy  84 6 The Electoral Victory of the Islamic Front and the ‘Black Decade’ 86 7 The Women’s Struggle and Their Situation After Terrorist Violence 89

 Contents 

xiii

8 And Citizenship?  91 9 ‘At My Age, I Still Hide When I Want To Smoke’  92 10 Conclusion: Algerian Hirak, and Women’s Hopes and Anxieties for a Better Future  94 References 95 6 Citizenship Under Occupation 97 Bilal Shafei 1 Introduction: To Be Born in an Occupied Territory  97 2 Double or Triple Citizenship  98 3 How Palestinians Felt These Discriminations? 100 4 The Palestinian Identity 101 5 The Discovery of a New Citizenship 103 6 Teaching Citizenship 106 7 Citizenship and the Future 109 References109 7 ‘Ecumenical’ Citizenships and Belonging111 Julia Droeber 1 A Religious Journey 112 2 Ecumenic Practice 116 3 Citizenship as Belonging and Community 117 4 Developing Citizens 120 5 Ecumenical Citizenship 123 References124 Part II Is Religion a Resource or a Barrier for Active Citizenship? 127 8 It’s the Culture, Stupid!: Cultures Maintain a Strong Hold on Their Members129 Tom Storrie 1 What Unites Us 129 2 Religion Is Not Disappearing 133 3 Theology Versus Theocracy 134

xiv Contents

4 The Reformation: A Liberation Theology 135 5 Schism, Civil Wars and the Triumph of Protestantism 136 6 Beyond Theocracy 138 7 Dissent: A Democratic Necessity 139 8 Where Now? 140 9 The Golden Rule 142 10 Rebalancing in Favour of the Negative 144 11 Beyond Fraternity 146 12 Conclusion 147 References149 9 The Elusiveness of the Word ‘Citizenship’ in Connection to Religion151 Bilal Shafei 1 The Arab-Muslim Context 151 2 Definition of Terms 154 3 War of Terminology or Concepts (Language Conflict)? 155 4 Cultures or Religion 157 5 Conclusion 164 References165 10 Daughters Against Fathers: How Islam Builds a New Social Fabric in Contemporary Algeria167 Cherifa Bouatta 1 Patriarchy 168 2 Re-islamisation 171 3 The ‘Supermuslim’ Males and Females 173 4 The Psychological Processes Characterising ‘Supermuslim’ Women 177 5 Conclusion 181 References183

 Contents 

xv

11 French Youth and Secularism: Towards Social Polarisation185 Bruno Michon 1 Secularism(s), Democracy and the Republic: A Polarized Debate187 2 Survey Presentation 190 3 The Veil as a Vector of Social Polarization 192 4 Conclusion 199 Appendix: Summary Table of Survey Population 200 References200 12 The Place of Islam Within a Secular France and Europe: How to Avoid the Traps of the So-Called Islamic Extremism?203 Maurice Blanc 1 Introduction: Fundamentalisms and Extremisms 203 2 Migrant Workers and Their Religions 208 3 Secularism and Islam in France 212 4 The Roots of an Extremism Claiming to Be Islamic 215 5 Stakes and Challenges of the Fight Against Extremism 219 6 Conclusion 225 References226 13 ‘Islam Does Not Belong to Germany’ or How Some German Citizens Have Rediscovered Religions231 Julia Droeber 1 Religion and German Citizenship 234 2 Muslim ‘Others’ and Citizenship 236 3 Integrating Muslims 240 4 Conclusion 245 References246

xvi Contents

14 Conclusion: Where Do We Go from Here?249 Julia Droeber and Maurice Blanc 1 How to Reduce the Conceptual Ambiguities of Citizenship and Religion? 250 2 The Interactions Between Citizenship and Religion 256 3 Citizenship, Religion, and Extended Complexity 263 References263 Index267

Notes on Contributors

Maurice Blanc  is Emeritus Professor of Urban Sociology in University of Strasbourg. His research deals with residents’ participation, local democracy and citizenship in poor and/or multi-ethnic neighbourhoods in France and Europe. He is director of the book series Sociétés urbaines et rurales (Érès éditions) and a member of the Espaces et Sociétés editorial board. Cherifa Bouatta  is a clinical psychologist. She retired as a professor at the University Algiers 2. She is active in the field of therapy for women victims of abuse. She is managing editor of the Algerian journal Psychologie and chairwoman of SARP association (Aide, Recherche et Perfectionnement en Psychologie). Julia Droeber  is Assistant Professor of Islamic Pedagogy at Ludwigsburg University of Education, Germany. She is an anthropologist and did fieldwork in the Middle East (mainly Palestine) and Central Asia. Her research interests are in inter-religious relations, gender, contemporary Muslim societies and religious minorities. Bruno  Michon  is head of the research department École supérieure européenne en intervention sociale (ESEIS), Strasbourg, France. His research interests are secularization, youth and indifference. His current xvii

xviii 

Notes on Contributors

focus is on prevention of violent radicalization and his recent book is Ce que les adolescents savent des religions (What Teenagers Know About Religions, 2019). Bilal Shafei  is a professor in Nablus University, Palestine. He is a former director of Public & International Relations, head of the French Department and director of the Linguistic Resource Centre. His research interests include misconceptions, misunderstandings and ambiguities within and across cultures. Tom Storrie  was principal of colleges of further and higher education in the UK. He was involved with the Franco-German Office for Youth for enlarging bi-national exchanges into European youth exchanges. His research interests are unemployment, intercultural learning, citizenship and environment. He was a visiting fellow in Nablus University, Palestine (United Nations Chair for Peace).

1 Introduction: Citizenship, Religion and Moral Values Maurice Blanc, Julia Droeber, and Tom Storrie

Most academic and specialist books deal with either citizenship or religion alone. Recently, some authors have tried to bring the two aspects together (e.g. Nyhagen and Halsaa 2016). Citizenship and religion may combine in different ways. They may cooperate, each one strengthening the other; positively, when the members of a church find in their religion good reasons for taking care of their fellow citizens; negatively, when they make an alliance against a third party, for instance the alliance between the church and the army in the colonisation process. They also may fight Tom Storrie was deceased at the time of publication.

M. Blanc (*) University of Strasbourg, Strasbourg, France e-mail: [email protected] J. Droeber Ludwigsburg University of Education, Ludwigsburg, Germany T. Storrie Honorary Director of Consett College of Higher & Further Education, Durham, UK © The Author(s) 2020 M. Blanc et al. (eds.), Citizenship and Religion, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-54610-6_1

1

2 

M. Blanc et al.

each other and citizens may have good reasons to believe churches are taking an excessive part in the affairs of the city. Should we consider secularism as being often at risk to act religiously (Baubérot 2012) their quarrel is in a way an extension of religion wars. The authors of this book have met regularly for a couple of years, confronting how the issues related to citizenship and religion are taken into account in their respective countries. A first step was a publication in French (Storrie and Blanc 2018). Now this book examines the relationship between these two key social issues, as what Tom Storrie calls a single ‘double problematic’ (meaning the unification of two previously autonomous problematics). This problematic is ever more burning in today’s world. It has become profoundly important for the wellbeing as well as the security of all peoples across the world. Far from witnessing the predicted ‘death’ of religion in a post-­modern world, the authors observe the ‘return’ of religion to centre stage in recent decades. In the first stage, each of the six co-authors wrote a chapter included in Part I. Intended as a personal account, these chapters present how every author understands the relationship between citizenship and religion in the light of his/her personal experience over time with his/her own particular historical and cultural background. Part I is intended to establish a basis of mutual understanding among the co-authors, from which each may then undertake to write a second chapter (in Part II), allowing everyone to take issue with this or that point of view put forward by another or others. In the second stage, the co-authors had to rethink their chapters in the light of all previous contributions and to produce either a chapter on a new issue (such as the training of future Islam teachers in German state schools, ‘Supermuslim’ women in Algeria etc.) or an updated and more developed version of their initial thoughts. The contributors hope the readers will join them in this conversation and enlarge it. The analytical distinction between ‘religion’ and ‘religiosity’ is very useful here. A religion is an institution with its rules of entrance and exclusion; linguists suggest two Latin origins: religare, meaning to bind together, and relegere, meaning to read again and/or to re-interpret. Religiosity is the subjective feeling of a personal dialogue with a supra human being. What is more, many adherents of different religions across

1  Introduction: Citizenship, Religion and Moral Values 

3

the world appear to have an increasingly fundamentalist and intolerant outlook, which has strongly contributed to outbreaks of deadly violence, which may now explode at any time or place in our global village. Tzvetan Todorov describes the trap in which we all are ensnared: The West and the predominantly Islamic countries are often seen as standing cruelly opposed to each other. Western fears are pitted against the resentments and anger of the Other: Fear of the barbarian is what risks turning us into barbarians. The evil that we do can far outdo that which we feared at the start. History teaches that the remedy can be worse than the evil itself. […] The United States incarnates in exemplary fashion this reaction following the attacks of 11th September 2001 either by intervention directly or by encouraging intervention in Afghanistan, Iraq and Lebanon. (Todorov 2010)

Overcoming this reciprocal fear is a major challenge. In the Oxford Research Group, Abbott et al. (2007) rightly argue: ‘(i) Terrorism is not the greatest threat in the world. (ii) The “war on terror” is failing and actually increasing the likelihood of more terrorist attacks. (iii) Climate change is a major security concern; fortunately, we have the means to address it, but it is an urgent issue.’ These three issues do not concern national states only but also the citizenry as a whole. Citizenship takes two forms, which are complementary to some extent: either a statutory citizenship, formally granted by the state, or an active citizenship, inviting citizens to play their part and to take care collectively of their common good. In this sense, citizens become the main actors committed to sustainable development preparing a better future for both the planet and humanity. An enlarged democracy is a necessary pre-­ condition (Ben Rhomdane 2007). However, when they use the rhetoric of ‘active citizenship’, governments tend to cover their own weaknesses: [UK Prime Minister] Thatcher’s ‘active citizen’ is based on the idea that an individual has obligations rather than rights and that the vessel for the exercise of these obligations is civil society rather than the state or welfare state. […] Margaret Thatcher simply proposed to reduce the role of the state. (Espiet-Kilty 2016)

4 

M. Blanc et al.

For her, an ‘active citizen’ is an individual alone and not a member of a citizenry. He/she practices charity with the poor, that is, a form of solidarity between unequal partners and without reciprocity (Simmel [1908] 1999). Similarly in France, during the 2020 confinement period, President Macron invoked active citizenship for solving problems created by irrelevant state policies against coronavirus.

1

 ur Struggles with Citizenship, Religion O and Secularism

The aim is to picture the common ground among the group, taking into account the irreducible disagreements at the same time. It appears all of the co-authors were educated in religion, either Catholic, Protestant or Muslim. However, they all are now against religious sectarianism and open to a tolerant secularism. The initial instruction received different interpretations: some co-authors put the emphasis on their family education, others on the role of peer groups when they were teenagers and/or young adults and others on the historical context in their respective countries. Tom Storrie was an educationist. He presents two events that played an important part in his conceptualisation of the relationship between citizenship and religion: one is positive, the end of the murderous religious war between Catholics and Protestants in Northern Ireland; the other is negative, the Salman Rushdie Affair. In Northern Ireland, the 2007 Peace Treaty was the opportunity to create a government including the ex-enemies and was able to develop a fruitful cooperation. By the end of the 1980s, the Salman Rushdie Affair presents a good example of ‘a single double problematic’: how was an Iranian Ayatollah (both a religious and a political leader) able to condemn to death a British writer without any fair judgement, simply for being ironic and critical about Islam? Here, the religious fully absorbs the political, raising the issue of the links and the borders between citizenship and religion. In France, both Maurice Blanc and Bruno Michon received a Catholic education. They are sociologists and became unbelievers (or atheists, the

1  Introduction: Citizenship, Religion and Moral Values 

5

distinction is very unclear) when they were young adults. For the first one, the youth rebellion in May 1968 was a catalyst. For the second, it was the election for the first time of a Socialist President in France, François Mitterrand, in 1981. France claims to treat every religion on an equal footing. However, as in George Orwell’s Animal farm, ‘some religions are more equal than others’! Secularism takes many forms and is ambiguous: a first form is against any religion, the truth coming from science and not from religion; an opposite form is tolerant towards every religion: it is a private matter and the best the state can do is to keep hands off and not to interfere. A new form of secularism recently emerged: tolerance with old established Christian religions but not with Islam, presumed culturally too different for being acceptable (Baubérot 2012). Such a ‘secularism’ also appeared in the United Kingdom and in Germany. Cherifa Bouatta is a clinical psychologist in Algeria, a country which— after its Independence War which ended in 1962—is formally a Democratic and People’s Republic. But the alliance between Government and Islamic Conservatives is catastrophic for women. The Family Code contradicts the democratic principles mentioned in the Constitution and women remain ‘second class citizens’. Algerian feminists used to be, and still are, victims of many discriminations. The word feminist is controversial and often rejected, as coming from Western countries. The women’s movement includes both feminist (secular) and feminine (Islamic) groups; they may sometimes work together, but often against each other. However, women are very active in the current movement against the military regime (called Hirak in Arabic) and some hope appears. Bilal Shafei is a Palestinian linguist who lived in Jordan during his childhood. He describes in a very sensitive way how his Palestinian identity suffered from his Jordanian status: his formal citizenship was far from his affective citizenship. Now, although Palestine is a country with a great religious diversity and a formally secular government, Shafei shows how—as in Algeria—a conservative Islam remains very influential, fuelled by the impact of Israeli occupation. Julia Droeber is an anthropologist. She has a Catholic father and a Protestant mother; this duality produced for her many tensions as a young child in German cities and schools. As a young anthropologist, she lived for long periods in different countries around the world. As a

6 

M. Blanc et al.

foreigner coming alone, she felt isolated and entered local religious communities, either Protestant or Orthodox, in order to meet people and be acquainted with them. Affiliation into a religious community is a driving force in the socialisation process into a local community. For Storrie, ‘religions have their legitimate place in the public domain (as does any other social association) but within the framework of the social state’. Every author of this book supports this global view, offering his/her own answer, according to his/her specific understanding.

2

Is Religion a Resource or a Barrier for Active Citizenship?

The relationship between citizenship and religion is rooted in history and its transformation is a very slow process. The famous image of Karl Marx [1852] presenting the revolution as a mole is relevant here: ‘we recognize our old friend, our old mole, who knows so well how to work underground, suddenly to appear: the revolution’. The mole makes a subterraneous destruction of the roots of the capitalist system before surfacing at an unexpected place and time. A revolution needs a long preparation and a longer follow-up. It is very true in the field of ‘citizenship and religion’: cultural changes have a long temporality. Using Orwell’s words again, a ‘New Speak’ may emerge accompanied by cosmetic changes in practice. A radically new rhetoric may go along with a hidden conservatism. In a similar way, when modernity fails, traditional practices may re-appear. Examples coming from the religious field in Palestine, Algeria and the European Union are analysed here. Storrie shows how, at the beginning, the Protestant Reformation was emancipatory in England and Scotland: it introduced freedom of conscience and democracy. However, the institutionalisation of the Reform gave birth to a new theocratic power as rigid as the Catholic one. Improvements are always fragile and provisional. Storrie is critical of the culture of institutions (churches included): they develop a strong inertia and tend to resist change. He believes in the value of ‘prophetic’ actions

1  Introduction: Citizenship, Religion and Moral Values 

7

by individual citizens, such as whistle-blowers, raising the issue of individual versus collective citizenship. In his Palestinian university, Shafei tries to develop a critical thinking among his students. When he presents them with the articles of the Universal Declaration on Human Rights, everyone agrees with their relevance and admits freedom of religion as a fundamental value. However, when the question becomes more concrete: ‘Is a Muslim free to adopt another religion?’ most students answer ‘No’: a non-Muslim is free to become Muslim, but not the reverse! Because of the historical influence of either Britain or France in the ‘Middle East’, Shafei shows how the concepts of citizenship and religion are mainly translations from French (also from English) into Arabic, but with religious connotations that alter their meaning. The issue of translation is a major one, in the field of everyday life and not simply in international conferences. Today, Algeria is going through a major political and social crisis and its outcome is unpredictable. As said earlier, Algerian women’s movements disagree between political feminists claiming for equal rights and ‘Islamic feminists’ who claim a female-friendly interpretation of the Koran. However, a new Islamic women’s group is emerging with unexpected claims: a few Algerian women advocate a return to a ‘pure native Islam’ expressed by women and against male domination, but sexist and conservative at the same time. Bouatta calls them ‘Supermuslim women’, using the psychoanalytical concept of ‘Supermuslim’ created in France by Fethi Benslama (2016). For him, a ‘Supermuslim’ is mainly a young male leaving France in order to experience a full implementation of Islamic values, including fighting against the Syrian dictatorship as a form of solidarity with his Muslim brothers. Bouatta transplants this concept in Algeria to young females seeking a return to a pure original Islam. In doing so, she changes the original meaning of this concept: she emphasises the implementation of Islamic values and not the call to a ‘holy war’. For her, ‘Supermuslim women’ are no real ‘Islamic feminists’: they reject the Islam practiced today in Algeria as no true Islam because many elements of pre-Islamic religions are still incorporated.1 Their claim for ‘Islamic purification’ is rigorous, conservative and out of reach, but they  For historians of religion, such a religious mixing is permanent.

1

8 

M. Blanc et al.

try to impose it onto their families and friends and are sometimes successful. Adversely, many women are involved in the current protest movement emerging from civil society, called Hirak in Arabic. It fuels hopes for a better future, with more equality and justice between Algerian men and women. However, in May 2020, the military regime still resists to gender equality, many male opponents also, and ‘Supermuslim’ women as well; the future is uncertain. Michon wrote his doctoral dissertation on the representations of democracy and religion among French and German teenagers. He presents here the main results, which are interesting and unexpected, with a focus on the French side. He found an opposition between ‘Republicans’ and ‘Democrats’ (unrelated to the political parties in the United States)! Since the French Revolution, the Republican pole considers the central state as responsible for the emancipation of all its citizens from any form of particularism. The distinction between a Republican and a Democratic pole is recent and takes into account the recognition of cultural diversity, which is an impossible challenge for the monolithic and centralist traditional Republican model. However, there is no significant difference between young Muslims and other young people on most issues. When the values of the peer group differ from family values, most teenagers tend to adopt the peer group (and host society) values, but of course not everyone does. Blanc looks first at the radicalisation process in France and in Europe. Jihadism often appears as coming from foreign and barbarous countries. However, an important part of ‘hard-core Jihadists’ are new converts coming from local middle classes and not from a far country. Dealing with Jihadists is complex. Prisons appear as ‘schools of crime’; are they also becoming ‘schools of Jihadism’? In jails, should Jihadists be dispersed among other prisoners? Or isolated together in specific units? Institutional (top down) answers are unfitting and cooperation with civil society (bottom up) is a necessity for long-term solutions. Droeber is a German and Christian anthropologist. She is in the paradoxical situation of teaching Islamic theology to future teachers of Islam in German state schools in a complex political context. On the one hand, the far right has an increasing influence and is strongly against the

1  Introduction: Citizenship, Religion and Moral Values 

9

‘invasion’ of ‘Christian Germany’ by Islam. On the other hand, in most Länder (region-state), the Department of Education wants to introduce the teaching of Islam in state schools in order to reduce the influence of a traditionalist Islam taught (in Arabic or in Turkish) by imams paid by the Embassies of Saudi Arabia or Turkey. In Germany (also in France), an ongoing debate is about the content and meaning of religious education: is it a specific education for the believers of each religion or a global approach of religions for believers and non-believers as well? In the United Kingdom, religious education is for all, regardless of the religious or ideological background of the students (except for denominational schools, of course). Droeber believes a global approach towards religions is a long-term aim. In Muslim families living in Germany, most children have a rather sketchy knowledge of Islamic precepts; therefore, a first stage is required: they need a better knowledge of their own religion before confronting it with others.

References Abbott, C., Sloboda, J., & Rogers, P. (2007). Beyond Terror: The Truth About the Real Threats to Our World. London: Rider & Oxford Research Group. Baubérot, J. (2012). La laïcité falsifiée (Falsified Secularism). Paris: La Découverte. Ben Rhomdane, M. (2007). ‘Développement et démocratie: l’exception tunisienne’ (Development & Democracy: The Tunisian Exception). L’année du Maghreb, 3. Retrieved from http://anneemaghreb.revues.org/390. Benslama, F. (2016). Un furieux désir de sacrifice. Le surmusulman (A Furious Desire of Sacrifice. The Supermuslim). Paris: Seuil. Espiet-Kilty, R. (2016). David Cameron, Citizenship and the Big Society: A New Social Model? Revue française d’études britanniques. Retrieved from https://journals.openedition.org/rfcb/796. Marx, K. (1852). The Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Napoleon Bonaparte. Retrieved from https://www.marxists.org/archive/marx/works/1852/18thbrumaire/ch01.htm.

10 

M. Blanc et al.

Nyhagen, L., & Halsaa, B. (2016). Religion, Gender and Citizenship: Women of Faith, Gender Equality and Feminism. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Simmel, G. (1999 [1908]). Sociologie. Paris: PUF. Storrie, T., & Blanc, M. (Eds.). (2018). Citoyenneté, Laïcité et Religion autour de la Méditerranée (Citizenship, Laicity & Religion Around the Mediterranean Sea), Pensée plurielle, 47. Retrieved from https://www.cairn.info/revuepensee-plurielle-2018-1.htm. Todorov, T. (2010). The Fear of Barbarians: Beyond the Clash of Civilisations. The University of Chicago Press Books.

Part I Our Struggles with Citizenship, Religion, and Secularism

2 Citizenship and Religion: A British Perspective Tom Storrie

1

 Personal Retrospective: Solidarities A and Reforms

I was born in the 1930s in the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. The hegemony then was constructed on a deference held firmly in place by the monarchy at the summit of a simple hierarchy of social classes in which everyone was expected to know his or her own place. This hegemony was bolstered by the perception that the real greatness of the country was at the centre of the British Empire, which then extended over nearly a quarter of the planet. At the same time, dissatisfactions were fomenting in social movements fuelled in particular by the fairly new ideas of socialism, of trade unionism and of political equality for women. This last movement erupted on the socio-political scene Tom Storrie was deceased at the time of publication.

T. Storrie (*) Honorary Director of Consett College of Higher & Further Education, Durham, UK © The Author(s) 2020 M. Blanc et al. (eds.), Citizenship and Religion, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-54610-6_2

13

14 

T. Storrie

shortly before the First World War (1914–18): ‘suffragettes’ embarked on aggressive campaigns of civil disobedience claiming equal political rights with men.1 Universal suffrage was established in 1928, which for the first time granted voting rights to all men and women over the age of 21. At that time, this hegemony was also fully Christian; Sunday was the only day of the week on which commercial activities were forbidden and it was typically spent in suitably discreet leisure activities and religious observances. In the children’s recreation park in my Scottish village, the roundabout, the rocking horse, the slide and the swings were chained and locked up from Saturday evening until Monday morning. This is an example of an austere daily regime in which there was an avoidance of too much expressed emotion in interpersonal relationships, a regime inseparable from the particular model of Protestantism dominant in Scotland. During the sixteenth century, the start of the Protestant Reformation, the Presbyterian denomination quickly became the Scottish Kirk, established in 1567 under the influence of John Knox, in principle independent and with a large measure of governance vested in each of the local congregations. Presbyterianism is directly inspired by the fiercely puritan theology of Jean Calvin (1509–64), where ‘puritan’ here means seeking to purify religion from the hierarchies, traditions, rites and ‘idolatries’ of the Roman Catholic Church. By contrast, the Anglican Church (the national Church of England), although Protestant, is by no means puritan. It was created in 1538 by Henry VIII of England who in seizing it from the Roman Catholic Church declared himself the Head of it in place of the Pope, but largely retained the established hierarchies, traditions and rites. Within these two poles of Protestantism, there are many other variants; two examples of which are the ‘Unitarians’, in contrast to the Trinitarian norm (God is three: Father, Son and Holy Ghost), who do not believe in the divinity of Jesus; and the Quakers, today celebrated as pacifists who risk their lives driving ambulances in war zones, simply demand of their members belief in a unique god so, for example, a Muslim could  In fact the movement for women’s suffrage began in the mid-nineteenth century with the ‘suffragists’ who campaigned vigorously but always remaining within the law, therefore with no acts of transgressive civil disobedience. The ‘suffragettes’, impatient with the lack of progress, emerged at the end of the century but ceased their civil disobedience activities at the outbreak of the First World War. 1

2  Citizenship and Religion: A British Perspective 

15

therefore become a member without renouncing Islam. Protestantism has many forms. In Scotland, the Presbyterian kirk became quickly dominant with the result that there are now fewer other Protestant denominations there than in England. This hegemony has nevertheless been counterbalanced across the centuries by internal schisms within the Presbyterian kirk, caused in large part both by differences of daily practices all more or less (very) austere2 and by dissensions with regard to the strategies to be adopted in order to resist pressures emanating from the government in London3 seeking to re-impose Anglican elements, really a disguised Catholicism, for example a sacerdotal Episcopalian hierarchy. In my childhood in this small village, there was no Catholic church but there were three Presbyterian churches almost side by side. The minority Catholic population each Sunday had to trek out of the village to go to a Catholic seminary discretely situated in the nearby countryside. In the 1930s, it was impossible to imagine the series of multiple radical transformations which very soon materialised. I was a child in primary school during the Second World War (1939–45) at the end of which two marvellous innovations were instituted: a public health system and universal secondary education. These innovations, financed by taxation, were free at the point of need to all users. Access to higher education also soon became available to a growing number of students. For the first time the working classes had access to these social goods becoming part of their citizen’s rights. The British Empire was disintegrating, giving way to newly independent nation-states; at the same time there was a vigorous  A contemporary example: Lord Mackay of Clashfern was the Lord Chancellor (justice minister) in Margaret Thatcher’s government. He was a member of the very strict Free Presbyterian Church of Scotland. In 1988, he was severely reprimanded by his church for the error of having attended a colleague’s funeral in a Roman Catholic Church. He had transgressed the prohibition of giving support ‘to the doctrine of Roman Catholicism’ (Antigone’s myth is not far from this example)! This event in its turn triggered a further schism leading to the creation of the Associated Presbyterian Church. 3  King James VI of Scotland became also James Ist of England in 1603. Monarch of these two independent sovereign States, he governed them both from London and rarely visited Scotland. In 1707, these two countries were unified becoming Great Britain; the government remained firmly in London. This illustrates well that Scottish nationalist resentment as manifested today in the independence referendum in 2014 and the overwhelming success of the Scottish Nationalist Party in the parliamentary election of 2015 has its roots in this history. 2

16 

T. Storrie

and constant immigration from the old Empire, especially from the Caribbean, India and Pakistan, into the ‘mother country’. This immigration exacerbated the racist tendencies in society and the first legal measure was the 1965 Race Relations Act followed in 1975 by legislation promoting gender equality (Sex Discrimination Act) and then in 1976 similar legislation with regard to racism and discrimination against ethnic minorities (another Race Relations Act). At the end of the twentieth century, a third similar piece of legislation was enacted with regard to disabled people, victims of structural disadvantages. These three Acts have produced real progress but with recurring difficulties and failings which illustrate how much cultures—pertaining both to people and to institutions—are profoundly resistant to the changes required. Institutions were required by these Acts to develop and put in place anti-­ racist, anti-sexist and ‘anti-disablist’ policies, backed up by appropriate training programmes for personnel at all levels in public service institutions (education, health, police, social services etc.). In 2006, the Equality Act amalgamated these three Commissions, thereby forming the ‘Equality & Human Rights Commission’ with enlarged responsibilities for race, gender, disability, religion and belief, sexual orientation and age. These measures have produced real progress but with difficulties and set-backs which show the degree to which cultures—of both persons and institutions—are profoundly resistant to the changes required. Yes, British society today has made important advances in raising awareness and modifying conduct in terms of both persons and institutions with regard to structural and cultural inequalities deriving from gender, ethnicity and disability. However, at any moment, one can be confronted by statistics or events which uncover backward movements. For example, an alarming statistic shows that today the police receive a call for help of every minute of the day and night from women subjected to violent aggression, most often from their domestic partner [www.womensaid. org.uk]. And the women who are eventually driven to make these calls can only be a minority of those caught in this trap: therefore despite any progress achieved, very much more remains to be done; but at least the taboo of silence which previously stifled a more general knowledge of this behaviour is starting to evaporate, and this is one indication of real progress.

2  Citizenship and Religion: A British Perspective 

17

The same can be said of the progress of anti-racism in society. Shocking incidents still occur, as the murder in London in 1993 of Stephen Lawrence, a young Black Briton of 18 years stabbed to death by a gang of white youths. The police did not follow up swiftly enough the trail of evidence with appropriate diligence or intelligence. A public report (Macpherson 1999) established that the police services in question were profoundly shot through with an ‘institutional racism’4 and it was only in 2012 that two members of the gang were eventually imprisoned for this crime. Another indication of the evolution of society in this regard is that: Britain now has one of the highest rates of mixed-race relationships anywhere in the occidental world. […] A sizeable proportion (of children of these unions) reject the idea that they have to see themselves as Black just because the Black consciousness movement has led to a renewed insistence on the ‘one drop of black blood makes a person Black’ rule. […] What is new however is that we now have a critical mass of young Britons who see themselves as mixed-race and who wish to challenge many of the assumptions made about them for four centuries. (Alibhai-Brown 2001: pp.  2, 110 & 124)

Since the nineteenth century, abortion was an absolute crime—doctors had no right to intervene, even in extreme cases (e.g. the rape of a very young girl). In these circumstances in order to abort, women in their shame and fear turned to unofficial neighbourhood midwives who operated clandestinely without adequate training or hygiene. Alternatively, without knowing who to turn to and fearful of their family’s reaction, women would try in their ignorance to induce abortion alone in over-hot baths and with knitting needles. In 1967, the Abortion Act was passed which at last allowed the health services to practice abortion with the agreement of two medical doctors that the woman’s physical or mental health was at risk, or that the child risked being born disabled.  Institutional racism is ‘the collective failure of an organisation to provide an appropriate professional service to people because of their colour, culture or ethnic origin. It can be seen or detected in processes, attitudes and behaviour which amount to discrimination through unwitting prejudice, ignorance, thoughtlessness and racist stereotyping which disadvantage minority ethnic people’. 4

18 

T. Storrie

Prostitution and homosexuality were worrying social questions and the government, largely pushed by the desire to clean the streets of prostitutes and to control homosexuality, set up in 1954 the Wolfenden Committee to consider these questions. The Wolfenden Report was in 1957 a notable event which with regard to homosexuality reversed the established official view of four centuries which held that homosexuality was a criminal offence against nature. Wolfenden abolished the confusion here of ‘crime’ and ‘sin’: ‘Homosexual behaviour between consenting adults in private should no longer be a criminal offence. […] It is not the function of the law to intervene in the private lives of citizens or to enforce any particular pattern of behaviour.’ Wolfenden proposed to decriminalise homosexual acts by adults in the intimacy of their private lives. However, one had to wait a further ten years before the government enacted this decriminalisation (Sexual Offences Act 1967). Since then society has evolved remarkably. This can be measured by comparing the attitude of the government in 1967, as expressed by the then Home Secretary (Roy Jenkins): ‘Those who suffer from this handicap carry a great weight of shame all their lives’ (The Times 4/7/1967) and the attitudes today where homosexual persons are less and less minded to hide their preferences in this regard. They openly occupy positions in all professions, members of Parliament and government Ministers; since 2005, civil partnerships of same-sex couples are generally accepted by society as enjoying the same rights before the law as heterosexual couples. In 2012, the South African Archbishop Desmond Tutu wrote. ‘In future, the laws criminalising the many forms of human engagement and love will be seen as the laws of Apartheid, as clearly false’ (The Christian Post 23/7/2012). In 2014, following pressure for complete equality and despite the stubborn resistance from certain religious quarters, notably from Anglicans and Catholics, same-sex couples in the UK obtained the right to be married. The death penalty in the UK was at last abolished in 1965, the last judicial hanging being in 1964.

2  Citizenship and Religion: A British Perspective 

2

19

New Citizenship Dimensions

All these social reforms, innovations and improvements are the result of social movements benefiting from the solidarities generated among the British during the Second World War; citizens of the only European country which resisted invasion and occupation by Hitler’s armies, a successful resistance finally only possible because of the huge military support generated from across the then global British Empire. Victory once gained by the Allies, these solidarities were further strengthened by the new Universal Declaration of Human Rights by the United Nations in 1948, this becoming the source of a new global social movement which in the following decades attracted an increasing number of militants from across the world. We are witnesses to a kind of millennium shift from diplomacy to justice as the dominant principle of global relations […]. The modern history of human rights from an aspiration born of the concentration camp and the gulag to a set of powerful international law propositions to which enforcement mechanisms may be attached, has been accomplished by a movement which now has millions of members throughout the world. (Robinson 1999: 357)

Thus, the supposed inviolability of national sovereignty is breached by the evocation of human rights. Yet another transformation is evident where ‘Nation-States’ agree voluntarily to share certain aspects of their sovereignty of which the European Union is a striking example.5 These two complementary events look forward to the possibility, without guarantees, of the creation of new citizenship frameworks. The EU has its origins in the recent murderous Franco-German history, two countries which, in the short space of an average human life (1870–1945), went to war with each other three times. After this dreadful experience they finally realised that ‘diplomacy’ was insufficient to restrain such international anarchy and that it was necessary to get beyond the Nation-State and invent a ‘regional’ political body seeking a more multicultural and  The United Kingdom in 1973 entered the European Economic Community.

5

20 

T. Storrie

interdependent future, thereby no longer attributing primary and exclusive importance to national identities. No longer drawing inspiration from the blood spilt by the glorious martyrs of yesteryear, this new process is explicitly and interminably transactional, seeking to fashion civil society, civil communities, more able to frame and promote a sustainable and just peace. In the 1930s and 1940s, it was commonplace to hear purely nationalist slogans such as ‘My country, right or wrong’ and ‘Better dead than red’. From the 1970s, I began to develop the astonishing idea, previously absolutely impossible, that I was an embryonic European citizen, without having any real idea of what that might become. I was willingly carried along by this new social movement and devoted my energies to it for the prize of a durable peace such as no one had previously conceived. The supposed homogeneity of the ‘nation’, which formerly was held to constitute the heart of the Nation-State, became more and more suspect as the idea emerged of cultural diversity being a more appropriate theme to explore and exploit in working towards new patterns of citizenship. This new emerging Europe was indeed composed of a very evident multicultural diversity. ‘The new European consciousness is more and more aware of its unequalled diversity and understands that this diversity is its patrimony’ (Morin 1987). However, the question remains: how indeed to consciously exploit this diversity with intelligence? The Franco-­ German Youth Office (Office franco-allemand pour la Jeunesse6—OFAJ, Deutsch-Französisches Jugendwerk—DFJW) has been a pioneer in this field since its creation in 1963. Its programmes of research of a very participative kind began in the 1970s. They brought together (a week at a time over a period of three years) groups of professionals concerned directly with youth matters (youth workers, teachers, social workers etc.) recruited always from France and Germany, sometimes also from a third country, to share perceptions on a given theme (exclusion, environment, racism etc.). If this theme was the immediate focus, the interactions within the group as a whole (participants and researchers) nourished its dynamic.  The mission of OFAJ is to invite successive generations of young French and Germans to get to know each other sufficiently well to refuse to go to war again with each other a fourth time. 6

2  Citizenship and Religion: A British Perspective 

21

The very open arrangement of this approach brought together a rich diversity of participants in terms of age, gender, ethnicity, culture and profession. Negotiation being always at the heart of the process, unexpected contretemps often occurred and constituted ‘obstacles’ exposing the differences, disagreements and misunderstandings at play. These obstacles then became potentially available as the raw material for further analyses and reflexive learning. I had the good fortune to take part in these programmes for more than a quarter of a century, therefore focusing on the problematic of intercultural learning and its realisation (Storrie 2000). In terms of the sociology of social transaction, one can say that the multicultural/intercultural couple constitutes an unavoidable tension (‘opposition structurante’, Remy 1998: 32) where the multicultural dimension is a cultural order fixed in space while the intercultural dimension is a dynamic within time, therefore generating interrogations and challenges to that order (Storrie 2006).

3

Tipping-Point in Space and Time

During the 1980s, I lived through the beginnings of a huge and radical transformation, a tipping-point in space and time, where, before our disoriented eyes, the traditional industrial world disappeared and, at the same time, the outlines of an actual post-traditional world appeared. New technologies—from communications to genetics—heralded and imposed a quite other interpretation of local-global relations. What had previously been accepted as given—roles, hierarchies, structures and destinies—were now fraught with uncertainties, disquiets and with the possibilities of completely new choices. The accelerating tendency towards planetary interconnection induced a continual questioning as waves of new knowledge rapidly succeeded each other. A chronic reflexivity became installed, draining the optimism of the Enlightenment, which had supposed that the rationality of science would replace traditional dogmas with scientific certitudes. ‘The integral relation between modernity and radical doubt is an issue which, once exposed to view, is not only disturbing to philosophers but is existentially troubling for ordinary individuals’ (Giddens 1991: 21).

22 

T. Storrie

In this feverish world, ecological equilibrium is violently perturbed. A new routine produces ‘manufactured uncertainties’ in ‘the risk society’ on a stupefying scale reaching global level without the slightest idea of how to control them or even to foresee them: ‘Threats are produced industrially, externalised economically, juridically individualised, scientifically legitimated and minimised politically’ (Beck, Giddens and Lash 1994). ‘Minimised politically’ is to say that in this scenario the citizen, as the political realm itself, suffers a profound loss of autonomy. The power of initiative passes to global capitalist corporations, a sector owing no allegiance to any democratic authority. Democratic institutions may remain formally in place with appearances maintained, but they often can do little more than ratify actions and decisions taken elsewhere. According to Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri (2000), these corporations constitute a completely new planetary empire both inclusive and extraterritorial, which exerts a global financial sovereignty always animated by its own short-term interests, ‘governance without government’. The governments of Margaret Thatcher (1979–90) in pursuing their ultra-liberal policies were at one with this tendency; the British people, submerged in a plethora of industrial ‘privatisations’ and a dramatic increase in unemployment, no longer living in a shared culture of solidarity but rather one of an uneasy pluralism. From the 1980s, the environmental crisis assumed graver and graver proportions but our systems of government were incapable of creating adequate responses. We began to apprehend not only that we were depending on planetary resources which threatened to be insufficient but also that time itself, in terms of a condition of survival for human populations, was no longer unlimited. We began to use the term ‘common good’ to get beyond our latent anthropocentrism as witnessed by terms such as ‘social contract’, ‘general will’, ‘public interest’ and ‘social justice’. ‘The greatest happiness for the greatest number’ and even ‘human rights’—in order to include the flora and fauna and indeed the entire planet as a ‘super-organism’ whose life is maintained by a complex and dense connectivity of planetary interdependencies (Lovelock 2010).

2  Citizenship and Religion: A British Perspective 

4

23

 eligious Disaffiliation and Local R Religious War

Since the Second World War, there has been a progressive falling-off from Christianity, an indication of which can be seen by comparing the British census returns for 2001 and 2011: the proportion of the population declaring itself Christian declines from 72% to 59%, at the same time as the proportion declaring no religious affiliation rises from 15% to 25%. A majority therefore still remained Christian, but it must be noted that these censuses only question ‘affiliation’ and not ‘belief ’. In 2017, the 34th annual British Social Attitudes Survey showed that non-religious people by then represented a clear majority of the British people, accounting for 53% of the population. In truth, for the great majority of the population, between neighbours for example, differences of affiliation or belief are generally accepted without any drama, the affiliations and/or beliefs of others being treated no longer as ‘untouchable’ but rather with civil indifference. There are certainly city areas still liable to explode with interethnic tensions. There are regularly incidents where extreme right groups (notably the British National Party—BNP) aggress ethnic, often Muslim, communities. The uneasy pluralism that such events illustrate needs to be compared with the more positive notion of civil indifference: uneasy pluralism focuses on groups that have already created negative phantasies about the groups aggressed while civil indifference is apparent in contexts implicating persons as individuals. Running counter to the trend towards secularisation, the 1960s witnessed another inflammatory outbreak in Ireland of the sectarian conflict between Catholics and Protestants the roots of which go back to the sixteenth century. In 1801, Ireland was integrated into what became the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, a country largely Protestant and culturally and structurally profoundly anti-Catholic. For centuries, Protestant injustices and exploitation upon Catholics relentlessly fuelled Irish resentment and produced Irish martyrs. In 1937, after two decades of murderous turbulence, Ireland was divided into two parts with the creation of the Irish Republican State in the larger part of the island,

24 

T. Storrie

leaving Northern Ireland, predominantly Protestant, remaining as part of the United Kingdom. In the 1960s, sectarian conflict again exploded in Northern Ireland with two clandestine armies, Catholic and Protestant, terrorising their ‘enemy’ populations living often in the same neighbourhoods, while the British army tried vainly to maintain order and security. In 2007, there was at last an historic agreement between the two ‘extremist’ political parties. The Democratic Unionist Party (DUP), intransigently Protestant, led by Dr Ian Paisley, for whom the fundamental principle was to remain a complete and total member of the British state. On the other side, the Sinn Fein Party, intransigently Catholic, led by Gerry Adams, for whom the fundamental principle was the unification of all Ireland (i.e. the integration of Northern Ireland into the Republic of Ireland, a profoundly Catholic state). The regional government of Northern Ireland was reinstated in which the previously sworn enemies of these two parties agreed to cooperate. Ian Paisley became First Minister and Martin McGuiness, previously an Irish Revolutionary Army (IRA) commander, became Deputy First Minister. Neither party renounced their fundamental principles but each also accepted that the management, if not the resolution, of their conflicts would be contained within their agreed democratic framework. The price of peace is to run such democratic risks together. Paisley and McGuiness learned to work together and, when Dr Paisley died in September 2014, McGuiness announced simply that he had ‘lost a friend’. How many sworn enemies do not find, or do not seek, the opportunity to better understand one another to become friends and no longer wish to kill each other? I was surprised neither by the general progressive secularisation in the country nor by the very regrettable outbursts of Protestant-Catholic sectarian violence in Ireland. Secularisation is the result of no longer being held under the old hegemony, which accepted without question the centrality of Christian authority. It is clear that the new possibilities of thinking and living differently are in no way a threat to religions, which retain complete liberty to practice their faith and to proselytise on its behalf. Religious institutions must however adapt, as every other public institution or association to the world such as it is today. For example, mosques here are abundant and flourishing. The origins of the Irish sectarian misery is inscribed in the European history of the wars of religion between

2  Citizenship and Religion: A British Perspective 

25

Catholic and Protestant states in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries of which I hope that this very recent Irish episode may be the last convulsion. I am at ease with this secularisation, which leaves to each person the liberty of believing or not believing, of practising or not the religion of choice, of proselytising for it or not, as he or she so chooses. As far as being able to apprehend the source of creation, divine or otherwise, merciful, indifferent or otherwise, I confess that this question remains a mystery well beyond the limit of my human understanding to penetrate. I remain therefore in ignorance of any such mysterious source, neither believer nor disbeliever, in a word an agnostic, suspended in ineluctable doubt. ‘Belief ’ as with ‘disbelief ’ seems to me a step too far, siren calls falsely legitimated by the small comforts offered by such ungraspable ‘certainties’. There is another empirical point to note here. As I observe myself, when implicated in difficult relational moments with others, I note that it never occurs to me to seek counsel or guidance from any supposed divine source, proof that for me the question of the existence of a divinity is not of itself important. Whereas what is important is not any such declared allegiance, but rather the adoption of the Golden Rule: ‘Do not do to others what you would not have done to you’ (Armstrong 2006: iv). This compassion, which I hope is universal, encourages a widened sociability capable of persuading neighbours in the here-and-now of our global village to create a modus vivendi more acceptable for everyone. This position is not faith-based nor is it derived or supported by evidence from the social sciences; it is finally a personal position based on a hope that in all probability may never be satisfactorily realised. This echoes both Gramsci’s call for the optimism of the will to overcome the pessimism of the intellect (Gramsci 2011 [1930]) and that of George Steiner: ‘If there is a chronic infirmity by which every teacher ought to be afflicted, it is, indeed, hope’ (Steiner 1996: 159).

26 

5

T. Storrie

The Return of Religion

Nothing had prepared me for the return of religion to the centre of the international political scene. The explosive shock of the Salman Rushdie Affair—following the publication of his novel The Satanic Verses in 1988 and the fatwa pronounced against him by the Ayatollah Khomeini in February 1989—transformed the international agenda. The focus became ‘the nature of Islam, its relationship to the West, the meaning of multiculturalism, the limits of tolerance in a liberal society’ (Malik 2009: xiii). ‘The fatwa helped transform the very geography of Islam. Under traditional Islamic law, a fatwa was only valid within those areas in which sharia law applied. […] With his four paragraphs pronouncement, the ayatollah had transformed the traditional frontiers of Islam and brought the whole world under his jurisdiction’ (ibidem.: 18). This fatwa was accompanied by ‘the offer of $3 million for the murder of Rushdie (or $1 million if the assassin happened to be non-Muslim)’ (ibidem.: 9). The ferocity of responses across the world (including in Paris and in London) was palpable. From the collective rage expressed in these demonstrations, there was no doubting the message that Rushdie merited a brutal assassination. My reaction was and is profoundly other, for which I identify two sources. Firstly, I appreciate that the function of the novel, itself a rather recent European invention,7 is to sharply interrogate everyday life such as it is lived at a given moment. Milan Kundera, himself a Czech novelist of established reputation, puts this point well: Western society has adopted the habit of presenting itself as the society of human rights. However, before a man could have rights, he had to constitute himself as an individual, consider himself as such and be considered as such. That could not have happened without a long practice of European arts, the novel in particular which teaches the reader to be curious and to try to understand truths, which differ from his own. (Kundera 1993: 16–17)

 Cervantes (1547–1616) with his Don Quichotte is credited with having produced the first novel.

7

2  Citizenship and Religion: A British Perspective 

27

Precursor of sociology, the novel is the product of an imagination at one with what C. Wright Mills calls the ‘sociological imagination’, the purpose of which is to throw light on the connections between individual biographies in time and place and the broader social history of which the individuals are both products and agents. Mills suggests that the most fruitful field to explore in this manner is between the troubles of persons in their everyday surroundings and the problems of social structure (Wright Mills 1959: 14). Kundera’s analysis of Rushdie’s Satanic Verses, and of the drama surrounding the novel itself, are the products of such an imagination: As Iranian Islam distanced itself from religious moderation and moved towards a combative theocracy, so the history of the novel, with Rushdie, passed from the gentle smile of Thomas Mann to the unbridled imagination drawn from the rediscovered source of Rabelaisian humour. Antitheses, pushed to extremes, clash. From this point of view, the condemnation of Rushdie appears not as chance or madness but as the deepest of conflicts between two epochs: theocracy rages against modernity and takes the novel as its most representative of targets. For Rushdie has not blasphemed. He has not attacked Islam. He has written a novel. (Kundera 1993: 18)

Kundera draws inspiration from Rabelais, a sixteenth-century Catholic monk, a very popular humorous and libertarian writer, but as with Rushdie he had bitter enemies whom he both detested and feared. He named them ‘agelistes’, a neologism from the Greek to describe those with no sense of humour, who do not laugh. Kundera writes: ‘I like to imagine that one day Rabelais heard the laughter of God and thus the idea of the first great European novel was born. It pleases me to think that the art of the novel came into the world as the echo of God’s laughter’ (Kundera 1986: 191). Richard Kearney follows the same argument: To believe oneself the absolute and exclusive holder of the truth as contained in the New Testament, the Torah, the Koran or elsewhere signifies the eradication of all paradox, all difference, all disagreement with regard to meaning. No place for the play of meaning, for hermeneutic speculation. No place therefore for the laughter with which all this is underpinned. (Kearney 2012)

28 

T. Storrie

Secondly, while to protest against offences perceived in the work of an author is totally legitimate, to call for the author’s assassination is categorically illegitimate. I have perhaps misunderstood, but it seems to me that the logic is as follows: my God has been ridiculed, His dignity attacked, this causes me profound suffering and I must react to defend His honour, even to killing the guilty person. Contrary to this, my religious education has introduced me to an all-powerful and merciful God for whom all human beings, whether loyal or recalcitrant, are all His children. It is impossible for me to imagine that such a supreme Parent could wish such a death on any single one of His children. He does not wish to control them by disciplinary or authoritarian actions or regimes but by the sole attraction of His unconditional love and kindness. He may well be saddened by His ‘recalcitrant’ children but never dishonoured or humiliated. (The Rushdie affair) was the first major cultural conflict, a controversy quite unlike anything Britain had previously experienced. Muslim fury seemed to be driven not by questions of harassment or discrimination or poverty but by a sense of hurt, that Salman Rushdie’s words had offended their deepest beliefs. (…) Britain had never asked itself such questions before. Twenty years on it is still groping for the answers. (Malik 2009: xvii–xviii)

The globalised fatwa led directly to violent jihads against the West, the most spectacular of which was that of 11th September 2001. We find ourselves in a tragically divided world where, according to Tzvetan Todorov, the West and those majoritarian Islamic countries cruelly oppose each other, the fear of Westerners feeding the resentment of the others: ‘The fear of barbarians is what risks turning us into barbarians’ (Todorov 2008, quoted in introduction). Bush, president of the United States and a born-again Christian fundamentalist, unleashed the ‘crusades’ against the ‘rogue’ States, members of the Axis of Evil (Storrie 2012). It is easy to imagine Bush and Bin Laden as characters in a Rushdie-style novel, twins at the same time as sworn enemies, each claiming the role of avenging angel struggling against the devil in a mortal combat for planetary domination, be it for an ultra-­ conservative neo-liberal democracy or for an ultra-traditionalist caliphate.

2  Citizenship and Religion: A British Perspective 

6

29

What Framework for What Citizenship?

A first decision concerns the framework: theocratic or secular? In proposing the secular,8 one must immediately avoid the very common error today of supposing an inevitable and categorical antagonism between religious and non-religious perspectives. The secular refers strictly to this world, to the universe of men and women and their power balances, to the art and necessity of compromising without legitimating any arbitrary recourse to any supposed transcendental authority, divine or otherwise, as the source of a priori truth. In other terms, this calls upon democratic citizenship without however adopting a logic which refuses religion access to the public domain, restricting it solely to the private domain. Understood in these terms, a secular framework offers a circumspect neutrality and a welcome openness to all religions while a theocracy, by favouring its own particular religion above all others, cannot claim a similar equity. However, secular or theocratic, any power structures already in place have a tendency to seek to consolidate their power and to control their dissident elements. Jean Baubérot advocates an inclusive secularity, hegemonic ‘without dominating in so far as not being a body of doctrines, a civil religion, even an anti-religion’ (Baubérot 2006: 269). To counter this tendency of the State to seek always to control everything in its own fashion, it is incumbent on citizens to exercise intelligent resistance: dialogues, conversations and as necessary public demonstrations questioning the actual bases of the social arrangements in place, in other words the given patterns of citizenship with the objective of improving them. Such citizenship actions originate in civil society, generally understood as the public space for those intermediate institutions (including churches, mosques, temples, synagogues etc.) standing between the authorities of the State and private life. A body politic has need of its civil society, the locus of democratic renewal at a certain distance from the State: ‘Democracy is sustained not by the system which prescribes it, but by the challenges to that system’ (Mombiot 2000: 357).  The origin of this term in the Christian world goes back to the middle Ages when all states were theocracies. Religious orders were divided into two basic categories: the secular shared the everyday lives of ordinary people as opposed to the closed religious orders, isolated in their monasteries and convents, whose mission was to pray for the salvation of the sinful world. 8

30 

T. Storrie

Civil society nourishes local voluntary associations in which membership is voluntary, where hierarchies are much reduced thereby accommodating more heterodox exchanges; this context encourages each person to exercise her or his own discretion, ‘the liberty or power to decide or to act according to one’s own judgement’ (Shorter Oxford Dictionary). This allows a nuancing with regard to civil society, which can further be described as discretionary space, open and welcoming to heterodox approaches to public problems. Here, the distance from the powers of the State is measured less in institutional terms than in terms of a certain radical nonconformity, a certain heretical disposition, manifestations of which can occur even at the heart of State institutions, as for example civil servants who become whistleblowers (Storrie 2013: 135). Local voluntary organisations can be an appropriate context for an apprenticeship in citizenship. In the social and sociable rhythms of the voluntary organisation, members are called upon to take collective decisions as they endeavour to arrive at compromises finally acceptable after having more or less confronted all the differences of opinion put forward often with passion and shot through with disagreements, differences and misunderstandings. Contrary to the conventional educational model where the teacher shares his knowledge with his ignorant students, we now have a model of experiential and collective auto-apprenticeship where the essential competences of citizenship are cultivated through tasks undertaken together (Storrie 2011). Conflict is a banal and everyday experience, be it within one’s own self or with others, relatively minor or more serious, perhaps even of crisis proportions. An example of a required competence is ‘conflictual cooperation’ (Blanc 1998: 229). Without this competence how may one exploit the rich potential of the growing diversity within our societies which year by year grow ever more mixed, where ‘reflexive modernisation’ awakens new and untried possibilities and where the ‘extreme’ life styles of different communities—ultra-modern or ultra-­communitarian— risk becoming mutually insupportable? Our societies, more and more multicultural, require extending this competence to include it in the

2  Citizenship and Religion: A British Perspective 

31

intercultural dynamic not as an article of faith, but rather as the objective of a ‘utopian realism’9 (Giddens 1990: 154–158). If the intercultural factor is not ‘knowledge’ which can be taught in conventional fashion, everyday life offers many sociable occasions, triggered by another’s surprisingly unexpected remark or attitude, to explore further the reasons for one’s curiosity. It matters little if the remark or attitude is positive and provokes sympathetic laughter or if negative and generates mechanisms of irritation or defence. It is sufficient to be intrigued to want to understand better the origins of this behaviour, a process that can lead to an interrogation of one’s own frames of reference. Conflictual cooperation is necessary in coping with these many and unavoidable conflicts which are constitutive of everyday life, whether concerning misunderstandings between different ethnicities or within the intimacy of the private lives of couples. (Inter)cultural play is ever present. It is generally admitted that religion is often a touchy subject with sensibilities alive to the least criticism real or imagined and therefore there is also a general tendency to avoid any remark which might be wounding or offensive insofar as one may be conscious of this possible effect. And despite the supposed ‘purity’ of the posture defended, religious or otherwise, it is impossible for us, humans as we are, not to be influenced, indeed one might say infected by our own ambitions and perspectives, but also by those ‘false consciousness’ induced by the cultures in which we are placed: Human beings do not perceive things whole; we are not gods but wounded creatures, cracked lenses, capable only of fractured perceptions. (Rushdie 1991: 12)

 T.H. Marshall in his account of British citizenship gives an example of ‘utopian realism’: ‘All who possess the status (of citizen) are equal with respect to the rights and duties with which the status is endowed. There is no universal principle that determines what these rights and duties shall be but societies in which citizenship is a developing institution create an image of an ideal citizenship against which achievements can be measured and towards which aspirations can be directed’ (Marshall 1950). Contrary for example to the French pattern, it is interesting to note that there is no reference to universal values, nor to fundamental rights, nor to a founding text but rather to successive provisional and consensual arrangements. 9

32 

T. Storrie

Yesterday, neighbours from different traditions—living in the same streets, neighbourhoods and towns—practised together this auto-­ censorship seeking to maintain a modus vivendi which would ensure peace between them. Today, every one of us lives in a single global village where we can no longer rub shoulders on an everyday basis with those ‘different’ neighbours who live on the other side of the world but who never cease to interfere in our daily lives through their outrageous, incomprehensible actions, which are instantly mediatised on our screens of many sorts. I suspect that this avoidance tactic has never really succeeded. Slavoj Žižek offers a better approach with his suggestion that ‘one must not remain silent about that which one should not talk’ (Žižek 2000: 168). However, this injunction immediately makes huge emotional and strategic demands upon the citizen: how can one activate conflictual cooperation in situations of deep and generalised conspiracies of silence so profoundly buried that often they are not even recognised as such? When and with whom can one speak about such matters? Impossible to do so between groups where each group is already welded together, its members already prisoners of its own collective messages. The citizen is called upon, within a certain measure of sociability already attained, to take up with others the task at the source of a continual renewal of democracy; prior to any ‘intellectual’ even moralising discourse, democracy is actualised in the living experience of actors seeking together to institute a modus vivendi equitable in principle for everyone.

References Alibhai-Brown, Y. (2001). Mixed feelings: the complex lives of mixed-race Britons. London: The Women’s Press Ltd.. Armstrong, K. (2006). The Great Transformation: the world in the time of Buddha, Socrates, Confucius & Jeremiah. London: Atlantic books. Baubérot, J. (2006). La laïcité contre l’intégrisme républicain. La Tour d’Aigues: L’Aube. Beck, U. (1995). Ecological Politics in an Age of Risk. Cambridge: Polity Press.

2  Citizenship and Religion: A British Perspective 

33

Beck, U., Giddens, A., & Lash, S. (1994). Reflexive Modernization. Cambridge: Polity Press. Blanc, M. (1998). La transaction, un processus de production et d’apprentissage du ‘vivre-ensemble’. In M.-F.  Freynet, M.  Blanc, & G.  Pineau (Eds.), Les transactions aux frontières du social (pp. 219–237). Lyon: Chronique Sociale. Giddens, A. (1990). The Consequences of Modernity. Cambridge: Polity Press. Giddens, A. (1991). Modernity & Self-Identity: Self & Society in the Late Modern Age. Cambridge: Polity Press. Gramsci A. (2011 [1930]). Prison Notebooks. New York: Columbia University Press. Hardt, M., & Negri, A. (2000). Empire. Boston: Harvard University Press. Kearney, R. (2012). Le rire de Dieu. Culture et Foi, 6(2), 17–26. Retrieved September, 2019, from https://www.erudit.org/fr/revues/rel/2012-n761rel0367/68018ac/. Kundera, M. (1986). L’art du roman. Paris: Gallimard (Folio). Kundera, M. (1993). Les testaments trahis. Paris: Gallimard (Folio). Lovelock, J. (2010). The Vanishing Face of Gaia. London: Penguin. Macpherson, Sir W. (1999). The Stephen Lawrence Inquiry. London, Home Office, Independent Report, 24 February 1999. https://www.gov.uk/government/publications/the-stephen-lawrence-inquiry. Malik, K. (2009). From Fatwa to Jihad: the Rushdie Affair and its Legacy. London: Atlantic Books. Marshall, T. H. (1950). Citizenship & Social Class. Cambridge: University Press. Mills, C. W. (1959). The Sociological Imagination. Oxford: University Press. Mombiot, G. (2000). Captive State: the corporate takeover of Britain. London: MacMillan. Morin, E. (1987). Penser l’Europe. Paris: Gallimard. Remy, J. (1998). La transaction sociale (pp. 20–42). In Blanc, M. et al. (eds) Les transactions aux frontières du social. Lyon, Chronique sociale. Robinson, G. (1999). Crimes against humanity: the struggle for global justice. London: Penguin. Rushdie, S. (1991). Imaginary Homelands. London: Penguin. Sexual Offences Act. (1967). London, HMSO. https://www.legislation.gov.uk/ ukpga/1967/60/pdfs/ukpga_19670060_en.pdf. Steiner, G. (1996). No passion spent. London: Faber & Faber. Storrie, T. (2000). The Evaluation of Intercultural Youth Exchange. Leicester: The National Youth Agency.

34 

T. Storrie

Storrie, T. (2006). Pour une observation participante réflexive. In R.  Hess & G. Weigand (Eds.), L’observation participante dans les situations interculturelles (pp. 225–233). Paris: Anthropos. Storrie, T. (2011). La société civile, lieu de transactions identitaires. In P.  Hamman & J.-Y.  Causer (Eds.), Ville, environnement et transactions démocratiques (pp. 135–150). Bruxelles: Peter Lang. Storrie, T. (2012). Clôture culturelle, apprentissage ouvert et politique agoniste. In J. Stoessel-Ritz, M. Blanc, & N. Mathieu (Eds.), Développement durable, communautés et sociétés (pp. 19–32). Brussels: Peter Lang. Storrie, T. (2013). La citoyenneté: entreprise laïque et interculturelle. In J. Stoessel-Ritz, M. Blanc, & B. Salhi (Eds.), Développement durable, citoyenneté et société civile (pp.  29–37). Paris: L’Harmattan, coll. Maghreb et Sciences sociales. Todorov, T. (2008). La peur des barbares: Au-delà du choc des civilisations. Paris: R. Lafont. Wolfenden, J. (1957). Report of the Departmental Committee on Homosexual Offences and Prostitution. London: HM Stationery Office. Žižek, S. (2000). Revolution at the Gates. London: Verso.

3 Citizenship, Secularism and Religion: A ‘Triangle’ in Permanent Tension Maurice Blanc

We say that God has made man in his own image, but man has returned the compliment. —Voltaire

The origin of the word religion is a matter of continuing debate among specialists: it can mean ‘to bond’ but also ‘to read again’ (Hatzfeld 1993). I consider here that these two meanings are complementary: those who share the same religion constitute a community and this creates bonds and solidarities (Blanc 2012). At the same time, a religion offers a vision or a ‘reading’ of the world: it provides the faithful with a certain number of replies to their questions concerning their origin and destiny as well as how to live well. It is thus a ‘reservoir of meaning’. It assigns, following the celebrated passage at the beginning of Genesis, the proper place for nature, society and human beings. In traditional religions, men and

M. Blanc (*) University of Strasbourg, Strasbourg, France e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2020 M. Blanc et al. (eds.), Citizenship and Religion, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-54610-6_3

35

36 

M. Blanc

women occupy distinct and hierarchical social positions; in spite of the modernising efforts of Pope Francis, the place of women in the Catholic Church remains retrograde. The word citizenship has also a double meaning. Legally, citizenship is a status with rights and duties granted to the individual citizen. In the New Testament, the man who was to become Saint Paul used his Roman citizenship to ensure a more respectful treatment by the Roman authorities: the citizen is already someone of note. This citizenship does not coincide entirely with nationality but it does overlap. The primary right of the citizen (exclusively male for a long time) is the right to vote. In certain countries, Belgium for example, this right is also a duty: participation in elections is compulsory. Elsewhere, if abstention is possible, it is nevertheless badly regarded. In the same way, the citizen (always male) is expected to defend the nation against a common enemy, except in cases where special dispensations may be allowed. This warrior vision of citizenship finds it difficult to accept as legitimate non-violence or conscientious objection, perceived as cowardice or treason. Sociologically, citizenship is a social practice and therefore collective. I call it active citizenship1 to distinguish it from the passive statutory citizenship. The citizen is interested in public affairs understood as the common good and he/she contributes to the public debates through which decisions are taken concerning this common good (Blanc 2013a). Depending on the particular political cultures, citizens can participate more or less in the putting into practice of the decisions collectively adopted. This is more difficult in a country centralised like France fearful that the development of local initiatives might lead to inequalities between territories. It is easier in decentralised federal countries (Germany, Belgium, Netherlands, Switzerland etc.) where it is preferable to seek solutions at the local level rather than to push the problem to a higher level (Blanc 2013b). In this chapter, although the legal sense remains present, active citizenship is privileged, the more so because one cannot discuss citizenship and  When prime minister of the United Kingdom, Mrs. Thatcher, dismantled social services on the ground they transformed citizens into individuals depending upon state assistance (Espiet-Kilty 2016). She claimed that active citizenship should replace bureaucracy and thereby citizens should resolve themselves social problems. 1

3  Citizenship, Secularism and Religion: A ‘Triangle… 

37

religion in purely abstract and depersonalised terms as everything that needs to be said here is saturated in its own particular history: education received, experiences at different stages of life, biographical continuities and ruptures, and so on. To describe explicitly this journey allows for reflexive analysis, giving the opportunity to consider it at some distance. This is necessary in order to distinguish the singular from the more general, though not universal. This is why I begin with a number of autobiographical references to make it clear ‘from where I’m speaking’ with regard to a relationship to religion oscillating between attraction and repulsion. I then offer an analysis of the visibility, or the place that religions effectively occupy in society, in order to discuss their legitimacy. To confine religions only to the private domain is abusive: they have the right to be present in the public domain, but without any particular privileging or favouring of one over the others, or indeed with regard to other systems of thought. I address the different levels of citizenship and forms of active citizenship which also overlap with the private sphere and which put the relations between citizenship and religion in a new light. Religions, which claim universality, find themselves in competition. Many religions attribute to themselves a superior moral authority from which they claim an a priori legitimacy for their truth over that of the others. One must resist the temptation of ‘theocratic imperialism’ always liable to surface. I conclude, in the public debate concerning our common good, that religions express a respectable but always a debatable point of view.

1

‘Where I’m Speaking From’

This was a fashionable expression after May 1968 when I started my sociological apprenticeship: every person wanting to take part in a debate, whatever he/she was, had to start by presenting her/himself by answering the question ‘where are you speaking from?’ This injunction had the advantage of underlining the link between the argument maintained and the social position of its author but with the very real risk of abusive simplifications: the necessarily just discourse of the ‘worker’ as against the

38 

M. Blanc

necessarily false discourse of the ‘bourgeois’! However, given that one can avoid such caricature, it is a worthwhile exercise.

1.1

My Roots

I was born during the Second World War in the south of France. I grew up in Toulouse, a town with a political and cultural ‘micro-climate’ which strongly influenced me well before I was aware of it: the claiming of an identity rooted in the memory (defence of the occitan language and culture) and the political defence of regional autonomy as against the centralism of Paris. The ‘good’ King Saint-Louis, although sanctified for having led crusades, does not here have the sweet odour of saintliness, not so much for his crusades into the Middle East but for the ‘crusade against the Albigensians’ (Albi is a small town near Toulouse). Introducing the Inquisition, this crusade strove to rid the territory of the large population of Cathares who were viewed as heretics; the memory of this remains very much alive in local popular memory. King Saint-Louis sought to subjugate or otherwise control the local aristocracy.2 Recent history has revived this tradition of autonomy. The Spanish Civil War (1936–1939) ended with the victory of General Franco over the Republicans (among them, many anarcho-unionists), who in massive numbers sought exile in South America and in the south of France. The Spanish republican government in exile initially was sited in Mexico but from 1946 was settled in Toulouse, an event that reinforced the local political culture of self-management and of hostility towards the central power (Jornet 2005).

1.2

My Childhood

My family was divided by the same religion: the Catholicism of my paternal grandmother as against that of my mother. The first was ritual and individualist: religious practice was limited to participation in the rites, particularly Sunday mass and those marking the main steps of life:  [https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Croisade_des_Albigeois].

2

3  Citizenship, Secularism and Religion: A ‘Triangle… 

39

baptism, marriage, burial and so on. She was in her own way anticlerical: the job of priests was to state the church’s principles but not to interfere in politics nor in the everyday lives of people: she would much have preferred a French Catholic Church independent of Rome and maintained by the State as practised in totalitarian countries (e.g. in Russia and China today). On the other hand, my mother’s religion was based on a social engagement of a somewhat paternalistic nature. In my childhood memory, when my grandmother offered me sweets, she added: ‘These are for you and not for your little friends’. When my mother gave me sweets, she said the opposite: ‘These are for sharing with others’! Things were simple when I was alone with one or the other (eating sweets alone was not disagreeable for me!), but everything was much more complicated when I was with them together: how was it possible to satisfy both of these opposing requirements at the same time? I think today that this experience played its part in my interest later on in social transaction. My father was a fairly explosive mixture of tradition and modernity. An engineer, he believed in scientific progress and in the virtues of free enterprise and the market. He was at the same time authoritarian, irascible and often violent. He corresponded reasonably well with the model of the ‘authoritarian personality’ analysed by Theodor Adorno (2007 [1950]): submissive before superiors but tyrannical to inferiors. He thought politics was divisive and was therefore a taboo subject; impossible to discuss such matters within the family. My mother was also an engineer but, as a practising Catholic, she very soon withdrew from employment to dedicate herself to the education of her five children. Politically she was a centrist and dreamed of a society founded on the Christian values of love of one’s neighbours and solidarity with the poor, respectful of the social doctrine of the church (Catholic therefore supposedly universal). She submitted to her husband’s violence, physical and especially psychological. Priests counselled her that ‘the law of God being superior to the law of man’ and that therefore she should not think of divorcing as a shelter from her problems. Her health quickly declined and she died prematurely, victim of her religion. Traces of such institutional blindness are evident today in failures to assist women at risk (Storrie 2015).

40 

1.3

M. Blanc

My Adolescence

As a teenager, I thought myself very unlucky in having such a father! Following the established pattern, I took my mother’s side and shared her religious certainties without realising that they led to a dead-end. I understood much later that the problem of family violence was widespread and structural. The doctrinal rigidity of religions that condemn divorce is a factor reinforcing the vulnerability of married women. My adolescence was also marked by the war in Algeria. If it was impossible to speak of this in the family, it was a major preoccupation among my schoolfellows. Most of us saw no problem with colonisation: while we objected to its excesses, it was generally viewed as a vehicle of progress for the colonies. I was personally horrified with what was done in the name of defending Christian civilisation: torturing, assassinations and so on. For my generation the burning question was ‘Accept doing military service in Algeria with the intention of promoting change from the inside, or desert?’ The end of the Algerian war, in 1963, spared me this choice. I retained a high level of distrust with regard to the state. I listened in secret to the Swiss Romandie radio in the attempt to detect what the official French radio was keeping from us with regard to the situation in Algeria. I learned early on to compare and contrast different news sources.

1.4

Discovery of the United States

When I was 17, I went to the East Coast of the United States where I spent a year living with an American family and attending the local school. My father was much in favour of this for he saw it a good preparation for future study at the Harvard Business School. He never realised that I mainly wanted to put an ocean between him and me! This was 1960/1961. I was there during the election of President John F. Kennedy. I bought into the myths of the ‘New Frontier’ and the ‘Peace Corps’ before falling back to earth with the pitiful attempt to invade Cuba (the Bay of Pigs operation). That opened my eyes to the need for a critical analysis of political discourse. During my stay, I made several discoveries

3  Citizenship, Secularism and Religion: A ‘Triangle… 

41

the importance of which I did not realise at the time, but which subsequently strongly influenced my orientation towards sociology. I found the school very agreeable, contacts with the teachers friendly and easy but always with the feeling of wasting my time, not learning enough. It was only a long time afterwards that I understood that, in a country of immigration, which welcomes populations from many diverse cultural horizons, the priority of schooling is to be the melting pot for the formation of the local and national community. The aim of the school is learning to live together. The precocious selection of elites, based on school examination results, is a French particularity. Such a selection does also take place in the United States, but in a less scholarly fashion and later. I also discovered an individualistic and puritan Protestantism in the French contemporary sense (rigid in moral principles) and not in the historical sense as explained by Tom Storrie (in Chap. 2). There is much forbidden and at the same time much tolerance of transgressions, which shocked me as very hypocritical. I was to understand later that this accusation of hypocrisy is reversible. Protestants have good reasons to hold the Catholic rite of confession as hypocritical: to receive pardon, it is sufficient to declare the list of sins to a priest who is then held to keep them secret! Protestant tolerance is based in respect for the individual: each person reads and interprets the Bible in his/her own way which shows respect for the other in her/his otherness. However, this tolerance is not always practised, especially where Protestantism expresses a majority view. J.-F. Kennedy was the first Catholic US president and I was surprised to see how important religion was politically. Specialists analysed the influence of the religious factor (Catholic, Jewish, etc.) on the vote and also the importance of ethnic origins (Italy, Ireland, Russia, etc.). In this way, I came to a sociological approach from considerations of religion which I later realised was mechanistic and simplistic by virtue of over-­ much confidence in statistics, the limits of which were then insufficiently analysed.

42 

1.5

M. Blanc

My Time as a Student

My return to France was tough. As I was not willing to follow the career plan mapped out for me by my father, he threw me out of the house. I was able to pursue my studies thanks to the financial support of progressive Catholic institutions. I was involved in socially concerned voluntary organisations, not necessarily religious, notably teaching gypsies (we did not yet call them Romas) to read and write in a Toulouse shantytown. This was the period of preparing for Vatican Council 2 (1962–1965) which raised great hopes of ‘mise à jour’ (aggiornamento) in the Catholic Church: was it going to open up to the world and make its message audible, having dialogue with other religions, denouncing social inequalities and corruption? There was indeed some progress but clearly insufficient in my eyes. I became radicalised by frequenting Christian Marxist groups. Without going into too many details, the aim was to associate Marxist social thinking with a rereading of the gospel and emphasising ‘the preferential option of the poor’. The experience of worker-priests, who still continued their labours discreetly in spite of being banned in 1953 by the French Catholic hierarchy, was one reference as was especially the support for the liberation struggles in the third world, particularly in Latin America with notably Gustavo Gutiérrez ([1971] 1974). During the same period, I became absorbed by the ‘theology of the death of God’ initiated by the pastor Dietrich Bonhoeffer in a Nazi prison before his death in 1945 in a concentration camp. A Dominican iconoclastic monk, Jean Cardonnel, introduced it to me in a book with the provocative and ambiguous title: God Died in Jesus-Christ (1968). This theology sweeps away the false gods to make way for the true god, which is in effect a very classical argument; it can also lead to atheism, the radicality of the gospel message being able to dispense with any divine justification. May 1968 was an important step. In participating in the student movement in Toulouse, I engaged myself in politics but in my own way. I took part in the occupation of the university, taking care not to get myself locked in there and to avoid the students being cut off from the

3  Citizenship, Secularism and Religion: A ‘Triangle… 

43

rest of the population. Organising open-door days or lectures open to all seemed to me useful but not nearly enough. I was also very much aware of the international dimension of student protests and I took part in defending foreign students threatened by police. In the demonstrations of support for Dany Cohn-Bendit, a Franco-German bi-national and one of the Parisian student leaders threatened with expulsion by the Minister of the Interior, I very much approved of the slogan: ‘We are all German Jews’. The coming-together of the student movement and working-class organisations was the protected fiefdom of extreme left political parties and groups. I was shocked to discover doctrinal quarrels and excommunications among Maoists, Trotskyists and so on. I have since remained allergic to any such tight political action. I sought without much success to experiment with new intervention methods with regard to workers and with the general street gatherings on marches or in public places in the town centre but especially in the suburbs. The outlines of my specialisation in urban sociology are apparent in this context. The Franco-German Youth Office (Office franco-allemand pour la Jeunesse—OFAJ) was created in 1963 in order to encourage young French and Germans to understand each other better (see Storrie’s contribution in this book). I took part in its initial activities in the Toulouse region. My son and my daughters are both French and German and I may say that they are ‘OFAJ children’! This allowed me to discover Germany both before and after the fall of the Berlin Wall. I was able to see how a secular State can function which is not founded on the separation of Church and State, but rather on an institutionalisation of their cooperation (see below).

1.6

Entry into Professional Life

I started my professional career in the University of Nancy in 1970 as an urban sociologist. I investigated the renovation-demolition of shantytowns in the old neighbourhoods of the centre and the relocation of their residents in the new high-rise ensembles built on the periphery. I looked to do research that might enlighten the inhabitants and help them to organise and express themselves collectively. My interest in forms of

44 

M. Blanc

participative democracy, very much alive today, stems from these experiences. Worker-priests or communist intellectuals took their place in factories in order to share the conditions of life and work of the working class. In a similar way, I wanted to share the conditions of life of the people by living for many years in these high-rise residential social ensembles. At their creation, they were presented as ‘laboratories’ of tomorrow’s town (Blanc 2014).

2

Secularities (laïcités) and the Place of Religions in the Public Domain

2.1

Lay People Inside and Outside Churches

We need to distinguish two meanings of the word lay. It derives from the Greek laios and designated the common people as distinguished from clerics and educated people who held power. In a church, the lay people are the faithful or the ‘base’ and they are held together by a minority of clerics. The place and the role of lay people in the church raise questions of citizenship and of democracy: they might be either submissive, docile, merely following routines or autonomous actors making decisions. The Catholic Church resists even the slightest move towards any internal democratisation with its overwhelming argument of the dogma of papal infallibility. The pervasive sexism aggravates the problem. Women are without a doubt more numerous than men in the Church, but their exclusion from power is blatant. There remains much to do with regard to these two levels and the problem is not confined to churches: it is present in the armed forces, schools, hospitals and all hierarchical institutions. The second meaning of lay indicates those people, men and women, who are exterior to religion, whether indifferent or hostile. The question then becomes how to persuade those who believe and those who do not believe to accept living together. Before answering this question, we need to examine the status and the place of religion in society: should it be in the public or the private domain or both at the same time?

3  Citizenship, Secularism and Religion: A ‘Triangle… 

2.2

45

Religion, a Public or Private Matter?

The foundation of religious liberty is the private choice of each person to practise the religion of her/his choice or to practise none. Secularity (laïcité) is based on the neutrality of the state with respect to religions, but there remains an ambiguity with regard to their place in civil society. There are two aspects to this neutrality as it refers to institutions and to individuals. With regard to institutions, secularity puts all religions on an equal footing: no religion should have priority over the others. Religions are also on the same footing as philosophies and various other lines of thinking. From the point of view of individuals, participation in any social activity (employment, sport, etc.) cannot depend on membership of a particular religion: that would in France amount to illegal discrimination, which does not however mean that it has disappeared, as for instance with regard to Islam. However, this principle of neutrality remains vague and interpreted in multiple divergent and sometimes opposing ways. Insofar as religion limits itself to a number of precepts and rites which can be contained in the private sphere, secularism accepts them without difficulty. Difficulties arise when a religion demands its room in the public domain. In the 1970s, when teaching immigrant workers to read and write, I discovered an Islam practised in cellars and garages, deliberately discreet, not seeking to leave the private sphere. Most of these Muslims then believed that their stay in France would be short (Sayad 1999). Things changed in the 1980s when their children wanted to share in French public life and no longer keep themselves to one side, claiming among other things a visibility for Islam equal to that of other religions. It was the passing ‘from the time of the fathers to the time of the sons’ (Hammouche 2015: 73). Symmetrically, I discovered at the same time, and with deep feelings of uneasiness, the intolerance of ‘the religion of secularity’ (Baubérot 2006). Two dangerous slippages occurred: first, neutrality with regard to every religion gave way to ignorance and rejection; then, religion became a purely private matter and all religions were not considered appropriate for the public domain. In fact a selection process was operating whereby

46 

M. Blanc

some religions were ‘more acceptable than others’; what is more worrying is that this selection was unconscious. For example, the compromise between the French State and the Catholic Church on the issue of public holidays has shocked the Jews for a long time and more recently some Muslims, but not many others: the origin has been forgotten and its legitimacy now relies on its well-establishedness. By contrast, to introduce a Muslim or Jewish public holiday would be seen as an offence against secularism! Those claiming to be secular are divided on whether or not religions should be visible in the public domain. In the opinion of the antireligious secularists (Baubérot 2015), the Catholic mass is an enactment of the truth that ‘religion is the opium of the people’, and in order therefore to protect the people, one must combat the unhealthy influence of churches by excluding them from the public sphere. However, religions do carry a vision of the world and they have a message, which they wish legitimately to make known and, if possible, share. They wish to contribute to the public debate and enrich it. The recent inter-religious movement in support of the struggle against global warming is a good example of this. The problem for secularism is to reconcile the right of churches to advertise themselves in the primary sense of making the public aware of them, while at the same time preventing sectarian manipulations and deviations. Baubérot (2015) identifies seven forms of secularism and underlines the opposition between rejectionist and separatist secularism, which to varying degrees recognise that religions do have a place in the public domain. I find this analysis useful, drawing a distinction between open and closed secularisms.

2.3

Open Secularism

Religions are positively admitted and recognised: they are a form of a collective work of art and, as sketched out by André Malraux (1957) just before he became Minister of Culture in France, religions belong to the intangible heritage of humanity. The risk here is to consider them no

3  Citizenship, Secularism and Religion: A ‘Triangle… 

47

more than vestiges of the past, as museum pieces, as one today might criticise UNESCO policies in this regard. For an open secularism, this religious inheritance is alive and able to adapt and respond to the questions of today. Minority voices today underline that the struggle against jihadism cannot be limited only to policing issues: it has two other essential battlegrounds, integration into society and the religious development of an authentic Islam. Be it waged in a reputedly Muslim country or elsewhere, the ‘holy war’ is a ‘struggle for recognition’ against the society which scorns them (Honneth 2000, 2006). The de-radicalisation of jihadists has economic, social and cultural dimensions, including the struggle against both poverty and racism. It includes also, interior to Islam, a theological effort to counteract the grotesque amalgamation—and how efficacious!— between Islam and barbarity (Bouzar 2014). Two approaches, embracing both the religious and citizenship dimensions, are associated in an entirely novel cooperation between civil society, the State and religions. I find my place in the separatist and inclusive secularism, where the religions are separated from the State but included in civil society (Baubérot 2015). In Germany, secularity does not depend upon the separation of Church and State. Although fragile, the majority party today is the Christian-­ Democratic Union. At the federal, regional and local level, the State can cooperate with religious organisations and delegate to them the management of public services in the social and cultural domains. I have observed this in the Soziale Stadt programme (‘Social City’ equivalent to the politique de la ville in France) for the Quartier-Management (a form of urban and social development programme): the main partners are Caritas (Catholic), Diakonie (Protestant) and Arbeiterwohlfahrt, (Workers’ Well-­ being, the origins of which are in the secular trade unionism). The partner is selected locally in terms of expertise and relevance to the needs of all those in the area designated and not simply for a particular religious community. Renewal of contract is subject to evaluation (Blanc 2013b). The presence of religion in the public domain is thus recognised and France could usefully consider this concordat approach (laïcité concordataire, in Baubérot 2015).

48 

2.4

M. Blanc

Closed Secularism

This form is much more suspicious of churches, explained by a reading of recent history. In a ‘golden age’—which I am very happy not to have known!—churches held absolute power, religious, political, scientific, military and so on. Churches resented the secularisation process, which is far from being completed, of the separation of powers which they saw as an unacceptable loss to them (e.g. the condemnation of Galileo in the scientific field). In the nineteenth century in France, the Catholic Church was particularly reactionary in the proper sense of the term: hostile to any change, adamant in the defence of the status-quo and refusing all concession. A showdown was therefore inevitable; neutrality with regard to religions also became the neutralisation of the religious hegemony. In spite of this drama, the French law of 1905 regulating the separation of Church and State is a ‘pact’, an informal and paradoxical transaction (Baubérot 2006): religious property was transferred to the State at the level of the commune (the parish council) which henceforth was responsible for their material upkeep but made them freely available for religious practices. In other words, all inhabitants of the commune paid with their taxes for the upkeep of the church property, which was in fact only used by a fraction of them. This is not illegitimate: these locations have also a touristic and/or a patrimonial function (see below). Today, the Catholic authorities have no desire to return to the past! The real question now is why does this measure only apply to religions recognised in 1905 (Catholic, Protestant and Jewish) and not expanded to include mosques. The legal objections concerning the non-retroactivity of laws seem to me fallacious: here again, we are confronted with the legitimacy of the old and the illegitimacy of the new (Elias and Scotson 1997).

3  Citizenship, Secularism and Religion: A ‘Triangle… 

3

Citizenship, Public and Private

3.1

Levels of Citizenship Action

49

Citizenship action is practised at different levels and in variable forms. As indicated in the introduction, it first appeared in towns and was anchored in the local dimension. It was a question of deciding together how to nurture the common good, a debate evidently much easier at this local level than at a higher level. With the French Revolution, citizenship slipped from the local to the national level as the first obvious need was to defend the Patrie (motherland!) in danger: a citizens’ army was more reliable than an army of mercenaries, offering themselves for sale to the highest bidder. However, the rhetoric of ‘army, school and citizenship’ is suspect for two reasons: it takes for granted that the national community would come together against a common enemy. The national anthem, La Marseillaise, is a warrior song and even a call for genocide. It is equally false to believe that military service encourages social mixing and the reduction of inequalities. Having done my military service in privileged conditions (English teacher in a military school) I unwillingly benefited of this unequal treatment. At the national level, citizenship action necessarily takes place through formal and informal voluntary organisations. The field of activity is vast: human rights (notably today those of migrants, Romas and refugees), solidarity with the most deprived, climate and the environment and so on. The most frequent form is that of motivated citizens who meet to analyse a problem, make public opinion aware of it, call upon the powers-­ that-­be to account for their failures and even suggest to them proposals for remedial action. More rarely, there can be citizens’ initiatives, which even institute solutions to the problem. In France, the Restos du coeur (restaurants open and free to all in need) created in 1985, on the initiative of the comedian and actor Coluche, is a good example of this. Citizenship action does not stop at national frontiers. ‘Citizen of the world’ is a beautiful but vague expression. There are problems of corruption, trafficking of all kinds or climate change, impacting at the

50 

M. Blanc

continental level (‘regional’ in the vocabulary of international institutions) or at the global level. Many citizens and humanitarian organisations seek to operate at these levels. Non-governmental international organisations (ONG), religious or not, become involved in multiple difficulties: intercultural misunderstandings, relations of domination of the North upon the South and so on.

3.2

The Aims of Citizenship Action

Citizenship action seeks the realisation of a common good in a specific situation. One should distance oneself from a current view of a disembodied citizenship (Schnapper 1994): acting as a citizen does not imply abstracting oneself from personal interests. These need to be borne in mind but relativising and integrating them within a collective project. There are two non-dissociable aspects to citizenship action: defining the specific common good and putting into operation activities towards this end, a form of ‘communicational action’ (Habermas 1981) but with the proviso that it does not depend on consensus: debate is conflictual and the public domain is ‘oppositional’ (Negt 2007). The source of a citizenship action is often the private initiative of a few individuals and it moves into the public sphere when it begins to achieve success, develops and receives the interest of a wider world. The distinction between public and private is necessary but without seeing them as oppositional. The important feminist intuition is relevant here: ‘The Personal is Political’ (Hanisch 1970). The frontiers between the public and the private are not fixed and it is a matter of public debate as to what legitimately should be located in the private sphere. For example, intra-familial violence was for a long time considered a private affair, of no concern to neighbours. It is good that this is now a public problem, the concern of a larger grouping of public and private actors of variable geometry depending on circumstances. These are new forms of public/private citizenship partnerships and religions can take part in two ways: by bringing their proactive contribution for the resolution of a public problem and by accepting exterior help in resolving their internal malfunctioning. Turning again to the example

3  Citizenship, Secularism and Religion: A ‘Triangle… 

51

of familial violence, churches could be encouraged to purify their message and their practice in order to eliminate all traces of that which might allow one to believe that such violence is religiously acceptable. They could also be called to account with regard to sexual abuse and paedophilic affairs, corruption and/or sectarian practices within religious institutions. In religion, as elsewhere, these practices are not purely internal matters depending solely on a complacent internal justice; these issues require public debate.

3.3

Universal Religions and Social Transactions

Contrary to religious discourse, which considers its sources divine and therefore immutable, messages are always relative and ambiguous: either for a biblical or koranic expert, it is child’s play to find passages giving opposing responses to the same question. For example, how to treat the unfaithful: by tolerance and respect for their convictions, or by requiring their forced conversion to the ‘true’ God? Both responses can be found in the Old and the New Testaments and in the Koran as well. It is a matter of context and subjective appreciation of the situation. Churches are human groups and, as human groups, they are riddled with internal conflicts. An important line of division, within families and professions as well as within religions, puts those faithful to tradition on one side and those open to modernity on the other. Holding on to both these opposing perspectives together, each one of which contains a part of the truth, depends upon transactional compromises. It is a matter of distinguishing what is optional, tied to a given context and liable to evolve, from what is essential (or the ‘central kernel’), on which then one can accept a compromise. Wearing a veil is very useful as a protection for the face in a sand storm but is it as necessary in a modern town?3 Is religious conviction to be measured by the wearing of a garment? Popular wisdom counsels otherwise: ‘the habit doesn’t make the monk!’ Transaction consists here in defining the point of equilibrium between

 It might become so with the corona virus!

3

52 

M. Blanc

conservation and adaptation; there may be external pressures but this is a dynamic internal to each religion. Churches are in competition with each other; history, ancient or recent, is marked by wars of religion leaving deep and durable traces. Religions claiming universality compete in terms of values. To cohabit successfully, they need to create transactional compromises of another sort. Except by denying their founding principles, churches cannot negotiate that their God may no longer be the only true god! Paradoxically, social transaction allowing a compromise of coexistence between religions would require putting theological questions between brackets and seeking in the human laws the foundation for their peaceful coexistence. However important it might be, such an inter-religious agreement would remain insufficient because even churches together do not have a monopoly on values and they must therefore seek a basis of agreement with other philosophic, humanist and scientific traditions and so on. Churches may be nostalgic for the past when theocratic power was both political and religious. They were able to be totalitarian when hegemonic (e.g. the Inquisition). However, churches in a minority position have played a counterbalancing role against some dictators. In the recent past, this was notably the case in Spain under the dictatorship of Franco and in Portugal under the less brutal dictatorship of Salazar: the Catholic Church was the oppositional ‘lifebuoy’ in spite of the entrenched anticlericalism of certain opponents. In the same way, the Catholic Church in Poland and the protestant churches in the former East Germany contributed to releasing the grip of neo-Stalinism. These were important interventions into the political domain, even if they remained discreet. To exclude churches from political debate, as the fundamentalist version of the religion of secularism would have it, is absurd: citizenship is open to all, believers and non-believers. Unless one thinks that religion should only be concerned with folklore rites, without any real importance in everyday life, it is impossible to corral religion only into the private sphere.

3  Citizenship, Secularism and Religion: A ‘Triangle… 

4

53

 onclusion: Taking Religion Seriously C but Without Complacency

If churches are willing participants in public debates, they are not endowed with any moral authority putting them in a superior position to others. What a religion presents as God’s Law is one social production among others, adopted by those who share the same belief, but it cannot be legitimately imposed on others. Only the law of men and women can have any claim to universality and this has two major consequences: doing is more important than saying. Alliances are temporary and limited between public authorities, citizen’s groups and religious associations.

4.1

Saying Is Not Doing

Without denying the performative power of words (When saying is doing, John Austin’s well-known title, 1962), the actual act is more important than the justifications given for it. Affirmations of solidarity with others are only of value when translated into concrete acts. Saying does indeed have value but this is secondary when set against actions illustrating love of neighbour or solidarity with the working class. Conversely, claiming the same religion does not imply any political agreement in terms of a vision for the future. The Catholic Church today is severely divided. On the one hand, the Pope is calling for an ‘ecological revolution’ and also for a careful rethinking of attitudes towards the family. On the other hand, the most conservative and traditionalist wing is strongly defensive of the idealised traditional family: the Napoleonic family code, negotiated with the church, tacitly admitted that the husband might have a mistress, provided the matter was kept discreet. In the ‘bourgeois’ family, economic matters, notably concerning inheritance, are more important than affective relations. There are without doubt many common points between Christian, Jewish and Muslim fundamentalists concerning the subordinate status of women or in recourse to violence, more perhaps than between progressives and fundamentalists within their own respective churches. It would

54 

M. Blanc

be counterproductive to condemn en bloc religion as ‘the opium of the people’. On the contrary, one needs to work upon the internal tensions to marginalise the fundamentalists and to bring together the progressives, both in and beyond the churches.

4.2

Active Citizens and Religions

I can cooperate with Christians, Jews and Muslims in defending the rights of foreigners and in denouncing the immigration policies in Europe and in France of governments of both the right and the left. At the same time, I would firmly oppose the majority of them on the rights of men and women on matters of sexuality, marriage and abortion. Citizenship action is rebel action. Sophocles presents this in the figure of Antigone who, in peril of her life, stood against her uncle who represented three forms of power: patriarchal, political and religious. Antigone is an example of resistance by one individual but this model needs to be completed by introducing the idea of resistance that is also collective, and by this means of exerting a more sustainable influence. Today I am an atheist or non-believer; I know neither what is the difference between these two words nor which one is the more appropriate. My Catholic education has given me values to which I still adhere, although they are now secularised. It has also given me blinkers of which I have tried to rid myself. I have no more personal problems with my religion of origin and I wish a long life to all religions, if they support their congregations in living in a secular world. However, they permanently need to be goaded to do this and I will be in conflict with them if they lose sight of these objectives, although I am unable to be as bold as David was with Goliath!

References Adorno, T. W. (2007 [1950]). Études sur la personnalité autoritaire. Paris: Allia. Austin, J. (1970 [1962]). Quand dire, c’est faire. Paris: Seuil.

3  Citizenship, Secularism and Religion: A ‘Triangle… 

55

Baubérot, J. (2006). L’intégrisme républicain contre la laïcité. La Tour d’Aigues (F-84240), L’Aube. Baubérot, J. (2015). Les sept laïcités françaises. Le modèle français de laïcité n’existe pas. Paris: Maison des Sciences de l’Homme. Blanc, M. (2012). Au cœur du développement durable démocratique. Les transactions sociales entre individus, communautés et sociétés. In J. Stoessel-Ritz, M.  Blanc, & N.  Mathieu (Eds.), Développement durable, communautés et sociétés (pp. 33–46). Bruxelles: Peter Lang. Blanc, M. (2013a). ‘Printemps arabes’ et printemps des citoyens: citoyenneté active et transactions sociales dans la vie quotidienne. In J.  Stoessel-Ritz, M. Blanc, & B. Sahli (Eds.), Développement durable, citoyenneté et société civile (pp. 19–28). Tunis & Paris: IRMC & L’Harmattan. Blanc, M. (2013b). La rénovation urbaine: démolition ou patrimonialisation? Comparaison entre la France et l’Allemagne, La vie des idées. Retrieved from http://www.laviedesidees.fr/La-renovation-urbaine-demolition.html. Blanc, M. (2014). Les habitants: acteurs ou spectateurs de la rénovation de leur quartier? (Postface). In D. Desponds, E. Auclair, P. Bergel, & M.-M. Bertucci (Eds.), Les habitants acteurs de la rénovation urbaine? (pp.  253–268). Rennes: PUR. Bouzar, D. (2014). Désamorcer l’islam radical. Ces dérives sectaires qui défigurent l’islam, Ivry-sur-Seine, Éd. l’Atelier. Cardonnel, J. (1968). Dieu est mort en Jésus-Christ. Bordeaux: Ducros. Elias, N., & Scotson, J. (1997). Logiques de l’exclusion. Enquête sociologique au cœur des problèmes d'une communauté. Paris: Fayard. [1965. The Established and the Outsiders]. Espiet-Kilty, R. (2016). David Cameron, Citizenship and the Big Society: A New Social Model? Revue française d’étude britanniques. Retrieved from https://journals.openedition.org/rfcb/796. Gutiérrez Merino, G. ([1971] 1974). Théologie de la libération. Bruxelles: Lumen Vitae. Habermas, J. (1987 [1981]). Théorie de l’agir communicationnel. Paris: Fayard. Hammouche, A. (2015). La santé et la politique de la ville en France dans le prisme des migrants du Maghreb. Pensée plurielle, 39, 65–76. Hanisch, C. (1970). The Personal Is Political. In Firestone, Sh. (Ed.), Notes from the 2nd Year: Women’s Liberation. New York: Radical Women. Retrieved from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_personal_is_political. Hatzfeld, H. (1993). Les racines de la religion. Tradition, rituel, valeurs. Paris: Seuil. Honneth, A. (2000 [1992]). La lutte pour la reconnaissance. Paris: Cerf.

56 

M. Blanc

Honneth, A. (2006). La société du mépris. Paris: La Découverte. Jornet, J. (Ed.). (2005). Républicains espagnols en Midi-Pyrénées. Exil, histoire et mémoire. Toulouse: Presses universitaires du Mirail. Malraux, A. (1957). La métamorphose des dieux. Paris: Gallimard. Negt, O. (2007). L’Espace public oppositionnel. Paris: Payot. Sayad, A. (1999). La double absence. Des illusions de l’émigré aux souffrances de l’immigré. Paris: Seuil. Schnapper, D. (1994). La Communauté des citoyens. Sur l’idée moderne de nation. Paris: Gallimard. Storrie, T. (2015). Pour une formation interprofessionnelle englobant la santé et les services sociaux. Quelques leçons du Royaume-Uni. Pensée plurielle, 39, 51–61.

4 How Is It Possible to Be Muslim in France? Bruno Michon

In 1721, in Les lettres persanes (Persian Letters), Montesquieu in his avant-­ garde novel imagined the astonishment of Rica and Ibben, two Persians visiting France and discovering the Western world. Rica describes to Ibben his curiosity: So much distinction could not fail to be burdensome. I do not consider myself such a rare and wonderful specimen of humanity; and although I have a very good opinion of myself, I would never have dreamt that I could have disturbed the peace of a great city, where I was quite unknown. I therefore resolved to change my Persian dress for a European one, in order to see if my countenance would still strike people as wonderful. This experiment made me acquainted with my true value. Divested of everything foreign in my garb, I found myself estimated at my proper rate. I had reason to complain of my tailor, who had made me lose so suddenly the attention and good opinion of the public; for I sank immediately into the merest

B. Michon (*) ESEIS Research Department, and University of Strasbourg, Strasbourg, France e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2020 M. Blanc et al. (eds.), Citizenship and Religion, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-54610-6_4

57

58 

B. Michon

nonentity. Sometimes I would be as much as an hour in a given company, without attracting the least notice, or having an opportunity given me to speak; but if any one chanced to inform the company that I was a Persian I soon overheard a murmur all round me, ‘Oh! Ah! A Persian, is he? Most amazing! How can anybody be a Persian?’ (Montesquieu 1828: 73)

Three hundred years later, when Islam has become the second religion in France,1 it is common place to come across the ‘Persian’ in our streets; it can seem just as strange to be a Muslim on French territory. These introductory considerations raise issues which have intrigued me now for several years as a researcher, teacher and citizen. How is it possible that the land of human rights, universalism and secularism can remain a place where being a Muslim may constitute an anomaly? I am not seeking here to answer this question in purely scientific terms; rather I am trying to understand what in my personal biography has led me to raise these questions in the first place and what in my historical and sociological approaches has allowed me to advance some relevant hypotheses concerning them.

1

Retrospective

I was born in Paris in 1981, belonging therefore to the ‘Mitterrand generation’. Son of left-wing Catholic parents and only having known during the first fourteen years of my life the first socialist president of the 5th Republic, it seemed to me completely normal to be governed by socialists; but the twenty following years then showed me that this was the exception rather than the rule. To grow up in such a family meant passing through a number of stages of Christian socialisation: weekly church attendance; the three initial sacraments of Baptism, Eucharist and Confirmation; and scouting. This  It is difficult to ascertain this affirmation as the French state disallows the recording of its population in terms either of religion or of ethnicity, but scientific soundings do nevertheless solidly confirm the affirmation that Islam has indeed become the second French religion. In a recent study of the evolution of religion across the world, Pew Research Centre (2015) has shown that the French Muslim population would grow from 7% to 10% of the total population between 2010 and 2015. 1

4  How Is It Possible to Be Muslim in France? 

59

last was very important to me: scout, then as scout leader, I discovered in this context the fundamental principles of ‘popular education2’, I developed a certain concern for the transmission of values and initiated international humanitarian projects. This first part of my biography was anchored in a Christian faith, orientated towards action, social engagement and moments of collective effervescence. One can find here the image of the ‘pilgrim’, identified by Danièle Hervieu-Léger as one of the two ideal types of religious modernity: One discovers that the figure of the practicing faithful person tends to change over time: at the same time as distancing one’s self from the notion of ‘obligation’ as required by the institution, there is a reorganization in terms of ‘interior imperative’, of ‘need’ and of ‘personal choice’. (Hervieu-­ Léger 1999: 95)

I moved to a more individual faith, including both strong and collective moments (e.g. the prayers at Taizé3) as well as a certain distancing from the institution of the Catholic Church, all of which pushed me towards a relatively simplistic and naïve wish to change the world. Rather than in political engagement or in classical protest movements, I found in the new ‘popular education’ movement a particularly relevant context for this disposition, firstly with scouting and then later during my academic studies as animateur (cultural activist) in a socio-cultural centre into a popular neighbourhood of Strasbourg. The idea of inventing an educational action capable of transforming the individual, of rendering her or him more autonomous, more sociably and strongly linked to others, was what underpinned that popular education which Condorcet in 1792 passionately imagined:

 Éducation populaire is a trend which developed in the nineteenth century in parallel with the formal schooling system. Often militant (Catholic, secular and/or communist) the popular education movements sought social improvements and universal access to education. At the start, popular education and special needs education were closely linked but became more separately distinct during the twentieth century. Today the certificates and the spheres of action of these two movements are relatively distinct even though numerous partnerships also exist. 3  The community at Taizé, a little village in Eastern France, is a monastic ecumenical Christian community founded in the 1970s with a particular concern for young people. 2

60 

B. Michon

As long as men do not solely obey their reason, whose opinions are continually received from others, in vain all chains would be broken, in vain these commanding opinions would be useful truths; human kind would be no less divided between two classes: that of men who reason and that of men who believe. That of masters and that of slaves. (Condorcet 1883)

Of the two basic principles of my engagement, Christian faith and éducation populaire, the first disappeared early in my adult years. More particularly, this ‘pilgrim religiosity’ ended when I started to study the history of religions in the eponymous Institute of Strasbourg University. With some exaggeration, I found myself in what Max Weber calls ‘the de-magification of the world’ (Entzauberung, usually rendered in French as ‘disenchantment’—as it is also in English). This is the rejection of ‘all magic means to achieve salvation as so many superstitions and sacrileges’ (Weber 2016: 77). Becoming aware of the relativism of beliefs and of institutions with their various gods who die and are resuscitated, as well as the discovery of the history of Christianity and its activities in the pre-medieval history of the Near East, all this led me to break away from the faith which I had up until then maintained. Without any personal distress, from one day to the next, I no longer believed in God. At the same time, my brutal repudiation of this religious faith was equalled by a passion for the phenomenon of religion, which led me into 10 years of the historical and then the sociological study of religions. My critical sense and my interest in what is called Religionswissenschasft in Germany (science of religions) were inspired by the seminars of Jean-­ Marie Husser, professor of history of religion.4 They dealt with introduction to the history of religions as presented by René Girard5 (1972 [2007]) and then the seminar ‘Gods who die and resuscitate’ were for me powerful intellectual events which allowed me both to create a certain distance  Jean-Marie Husser’s introductory seminar on the history of religions has been recently published (2017). 5  Professor of literature, René Girard discovered the theory of mimetic desire at the heart of stories and myths across all civilisations. He then enlarged this intuition drawing upon both anthropology and philosophy. For him, the mimetic character of desire is the first-order civilisational motor, which explains violence and religion (Girard 1972 [2007]). 4

4  How Is It Possible to Be Muslim in France? 

61

from religion and to embrace it in a wider way. This approach, which attempts to apprehend the phenomenon of religion by means of a historic and critical method, with its focus on interactions between local and global history, is the basis on which the Institute for the study of the history of religions in Strasbourg University was founded. During the annexation of Alsace-Lorraine by Germany, following the 1871 Franco-Prussian war, strenuous efforts were undertaken by Emperor William II to ‘germanise’ the territory, including the creation in 1872 and 1903 of a Protestant and then a Catholic theological faculty. The Institute for the study of the history of religions dates from 1920 following both the return of Alsace-Lorraine to France and the maintenance of a dispensation in these territories allowing the theological faculties to remain within the (public) University of Strasbourg. At that time, the Institute thus bore symbolic witness to the fact that it was possible to include the study of religion in locations other than in religious institutions and in theological faculties. This Institute, in which I later studied, is a product of the ‘war of the two Frances’ in Alsace, with a secularisation of the study of religions as a consequence—an innovation in France, not yet known in Germany at that time. It was for me the start of a lengthy period of reflexion. Relations with the Germanic worlds are self-evident in Strasbourg University. They would become for me an important contributing factor, with one Erasmus-funded year spent in Vienna, to my ongoing intellectual development. Research for my Master degree focussed on Rudolph Steiner, the esoteric Austrian founder of anthroposophy, the Waldorf schools and biodynamics. Philosopher, pedagogue and heterodox theologian, Rudolph Steiner was for me, as a young historian, a fascinating object of study. My research was on the conflict between the orientalist and the Christian traditions within Steiner’s work, particularly with regard to his writings on the Bhagavad-Gita, an Indian text to which Steiner gave a very Christian-centred interpretation. The study of this intellectual meeting of two worlds, the Orient and the Occident, and that of the construction of alterity and identity, constituted for me several years later the basis for an enlarged reflexion when I converted to sociology and focussed on contemporary times.

62 

B. Michon

A year in Paris at the École pratique des hautes études (EPHE) and at the École des hautes études en sciences sociales (EHESS) allowed me to negotiate my disciplinary reorientation towards the sociology of religions. I discovered the captivating huge concentration of brains in these institutions. During that year, I completed two Master degrees, one in history at the EPHE where I deepened my research on Steiner and the other in sociology in Strasbourg where I started to work on ‘the religious culture of teenagers’ which would become in 2006 the subject of my PhD. Ten years later, with benefit of a certain distancing hindsight and reconstructing this journey, I can see that the subject of this thesis was embedded in an intellectual continuity, bringing together interrogations concerning the place of religious alterity in contemporary European societies and my own personal questionings. The origin of this subject is to be found in the often repeated observation in lay circles (milieux laïcs) of the ‘loss of religious culture’ by French youth. How is it possible that a lay country suffers from such a lack of knowledge? A loss, one may naively admit, of which this same lay country is the original cause?6 However, does this ‘loss of religious culture’ really exist? Are we falling into the trap, as we often do, of assuming that the young are illiterate? The ambiguous relationship of the French to religion and its ‘roots’ is certainly at the heart of this assumption. In terms of my research within the sociology of religions, I decided to adopt a Franco-German perspective in order to gain a certain distance from this very French manner of perceiving such issues. For five years, I interviewed French and German teenagers about their ‘religious culture’, what they think of religion and how they build their own ‘religious culture’. Doing this research, I was most interested in Muslim teenagers. I was very surprised when I realised both that young people were indeed not ‘illiterate’ and that those institutions complaining about their ignorance were quite simply unable to understand them, or indeed only in a very negative fashion. Where school and church institutions were expecting either a humanist or a religious culture, teenagers replied with the Simpsons: ‘my buddy Rachid who observes Ramadan’ (Michon 2011). Far from being anecdotal, these sources of knowledge provide a  Régis Debray (2002) calls it ‘the laicity of incompetence’.

6

4  How Is It Possible to Be Muslim in France? 

63

structure for young French and Germans to grasp religion. Far from being illiterate, their culture is first popular and embraces a vast range of knowledge covering very diverse religions. Evidently, they are far removed from scholastic knowledge such as ‘the five pillars of Islam’ or ‘the New Testament’; nevertheless, it is knowledge. Furthermore, Muslim teenagers did not see themselves as fundamentally apart from their non-Muslim friends. One finds here the strong popular educational conviction that nothing will work without taking account of the actual culture of children and young people, without operating on the actual world in which they are living, this world which Alfred Schütz, following Husserl, called their Lebenswelt (‘lived world’) (Schütz and Luckmann 2003 [1975]). The feeble responses of the French national educational system in the attempt to meet this seeming ignorance and its total disconnection with the actual reality of this religious culture finally led me to propose four avenues for the reform of religious education in France. These proposals, developed within my doctoral dissertation, are addressed as much to the teachers within the French national education system and to the academic world. Proposal 1: The study of the history of each religion should be coupled with the actual consequences of this history. Proposal 2: The sources of religious knowledge must be unfettered. Religion evolves and the approach to teaching must evolve also. Proposal 3: The teaching of religion must allow space for heterodox views (hetero-lay—hétéro-laïque) to those who ‘are not Charlie’.7 Proposal 4: The teaching of religion must not exclude the experiential religious dimension, the only way to understand the reality of the phenomenon.

 After the attacks against the cartoons Newspaper Charlie Hebdo, a huge debate emerged within the French society about the very possibility of not ‘being Charlie’ (see below). A minority rejected the injunction to express solidarity with Charlie Hebdo, viewed as an apology of a ‘right to blaspheme’. The controversy opposed Emmanuel Todd (1998) and Caroline Fourest (2015). For a semantic analyse of this debate, see Gonzalez and Kaufmann (2016). 7

64 

B. Michon

These propositions are based on the conviction that the French framework of secularism should allow for a fundamental transformation of the relation maintained in France with regard to religion, in particular with regard to Islam; but for multiple reasons, including recent terrorist attacks, this currently seems impossible within the large primary state schools.

2

 uslim Impossible? Towards M an Anthropological Understanding of Religion

During these years of doctoral research and today as a researcher in a social work school, I am seeking a reconciliation of the results of my research with a practical popular education perspective. Everything began with a research project funded by the Agence Nationale de la Recherche (National Research Agency) on religious plurality, supervised by my PhD director Anne-Sophie Lamine. In order to operationalise the results of the research, four PhD students (Dejan Jovanov, Rachel Sarg, Clémentine Vivarelli and myself ) then created a pedagogical programme with the aim of offering teenagers in secondary schools an introduction to the sociology of religions with the cooperation of their history teachers. The programme, entirely filmed, covered three phases: • A playful comparison of the fundamental sociological concepts with those of the sociology of religions (representation, vision of the world, prejudices, plurality). • Visits to three places of worship (Muslim, Buddhist, Jewish). • A reflexive consideration of these experiences, using the representations of the religious actors encountered and of the teenagers themselves, supplemented by appropriate filmed extracts of these events.

4  How Is It Possible to Be Muslim in France? 

65

Finally a documentary film8 was produced and well received, and the four doctoral students then founded in 2011 their own voluntary association (Educ-Rel) to continue this work, the aim of which was: To propose an approach to religion which both respects the framework of laicity and is open to an anthropological dimension to religion. Educ-Rel supports a laicity of intelligence against a laicity of incompetence. Within the framework of a multicultural and pluri-religious society, Educ-Rel seeks to promote a better understanding of religious alterity and the respectful cohabitation of the beliefs of each person. Conscious of the conflicts provoked by this pluralisation, Educ-Rel is persuaded that it is possible to be both critical and distanced as well as treating each person with care whatever her or his beliefs. This approach should contribute to a more tolerant society.

The association was quickly in great demand by institutions within the national education system, by socio-cultural centres and by social workers. There was strong questioning of religious behaviours, of laicity and particularly of Islam: ‘Can a group leader wear a headscarf?’, ‘Can a socio-­ cultural centre make available a meeting room to Muslims in order to celebrate Eid?’ ‘What is laicity?’ are some of the questions regularly asked as a result of this approach, which is intercultural, open and mainly relying on an anthropological understanding of religion. Our actions were anchored in research at the meeting point of citizenship, inter-culturality and religious education, as that for instance of Hull (2002). These studies well illustrate the obstacles for a religious education avoiding the risks of confessionalism and patrimonialisation. In the first place, the risk is ‘solipsistic belief ’ (I believe, therefore I am right) which sets aside the whole question of the pluralisation of society. In the second place, the risk is to be satisfied with a socio-critical relativist understanding of religion, which takes no account of the lived experience of believers.9 This research illustrates the pedagogical relevance of an educational approach starting from religion.10 These teenagers developed a much  [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tOVije1m6kc&feature=youtu.be] (in French).  For example, in France, young people refer to their ‘Hebrew’ rather than ‘Jewish’ friends. 10  After 4 years of activity, Educ-Rel was disbanded, its members going their separate ways. 8 9

66 

B. Michon

b­ etter understanding of the world by leaving an ideologically non-pluralist schooling system in preference for a system where the centre of gravity is plurality. However, if it is possible to uphold such an approach as a citizen-­ researcher, the institutionalisation of it seems much more difficult. Nothing is gained by accusing the French national educational system of its failings. This venerable institution is embedded in a specific national history, particularly marked by certain interpretations of secularism which seriously undermine the possibility of thinking of France as plural. Various interpretations of secularism (laicity) uneasily exist together, among which I note in particular ‘catho-laicity’, the ‘laicity of incompetence’ and ‘feminist laicity’ (féminisme laïc).

3

Catho-Laicity

In 1990, Edgar Morin created this neologism, merging Catholicism with laicity, in an article with an evocative title: ‘The black hole of laicity’. The sociologist explained that the resurgence of the debate surrounding the ‘Islamic headscarf ’ after 1982 arose from the impossibility of clearly defining laicity. Edgar Morin spoke more particularly of a catho-laicity to describe a scientist laicity dressing itself up as a religion. The laicity of the 3rd Republic was unaware that it drew its energy and its ardour not from the simple idea of tolerance and pluralism, but from its underlying religious basis, camouflaged in scientificity and rationality. This was the ‘catho-laicity’ religion founded upon the providential trinity of Reason–Science–Progress. Reason and Science advanced together, banishing errors and superstitions, bringing forth their benefits for all humanity. Progress was underwritten by biological evolution and guaranteed by the laws of history. (Morin 1990: 35)

The concept of catho-laicity was taken up by Jean-Paul Willaime and Jean Baubérot in order to describe the often implicit conception of a laicity moulded in a Catholic culture and unable to free itself from this cultural source. Considering the Catholic as ‘normal’ and the Muslim as ‘strange’, catho-laicity ornaments itself with a neutrality in order to better

4  How Is It Possible to Be Muslim in France? 

67

discriminate against anything departing from the norm. France, this ‘great diocese of emancipated spirits’, to use Sainte-Beuve’s ironic formula, seems to have built itself upon what the sociologist Jean-Paul Willaime (2004) has called the BLEC: Blanc, Lumière, Europe, Chrétien (White, Enlightened, Europe, Christian) the European equivalent of WASP (White, Anglo-Saxon, Protestant). This equation, in spite of recent secularising evolutions, remains relevant today as illustrated by the debate around European Christian roots or as it touches upon French identity.

4

The Laicity of Incompetence

I have worked in different fields and have always been surprised at the strength of the argument that refuses to recognise that religion has any relevance whatsoever. Be it with state education teachers, special needs teachers or socio-cultural animateurs (activists), one can easily hear the same argument in different forms: be it that ‘that’s religion which has nothing to do with me’, an affirmation which in the name of a certain professional deontology creates a clear barrier between religion and the application of professional competence. Or be it that ‘that’s a religious matter about which I am neither competent nor authorized to deal with’, holding here more to a declaration of incompetence than to a professional role. More rarely, but nevertheless present, comes the formula: ‘[t]hat’s a religious matter, therefore not serious’, suggesting that religion is a minor identity matter which doesn’t merit much attention. Whatever the form adopted, these arguments expose different ways by which questions of religion are set aside. There are several explanations for this phenomenon. A first possible explanation is the concept of ‘exculturation’ suggested by Danielle Hervieu-Léger, sociologist of religions (2003). The exculturation of Catholicism is the eviction of religion from the explanatory matrix of successful social living in France. This macro-social phenomenon is a partial explanation of the positivist idea, widespread in France, that religion will inevitably disappear and as a consequence it has no social legitimacy. The second explanation is just as fundamental: the weakness of pedagogy in terms of religion, laicity and interculturality, as

68 

B. Michon

much in state schools as in the professions already mentioned. The republican matrix and the fear of communitarianism impede the setting up of a non-ideological approach to a learning which is open to plurality.

5

A Feminist Secularism

I must be careful here as feminist approaches can differ widely on this theme. As a citizen and as a researcher, I note a certain lack of innocence with regard to the fact that much of the laicity debates focussed on the Islamic headscarf. My personal experience leads me to the hypothesis that the generation of my parents—of May 68, of the women’s liberation movement (Mouvement de libération des femmes, MLF), of the right to abortion, of the ‘depatriarchalisation’ of the law—struggled to comprehend why young French Muslim women wore the headscarf as this piece of cloth constituted above all a symbol of submission of women to patriarchy. For this generation, it was difficult to think of the wearing of the headscarf as a ‘free choice’. The engagement of Elisabeth Badinter during the first ‘foulard affair’ in Creil in 1989—as a ‘defence of laicity’—bears clear witness to this position. Without excessive generalisation, I think that younger feminists tend less to focus the debate on the question of the headscarf or ‘Islamic custom’ and this is a natural consequence that we, unlike our parents, have as a generation grown up surrounded by young women wearing headscarves. At the university, I met many young women wearing headscarves whose feminist convictions did not seem to me any less ardent than those of their companions without headscarves.11 This is an important dimension which explains, in part at least, the difficulties that Islam presents to a French perspective. In my experience as a teacher, researcher and citizen, I took note of these three obstacles which were inhibiting the dispassionate integration of Islam into French society but I nevertheless did not see these obstacles  The position taken by Hanane Karimi, a fellow doctoral student at Strasbourg, provides a good example [https://blogs.mediapart.fr/edition/les-invites-de-mediapart/article/060416/pour-en-finiravec-le-controle-politique-du-corps-des-femmes]. 11

4  How Is It Possible to Be Muslim in France? 

69

as irremovable. I believed possible to move beyond these obstacles and I have also met numerous Christians, social workers and/or numerous feminists absolutely aware of the major importance of achieving a settled and relaxed relationship with Islam. At least I was convinced until the series of terrorist attacks which started on 7 January 2015.

6

And Then Came Those Acts of Terrorism

The terrorist acts against Charlie Hebdo, the Jewish food store, the Bataclan and then at Nice12 happened and a new page was turned. As long as I was able to feel completely at ease regarding issues touching on laicity and religion, the issue of radicalisation raised some questions. Beyond the purely academic questions of defining their contours, I was principally concerned with the change of status implied by my interventions on questions of radicalisation: from a researcher-citizen, I was becoming an expert. When these terrorist acts happened, my work on religion and secularism in a social work school became the focus for many questions and concerns relating to professional and institutional dilemmas. Training professionals to deal with matters of religion and secularism in their practical professional contexts is one thing, but training professionals in risk avoidance related to radicalisation is something else. At first sight, it is the same: allowing everyone the better to live together. However, the aim of training considerably affects the delivery of it. To speak of Islam as a religion ‘equal to others’ seems tainted with ‘angelism’ and yet not to do so would betray my deeply held convictions of ten years’ standing. To refuse to engage with the theme would allow me to keep out of danger and stay on safe ground, while accepting this engagement would require me not to shut my eyes to the horror of such events and to offer guidance to those who may well find themselves in the front  Two brothers, Saïd and Chérif Kouachi, killed 12 people and injured 11 others in the office of the French satirical weekly newspaper Charlie Hebdo on 7 January 2015. At the same time, Amedy Coulibaly attacked a Kosher supermarket and killed four hostages. On 14 July 2016 (a French national holiday), a 19-tonne cargo truck killed 86 people and injured 458 others near the beach in Nice. 12

70 

B. Michon

line of being able to anticipate such future events. Having heard on the airwaves experts on ‘radicalisation’, on Islam and/or on terrorism, my responsibility as researcher-citizen was awakened. If I wasn’t going to do it, who would? The emphasis on security in these media and political discussions was very understandable but there was more to be said. From my little local level, I was persuaded that there was something different to be said. But accepting this, I was accepting to respond to the requests addressed to me and to enter the circle of radicalisation ‘experts’. The question therefore became: are the functions of expert and sociologist compatible?

7

Sociology and Expertise

Where the expert responds to requirements or enquiries from society and/or from public authorities, the sociologist constructs his/her own object of research and takes care to distance himself/herself from the common sense of these public authorities and society. Where the sociologist chooses his/her own tools and methods, the expert is constrained by the requirement imposed upon him/her, at best negotiating, even compromising him/herself, in the attempt to reach an agreement. Where the sociologist produces knowledge, the expert produces expertise in terms of good practices, evaluations and recommendations. While expertise questions the usefulness of the social sciences, what does it serve to be ‘useful’ in responding to the needs of a society itself lacking both keys for understanding and pragmatic answers? The history of sociology is indeed one of contradictions and the question of the social utility of the sociologist is certainly one raised for themselves by the founding fathers of sociology: Our researches would merit not one hour of labour if they only have a speculative interest. If we separate theoretical from practical problems, this is not in order to neglect these latter: it is on the contrary to make ourselves better able to solve them. (Durkheim 2008 [1893]: xxxix)

In addition, the Chicago School sociologists’ research praxis was based on their hopes of transforming society (Guth 2008). George Herbert

4  How Is It Possible to Be Muslim in France? 

71

Mead identified pragmatism as an instrument for social reform (Côté 2015). The anthropologists Malinowski (1929) and Evans-Pritchard (1946) published numerous texts on applied anthropology and this tradition also exists in France: clinical sociology (de Gaulejac 2014), intervention sociology (Dubet 1987), etc. The excellent post scriptum of Pierre Bourdieu’s La misère du monde is most relevant: Bringing to consciousness the mechanisms which render life painful, even insufferable, is not to neutralise them; bringing contradictions to consciousness is not to resolve them. But, however sceptical one may be with regard to the social efficiency of the sociological message, one cannot completely discount its effect in allowing those who suffer to discover the possibility of imputing their suffering to social causes and thereby to feel themselves exonerated; making widely known the social origin, collectively occulted, of misfortune in all its forms, including the most intimate and secret. An observation, in spite of appearances, is in no way despairing; what the social world has done, the social world, armed with this knowledge, can undo. What is in any case certain is that nothing is less innocent than the laisser-faire. (Bourdieu 1993: 944)

Bourdieu was already suggesting the idea of promoting mediated spaces where the conditions for the diffusion of scientific knowledge could be preserved while remaining relatively out of reach of the logics of other fields (Bourdieu 1996). In spite of the distrust of the academic world regarding the influence exerted by society on science, the frontier has always been porous. In French universities, there is little regard for the role of science in society. Is this for lack of time? In order to protect science from social contamination? Or simply because of tradition? During my decade of university life, there was never any question of making the knowledge within universities available to a wider audience; I was never asked to open up the academic events which I organised to the ‘general public’ or to ‘intermediary institutions’. On many occasions, I organised academic events which gathered at best ten researchers when the subject was very sharply defined and several tens if someone well known had been invited. Finding a way between expertise and ‘science’ means leaving one’s ivory tower and going into the ‘public arena’,

72 

B. Michon

uncomfortable undoubtedly, but it needs to be done and in the spirit of committed citizenship. To end with a word on radicalisation, I think that it is most important for the sociologist of religions to relocate radicalisation in its context. Many social workers responsible for presumably ‘radicalised’ young people refuse to deal with the question of radicalisation in terms of religion; the risks of doing so are certainly great: stigmatisation, Islamophobia and so on. However, it is not by sweeping the religious question out of sight that we will understand why young French persons prefer to die in Syria and kill their fellows rather than seek to transform French society by democratic means. This taboo leads me finally to say that the knowledge and vision of the world which I have developed as a sociologist of religions may be of use in the chaos of the struggle against radicalisation, but I cannot be sure of this. I never cease doubting and asking myself if this is where I should be and what I should be doing?

References Bourdieu, P. (1993). La misère du monde. Paris: Seuil. Bourdieu, P. (1996). Sur la télévision, suivi de: L’emprise du journalisme. Paris: Liber. Condorcet J.  A. N. (1883). Rapport sur l’organisation générale de l’instruction publique, présenté à l’Assemblée nationale législative au nom du Comité d’instruction publique, les 20 et 21 avril 1792. Retrieved from http://gallica. bnf.fr/ark:/12148/bpt6k5652008r/f103.image.r=Condorcet,%20 Rapport%20sur%20l'organisation%20g%C3%A9n%C3%A9rale%20 de%20l'instruction%20publique. Côté, J.-F. (2015). Du pragmatisme de George Herbert Mead à la sociologie de Chicago: les prolongements d’une vision kaléidoscopique de la société, SociologieS. Retrieved May 2018, from http://sociologies.revues.org/4926. Debray, R. (2002). L’enseignement du fait religieux dans l’école laïque. Rapport au ministre de l’éducation nationale. Paris: Odile Jacob. Dubet, F. (1987). La galère, jeunes en survie. Paris: Fayard. Durkheim, É. (2008 [1893]). De la division du travail social. Paris: PUF. Evans-Pritchard, E. E. (1946). Applied Anthropology. Africa, 16(2), 92–98.

4  How Is It Possible to Be Muslim in France? 

73

Fourest, C. (2015). Éloge du blasphème. Paris: Grasset. de Gaulejac, V. (2014). La lutte des places. Paris: Desclée de Brouwer. Girard, R. (2007 [1972]). De la violence à la divinité, La Violence et le Sacré. Paris: Grasset. Gonzalez, P., & Kaufmann, L. (2016). La caricature sans blasphème? Sémantique et pragmatiques du Prophète en Une de Charlie Hebdo. Communication & langages, 187(1), 47–68. Guth, S. (2008). Modernité de Robert Ezra Park. Les concepts de l’École de Chicago. Paris: L’Harmattan. Hervieu-Léger, D. (1999). Le Pèlerin et le Converti. La religion en mouvement. Paris: Flammarion. Hervieu-Léger, D. (2003). Catholicisme, la fin d’un monde. Paris: Bayard. Hull, J.  M. (2002). The Contribution of Religious Education to Religious Freedom: A Global Perspective. In H. Spinder, J. Taylor & W. Westerman (Eds.), Committed to Europe’s Future: Contributions from Education and Religious Education: A Reader (pp. 107–110). Münster: Coordinating Group for Religious Education in Europe (CoGREE) and Comenius Institut. Husser, J. M. (2017). Introduction à l’histoire des religions. Paris: Ellipses. Malinowski, B. (1929). Practical Anthropology. Africa, 2, 22–38. Michon, B. (2011). La culture religieuse des adolescents en France et en Allemagne. Des connaissances aux défis de l’exculturation, de la popularisation et de l’altérité. Université de Strasbourg & Technische Universität Berlin, Doctorat en sociologie. Retrieved from http://scd-theses.u-strasbg.fr/2301/01/ MICHON_Bruno_2011.pdf. Montesquieu, C. de S., Baron de (1828). Lettres persanes (Vol. 7) [www.Gallica. fr]. [Persian Letters, Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia]. Morin, E. (1990). Le trou noir de la laïcité. Le débat, 58, 35–38. Pew Research Center. (2015). The Future of World Religions: Population Growth Projections, 2010–2050. Retrieved from http://www.pewforum.org. Schütz, A., & Luckmann, T. ([1975] 2003). Strukturen der Lebenswelt. Konstanz: UVK. Todd, S. (1998). Veiling the “Other,” Unveiling Our “Selves”: Reading Media Images of the Hijab Psychoanalytically to Move beyond Tolerance. Canadian Journal of Education, 4(23), 438–451. Weber, M. (2016). L’éthique protestante et l’esprit du capitalisme. Retrieved from http://classiques.uqac.ca (in French). Willaime, J.-P. (2004). Identité civilisationnelle de l’Europe et religions. In V.  Aucante (Ed.), L’Europe et le fait religieux, Sources, patrimoines, valeurs. Langres: Paroles et Silence.

5 Are Algerian Women Full Citizens? Cherifa Bouatta

1

Introduction

Before presenting my academic career, I will speak about myself. This approach helps to understand what has shaped us and clarifies the place from where each one of us speaks. For a psychologist to trust in objectivity, indeed objectivism, would be to allow oneself to be misled by an all-­ powerful thought which obstructs access to the understanding gained from subjectivity. I am the product of a conservative family and now with a certain hindsight I can see that it was a family buoyed up with hopes for a better future attracted by the ideals deriving from the independence of the country. For my parents and for people in our social situation, independence signified social progress: access to study, to decent work, to a better standard of living for parents and their children. For my parents, study was important and they were very proud of my school career, especially as in addition to being a good pupil, I was also as a child and adolescent C. Bouatta (*) Association SARP, Algiers, Algeria © The Author(s) 2020 M. Blanc et al. (eds.), Citizenship and Religion, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-54610-6_5

75

76 

C. Bouatta

discreet and obedient. At secondary school, I was part of a group of girls devoted to reading: Stendhal, Proust, Balzac, Feraoun, Kateb, Djebbar. We dreamt of other worlds. University in the 1970s was for me a true introduction to politics. In those years, the Algerian university was left wing. A single party governed the country, but clandestine left-wing parties recruited a substantial number of students. The dominant ideas were those of equality, social justice and so on. The political regime concentrated on ‘tasks of national edification’ and students were mobilised to participate as volunteers in these tasks. I basked in this environment during my university student period; it profoundly marked me and initiated my interest in the women’s question. Nourished by these readings and these debates I came to realise that the statute assigned to women in the society was unacceptable. Without any doubt my university career has been (and is still) nourished by these sources, as well as the two themes to which I am now committed. The first stems directly from my academic training: I am a clinical psychologist. Within this framework, I take an interest in the personality of individuals, in psychic suffering, therefore in the singular history of subjects. The second theme is more open to the socius and concerns my interest in the situation of women. This fits well with my activism within the Algerian feminist movement as it plays its part in the wider collective history. These two themes are not necessarily separate; they overlay and inter-penetrate each other. I am thinking of my work with women victims of terrorist violence in the 1990s, or with women victims of marital violence (Bouatta 2000). In these two cases, of political collective violence and of the great singular suffering of individuals, there is a clear resonance. Participating in this collective book on citizenship and religion reminds me of two previous books to which I contributed concerning the question of the citizenship of Algerian women. The first was in collaboration with Italian women from IMED (Instituto per il Mediterraneo, Rome). The title of this book as proposed by the Italian colleagues—Les Algériennes citoyennes en devenir (Algerian women becoming citizens) (2000)—stimulated controversy. Why ‘becoming’ citizens and not just simply ‘citizens’? Discussions between Algerians and Italians nearly broke down, but finally

5  Are Algerian Women Full Citizens? 

77

the title was adopted. The contents of the book were not the problem. Most of the contributors were Algerian, but to our ears the title sounded like an inferiority compared with ‘real’ citizens: Italians and, by extension, Westerners. The second book was entitled The Long March of Algerian Women Towards Modernity and my contribution was about male domination (Bouatta 2005). Here Algerian women were defined by default, in this case, not yet modern. Although Algerian women wrote the book, the man who was director of the collection imposed the title. After discussions bearing on the relations of the themes evoked in the book and the title, the authors, all women, were finally reconciled to accepting the title. For me, I remain of the view that these two titles—whether or not they correspond to the contents of the books—picture Algerian women as suffering from a lack within themselves, a sort of continuing incompleteness. In both cases the Algerian women were on the way towards citizenship but not yet truly citizens, on the way towards modernity but not yet modern and this directly calls into question our identity, alluding to an identity failure, an innate inferiority of being, something that women have not yet attained. They may certainly be travelling in the right direction but still with a long way to go. What do they lack? What road do they need to choose to get there? Get to what or where? These questions call attention to the legal and political spheres specifically in Algeria. However, citizenship is intimately related to modernity within rights-based states. Within our traditional and cultural space, this immediately involves the religious referential. In my country, Islamist groups—Front Islamique du Salut (FIS)—refer to Islamic law (the Shari’a) as the basis of laws governing interpersonal behaviours and particularly those concerning women. Religion is mobilised to criticise and constrain the lifestyles and immorality (mauvaises moeurs) of women, notably during aggressions against women at Hassi Messaoud in 2001 (Salah et al. 2010). To answer these questions, I turn to the Algerian feminine-feminist movement. Amid the different arguments and diverse positions, this movement has raised the issue of citizenship and developed its particular point of view with regard to citizenship and its relation to religion. I do not claim that this reflects the opinion of all Algerian women or even that

78 

C. Bouatta

it is representative but the movement exists visibly in the political and social arena and it has tried and continues to try to make its views known to women’s groups across the society.

2

 he Constitution, the Family Code T and the Women’s Fight

Before describing the women’s movement, it is necessary to present the fundamental texts pertaining to contemporary Algeria, particularly its Constitution,1 taken as the basis of all laws promulgated by the Algerian government. It declares that ‘Islam is the religion of the State’ (Article 2). However, it further stipulates that ‘the citizens are equal before the law without discrimination by reason of birth, race, sex or of any other personal or social condition or circumstance’ (Article 29).

2.1

The Constitution and the Family Code

The liberty of conscience is thus affirmed. This article and some others are largely inspired by the Declaration of Human Rights and of the Citizen and by a vision allowing a person to stand openly remote from the religious position. As recalled previously, it should be the basis for all laws relating to individuals and groups. However, especially as regards women, the Constitution is in contradiction to the Algerian ‘Family Code’, the legal text that purports to legislate for relations between men and women within the family. The laws promulgated in Algeria, the directives and decrees governing social and economic life are rooted in a positive right, as in countries based on secularism and secularisation. However, in Algeria, the place of women within the family is an exception. The rule comes from the Family Code, inspired by the Shari’a, the source of Islamic law. With regard to relations between men and women, politicians always turn first to  Since Independence (in 1962), several Constitutions have been successively adopted. All of them have included equality between men and women and freedom of conscience. 1

5  Are Algerian Women Full Citizens? 

79

religion, to culture and to tradition, before the social and legal status of women. Religion always gives the rule whenever women are involved, as if they should be governed more than men by this referential in order to safeguard the ‘Algerian identity’. In seeking answers to the questions raised, I refer to the feminine-­ feminist movement (and I do not immediately favour one or the other of these terms; the women’s movement has itself difficulties here which hark back to the referential used and to its positioning in relation to the Occident and to modernity).

2.2

Women’s Fight Against the Family Code

I first give an account of the emergence of the women’s movement in Algeria, its discourse and its relations with citizenship and religion. Then I examine the state of the women’s movement, indicating the significant steps through which it has passed, and against which it was obliged to mark out its position: • In 1984, when the Family Code was promulgated, it was a time of one-party politics (the National Liberation Front—Front de Libération Nationale, FLN) when the ruling party rejected any discourse different from its own party line. • In 1990, when ‘pluralism’ led to the emergence of Islamism and the authorisation of religious parties which immediately expressed their views on the ‘women’s question’ in their leaders’ speeches and in their publications. • During the ‘black decade’ (1990–2000) when armed Islamist groups kidnapped and raped hundreds of women; they also threatened any woman transgressing religious norms. • The so-called ‘Arab Spring’ in the arabo-muslim world, which has triggered societal re-islamisation: wearing of the veil, building of mosques, religious control of customs and language. Algerian women recognise that their women’s movement dates from the 1920s when activists focussed on social and national questions. Later,

80 

C. Bouatta

they took part in the struggle for independence (1954–1962). The post-­ independence feminists, the moudjahidate, appear now as the mothers of the current feminist movement. My focus is on the struggles for women’s rights since Independence.

3

Some Historical References

Immediately following Independence, one party (FLN) held power in an iron fist. This one party was however alive with different tensions with the ‘progressist’ left-leaning group opposed to the islamo-conservative group. The progressists ensured the place given to women in the governing texts. From 1966, the idea of a Family Code circulated in university and women’s groups. Draft texts again circulated between 1972 and 1979 in the same spirit as in 1966: maintaining women in a subordinated position in relation to men. Things moved towards 1981 when women’s groups learned that the Code was ready for consideration by the National Assembly (Assemblée Populaire Nationale—APN). This provoked protests: women, moudjahadate and ‘progressists’ campaigned against its promulgation. Until the promulgation of the Code in 1984, rumours circulated, but not the exact contents of the document in preparation. The activists of the then clandestine parties—Parti de l’Avant-garde Socialiste (PAGS) and Organisation Socialiste des Travailleurs (OST), as well as the politicised university groups—all considered that the Shari’a was the inspiration for this text, with a retrograde reading of Islam. The text was seeking to establish a male domination based on Islam, the religion of the Algerian people embedded in its traditions and customs. In 1981, activist women launched a petition denouncing the lack of transparency by the National Assembly and, on November 16th, they gathered before the Assembly, demanding to meet the president of the legal commission; the police quickly stopped the group and arrested some women. Another manifestation happened in the same place on December 23 when the women addressed a letter to the president of the Republic demanding the withdrawal of the proposed law, and this was granted on January 29, 1982.

5  Are Algerian Women Full Citizens? 

81

The reasons for this surprising retreat remain obscure: was it pressure from the women, or from the progressive wing of the National Liberation Front, or perhaps their joint pressure? We will never know because Algerian power is walled up in silence and opacity: it is difficult to know what is being stitched together within the arcane machinations of power. During the reign of the One Party, there was no free political expression. Therefore, people were obliged to organise themselves clandestinely, and this mainly concerned the left-wing movements: PAGS, inheritors of the Algerian Communist Party and other leftist movements such as the OST, already mentioned, from whose ranks the activist feminists were often recruited. When these activist women staged street protests against the draft law, they called upon the moudjahidate for support. Their presence was a safeguard and a legitimation of their action. The moudjahidate occupy a particular place in Algerian history, recognised as they are with a strong legitimacy for having contributed to the liberation of the country. With their social and symbolic status, they provided protection for the younger militants against possible repression. The withdrawal of the draft in 1982 did not however prevent the promulgation on June 9th, 1984 of a Family Code directly inspired by the Shari’a. Militants, both women and men, presumed that the President of the Republic ceded to Islamist pressure in making this major concession. Within this Code, the inferiority of Algerian women is institutionalised, formalised and embedded. It is a grave violence committed against women in the name of religion and of the ‘national traditions’, an expression constantly used by those in power whenever the rights of women are in question. Discriminating Articles Against Women • Article 8: polygamy is authorised. • Article 11: marriage requires the assent of the woman’s guardian: father or near relative. • Article 31: a Muslim woman cannot marry a non-Muslim though a Muslim man may marry a non-Muslim. • Article 39: the wife must obey her husband and hold him as head of the family.

82 

C. Bouatta

• Article 48: divorce is only possible with the agreement of the husband. Therefore, the two main texts regulating the status of Algerian women are contradictory. The Constitution announces equality between the sexes and the Family Code declares the superiority of men. The Constitution has the highest status and it should be the source of the legal system of the country; however, it does not regulate the behaviours of individuals. On the other hand, the Family Code governs everyday life, especially with regard to cases of dispute as it concerns men and women within the family. Several demonstrations were organised by activist women to denounce the Code and they created an association to campaign for equality between women and men, and the abrogation of the Family Code. Clearly, this association was unable to get any legal status as the governing single party did not recognise any structure beyond its own remit. Very quickly two tendencies appeared within the women’s movement: the first demanded the abrogation of the Family Code and recourse to the civil law in an appeal to the Constitution and to secularism.2 The second, recognising that a majority in Algeria was not in favour of egalitarian policies, demanded only the abrogation of the most discriminating articles against women, that is to say articles 8, 11 and 31 (see above). The two currents advocated recourse to the civil law and denounced the misuse of Muslim law. This position is specific to the Algerian women’s movement: in other countries, for example in Morocco, women claim equality based on an open reading of Islam. The claims of Moroccan women remain within an Islamic framework, whereas the claims of Algerian feminists are grounded within a universal framework. I return to the naming of these movements: feminist or feminine? The question was there because, from the beginning, some activists refused the term ‘feminist’. This term has strong negative connotations insofar as it refers to the Occident; should Algerians adopt it, they would show their attraction towards a foreign power and a foreign civilisation, therefore alienation from Algeria. To opt for ‘feminine movement’ would be  Some left activist women operated clandestinely. They sought to impose the views of their party onto the women’s movement. 2

5  Are Algerian Women Full Citizens? 

83

some protection against attacks from conservatives and Islamists for whom claiming equality of the sexes is foreign to Algerian history and society. Some activist women therefore refused the term ‘feminist’. Today, activists for women’s rights no longer hesitate to call themselves feminists and to base their arguments on universal rights.

4

Mobilisation for Equality

Three feminine associations were at the origin of struggles for equality and of an emerging women’s movement: the Association for Equal Rights between Men and Women, the Association for the Defence and the Promotion of Women and the Association for Women’s Emancipation. These Associations grouped themselves into a national movement and, in November–December 1989, they met, drew up a charter and undertook to raise awareness and provide information across the society, particularly with regard to women, with conferences and films followed by discussions and meetings with different social actors. In 2004, the Family Code had been in existence for twenty years and Collectif pour l’égalité des droits en Algérie (2004) shouted the slogan: ‘The Family Code is twenty years old and that’s enough!’ The Code was denounced and its abrogation claimed (Collectif 2004). A song was created, calling upon male lawyers to focus on the situation of women; films were produced making their case. However, the Family Code remained (Lalami 2013). In 2005, amendments were introduced. The Family Code, until then ‘untouchable’ in the name of religion and tradition, could now be somewhat ‘amended’. This reform caused division among activists: for some, these changes were interesting and positive; for others, nothing had changed as the text remained discriminatory. But everyone agreed on one positive measure: ‘In the case of a divorce, the husband is obliged to ensure that the mother who shall have the charge of the children shall be provided with decent housing or, if this is not possible, rented accommodation or being maintained in the conjugal home’. In the 1984 Code, even if the mother was in charge of the children, she had no right to housing. Some other articles were only slightly modified:

84 

C. Bouatta

• Polygamy while further restricted is maintained. • The right of divorce for women is enlarged but always conditional; the right of refusal by men is maintained. • The obligation of the matrimonial guardian is not suppressed but now becomes a ‘voluntary option’, which is to say that the father or near relative is no longer the compulsory guardian; the woman may choose her guardian, taking for instance a friend or a neighbour.

5

 he Islamists and the Construction T of the Enemy

In October 1988, Algeria experienced riots across the country. Thousands of young people attacked and destroyed symbols of the state. The army appeared in the streets, firing on the population. Victims’ associations speak of 500 deaths. A state of emergency was proclaimed. Although the Islamists had not participated in these riots, the government chose to negotiate with them. The majority of Algerians are Muslims but the term ‘Islamist’ designates those who see in Islam a political ideology capable of resolving every social problem. After October 1988, the powers in situ allowed a democratic opening: Algerians would henceforth be free to form associations and political parties without reference to the single party in power. Several political parties and numerous associations including women’s associations emerged. Three of these new parties were Islamist and very quickly one of these, the Front islamique du Salut (FIS), drew attention to itself. It drew crowds, its voice was heard and it published newspapers (e.g. El Mounqid, the Saviour). This journal has a column, which addresses the ‘sister Muslim’ (this is how women are described!): the religious identity takes precedence over the national or historical identity. In this column, it is clear that the ‘women’s question’ does not exist: a woman cannot aspire to equality between the sexes because ‘the woman has all her rights within the framework of Islam’. This was a recurrent Islamist discourse at that time. It was forbidden to denounce, to claim and even to think of the women’s

5  Are Algerian Women Full Citizens? 

85

question in any other paradigm than the Islamic one. The mosques took up the women’s question and campaigned disparagingly against women’s associations, which were described abusively as alienated and westernised. The Islamic Front of Salvation stated that all women should be declared unemployed so that they would return to their families and bring up their children (Lalmoum 2006). The destiny of a woman is not to go out to work. She should stay at home in order to devote herself to her great mission of educating children; the woman is the producer of men, she does not produce material goods, she produces this essential thing which is ‘the Muslim’ (Ali Bellhadj, leader of the Islamic Front, in journal: Horizon, 23.2.1989). Armed militias appeared in neighbourhoods and in universities to supervise the morality of the population and particularly that of women: divorced women or widows were taken aside, even aggressed, their dwellings burnt. On June 22, 1989, the dwelling of a divorced woman, accused of low morals, was burnt by a crowd of people having just left their mosque. A baby died on this occasion. However, it would serve little purpose to catalogue all such attacks and aggressions against women committed by these Islamist militias as that would add nothing to the Islamist representation of women. Women’s associations reacted. They organised conferences denouncing the Islamist campaigns and alerting the public to their propaganda. Women organised huge protests—to which political parties such as the RCD (Union for Culture & Democracy) and the PAGS were associated— to repudiate the Islamist propositions and the Islamic State, advocated by the Islamic Front. The slogans chanted were ‘A free and democratic Algeria’ and ‘Neither Iran nor the Sudan but an Algerian Algeria’ and the slogans of the Islamists were ‘No Constitution, no Charter, a Muslim Algeria’ and ‘Islam is the solution’. The Islamist parties, mainly the Islamic Front, demanded that the Constitution be abandoned and replaced with the Shari’a. Islam was brandished to reject any protest by women and to block the road leading to equality; that may be what happens elsewhere, but not chez nous (at home) in the Islamic sphere. The women in these associations were not merely worthless but were also foreigners to Islamic society, they were no

86 

C. Bouatta

longer ‘ours’ but were instead serving the interests of an elsewhere enemy, the Occident. This manner of extracting women and throwing them into an exterior group facilitated their condemnation and justified acts of violence perpetrated against them, a process known as the construction of them as the enemy, as the Other. The enemy is constructed by attributing to him/her all the failings of humanity, building up this as the principal enemy, which is progressively removed from the in-group, becoming in this way a foreigner, even a monster, of which one must rid oneself in order to operate and maintain the purification of the Islamist community. From then on, women who disobeyed and rebelled against the Islamist order were subject to general condemnation.

6

 he Electoral Victory of the Islamic Front T and the ‘Black Decade’

The Algerian press uses this expression to describe the years 1990–2000. As already said, Islamist violence began before 1990, but during the course of this decade, Algeria then knew peaks of violence perpetrated against intellectuals, journalists and women. Islamist ideology is essentially violent. When FLN leaders condemned women and denounced them publicly as enemies of Islam, when they denounced intellectuals as apostates, they gave them over to popular judgement, justifying in this way the aggressions committed against them, even insofar as legitimating their assassination. Ali Belhadj, the Islamic Front leader, was very explicit when he defined the seven categories where murder was lawful: ‘The local police, the national police, journalists, secular democrats, corrupted artists, depraved intellectuals and free women’ (El Mouquid 1990, quoted by Haddab 2014). The FIS won the local elections of June 1990 and attempted to install Islamic order. Rumours circulated: arms were stored in mosques; Islamic markets would soon appear in cities. National elections followed on December 2, 1991, and again the FIS was victorious. Fraud was suspected, the Islamists had introduced many false voting papers, the dead

5  Are Algerian Women Full Citizens? 

87

had voted. Nevertheless, they were victorious in these elections. Two solutions were identified: either to accept the democratic outcome and the victory of the FIS or to cancel the elections. The army chose the second solution and the FIS responded with mass violence. The term ‘intentional violence’ is appropriate to describe the aggressions perpetrated by the FIS insofar as the FIS intentionally attacked others. One may also use the term ‘extreme violence’ because not being satisfied with killing and assassinating, they also violated corpses, torturing them, exhibiting them in public places, dismembering them. It was a regime of terror: Islamist instructions forced girls to abandon school and young girls were separated from their parents who were fearful that their daughters had been abducted by terrorists. Islamists took young girls and women. To describe them a word began to circulate, largely unknown until then by the majority of Algerians: they were the sabaya, the spoils of war. How is it possible that in the twenty-first century one can describe women abducted by the Islamists as the spoils of war? Is this not something that happened in wars of the past when the victorious side seized the material goods and the women of the defeated side to sell them or to exploit them sexually? Have we returned to those times? The terrorists abducted many women. No figures are officially available. The women’s associations speak of 80003 women abducted and violated by the terrorists. The army liberated some of them in the course of counter attacks, others succeeded in escaping; but the majority have disappeared. What the women who did return4 say? The Islamists had broken into their houses, taken the women, particularly the younger ones. During the first days, they were available for the Emir, afterwards for the troops. Those women that I was able to meet could not remember faces, knew only that several men had raped them every night (Bouatta 1999–2000). Those who returned said that their families had not always welcomed them back and sent them to relatives in other regions. This was because the men were ashamed that women from their family had been abducted,  No official figures are available for women abducted, dead or disappeared in Bentalla and Rais: the Algerian authorities remain silent. 4  I met some of these returning women as a psychologist working in the Centre d’aide psychologique at Siddi Moussa (25 kilometres from Algiers). 3

88 

C. Bouatta

even as they watched, without them being able to protect and defend them. In order not to ‘die’ of shame, many had announced that their daughter had died. Many women hid behind the veil, many families left their house and their region to seek refuge in the large towns in the north of the country. Those with money rented or bought houses, the others became residents in shantytowns. At the beginning, this violence was targeted and systematic, aiming at the ‘leaders’: intellectuals, journalists, activists, all those capable of producing arguments contradicting those of the Islamists. They then extended to large tracts of society, with the massacres of Rais and Bentalha (places located about 20 kilometres to the south of Algiers). On August 28, 1997, armed terrorist groups attacked the inhabitants of Bentalha with around 300 deaths declared. One month later on the nights of September 22 and 23, 1997, a neighbouring village was attacked in their turn, with about 400 deaths announced. After targeting those who thought and wrote, the massacres of this black decade were extended to all the Algerian population. In order to understand this passage from individuals to the whole community, we must return to the Armée Islamique du Salut (AIS); this is a branch of the FIS army, which contained several dissident factions. Among these were the GIA (Groupes Islamiques Armés) and the GSPC (Groupe Salafiste pour la Prédication et le Combat). The AIS executed those considered as supporting the government in place (the police, the military, anyone suspected of this sympathy). The GIA went further: the Algerian people as a whole were excommunicated. The senior Islamist Abou Moundir authorised the massacre of Algerian civilians who were no longer following God’s law in a 1997 fatwa (Forum Algérie Monde 2010). From then on, it became lawful to assassinate women, children and every category of the population (Bouatta 2013). Many Algerians, men and women, went into exile. Many university teachers, doctors, senior executives, activists for human rights and from women’s associations left the country with no thought of returning. For example, 200 psychiatrists left Algeria after the assassination of the psychiatrist Mahfoud Boucebci on June 15, 1993.

5  Are Algerian Women Full Citizens? 

7

89

 he Women’s Struggle and Their T Situation After Terrorist Violence

What happened with the women’s struggles during this period of tears and blood? Could they claim equality of rights when each day thousands of deaths were being registered? Some denounced Islamism, taking this to be the principal enemy; others associated the claim of equality between the sexes with the struggle against Islamism as fighting for democracy and citizenship, therefore against the Islamist project. The women’s movement experienced significant ruptures: one section favoured the politico-military system of this period, considering the army—which had interrupted the electoral process—as a Republican army, the guarantor of a modern political project opposed to the Islamist project. Others were in favour of continuing the electoral process and therefore considered the army as equally responsible for the bloody events that followed. The Islamists and the army were therefore equally guilty, but the army was considered particularly at fault for having been responsible for the coup d’État which had been the initial trigger for violence. In the 1990s, the Algerian political system adopted national laws of reconciliation. There were several steps in the attempts to end the blood bath. President Liamine Zeroual (1994–1999) opened the way for terrorists whose hands were not stained with blood to repent, with the first law for national reconciliation, the Rahma (clemency, pardon) on February 25, 1995; the others were excluded from this law and would be judged according to the law. The second law for national reconciliation, promulgated in July 1999 by President Abdelaziz Bouteflika, widened the legal limits of the Rahma law, which clearly stated that a pardon was intended only for those with no blood on their hands. This second law encouraged some terrorists to lay down their arms. This National Reconciliation law was followed by what the president called an amnesty (grâce amnistiante), the aim of which was to consolidate the results of the civil agreement (concorde civile) and to promote a truly national concord. Matters did not stop there; there was also a proposition to forgive those who had participated in what the president called the ‘national tragedy’. However, this failed to become law: the victims of

90 

C. Bouatta

the black decade did not accept laws which would grant impunity to those responsible for the violence. The families of terrorist violence victims and of the disappeared demand to know, even today, the truth concerning the assassinations and the disappearances of their relatives. The associations of victims of terrorist violence (Association Djazairouna) and the associations of persons taken into custody by the forces of order (SOS Disparus) agree today to reject any law attempting to grant impunity for those responsible for massacres and disappearances. They demand that justice be enacted. As regards the legal statute of women in Algeria, the Code amended in 2005 is an improvement on the 1984 one. Other improvements are promised to facilitate women’s participation in politics. Presidential directives aim to enlarge the participation of women in the National and Popular Assembly (APN). At the last national elections in March 2012, 147 women members (députées) were elected out of a total of 462 members (about one-third). By comparison with 1984, that is to say over 30 years, there has been a massive increase in girls’ schooling and in women’s salaries; women drive cars and occupy posts previously considered as masculine preserves: police officers, airline pilots, ministers. Women tend to be the majority in the domains of education and of medicine, and could be equally numerous in the legal professions. Will Islam remain the voice defining women’s statuses and roles as well as relations between the sexes? Gilles Kepel (2000) among others speaks of ‘post-Islamism’: political Islam has perhaps failed, ‘the Arab spring’ began with the election of the Muslim Brothers in Tunisia and in Egypt but in both cases these parties have not been able (didn’t known how) to hold on to power. Have women in the Arab world now gained equality and citizenship? In Algeria, the Islamist parties no longer have the wind in their sails; the Islamic Front has failed to gain power, the remaining Ennahada and El islah parties, both of which have held political power, are discredited: they showed themselves, as did the militants of the single party, ready for any underhanded dealings. Each suffered several internal splits and at least in Algeria they were cut down to size. However, the ideas of the Islamists have not disappeared. The Islamist parties are no longer as important as they were in the 1990s, but in our cultural area, some still speak of ‘re-islamisation’ (Roy

5  Are Algerian Women Full Citizens? 

91

1992). This is expressed by the wearing of the veil by women; Algerian women are now more and more veiled, as well as in Egypt, Morocco and so on. They are no longer forced to do so by Islamist militias, but by the influence of satellite channels: they are ever more numerous in broadcasting the preaching and the fatwas of the Sheikhs who continue to spread the Islamist message in this way. Publications are circulating and networks are spreading the message of Islamism. Institutional Islam continues its attempt to regulate the religious practices of the population by means of religious broadcasts on radio and television and by increasing the number of mosques, but this form of Islam no longer mobilises the Algerians, turned towards a ‘globalised Islam’.

8

And Citizenship?

Algerians have the right to vote since the independence of the country in 1962, and women are elected as Members of Parliament. In the fields of work and education, women are more and more numerous and the Constitution affirms sex equality. Have Algerian women become now full citizens? There is still the issue of the Family Code. The male domination remains, even if it has been modified, even if amendments have suppressed the most retrograde aspects of the 1984 Code. Equality is far from being effective in practice. Would it be enough to cancel the Code for women becoming full citizens? I do not think so and what happens in Algeria illustrates this: for an individual to feel fully as a citizen, the right to vote should bring real power but up to now, Algerian elections have been always subject to trickery, serving no public purpose. For an individual to fully feel as a citizen, there must be scope to participate in the political activity of the country: to create autonomous associations, political parties and labour unions. In Algeria, those who would want to create such structures have to resort to combative tactics. Individuals cannot really feel themselves as citizens without the possibility of demonstrating and of expressing opposition to the authorities in situ. Such public demonstrations are forbidden in Algiers; in other regions of the country, they are forcibly repressed and followed by arrests. To fully feel yourself a citizen, one must have confidence in a system of

92 

C. Bouatta

autonomous justice and the equality of all before the law. In Algeria, corruption on a large scale goes unpunished, while a young demonstrator is caught and sentenced. Citizenship can only exist in a rights-based state. For this reason, Algerian feminists are fully involved in the struggle for democracy and social justice. To be a woman and a citizen means to live with other citizens. But differences persist: the Family Code institutionalises male domination and makes Algerian women into a minority. This Code should clearly be cancelled and the Constitution respected. Something more important and more difficult remains to be done if Algerian women are indeed to fully become citizens: working on the mentalities, the dominant culture and traditions so that no one will any longer hide behind women’s presumed inferiority, allowing them to be restricted, rejected, even attacked. Men can still in certain conditions react aggressively towards women, with the legitimation of such actions by the religion, the culture or the tradition. Such aggressions were flagrant in Hassi Messaoud on July 1, 2001, when women living alone far from their families were targeted. The motivations of the aggressors were revolting and unacceptable: they did what they did in the name of morality in order to restore ‘order’ where the women had introduced ‘disorder’. I draw careful attention to the terms ‘order’ and ‘disorder’: for Islamists (and conservatives), this refers to the order required by God, an order which corals women within the domestic sphere. Disorder is unleashed into the world when women escape from these prescriptions; it precipitates a return to a state of Djahilia, the pre-Islamic situation supposedly one of violence, of unbridled sexuality, of all vices and depravities.

9

‘At My Age, I Still Hide When I Want To Smoke’

This is the title of a theatre play by an Algerian woman, Rahmouna Salah. In 2014 Vincent Chapuis staged the play in France and in 2017 it was made into a film. I do not draw attention to this theatrical drama and/or the film simply to give them and/or the author publicity but the message

5  Are Algerian Women Full Citizens? 

93

expresses very well what I want to stress about the importance of women’s rights as citizens. One needs full recognition by the laws of one’s country and, in this case, it means the abrogation of the Family Code. A real autonomy written within the law is a necessity for women with regard to religion. It cannot be acceptable to tell women, when they claim their rights as equal citizens, that they are bound by archaic prescriptions. This drama highlights the Algerian patriarchal society: it undermines women’s liberties. Men, who are neither your close relatives nor your friends, if they see you ‘smoking’ (or being in one way or another ‘indecent’, in a few words affirming your freedom), feel free to insult you, to humiliate you, even to destroy you. Here, it is essential to change mentalities. Clearly, the institutionalisation of the inferior status of women (as in the Family Code) is unacceptable; in Algerian society, a rights-based state is a necessity as well as gender equality, from primary school onwards. The use of the legitimacy of Islam for denying the idea of equality between sexes is unacceptable. Today, the majority of Algerian activist feminists adopt the arguments of universal rights and secularism, although others look to the Islam of the Enlightenment (Islam des Lumières), ‘a progressive Islam which brushes away traditions and conventions, and transforms reality’ (Chebel 2004). Chebel claims to be the voice of an Islam based on reality, both modern and tolerant, capable of taking its place in the world of today. He is part of a long tradition, starting in the nineteenth century, of Muslim thinkers who wanted to reform Islam by means of reason while taking account of historicity, the context in which the Koranic prescriptions and the hadiths of the prophet appeared. Today, in some Islamic countries (e.g. Morocco and Iran) women claim an Islamic feminism, a feminism which has its source in a feminist reading of the sacred texts (Koran and hadiths) and not from a universalist and secular basis. This Islamic feminism is in relation with the Islam of the Enlightenment. These two approaches—one Universalist and the other Culturalist—do not seem antagonistic one to the other; they both are seeking, with different conceptual means, the same aims: human dignity through the equality of women and men. However, these two approaches towards equality of rights between men and women do raise a problem. When non-western feminists claim ‘universal’ laws, Islamists consider it as an alienation of women from the

94 

C. Bouatta

Muslim world. At the same time, only the feminist-feminine voices who derive their arguments from Islam and base themselves within the Islamic culture are audible in the West. It can seem as though the feminists within Islamic territory are constrained—not only by Islamists and the conservatives in their own countries but also by western freethinkers (feminists, intellectuals, etc.)—to exile themselves from humanistic and universalist thinking. For us, egalitarian and humanistic thinking is fruit for all humanity, for its progress and its advances, and never the exclusive property of West.

10

Conclusion: Algerian Hirak, and Women’s Hopes and Anxieties for a Better Future

In February 2019, in Algiers and in many Algerian cities, streets were fully occupied by protesters rejecting a new term for the president of the Algerian Republic. Elections were planned in April 2019 and President Bouteflika was a candidate for the fifth time. He started his electoral campaign early in 2019, notwithstanding a very serious cerebral stroke. He was in a wheelchair and unable to utter any comprehensible words. Algerian citizens rejected this electoral farce and they occupied the streets to denounce it. They named their protest Hirak (‘movement’ in Arabic). Following the rejection of a new presidential term, new claims quickly emerged: democratic rights, freedom of expression, social justice, end of corruption and so on. Since the very beginning, many women took part in Hirak street demonstrations, chanting the same slogans as men. However, specific women’s issues soon emerged. A feminist collective decided to include a ‘Feminist Square’ within the Friday demonstrations.5 At the beginning, some men ridiculed their presence; interestingly, other men expressed their solidarity. Now, the Feminist Square is recognised as a constituent part of Hirak. Outside Algiers, Feminist Squares are present in Bejaia, Oran, Tizi Ouzou and so on.  In Algeria, Friday is the statutory holiday chosen by Hirak for its protest demonstrations.

5

5  Are Algerian Women Full Citizens? 

95

In these Feminist Squares, women share the demand for a democratic society, but they also claim equality between women and men, and therefore the abrogation of the Family Code. In Feminist Squares, ‘historical feminists’ of the 1980s go hand in hand with young feminists. Many other groups and ‘think tanks’ (League of Human Rights, student associations, political parties, etc.) were created and they produce platforms designed to end the crisis. Women belonging to these groups systematically raise the issue of rights equality between women and men as a central one. However, it is controversial and sometimes rejected: for some participants, raising this issue should be postponed in order to avoid the risk of dividing Hirak. Feminists have left such groups, but they initiated a debate which continues. For Algerian women, Hirak is both an opportunity and a risk. The future is unsettled.

References Bouatta, Ch. (1999–2000). Le viol: un polytraumatisme. Psychologie, 9, 63–73. Bouatta, Ch. (2000). De quelques violences à l’égard des femmes. In (Collectif ), Les Algériennes citoyennes en devenir (pp. 179–195). Oran: CMM. Bouatta, Ch. (2005). De la légitimation de la domination masculine. In (Collectif ), La longue marche des Algériennes vers la modernité. Alger: Cahiers de la Liberté. Bouatta, Ch. (2013). Des corps et des mots. Sexuation, genre et violences conjugale. Alger: SARP (Association pour l’aide, la recherche et la formation en psychologie). Chebel, M. (2004). Manifeste pour un Islam des Lumières. 27 propositions pour réformer l’islam. Paris: Hachette. Collectif (2004). Barakat! Appel pour l’égalité des droits [That’s enough! Call for equal rights]. Retrieved September 2019, from http://20ansbarakat.free.fr/. Forum Algérie Monde. (2010). Sur le procès du terroriste KaâKaâ, (23/01/2010). Retrieved September 2019, from www.algerie-­monde.com/forums/ threads/6896-­kaâkaâ. Haddab, Z. (2014). L’enfer de l’enlèvement et du viol. In (Collectif ), Temps de viol et de terrorisme (pp. 21–63). Alger: Rachda. Kepel, G. (2000). Jihad, expansion et déclin de l’islamisme. Paris: Gallimard.

96 

C. Bouatta

Lalami, F. (2013). Les Algériennes contre le code de la famille: la lutte pour l’égalité. Paris: Presses de Sciences Po. Lalmoum, O. (2006). Les femmes dans le discours islamiste. Confluences méditerranéennes, 59, 89–96. Roy, O. (1992). Les voies de la ré-islamisation. Pouvoirs, 62, 81–91. Salah, R., Maamoura, F., & Kaci, N. (2010). Laissées pour mortes. Le lynchage des femmes de Hassi Messaoud. Paris: Max Milo.

6 Citizenship Under Occupation Bilal Shafei

1

Introduction: To Be Born in an Occupied Territory

After the 1948 war, historical Palestine was divided between three countries: Jordan, which maintained its grip on the mountainous part West of the Jordan; Egypt, which administered the Gaza Strip; and the State of Israel, which occupied the rest, that is to say more than 78% of the total area. I was born in the part administered by Jordan which, according to the agreement of Jericho—Jericho Conferences, 1948 and Ramallah, 1950—became an integral part of the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan (Duclos 2000). I was born Jordanian since the West Bank was under Jordanian administration at my birth in 1964 (and until June 1967).

B. Shafei (*) French Department, An-Najah National University, Nablus, Palestine © The Author(s) 2020 M. Blanc et al. (eds.), Citizenship and Religion, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-54610-6_6

97

98 

B. Shafei

I lived in this country, which became a kingdom1: the small emirate of the Eastern bank, conceded to Emir Abdallah by the United Kingdom after the First World War in recognition of the great services rendered to the Allies, became a kingdom with Abdallah for King. In this monarchical system, inhabitants are formally recognised as subjects (or nationals) of His Majesty, according to the terms used by the institutions of the monarchy. Using the term ‘citizen’ for all the inhabitants of Jordan is arguable. It is used in official documents to designate exclusively the inhabitants of both banks of the river Jordan. It does not refer to a legal status, which would imply civil and political rights and obligations to society. As we explain in our second contribution, the term ‘citizen’ does not have the same connotation as in the West, or even in some Eastern countries of republican tradition (Syria, Lebanon, Egypt or Iraq). It evokes the belonging to a territory. Being a citizen of the kingdom means living (or residing) in a territory defined by borders, enjoying the protection of the king and his army and benefiting from the services and assistance of his government. This appears on the Jordanian passport.2 This special status of West Bank residents worked after Israel’s occupation of the West Bank until 1987 when King Hussein of Jordan disengaged by separating the West Bank and Jordan administratively, politically and institutionally.

2

Double or Triple Citizenship

Born during the period of direct administration of the western part of Jordan, I travelled with an exclusively Jordanian passport and was subject to the duties of a subject of His Majesty, including compulsory military service. However, the dispensation or postponement of military service  At the Jericho conference, in the aftermath of the 1948 war, the notables and great families of Palestine pledged allegiance to King Abdallah I; they expressed the wish to reunite the two banks of the Jordan with the annexation of the West Bank by the emirate of Transjordan. In 1950, in the presence of King Abdallah I, other personalities joined the movement for the same reasons. 2  ‘In the name of His Majesty, all representations and services of the Jordanian State are requested to assist the bearer of this passport [...].’ 1

6  Citizenship Under Occupation 

99

became the rule in the West Bank as the Israeli army perceived any West Bank citizen trained to handle weapons as potential terrorists harming the State of Israel. Palestinians who are travelling abroad without going through Jordan are at risk. For West Bank residents, the Israeli army allowed certain categories of the population to travel with ‘an Israeli pass (travelling document)’ at certain crossing points, such as Tel Aviv airport. However, Jordan considered that using such a document was contrary to Jordanian law and implied an explicit recognition of the occupation authority that could lead to a conviction for treason. This did not prevent Jordan from tolerating the use of an ID card issued by the Israeli occupation army to all residents of the West Bank, as well as the granting of a special transit permit for the bridges over the Jordan. At age 18, I faced a very complex reality of dual citizenship: I am completely Palestinian, culturally and in my flesh, and I am Jordanian on my official pieces of identity. Moreover, I live under Israeli occupation, which submits me to its martial laws, refusing me any recognition of my national identity. I have three different identities, but only a single citizenship practised in broad daylight in the occupied Palestinian territories: Palestinian virtual citizenship. The complexity of the Palestinian situation goes beyond the issue of these three identities (Palestinian, Israeli and Jordanian), and the many Palestinians’ statutes are an illustration. The inhabitants of Jerusalem have a special status under Israeli law, which regards them as residents of a city unified by force. They are citizens of the third zone (blue identity card). Palestinians who remained in Palestine after the proclamation of the State of Israel in 1948 (called Arabs of Israel) have an Israeli identity card if they live outside of Jerusalem: but it is a statute of second-class citizens (Dieckhoff 1995, 2005). However, they enjoy many privileges over their compatriots from other parts of Palestine. Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza live under Israeli military occupation, which deprives them of all national rights and fundamental freedoms. Things are further complicated as the Israelis always seek to divide the Palestinian society according to ethnic and religious affiliations, and they

100 

B. Shafei

apply the famous formula attributed to the British3: ‘Divide and rule’. The privileges granted to certain Palestinian minorities are a good illustration. The Samaritans have the choice of an Israeli identity card or the blue card, their cars have yellow number plates as do the Israelis, while Palestinians in the occupied territories have green number plates, or white if they live in Gaza. This segregation favours a stronger identification of Samaritans with the Jewish people than with the Arab people. Israelis have done the same with other components of Palestinian society. Christians find it easier to obtain blue identity cards and yellow passes or licence plates. At border crossing points, it is common to see a person from a wealthy family, having a special relationship with the occupier, pass with all the honours in five minutes, passing the crowd who have queued up since the early hours of the morning. The Israeli authorities have divided society by making the idea of citizenship more complex, and by instituting several categories of citizens in each component of Palestinian society (rich, notables, traditional families, new rich etc.).

3

 ow Palestinians Felt H These Discriminations

Palestinians feel solidarity with each other during difficult times (uprisings of 1975, 1978, 1982, Lebanon War, Intifada of stones in 1987 and Intifada of Al Aqsa in 2000). Palestinian identity was born with the emergence of Palestinian resistance in the 1960s, although in historic Palestine the Arabic term was preferred to mark the difference with Jewish identity. Components of the Palestinian population (Muslim, Druze, Christian and Samaritan) were often considered as Arabs, regardless of their place of residence (Israel, the West Bank or Gaza). This sense of Palestinian citizenship gradually replaced that of Arab citizenship, even within Palestinian communities in countries bordering on Palestine. The decision of the Arab League, to consider the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO) as the only representative of the  Originally from Machiavelli.

3

6  Citizenship Under Occupation 

101

Palestinian people, reinforced this sense of Palestinian belonging, regardless of their place of residence (Arab Summit of Rabat 1974). This decision was greeted with both relief and scepticism in many Arab countries in which affirmation of Palestinian identity for some led to the isolation and refusal of Palestinians to integrate into the countries of residence for others. In historic Palestine, the reactions were mixed: Arabs of Israel continued to define themselves as Arabs, asserting a national identity in the face of Jewish identity; but some were afraid of being seen as supporters of the PLO, considered a terrorist organisation by the State of Israel. In the territories occupied by Israel, the reaction was very confused: in the West Bank, two parties clashed, supporters of the PLO and rich notables’ families in favour of Jordan, while in Gaza the Palestinian identity was almost unanimously supported. Whether one defines oneself as Arab, Palestinian or Jordanian, the important thing was to feel like citizens of the same country, Palestine, a country torn apart and divided into several parts, Judaism being an important part of our common Palestinian culture.4 The PLO’s 1969 proposal to establish a secular and democratic state throughout Palestine for Jews, Muslims and Christians clarified this issue (Gresh 2007).

4

The Palestinian Identity

Personally, I felt deeply Palestinian and when I visited relatives in Jordan, I kept mentioning the actions of the Palestinians (‘We Palestinians’) to assert a strong identity against the ‘Jordanian’ identity of my interlocutors. This assertion took on a dangerous turn in the face of Jordanian determination at the time to consider the West Bank as an integral part of Jordan. All administrative procedures for obtaining official documents (birth certificate, identity card, diplomas, postponement of military service, passport) which are routine matters in any self-governing state  Judaism (religion, language and culture) is still present in the lives of Palestinians: festivals, culinary traditions, popular stories, places, anecdotes, jokes and religious practices. In the city of Nablus, the variant of Arabic used admits a strong presence of Hebrew words and a pronunciation borrowed from the Samaritan community. 4

102 

B. Shafei

presented huge difficulties for me because the Palestinian state was not yet born! I did not see myself as Jordanian, even though I have a lot of affection and gratitude towards the country that has made our life easier by letting us go through its territory to travel and by allowing us to obtain papers that attest our existence in this world and on this land of Palestine. When I was a child, the issue of national identity became evident when I travelled to Jordan with my mother. In the West Bank, Palestinian identity was the meaning of our existence and our struggle against the Israeli military occupation. We were assertive about the occupation as Arab and Palestinian. In Jordan, affirmation of Palestinian identity was possible in civil society, but the institutions of the Jordanian state severely repressed this kind of affirmation. The official speech was speaking about the western part of the motherland, occupied after the 1967 war launched by Israel against its Arab neighbours. This attitude of the Jordanian state created a kind of rejection of the monarchical system among most young Palestinians of the time. Very young, I positioned myself as anti-monarchical, refusing anything that had anything to do with the ‘despotic’ and tyrannical system. Despite the Israeli military occupation, we had a sense of freedom in resisting5: exercising our freedom to speak and criticise all subjects, even taboos, was our way to defy the taboos and fight against the occupier. We lived this limitless freedom under occupation as a permanent challenge. In the 1970s and 1980s, discussion circles were organised and underground cultural, literary and artistic activities were usual practices. The resistance against the occupier and the search for the model of the political and economic system of the future Palestinian state were at the heart of all the debates of society. The secular and socialist model was opposed to the secular and democratic model (without naming it, for fear to be considered, rightly or wrongly, as an alignment with the Western countries that supported the State of Israel). Faced with these two models, Islamists were low profile.  This feeling is reflected in popular songs (‘even in prison we felt free and happy, more than the tormentors who keep us’), but it does not reflect the general state of mind. Youth can approach all subjects and brave the forbidden, hence the feeling of freedom without limits. 5

6  Citizenship Under Occupation 

103

The socialist model was their enemy because, according to them, it advocated atheism; in the second model, they rejected the word ‘secular’ while admitting that certain democratic practices might be acceptable. For them, the Islamic model was the best for Palestine. At that time, they were not strong enough to impose their vision of the world, but they worked hard and, by infiltrating the education system, they managed to control it and impose their doctrines on a whole generation. The Hamas6 movement was born in the late 1980s, and with it the thought of the Muslim Brotherhood has invaded all layers of Palestinian society. It is a total victory over secular, socialist and democratic ideas since Soviet socialism fell with the collapse of the USSR and Pan-Arabism declined with the gradual collapse of Iraq. On the stage of ideas, the Islamic model has emerged.

5

The Discovery of a New Citizenship

On arriving in France just after my bachelor degree in the 1980s, I discovered a new form of citizenship: secular and based upon egalitarian rights. This form of citizenship, new to me, applies to all citizens, whatever their ethnic, religious or racial origin, despite small differences between the French of foreign origin and those who were indigenous. As a foreign student residing in France, I enjoyed the same rights as a French student for university registration, housing, access to the university restaurant, social security, mutual insurance, sports activities and so on. Of course, I felt the difference with French students when I had to renew my residence permit. The very complex administrative procedures made life difficult for most foreign students from so-called Third World countries, or developing countries, especially students from countries of the Near and Middle East. However, in certain situations, it was an advantage compared to many French; for example, in order to obtain university housing, those responsible for the allocation of student residence took into account the remoteness of the family.  According to the activists, the official proclamation of the movement is 12 December 1987; however, this date is disputed. 6

104 

B. Shafei

I no longer felt the duality of belonging (Jordan and Palestine). I was Palestinian wherever I went. I joined the ranks of the GUPS (General Union of Palestine Students), a non-profit association under the French 1901 law, and UNEF (National Union of Students of France). Palestine was at the heart of my political and cultural activities. I was an activist within the Palestinian cause. Activism in French universities is a legal activity and protected by law. We had a freedom of work and action unknown before. We fully enjoyed this freedom and enjoyed the benefits granted to the associations: to have a locale, to gather, to organise activities and events, to distribute newsletters and leaflets, to stick posters and so on. My commitment gave me a reason to live and continue my studies. I lived for Palestine, spent a good deal of my time defending the Palestinian cause within a French audience, mainly in academia, not to mention that I should be successful in my studies to better serve this cause. My political and cultural commitment and university life made me discover French civil society. Through associations and traditional political parties, I discovered the concepts on which French life is based: Human Rights, freedom, equality and specifically secularism. Before this experience, my conception of secularism did not go beyond the teaching provided by my teachers of religion at school: separation between religion and state. This separation was, and still remains, for them and for most of my fellow citizens, a heresy and a blasphemy. I had never heard that secularism allows everyone to believe or not to believe, that religion is a private matter and that secularism implies a separation between the private and public domain. In their speeches, my schoolteachers often linked secularism to the setbacks of absolute freedom that leads to debauchery, disorder, anarchy and crimes of all kinds. The discussions at the university in Palestine continued to follow this path and students (or teachers) who tried to defend the ideas of secularism, freedom or, a little less, democracy, were considered impious or disbelievers. Islamists in general, and an important part of society with them, do not differentiate between secularism and atheism. Many leftist intellectuals call themselves secular, not to say atheists. Liberals tend to use the term Madaniya in order not to use that of secularism, with its negative connotation.

6  Citizenship Under Occupation 

105

I developed a different conception of secularism, open secularism, which separates the private sphere (religion, tradition, way of life and dressing) from the public sphere (space open to all). This secularism should not exclude beliefs and religions from public debates. Every citizen and every ethnic, religious, cultural, linguistic or social group must have the right to express themselves and participate freely in all debates of society. It is up to the inhabitants of each country to think about their surroundings, without imposing their ideas or their conception of life on others. I often discussed secularism with my friends and left-wing activists in France and considered that they advocated a too strong form of secularism, which did not sufficiently take into account the peculiarities of other cultures. I even challenged a fundamentalist secular friend who wanted to forbid any democratic expression to the ‘enemies of freedom’ (religious groups). Secularism cannot be a means to repress the other and prevent him/her from participating in debates and civic life. It is necessary to oppose any undertaking whose aim is exclusion and discrimination, which would lead to dictatorship. My participation in associative life made me discover the activist life of French teachers and friends who devoted a significant amount of their time and energy to the service of others by defending humanist causes. These discussions and positions contributed to my education in democracy and a better understanding of the other in its difference. The term ‘tolerance’, often used in the Middle East to refer to the acceptance by the ‘Muslim’ majority of the existence of the other (Christian, Jewish, Samaritan, Druze, Armenian), opened the way to the stronger and fairer concept of equality of all before the law, made to serve ‘all’. Through the experience of more than ten years in France, with time, experience and wisdom, and after many readings and research, I understood the importance of a citizenship based on equality between all the components of the society, specifically the equality between women and men before the law.

106 

6

B. Shafei

Teaching Citizenship

Convinced of the need to teach universal values to Palestinian students, I returned to Palestine to work and live. The choice to settle permanently and start a family is irrevocable. Like many Palestinian academics, I could have chosen the easy answer, to find a job and live in France a peaceful and stable life with all the advantages that a rich country offers in terms of economic, social, political and scientific comfort. This decision represents a turning point in my life because Palestinian society is under pressure from many sides. The Israeli occupation continues its oppression, directly or indirectly. The corrupt Palestinian Authority is unable to build democratic institutions and poorly organised civil society is powerless in the face of the challenges of changes brought about by the regional and international situation. Not to mention the weight of religion and tradition, which imposes a retrograde view of society. However, change starts with school and university. They prepare the generations who will build the society of tomorrow. The Palestinian education system refers to the Jordanian and Arab models and our experts have not made the effort to revise it. Instead of incorporating international standards, the changes take into account the requirements of donor countries and the Oslo and Paris agreements with the State of Israel.7 The education system has not made the necessary changes in the contents of teaching. A quick analysis of courses on ‘civil society’ for primary classes shows the multiplicity of psychic images of citizenship (resident, national, citizen). Palestinian citizens may enjoy the same rights, but the words on inheritance, marriage or divorce derive from the Islamic laws in force, in complete contradiction with the equality of all citizens before the law, especially for women. When we ask our students to explain or define certain concepts such as citizenship, freedom or equality, we find the same answers and the same justifications as those stated in schools.

 According to these agreements, any legislation or changes in textbooks must have the agreement of both parties, especially the joint commission against the incitement to violence. It goes without saying that all references to the Palestinian version of ‘Nakba’ (the 1948 war) or to other aspects of Palestinian life under occupation will be rejected by the Israeli side as well as any critique of Zionism as a form of discrimination. 7

6  Citizenship Under Occupation 

107

Therefore, for a Palestinian student, the citizen is often a practicing Muslim person who fulfils all his/her duties towards Palestinian society and enjoys certain rights granted by that same society. While for the same student, a non-Muslim citizen enjoys the right to exist in the dominant society according to his/her own religious rules, in peace and under the protection of the Muslim majority. We can extend this schematic vision of citizenship from students to the Palestinian society, with the exception of intellectuals and leftist parties who defend the equality of all citizens before the law and the secularity of society. This psychic image of the citizen is often presented as a considerable advance in the history of humanity. Minorities have lived in Palestine for fourteen centuries, while the great empires have sought to exterminate or enslave their minorities. Islamists, Muslim theologians and some intellectuals put forward this argument. They emphasise the treatment of Jews in Europe for more than 2000 years, the American Indians or the mistreatment of Muslims by Christians after the re-conquest of Andalusia. In these circumstances, how can one explain and defend citizenship according to modern concepts that respect Human Rights and essential freedoms? How to explain citizenship in the Palestinian context, when the Palestinian Authority is unable to protect Palestinians in the occupied territories from repeated attacks by the Israeli army? How to teach our students theories of the social contract of Rousseau (1762) or John Locke (1689), while the Authority does not play its role in its contract with the citizen. The Authority does not protect them against attacks and almost daily arrests by the Israeli army in the zones it controls (zones A and B8). It can even be accused of complicity as it does not ensure the separation of powers, the only one capable of achieving the rule of law, an institutional system in which public power is subject to the law, which excludes the imposition of tribal laws. Being a citizen under Israeli occupation and in territories ruled by the Palestinian Authority, corrupt and attached to the forces of occupation, does not facilitate the teaching of citizenship. By discovering the modern  According to Oslo Agreement between Palestinian Authority and Israel, the occupied West Bank is divided in three zones: (A) under Palestinian control, (B) under Palestinian and Israeli control and (C) under Israeli control only. 8

108 

B. Shafei

concept of citizenship, based on the rule of law, equality and freedom, our students measure the gap between this conception and that lived in Palestine. Moreover, the citizenship explained by the Islamists may seem more tolerant and more egalitarian than the one defended by the modern states of the region, incarnated by the State of Israel, the Palestinian Authority or other Arab states. The Palestinian Authority is not yet a state enjoying dual sovereignty over the land of Palestine and the Palestinian people. The Oslo Accords, signed in 1992, include the birth of a Palestinian state on the territories occupied by Israel after June 4, 1967 (the West Bank and the Gaza Strip). However, this state does not have sovereignty over these territories; it only manages the affairs of the populations inhabiting these territories. In other words, this sovereignty rules only the Palestinians, but not their land. To be complete, the Oslo Accords do announce negotiations and subsequent texts to solve the problems of Jerusalem, refugees and borders. However, negotiations have been going on for more than twenty years and solved nothing. If the Authority fails to establish democratic and modern institutions that respect human and citizen rights in a state of law, it loses its raison d’être and no longer has the legitimacy to represent the Palestinian people. A third argument shows that the concept of citizenship has the achievement of the well-being of all citizens as its goal. If other Arab states fail to forge true citizenship, this is no reason to give up. This goal must be at the heart of citizen debates to build a better future for upcoming generations. From this analysis of the specific Palestinian context, a debate on citizenship and its relation to religion can begin, with the idea of Palestinian citizens enjoying the same rights and duties, irrespective of their origin, their sex, their religion, their social situation or their ethnic, political or cultural affiliation. My personal experience of the concept of citizenship, through my studies and my travels, has allowed me to deepen my theoretical analyses in a fruitful way.

6  Citizenship Under Occupation 

7

109

Citizenship and the Future

Faced with the chaos of the Middle East where religious issues fuel wars, it is time to build a rule of law able to protect citizens and to adopt laws that respect the human person, guarantees the rights of human beings and their individual liberties, ensuring equality of all. It is unthinkable that a modern state remains based on the interests of a social, ethnic, political or religious group. Everyone in his or her own country should enjoy the same rights, despite all the differences. We need to build a state model based on laws that enforce the rights of human beings and citizens. Humanity has evolved into elaborate forms of governance that can answer these fundamental questions. It is not a matter of copying any existing model and applying it to the countries of the Near and Middle East, but of defining general principles on which new models can be based. The first requirement is the establishment of a single citizenship. One cannot tolerate living in a country offering different statuses to citizens. Otherwise, the state we build will not be a state of law and the application of the law will be arbitrary: ‘The law must be the same for everyone’ (Montesquieu 1748). The democratic system remains the only one capable of guaranteeing good governance. Democratic systems in many countries are struggling, but democratic experiences have been successful with Arab and Muslim populations. The system is not perfect but we can improve it and adapt it to our reality. In the Arab and Muslim world, recent uprisings have shown that democracy is a popular requirement that citizens want to live in countries subject to the rule of law, hence the famous slogan: ‘The people want to defeat the regime’.9 Empowering the people is the primary meaning of democracy.

References Dieckhoff, A. (1995). La nation en Israël: entre démocratie et ethnicité. La Pensée politique, 3, 56–70.  Slogan adopted by protesters in Egypt and taken up in other Arab countries.

9

110 

B. Shafei

Dieckhoff, A. (2005). Quelle citoyenneté dans une démocratie ethnique? Confluences Méditerranée, 54, 69–80. Duclos, J. (2000). La Jordanie. Paris: PUF (Que sais-je?). Gresh, A. (2007). Deux États en Palestine, la longue marche de l’OLP (1969–1993), Le Monde diplomatique, janvier, pp. 10–12. Locke, J. (1689). The Two Treatises of Government. French Transl. Traité du gouvernement civil. Retrieved from http://classiques.uqac.ca/classiques/locke_ john/traite_du_gouvernement/traite_ du_gouver_civil.html. Montesquieu, Ch. (Baron de). (1748). De l’esprit des lois. Retrieved from http:// classiques.uqac.ca/classiques/montesquieu/de_esprit_des_lois/de_esprit_ des_lois_tdm.htm. Rousseau, J.-J. (1963 [1762]). Du contrat social ou principes du droit politique. Paris: UGE-10/18 Retrieved from http://classiques.uqac.ca/classiques/ Rousseau_jj/contrat_social/Contrat_social.pdf.

7 ‘Ecumenical’ Citizenships and Belonging Julia Droeber

‘What is your religious affiliation?’ This is one of the first questions my students usually ask me when they take their first class with me. They are almost exclusively Muslim (usually of Turkish background) studying to become teachers of Islamic religious education in German state schools. All my colleagues in my and other such departments are Muslims, but I do not look particularly ‘Muslim’. With a very German sounding name, green eyes, light skin, dark blonde hair, and a dress code that does not fit in the bill of the stereotypical ‘Muslim dress’ (read headscarf or long flowing robes or similar) I obviously raise suspicion in a department of ‘Islamic theology and religious education’. ‘Greek orthodox’ is my answer. This raises another eyebrow because most of my students actually have no idea what that means. ‘I am Christian’, I explain further and then I have to resort to telling them a short version of my life story. Since starting this job as professor of Islamic religious education in 2015, I have done this numerous times, mainly because my job is so closely tied to religious affiliation and because I do not seem to ‘fit in’. As an aside, I should

J. Droeber (*) Ludwigsburg University of Education, Ludwigsburg, Germany © The Author(s) 2020 M. Blanc et al. (eds.), Citizenship and Religion, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-54610-6_7

111

112 

J. Droeber

perhaps explain that while professors, lecturers, and schoolteachers of Protestant or Catholic religious education in Germany must have approval by their respective Churches to be able to do their job, they have so far not been able to identify an ‘Islamic Church’ or association to fulfil this role. Countless Muslim organisations have so far not agreed on this. Therefore, while schoolteachers must be (self-declared) Muslims, university teachers have so far escaped the religious affiliation check. This is how I got the job as a non-Muslim. In return, I have to go that extra mile and answer a few additional questions about my ‘religious credentials’. In this contribution, I take these ‘religious credentials’ as the starting point for developing the idea of what I have termed ‘ecumenical citizenship’. By this, I refer to the thought of how the experience of being at home in various religious communities and denominations impacts on our sense of citizenship. I am trying to show how consciously changing religious affiliation can create a deepened sense of belonging, purpose, and duty towards the community, which are important aspects of citizenship. My observations are purely personal and neither systematic nor ‘scientific’ but, through some theoretical lenses, they give us an inkling of how ‘personal’ the ‘political’ can be when it comes to religion and citizenship.

1

A Religious Journey

Let me return to my religious life story that I have recounted so many times by now. My father is Roman Catholic and has been throughout his life. My mother was Protestant, equally unchanging until her death in 2003. They got married in a Catholic Church because otherwise my father would have been excommunicated. They then decided to have their three children baptised into the Catholic Church. ‘To set us on some kind of path’, as they explained to us later, a path which we were always free to change. I stuck to it, serving in the church as an altar girl, attending Catholic religious education in school, and all the rest of it. At the same time, however, most of my friends were Protestant (this was

7  ‘Ecumenical’ Citizenships and Belonging 

113

Catholic diaspora country) and I went with them to YMCA1 youth groups. My parents were both not religiously observing, so it must have been my grandmother’s ‘genes’ that turned me into a quite enthusiastic Christian, making the most of both worlds: the Protestant and the Catholic one. As a student I continued on this pragmatic path, attending Catholic mass as well as Protestant student groups and vice versa, depending on things like people in the community, the personality of the preacher, and geographical closeness to home. I spent a year in Scotland as an undergraduate and here as well it was the Christian student community that gave me a sense of belonging, of being welcomed, of ‘home’, even hundreds of miles away from home. I also remember another feeling that I treasured—of being a minority, special, different. At the end of the twentieth century in both Germany and Scotland, being a practising Christian meant being in a minority among an agnostic, atheist, or otherwise non-­ practising majority. The sense of both minority and home was further heightened when I moved to Jordan for a two-year fieldwork stay. There was a small German/ international Protestant congregation in the capital Amman with a mainly female congregation and a young female pastor, and it was their activities—including weekly visits to the children’s cancer ward at the university hospital—that gave me a new sense of purpose and of home. In Jordan’s Muslim majority society—among whom I had many friends, particularly the interview partners for my PhD project—I became a lot more conscious about ‘being Christian’. It was there that for the first time I realised that (Christian) denominational differences are rather irrelevant when one is trying to come to grips with the differences between ‘Christian’ and ‘Muslim’ faiths and practices. Everyday discourse was about those two categories and one was obliged to associate with one of the two. Intra-religious differences were of secondary importance. Yet even the ‘us-versus-them’ rhetoric often turned into a proud ‘us-and-­ them’ in public discourse, emphasising how well religiously observing people could live together. One of my favourite symbols for this was the  YMCA, for Young Men Christian Association. Initially for males only, it became open to boys and girls. 1

114 

J. Droeber

big ‘Blue Mosque’ in downtown Amman opposite of which there was an Orthodox Church building. I took a picture of both church tower and minaret next to each other. Since my PhD project was about religiosity, I spent those two years in Jordan learning about religion from both a theoretical and a personal angle. The personal angle included a conscious decision that the limits of my own ‘ecumenism’ were drawn around Christianity and that despite my deep respect for Muslims and people of other religious backgrounds I would remain ‘Christian’. My next stop was England where I completed my PhD and where I was to learn about the majestic side of religion—after rather provincial and small-scale experiences of Christian communities. I remember being deeply impressed by hymns sung in Exeter Cathedral. Until this day I find English and Scottish hymns a lot more impressive than German ones. Therefore, I began feeling at home within an Anglican community, while on paper remaining a Roman Catholic. This British connection remained when in 2002 I went to Central Asia to take on a teaching position at a university in Bishkek, the capital of Kyrgyzstan. Seventy years of Soviet occupation of this formerly Muslim country had brought with it a significant influx of Russians and with them their Christian Orthodox faith. Therefore, churches and mosques stood next to each other in the cities where Russians settled, even though the Soviet regime limited religious practice considerably. After the disintegration of the Soviet Union, Kyrgyzstanis were gradually rediscovering their way to a more religious lifestyle, ‘helped’ by missionaries of all colours. In this exciting religious environment, I went along with a couple of colleagues to a small Catholic Church outside the city to worship with local Kyrgyzstanis (in their majority of Russian origin). I was surprised to find that even though I was able to recognise much of the words of the liturgy (my Russian was still developing) it was again the singing that was fully different from what I was used to. It had a profound sense of sadness to it. It made me physically experience the drama of life and helped me understand the drama many Kyrgyzstanis were going through ten years after the collapse of the old system. I stopped working at the university after a year and worked for NGOs instead. I heard of an international church in Bishkek and went along one Sunday. Pragmatism again fostered my decision to go there—it was

7  ‘Ecumenical’ Citizenships and Belonging 

115

within walking distance from my flat whereas the Catholic Church was a long taxi drive away. It turned out to be a small congregation of internationals and locals led by a minister of the Church of Scotland. I was immediately made to feel very welcomed, invited home by the minister and his wife, and encouraged to contribute to the upcoming Christmas celebration. Despite the wide variety of backgrounds of the congregation, we had found common ground on which we could build our small community and encourage each other. Again, I felt at home. After a short interlude in Germany, I then went on to live and work in Scotland, this time in Dundee. By coincidence, I ended up in a Free Church congregation. At the time, I did not know what ‘Free Church’ implied and only later realised that many Scots consider them ‘fundamentalist’ of sorts. Even after I had learned about this, it did not matter much to me as I did not find their conservatism particularly worrying and I felt at home in the congregation from the first instant. It was a small congregation and everyone was encouraged to contribute whatever they could to make this small community work. Very quickly, I became integrated in children’s work, organising tea/coffee after service, spring-­ cleaning, and being invited for lunch at various people’s homes on Sundays. This time, I made the decision to formally leave the Catholic Church in Germany and become a member of this congregation. I began to feel a little ‘Scottish’ largely because the Free Church is a Scottish institution and as such not to be found elsewhere. Again, the hymns helped me experience this kind of religiosity. Until recently, Free Church congregations were not allowed to use instruments in their singing and they would sing only Psalms in their services. I am not entirely convinced of the theological arguments behind this (human voice is the best instrument and Psalms are the only songs in the Bible, which is the basis for worship), but the acapella singing of Psalms has always and continues to touch my very soul. Listen to the tune of St-Kilda and you begin to understand what life may have been like in the Outer Hebrides when those tunes were written. Combining this with the often very dramatic and tragic words of the Psalms and you would find me in tears. I remained there for five years. The next step on my religious journey was Palestine, where I met my husband. He is a Greek Orthodox Christian and when we decided to get

116 

J. Droeber

married, I was asked to become Greek Orthodox as well. We knew the priest well, so he gave me a quick lesson of what makes Orthodoxy special or different, baptised me, and then we could get married in the Orthodox Church. It was a complete religious U-turn for me: From the text-focused Free Church to the ritual-focused Orthodox Church. Again, I found myself in a minority community. There were four different Christian congregations where we lived. While worshippers would go to their respective congregations for service, they all knew each other and there was a distinct sense of being first and foremost ‘Christian’ rather than belonging to a particular denomination. I used to go to the Anglican and to the Melkite services because those churches were closest to home. However, our three children are all baptised into the Greek Orthodox Church and Christmas and Easter services we would celebrate with the Greek Orthodox congregation. It was particularly in these circumstances that I learned that denominational differences count very little when one is in a minority. To the contrary, there was always a very strong sense of having to stick together at all costs so as not to be overwhelmed by the Muslim majority.

2

Ecumenic Practice

My so far final stop has again been Germany, not far from where I grew up. Society has changed in many ways since I left it almost 20 years ago. One aspect of change is religious diversity. During my youth, only Protestant and Catholic Churches and congregations were visible, plus a couple of small Protestant subgroups. Former guest workers from Turkey, Italy, Greece, and so on were noticeable mainly as ethnic but not religious groups. Today I live in a small village that is home to a significant Muslim community of various ethnic backgrounds, who can pray in a mosque in a village that is a three-minute drive away. A considerable Greek community can go to Orthodox services in the same village down the road. Most of those with Italian background are part of the Catholic community, which otherwise is rather small. Armenian acquaintances of ours in the same village worship in an Armenian Church, which the congregation has built in the next bigger city a 15-minute drive away. With my

7  ‘Ecumenical’ Citizenships and Belonging 

117

Orthodox children, I usually attend Protestant Sunday services, twice a month they go to Protestant Sunday school and they participate in the Protestant Nativity plays. The non-denominational kindergarten usually celebrates Christmas in the local Catholic Church and participates in Protestant celebrations of St-Martin in November. My daughter attends Catholic religious education at school and we went to the Orthodox Easter service. The latter, unfortunately, took place entirely in Greek, so I am not sure we will repeat this experience. Because of my own meanderings, I have become fairly relaxed about ideological, or rather denominational, differences, as long as they are not extremist of any sort and represent the core beliefs and values of Christianity. The particulars of doctrine or ritual no longer really matter much to me. As a scholar of religion, I can make sense of most of them and understand why they are there. What matters more to me, however, is the community, whose behaviour is shaped by the core of these doctrines. And this is what I am trying to instil in my children—some core (admittedly Christian) beliefs and what it means to be part of a community: to give to that community, of one’s time, energy, and money; to celebrate with them; to be committed; to have fun with them; to experience something greater than oneself; to belong.

3

Citizenship as Belonging and Community

The experiences I have described here may help us rethink the relationship between religion and citizenship in at least two ways. Firstly, the ideas about community that I have learned through belonging to different religious congregations resonate with various concepts of citizenship. There are parallels between belonging to a religious community and a political entity. Secondly, the experiences with diverging religious ‘Others’ may be beneficial for the development of a certain ‘colour blindness’ of a democratic and dialogical citizenship regime. Let me first turn towards the notion of community and belonging that is inherent in both religious as well as political ‘citizenship’. If one takes, for instance, the fairly basic definition of the Merriam-Webster dictionary. It defines citizenship, first, as ‘the fact or status of being a citizen of a

118 

J. Droeber

particular place’. This would parallel the traditional understanding of religious affiliation of formal membership in a particular religious group or sect. The same dictionary then, however, continues that citizenship also implies ‘the qualities that a person is expected to have as a responsible member of a community’ [www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/ citizenship]. This sounds a lot more practice-oriented and echoes my own understanding of religious belonging as active commitment to a community. Both the ‘political’ and the religious kind of ‘citizenship’ are about formal and informal ways of belonging. Obviously, there are differences, as in the twenty-first century most people are obliged to have a ‘political citizenship’, that is, to be citizen of a particular state, a number of stateless people being the exception; religious ‘citizenship’, on the other hand, is largely a matter of choice. Of course, it is usually the parents who decide which religious ‘citizenship’ one ‘acquires’—if at all—yet, most religious communities accept the right to choose once an individual reaches adolescence or adulthood. Obviously, there exists a lot of pressure by community and family to remain within a certain religious denomination, sometimes including serious punishment or death threats, but most communities welcome converts or newcomers and (grudgingly) accept ‘desertion’. Political citizenship, in turn, is not always as welcoming to newcomers as immigration and citizenship laws of most countries confirm. If we want to gain new insights into the mechanisms of citizenship (of the ‘political’ kind), it may be useful to choose different terms. To speak about ‘belonging’ may sound imprecise or banal at first, but it is advantageous for at least two reasons: it helps to break open the decades-old connotations we link with ‘citizenship’, namely the formal, political, legalistic side of it. Perhaps in this way it becomes easier to ‘think outside the box’ and develop new understandings of the mechanisms of citizenship. What using ‘belonging’ does, too, is to introduce an emotional aspect to the debate, which is sidelined in any discussion of ‘citizenship’. Emotions are often associated with ‘nationalism’, as such negatively perceived, and derided by the ‘enlightened’. If my religious journey has anything to tell us about how citizenship works and is something to go by, then emotions should definitely figure in the equation. Without making reference to religion, Edward Said describes in his memoir Out of Place (1999) some

7  ‘Ecumenical’ Citizenships and Belonging 

119

of the intense emotions that were part of his life-long search for ‘belonging’, be that politically, ethnically, socially, or familial: [I had] retained this unsettled sense of many identities […] all of my life, together with an acute memory of the despairing feeling that I wish we could have been all-Arab, or all-European and American, or all-Orthodox Christian, or all-Muslim or all-Egyptian, and so on. (Said 1999: 5)

Edward Said’s story and my own are narratives of searching. The searches described are, however, only superficially for a ‘fact’ or ‘status’ of citizenship. Upon closer inspection, both Said’s and my narrative reveal a lengthy process of making sense of belongingness, of creating a ‘place’, where we can feel ‘at home’. Only in his 50s was he able to accommodate his English first name with his Arabic surname, both of which did not feel ‘authentic’ to him for decades (ibid.). I tried for decades, beginning from a very early age to figure out where my religious belonging lies. I remember asking the priest, whose Catholic Religious Education lessons I attended in primary school, where the Catholic Church was in his drawing of a ‘family tree’ of denominations on the blackboard. I could understand which was a splinter group of which, but was surprised when he said that, of course, the Catholic Church was the tree’s trunk, read the ‘original’, the ‘only true’, the ‘authentic’ Church. I did feel slightly offended, perhaps because of my mixed religious upbringing or the many Protestant friends I had. Was he trying to suggest that my mother’s and my friends’ Church and beliefs were less valuable? The example of Said’s mixed name and his coming to terms with it is a beautiful symbol for the conflicts and the harmonies that are at stake here. He eventually came to grips and made his peace with his mixed or unclear heritage, just as I have managed to accommodate diverse backgrounds and interpretations of (Christian) beliefs. Many others do not. They fight wars in the name of ‘purity’ and ‘authenticity’. It would mean stating the obvious to say that an emphasis on ‘authenticity’ in the sense of ‘purity’ can only be helpful in a citizenship project based on a strictly nationalist ideology. This understanding grants citizenship rights only to a certain (ethnic) group to the exclusion of all others. While such notions certainly still exist in the twenty-first century, most scholars and large

120 

J. Droeber

sections of democratic societies consider them ‘politically incorrect’ and undesirable. Such an ideology might help engaging citizens of such a fictive ‘pure’ nation, but it obviously excludes everybody else. Once this ‘purity’ appears as something fictional and constructed, one may move on to an accommodation of diversity, sometimes in one’s own personhood, but certainly in society. In the religious arena, these issues are often framed in terms of a search for ‘the truth’. Contact with other religious traditions may lead to one of two (or more) reactions: one may feel more defensive of one’s ‘own’ tradition and become more fundamentalist; or a more relativistic view of ‘the truth’ and, therefore, accepting different religious interpretations and traditions as equally ‘valuable’ and ‘true’.

4

Developing Citizens

While reflecting upon such questions, I was reminded of James Fowler’s categorisation of religious development, which would be related to the second aspect of the relationship between religion and citizenship, namely that of ‘colour-blindness’. In his 1981 Stages of Faith, Fowler developed six stages of individual faith development based on the cognitive development described by Piaget. Although these stages are not directly linked to an individual’s age, there is a tendency for their progress to occur at certain stages of a person’s life history. The first stage—that of ‘primal or undifferentiated’ faith—is usually reached in the first two years of a person’s life, followed by an ‘intuitive-projective’ stage of pre-school age. The ‘mythic-literal’ stage of faith development is usually reached by schoolchildren up until the age of around 12. This stage includes a very literal understanding of belief contents, including anthropomorphic ideas of God. Fowler emphasises that some adults have not moved beyond this stage in the development of their faith. As teenagers, most people move on to the ‘synthetic-conventional’ stage, which is marked by conformity to authority and the religious development of a personal identity. In young adulthood, many people develop an ‘individuative-reflective’ faith, when other religious traditions are discovered, and many become disillusioned with their faith. It is a stage of fear and struggle. People in this

7  ‘Ecumenical’ Citizenships and Belonging 

121

stage recognise the complexity of faith and show an awareness of the conflicts in their own beliefs. Peck (1987) has called this stage ‘sceptic-­ individual’, indicating that some people in this stage become very non-­ religious and leave their Church, if they are in one. The sixth stage Fowler calls ‘conjunctive’ faith, usually occurring in the mid-30s of a person’s life. This is when the individual acknowledges the paradoxes of life and moves beyond the symbols of inherited systems. In this stage, they often develop a multidimensional and interdependent understanding of ‘truth’. In Peck’s categorisation, this stage is described as ‘mystical-communal’ indicating the recognition that life can be full of mystery and that emphasis is placed more on community than on individual concerns. The final stage of ‘universalising’ faith is reached by only very few people, such as Mahatma Gandhi or Jesus, according to Fowler. Individuals in this stage serve others according to the universal principles of love and justice without worries or concerns for their own position or interests. Although this categorisation has been rightly criticised, most notably for its Judaeo-Christian bias—it is based on empirical research with participants of mainly Jewish and Christian background—it resonates with my own experience described above. While I am reluctant to place myself into one of these stages, particularly as the boundaries between them are arguably fluent, and while I cannot clearly remember stages one and two in my own development, the narrative of my religious journey seems to reflect in some way stages three, four, and five. This means that I have reached a stage where I am supposedly no longer stuck in a tight theological box, have accepted the multidimensionality of life, and place an emphasis on community. This is, by the way, nothing to be proud of since Fowler remarks that development can always move downward again in this model. Yet, if this analysis is anything to go by, then it can also tell us something about citizenship. To draw this connection, I have to take a brief excursion into social psychology, which, admittedly, is not my home turf; in fact, I am generally quite critical of psychology, mainly because of its research methodology and its often universalising conclusions. However, at this point, it may give us some valuable clues to understanding the relationship between religiosity and citizenship. Stevenson et al. (2015) provide a useful summary of the current state of affairs in social psychological research on citizenship. They have

122 

J. Droeber

identified three main strands in recent research: organisational citizenship behaviour, community psychology of citizen participation, and micro-politics of everyday interaction. All of them can be traced back to much earlier conceptions of citizenship as participatory (Stevenson et al. 2015: 4). Here I am interested neither in the organisational nor in the micro-political aspect of citizenship, but rather concerned with the community part as this obviously played a major role in my own development. For a social psychologist working in this field, ‘the term “citizenship” denotes the formal and informal rights, entitlements and obligations held by all community members. “Citizenship participation” can be formally defined as “a process in which individuals take part in the institutions, programs and environments which affect them”’ (Heller et al. 1984: 339; quoted in Stevenson et al. 2015: 6). While in social psychology the focus was mainly socially marginalised and disadvantaged groups, I would argue that the results can to some extent also speak to religious groups and citizenship participation. Stevenson et  al. explain that benefits of such community-level citizenship participation are demonstrable at the individual, organisational, community, and national level. It means that a sense of community has been found to shape the perception of the environment, affect relationships with others and lead to a stronger sense of the capacity of the community to achieve its goals, all of which lead to increased participation. Participation leads to an increased sense of personal efficacy, personal and organisational empowerment as well as an enhanced critical understanding of the local socio-political environment. (Ibid.)

Obviously, numerous other factors play a role in the outcomes of citizenship participation, such as leadership, sustainability, interaction with authorities, practices and experiences of discrimination, and so on. Despite the variations in the participatory process, the results of social psychological research on community participation and citizenship are thus summarised: [T]he concept of citizenship here is inextricable from participation. Citizens gain their identity and rights from their community membership and the meaning of their actions is derived from their alignment with

7  ‘Ecumenical’ Citizenships and Belonging 

123

c­ ommunity goals. Participation is found to be intrinsically rewarding and is demonstrably linked to health and wellbeing (at the individual as well as the collective level). In other words, despite the demands of participation, the rewards experienced by the individual are considerable and measurable. Moreover, this research conceptualises citizenship participation as an inherently inclusive concept that emphasises the opportunity and obligation of all community members to take part. (Stevenson et al. 2015: 7)

This approach and the outcomes have been criticised, mainly for their uncritical use of concepts such as ‘citizen’ or ‘community’ and the lack of consideration of influencing factors such as gender, race, and age on the experience of citizenship participation. Only recently have social psychologists begun to take note of these issues (ibid.). While this is certainly worth discussing, it is not my intention here to go into much detail of this research, particularly as this is not my ‘field’. I refer to this body of literature for the sole purpose of indicating the potential benefit of community participation on citizenship practice. However, before we jump to the conclusion that participation in religious communities per se is beneficial, we must consider the results of another study. Roebroeck and Guimond (2015) investigated to what extent French pupils of different school types adhere to French republican principles, most notably ‘colour blindness’ as opposed to the ‘new laïcité (secularism)’, which is associated with secular values of religious suppression. Other research shows that colour-blind egalitarianism is linked to decreased prejudice, whereas values of the new laïcité are associated with increased prejudice.

5

Ecumenical Citizenship

Combining those results, we may begin to think about the link between participation in religious groups and citizenship. It has become fairly obvious that community participation is, on the whole, beneficial to both the individual and larger groups, arguably the citizenry. To be of benefit for a larger and heterogeneous society, such participation must be ‘colour blind’, inclusive, non-discriminatory, or at least open-minded. Obviously,

124 

J. Droeber

groups and communities usually form around a common goal or purpose and are therefore in practice not necessarily inclusive. Yet, they must not be governed by an exclusive, biased, or discriminatory ideology. If Fowler’s model is reliable, then this kind of ‘religious colour-blindness’ does not develop until later in life and many people never reach this stage. My own experience seems to support this view. It took me years of wandering and countless encounters with more or less exotic ‘Others’ to develop an ecumenic worldview that is religiously, or denominationally, colour-blind. I call this ‘ecumenical’—tending toward worldwide Christian unity or cooperation,2 because personally I have remained within the Christian belief system, having adopted only a few ideas from Islam and Buddhism. It is, however, easily conceivable that this ‘ecumenical’ worldview may be broadened to go beyond the boundaries of Christian Churches. Thus, experiences with other religious communities and their members may help form a mind-set that understands the claims for truth in other (religious) communities, which is a prerequisite for respect towards them. On this basis ‘colour blind’ citizenship practices can be developed. Having come to this conclusion, I have made it my aim to introduce my students to as many religious communities as possible to grant them opportunities to develop a more ‘ecumenical’ worldview, that is moving beyond their Sunni (Turkish) views to include other Muslim communities but also other religious communities such as Buddhists, Jews, or Christians. However, this is another research project, with another theoretical underpinning and still in its infancy.

References Fowler, J. W. (1981). Stages of Faith: The Psychology of Human Development and the Quest for Meaning. New York: Harper Collins. Peck, M.  S. (1987). The Different Drum. Community Making and Peace. New York: Touchstone.

 [https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/ecumenical].

2

7  ‘Ecumenical’ Citizenships and Belonging 

125

Roebroeck, E., & Guimond, S. (2015). Schooling, Citizen-Making, and Anti-­ Immigrant Prejudice in France. Journal of Social and Political Psychology, 3, 20–42. Said, E. (1999). Out of Place. London: Granta Books. Stevenson, C., Dixon, J., Hopkins, N., & Luyt, R. (2015). The Social Psychology of Citizenship, Participation and Social Exclusion: Introduction to the Special Thematic Section. Journal of Social and Political Psychology, 3, 1–19.

Part II Is Religion a Resource or a Barrier for Active Citizenship?

8 It’s the Culture, Stupid!: Cultures Maintain a Strong Hold on Their Members Tom Storrie

1

What Unites Us

Reading the texts of our co-authors in Part I, I perceive that we are immediately united in our concern to mitigate the social injustices which our cultures, whether secular or theocratic, tend to maintain powerfully in place. The fact that the collective and massive pressure from cultures often counteracts this wish is exemplified first by Bilal Shafei’s text where a class of university students voted by 21 to 1 to reject the right of freedom of expression (Article 19, Declaration of Human Rights, United Nations, 1948) insofar as this was deemed contrary to Islam. Maurice Blanc ‘was shocked to discover the doctrinal quarrels and excommunications between Maoists, Trotskyists etc.’ during the revolt of Tom Storrie was deceased at the time of publication. Adaptation of the electoral slogan—‘It’s the economy, Stupid’—used by US presidential candidate Bill Clinton in 1992.

T. Storrie (*) Honorary Director of Consett College of Higher & Further Education, Durham, UK © The Author(s) 2020 M. Blanc et al. (eds.), Citizenship and Religion, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-54610-6_8

129

130 

T. Storrie

May 1968 when students and workers together brought France to a standstill. Another example, this time at the level of the State: Germany and then France have made it a criminal offence to question the truth of the evidence presented and accepted by the International Military Tribunal setup in Nuremberg to pass judgement on the leaders of Hitler’s Germany for the Nazi atrocities committed during the Second World War. Even if the intense repugnance provoked by these atrocities remains profound and widely shared, I consider that these laws are unacceptable because they impose an illegitimate limitation, an arbitrary constraint on the freedom of expression, for example on future historians. The emotion, the general disgust, and doubtless, for some, guilt before the enormity of these atrocities, meant that there was no real resistance in these two countries to these laws which must have seemed grounded in an uncontested common sense, a defence against an extreme right always seeking to deny these atrocities. My discomfort grew in the 1990s when Tony Blair, Leader of the Opposition in Parliament and future British prime minister, promised that once in power he would create a similar law in the United Kingdom. This troubled me. Was I going to have to write a letter to a newspaper opposing this proposed law, thereby attracting attention to myself supposedly as a member of the extreme right? Fortunately for me and for the freedom of expression in this country, Blair once in power did not pursue the matter. Returning to the majority vote of the Palestinian students, at first the two young women in the class voted against but the majority succeeded in ‘saving’ one of them from her ‘error’. Imposition of the ready-made truth of the group without any evidence either of reflexion on the part of individuals or of reflexivity within the group itself. But ‘without evidence’ doesn’t mean that there wasn’t any; one can suppose that the group pressure was exerted not only on the two young women but also on the group itself. One may imagine that certain members of the majority group, less courageous than the two women, kept their own particular opinions to themselves. A well-developed citizenship needs a secular not a theocratic framework, but even when this worthy objective is realised, the question of the cultural system in place remains deeply problematic. A startling example:

8  It’s the Culture, Stupid!: Cultures Maintain a Strong Hold… 

131

the British suffragette movement was the first feminist association to claim the same political rights as men, an objective finally realised in 1928. But today, almost a century later, we are still far from having modified the cultural factor which prevents the realisation of full equality between men and women by means of patterns of behaviour, collectively learned and often unconsciously enacted. Cherifa Bouatta and Julia Droeber note very directly the effects of this cultural inertia, to which women as well as men contribute and which permit men to continue to benefit from the mechanisms of power in society. Betty Friedan and Jacqueline Rose in 2014 gave fine illustrations, respectively, in The Feminine Mystique (1963), the book which launched the second feminist wave, and Women in dark times (2014). They treat ‘of a problem which has no name’: [The feminine mystique is the cultural constraint which maintains women in a posture of ] sexual passivity, masculine domination and nourishing maternal love. […] The problem lay buried, unspoken, for many years in the minds of American women. It was a strange stirring, a sense of dissatisfaction, a yearning that women suffered in the middle of the twentieth century in the United States. Each suburban wife struggled with it alone. As she made the bed, shopped for groceries […] she was afraid to ask even of herself the silent question: ‘Is this all?’ Beneath this problem which has no name, the real question was ‘Who do I want to be?’. (Friedan 1963) Certainly it must be one of the goals of feminism for women to be freer in their sexual life. But we must be careful not to exchange an injustice for an illusion. We are nowhere more deceived than when we present sexuality, not as the trouble it always is, but as another consumable good. Sexuality always contains an element beyond human manipulation, however free we think we are. (…) Feminism should alert us to the world’s unreason. (Rose 2014)

How many times does each one of us neglect to interrogate the cultural consensus in which we are comfortably ensconced? How often do we react in this way without even being conscious of what we are doing? Those who seek to extricate themselves from their cultural niche, always fortressed by a range of blind spots and taboos which hold in place this

132 

T. Storrie

unreason, are forever a minority surrounded by a majority who actively wish to prevent them acceding to a freedom to which, according to Jean-­ Paul Sartre, we are condemned. In shutting itself off in this way, the dominant group tends to fall into a complaisance which does not truly hear the dissatisfactions, or indeed of the fears, of the minorities (including women, often considered as such). The discord is very clear between the point of view of Bilal Shafei’s students and that of Julia Droeber, speaking as a minority Palestinian Christian. Bilal Shafei notes that for his students ‘a Christian or a Samaritan (the town of Nablus is home to the largest Samaritan community in the world) cannot have the same rights as a muslim. And when he explained to his students that this is in contradiction with the fact that all are equal before the law, the reply was that Islam is in principle tolerant towards the other religions.’ Julia Droeber sees it differently: While in public discourse Muslim and Christian leaders always emphasise the good and brotherly relations between the two communities, on a day-­ to-­day level, there is a certain level of resentment and discrimination against Christians that may be traced back to the idea that they are a ‘fifth column’ of the allegedly ‘Christian’ West’. (Droeber 2018: 56)

This discordance is not based on the formal constitution of this emerging Palestinian State which is totally secular, more so than for instance the United Kingdom with its Queen who is both Head of State and Head of an established church with its bishops who sit in the House of Lords in the British Parliament. A complaisant tolerance is no compensation for relegation to the status of second-class citizen. Our cultures constrain us in the deepest of hidden ways: ‘There is always a question: should I listen to this or not? Am I being heard or misconstrued? The public sphere is constituted time and time again through certain kinds of exclusions: images that cannot be seen, words that cannot be heard. And this means that the regulation of the visual and audible field […] is crucial to the constitution of what can become a debatable issue within the sphere of politics’ (Butler 2011: 75).

8  It’s the Culture, Stupid!: Cultures Maintain a Strong Hold… 

133

The conditions of intelligibility are themselves formulated in and by power, and this normative exercise of power is rarely acknowledged as an operation of power at all. Indeed, we may clarify it as among the most implicit forms of power, one that works precisely through its illegibility: it escapes the terms of legibility that it occasions. […] That power continues to act in illegible ways is one source of its relative invulnerability. (Butler 1997: 134)

2

Religion Is Not Disappearing

In our territory of Western Europe, a Eurocentric perspective easily cradles the notion that religion is in decline and being replaced by secular democracy. But despite the secularising movements triggered by the Enlightenment, that contemporary discussions and debates on the notion of a post-secular society underlines the fact that religions globally are in no way diminished; on the contrary they are giving evidence of renewed vigour and presence1: The European development whose Occidental rationalism was once supposed to serve as a model for the rest of the world is actually the exception rather than the norm. […] A first sign of their vibrancy (of religions globally) is the fact that orthodox or at least conservative groups within the established religious organisations and churches are on the advance everywhere. This holds for Hinduism and Buddhism just as much as it does for the three monotheistic religions. Most striking of all is the regional spread of these established religions in Africa and in the countries of East and Southeast Asia. (Habermas 2008)

Even in this Europe where one claims that the populations are now largely freed from the control of religious institutions, evidence remains of spiritual aspirations as witnessed for example by the fact that this ‘godless twentieth century, by contrast, generated devotional (musical) masterpieces by the dozen’ (Ross 2012: 511). Giddens delivers a similar message: ‘Not only has religion failed to disappear. We see all around us the creation of new forms of religious sensibility and spiritual endeavour.  The religious affiliation of the world population is evaluated at 84% (Pew Research Centre 2015).

1

134 

T. Storrie

[…] New forms of religion and spirituality represent in a most basic sense a return of the repressed, since they directly address issues of the moral meaning of existence which modern institutions so thoroughly tend to dissolve’ (Giddens 1991: 207). It is not so much religion as such which is repudiated as its institutionalised manifestations, with its modes of control and surveillance— bureaucracies, hierarchies, rites, obligations, doctrines and dogmatisms—in order to rigorously maintain in place the faithfulness of their faithful. According to Richard Holloway, one of the things which ensnares religion is that it develops its official truth. Throughout history these institutions have shown themselves ready to slaughter each other in the name of their own particular truths, as have shown the wars of religion in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries between Catholics and Protestants, or between Sunnis and Shiites today: the extreme brutality of the sanctions used by these institutions—for example the Inquisition in Spain in the sixteenth century for those persons who refused to accept Catholicism; or the ultimate sanction in Islam for apostasy2 provokes the repudiation of these institutions: ‘When faith preaches hatred, blessed be the doubters’ (Malouf 2000).

3

Theology Versus Theocracy

From a British perspective, ‘liberation theology’ is generally understood as a very modern phenomenon but without any direct relevance to the United Kingdom. The term, invented in the second half of the twentieth century when Roman Catholic priests and nuns in South America strove with others to promote a socio-economic revolution, both Marxist and Catholic at the same time (see Blanc’s Chap. 3). In the United Kingdom, it is easy to understand British history as the reverse of this: as liberation from a theological or more exactly theocratic hegemony and towards a secular democracy.  In January 2014, the United Kingdom granted asylum to a young Afghan who came aged sixteen to the UK as a refugee in 2007. This was granted by reason of his apostasy with regard to Islam. The Court accepted that if he was repatriated to Afghanistan his life would be in danger. It seems that this is the first time that asylum has been granted on the ground of atheism. 2

8  It’s the Culture, Stupid!: Cultures Maintain a Strong Hold… 

135

The wars of religion in sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Europe— between an entrenched Catholicism and an emerging Protestantism— were more or less settled by the Treaty of Westphalia in 1648 whereby each territory adopted the religion of its monarch (cuius regio, eius religio). This period—called the Protestant Reformation because it was driven by a will to reform the corrupt practices promoted and controlled by the Vatican—heralded radical changes which can be summed up by reference to three intertwined processes: the ascendance of Protestantism; the development of States with monarchs still representing God on earth at least as far as his or her subjects were concerned and the decline of papal hegemony and the Holy Roman Empire (the Pope in Rome was held to be the spiritual head of the church, while the Emperor was held to be its temporal earthly ruler). King Henry VIII of England was the first to repudiate papal authority, declaring himself in 1534 supreme head of the Anglican Church (becoming by this act Protestant, but nevertheless conserving the Catholic rites) in an England which with this rupture began a journey which led to the formation of the modern State of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. And even today, in what is substantially a secular State, the United Kingdom still retains vestiges of this special relationship of the monarch to the divinity: when the monarch is crowned, one of the multiple titles with which he or she is invested is ‘Defender of the Faith’, a title originally conferred on Henry in 1521 by the pope. (Successor to the throne, Prince Charles, has suggested to widen this title at his coronation to become ‘Defender of the Faiths’!)

4

The Reformation: A Liberation Theology

The immediate event which provoked Henry to break with Rome was the Pope’s refusal to grant him a divorce from his first wife Catherine of Aragon. Catherine had borne him a daughter but he wanted a son as his heir. But if the immediate cause was nothing more than Henry’s ambition to secure his family dynasty, the rupture with Rome attracted wide sympathy because of the resentment against the spiritual and material

136 

T. Storrie

corruption of the Vatican in favour of its own ecclesiastical hierarchy and of its very strict legal and institutional control over ‘authentic’ Christian truth. As early as the fourteenth century, John Wycliffe, going against the implacable Vatican politics, had translated the Bible into English in order to facilitate a wider and more immediate access. Wycliffe and his followers (the Lollards) were suppressed, imprisoned and burnt during the following century. In 1517, Martin Luther, an Augustin monk and professor at Wittenburg University in Germany, nailed to the door of his church in an act of frustration a list of 95 theses critical of the church (attacking the sale of ‘indulgences’ sold as pardons for sins committed and thereby avoiding penance in hell). He very quickly unleashed anger against the Vatican which spread internationally including in England. In 1527 even the armies of the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V occupied and destroyed Rome. In 1534, when Henry broke with Rome, he received a lot of support despite his doubtful motives. In modern terms, this social movement was inspired by a liberation theology seeking liberation from the single multinational corporation in existence with its monopoly of power, exercising economical and spiritual control and penetrating deeply and malevolently into daily life across Europe. In denouncing the corruption of this multinational corporation, Martin Luther became the first global ‘whistle blower’.

5

 chism, Civil Wars and the Triumph S of Protestantism

But the unintended consequences of this social movement went beyond reform to schism. Protestantism became a theological framework concurrent with Catholicism for the new political entities which were to become sovereign States. In the future United Kingdom, the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries were a time of turbulent civil and religious conflicts and it was only at the end of the seventeenth century that it became clear that Protestantism emerged as the overall winner. This victory was formally promulgated by the English Parliament in 1689 with a Bill of Rights, the

8  It’s the Culture, Stupid!: Cultures Maintain a Strong Hold… 

137

fundamental law determining the liberties of the English citizen and which stipulated that no Catholic could become sovereign (prohibition still in place today!). It was however of capital importance for the democracy which was to emerge in the forthcoming centuries that it was the Parliament (and no longer the monarch) which constituted the sovereign power in what was henceforth a ‘constitutional monarchy’.3 In Scotland, religious conflict lasted longer because the Highlands in the north remained Catholic and organised in clans. The last genocide in these British Isles occurred in 1746 when the Protestant armies, having repelled a Scottish Catholic rebellion (which had succeeded in advancing to within 125 miles from London!), then proceeded to massacre systematically the Scottish Catholic population in the Highlands. In Ireland, we can only now glimpse the end of this religious war in the twenty-first century.4 In the seventeenth century, on the island of Great Britain (England, Scotland and Wales) turbulent events prepared the ground for a future democracy. The civil war in England between the Roundheads with Oliver Cromwell at the head of the new Model Army, Protestant and puritan, and the Cavaliers (royalists, supporting King Charles 1 and mainly of a Catholic tendency) ended with the defeat of the Cavaliers and the decapitation in 1649 of the king with Cromwell installed as ‘Protector’ (he refused the title of ‘King’); Cromwell died in 1658 and the monarchy was restored in 1660. Sharp tensions remained because, although the monarchy under Charles 1 professed Anglicanism (Protestant), it still harboured strong Catholic tendencies. The majority of society was still theocratic but the puritan Protestantism, dominant at that time, placed the individual in a direct and unmediated  An equivalent law (Claim of Right 1689) was introduced in Scotland, a still sovereign and independent country but sharing since 1603 the same monarch with England. The two countries were united in 1707 to become The United Kingdom of Great Britain. https://thecrownandtheunicorn. wordpress.com/the-claim-of-right-1689/ 4  Ireland was formally incorporated in the United Kingdom in 1801 into the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland. In 1920, after a war of independence, Ireland was partitioned with the creation on the one side of the Irish Free State (which became the Republic of Ireland in 1949) and on the other side, Northern Ireland remained part of the British State. From the 1960s until the Belfast Accord (the Good Friday Agreement) there was civil war in Northern Ireland between the Catholic ‘nationalists’ and the ‘loyalist’ Protestants. Then, in 2007, following a historic agreement between the two ‘extremist’ political parties, there seems the real possibility of a lasting peace. 3

138 

T. Storrie

relation with God which gave rise to the new thrilling and proto-democratic idea that each man was equal to any other man (in spite of this direct liaison with God, women were still not recognised as equal with men!). During the seventeenth century, a society emerged in which for the first time public opinion became politically significant; this was facilitated largely by the invention of the printing press offering radically new methods of communication in a society in politico-religious turmoil. One can perceive the social transformations which permitted the beginnings of civil society to emerge.

6

Beyond Theocracy

But even if this world was still popularly theocratic, political philosophers were already ahead of their time. Thomas Hobbes (1651) declared that the true source of power resided in the consent of the people whose interests would nevertheless be best served if the people once and for all committed all liberties to an autocratic leader. Hobbes was writing during a full-scale civil war when peace and security seemed priority values. According to him, without such a social contract, the law of the jungle would prevail ‘where life was nasty, brutish and short’. Hobbes was one of the first to dismiss the notion of the divine right of the monarch, no longer God’s representative on earth. John Locke went further in positing that the consent of the people should be the principle of government and that this consent could be withdrawn if the government was failing in protecting personal liberties: ‘The only way whereby anyone divests himself of his natural liberty and puts on the bonds of civil society is by agreeing with other men to join and unite into a community for their comfortable, safe and peaceable living among one another, in the secure enjoyment of their properties’ (Locke Second Treatise on Government: the beginning of political societies). The eighteenth, nineteenth and twentieth centuries saw slow socio-­ political and cultural development which allowed the progressive emergence of the concept of citizenship. T.H.  Marshall (1951) broadly describes this process in three stages: civil rights in the eighteenth century (freedom of expression, thought and faith); political rights in the

8  It’s the Culture, Stupid!: Cultures Maintain a Strong Hold… 

139

nineteenth century (voting and being elected); and economic and social rights in the twentieth century. In other words, at its origin the Reformation was a liberation theology with unexpected and fortunate consequences. Its key principles were that each person is equal before God and that everyone stands in a direct relation with God. The Enlightenment and the American and French revolutions further prepared the ground for a culture of human rights (Paine 1791).

7

Dissent: A Democratic Necessity

In the seventeenth century, puritan sects (Quakers, Levellers, Ranters, Diggers, Muggletonians etc.), in heated dispute with each other, produced their holy texts and sometimes even their messiahs. A singular and important effect of this was that dissent took root in this ground. Because God spoke directly to each person, all other external authority, religious or otherwise, was immediately suspect. Although the eighteenth century calmed down, thoroughly fatigued with the immoderate enthusiasms and austerities of the Puritanism of the previous century (e.g. in 1642, theatres were closed), the value of dissent remained in attenuated form as an essential element in a democratic civil society. The tradition of dissent was evidenced in the eighteenth century by the creation of the dissenting academies, schools for non-conformists who, like the Catholics, were forbidden access to universities and to the public service professions. The historian E.P. Thompson notes in his study of seventeenth-century dissent and its democratic implications: In most societies, we can observe an intellectual as well as institutional hegemony, or dominant discourse, which imposes a structure of ideas and beliefs—deep assumptions as to social proprieties and economic process and as to the legitimacy of property and power, a general ‘common sense’ as to what is possible and what is not, a limited horizon of moral norms and practical probabilities beyond which all must be blasphemous, seditious, insane or apocalyptic fantasy—a structure which serves to consolidate the existent social order, enforce its priorities, and which is itself

140 

T. Storrie

enforced by rewards and penalties, by notions of ‘reputability’. (Thompson 1993: 108–109)

Thompson sums up with elegance this tendency as ‘the compulsive constraints of the ruling discourse’ (ibidem: 109). This tension, which can never be definitively resolved, demands that citizens be unceasing in criticising, resisting, moderating or reforming the hegemony in place. This is more and more necessary today in this not particularly ‘United’ Kingdom, where populations and communities are more and more diversified between themselves in cultural and religious terms but also within each culture and each religion. We must regard as sacred in democracy its absence of truth, as the rule which permits different truths to encounter each other. […] Democracy is a solution which gives us problems. (Morin 1987)

8

Where Now?

While a secular State is in principle opposed to a theocracy, it is not so opposed to religions. And while secular states can take different forms, an important factor is the character and consistency of civil society. A comparison of the British and French models can illustrate how each is the product of their particular histories. With regard to religion, in the French dominant model, religion is relegated to the private domain, while in the British dominant model, the situation is more mixed: Anglican bishops sit in Parliament in the House of Lords. Another startling example is within the school system: in France state (public) schools are strictly secular while here faith schools are integrated within the state system.5 And again another example is the banning in French schools of headscarves where again our two countries do  Introduced in the 1930s for pragmatic reasons (lack of state resources to construct new schools), the system at the start only incorporated Christian and Jewish schools. In the 1990s, Moslem populations (and others) claimed the same right, granted in 1997. In the state system today, 18% of secondary schools and 29% of primary schools have a ‘religious character’. It is interesting to note that in France for the same reasons most Catholic, Protestant and Jewish schools are funded by the State and now Islamic voices are demanding the same arrangement. 5

8  It’s the Culture, Stupid!: Cultures Maintain a Strong Hold… 

141

things differently, between centralised edicts and local arrangements. The Guardian (11/2/2004) illustrates a British reticence at such a sweeping generalisation: ‘If a society is opposed to enforced obligation to wear the headscarf, by the same logic it should oppose the enforced prohibition preventing anyone from wearing it’. Fortunately, no hegemony is eternally fixed; interpersonal and intercultural interactions always carry potentialities for unexpected futures. As opposed to the French model, there are no references here either to universal values or to fundamental rights or to a founding text but rather from intermediary and partial arrangements, resulting through time and always with difficulties, from successive consensuses: All who possess the status (of citizenship) are equal with respect to the rights and duties with which that status is endowed. There is no universal principle what those rights and duties shall be, but societies in which citizenship is a developing institution create an image of an ideal citizenship against which achievements can be directed. […] The urge forward along the path thus plotted is an urge towards a fuller measure of equality, an enrichment of the stuff of which the status is made and an increase in the number of those on whom the status is bestowed. (Marshall 1951: 28–29)

From this perspective, ‘citizenship’ can be understood in the same manner as ‘sustainable development’: as a challenging concept, always to be developed and ‘modernised’. We can perceive today a mutation of this kind actually emerging with regard to ‘human rights’ of which the innocent anthropocentrism is now rendered more visible by the larger notion of the ‘common good’. This is an indication that, as a continuation of Marshall’s process over time, we might now expect, hope, that the twenty-­ first century will be when ecological rights and obligations gain recognition. With regard to the citizenship/religion relationship, debate gets stuck in several places. There is of course always a reticence about entering into the debate as the exchanges are liable to become very quickly heated on the assumption that the fundamental opposition is between believers and non-believers. There are two confusions here: between the essentials of a belief, religious or secular, and the culture or ideology of a given time;

142 

T. Storrie

with citizenships too locked into their ‘Nation-States’, as in some definitions of ‘laïcité’ (not exactly ‘secularism’) in France, ensnaring us in some way in our nationalising histories, although this effect is somewhat attenuated, for example, by the European Union.6 The notion of ‘respect for differences’ is very important in underlining the recognition of the alterity of the other, but when this argument is invoked merely to plead keeping off the other’s territory, it can then be nothing other than a pact of complicity between established hegemonies to ensure that nothing changes, conceptually opposed to the recognition of cultural diversity as an important element in the active constitution of the liberty and well-­ being of everyone: If there were in England only one religion, there would be good reason to fear its despotism; if there were only two, they would be slitting each other’s throats, but there are thirty of them and they live happily together in peace. (Voltaire 1778)

Article 19 of the Declaration of Human Rights: ‘every individual has the right of freedom of expression and opinion’ can be interpreted in radically opposing ways if the exercise of this right constitutes another blasphemy.

9

The Golden Rule

Karen Armstrong, historian of religions, pleads in all her books for the restitution of the Golden Rule7: ‘What mattered was not what you believed but how you behaved. […] Do not do to others what you would  Today, the EU is enormously fragile, being unable to respond in a unified way to mass immigration, with States beginning to barricade themselves within their territories and extreme right-wing parties pushing their identitarian ideologies. The UK is about to quit the EU via a referendum, which would both weaken the EU and fragment the UK, with Scotland separating to remain an EU member (written in 2018, before Brexit. Editors’ note). 7  Although this Rule in various forms, positive and negative, is included in many religious and non-­ religious traditions, it is also criticised for example by Kant for whom a universal ethical system cannot be based on what might be wished for or preferred and necessarily ethnocentric, but on what is just. 6

8  It’s the Culture, Stupid!: Cultures Maintain a Strong Hold… 

143

not have done to you.’ This universal compassion is present but independently in all the great religions since the axial age8 (700–200 Before Current Era) during a global spiritual revolution lasting several centuries in the time of Buddha, Socrates, Confucius and Jeremiah (Armstrong 2006: xiii–xiv). According to Armstrong, religions today are confronted with a dramatic choice: either be inspired by the Golden Rule or stay with their often bitter even mortal rivalries and thereby remain part of the problem. This choice is further complicated by a modern confusion: in the permanent tension identified since the axial age between the mythos which invites contemplation of the mysterious origins of life and the logos which looks to reason in order to refresh perceptions already acquired. Our religious experience in the modern world has changed and because an increasing number of people regard scientific rationalism alone as true, they have often tried to turn the mythos of their faith into logos. Fundamentalists have also made this attempt. This confusion has led to more problems. […] Modernisation is often experienced not as a liberation but as an aggressive assault. (Armstrong 2000: xv–xvi)

From its beginnings, as the anthropologist Tim Ingold explains, the Protestant Reformation took the same turning: The very concept of the human, in its modern incarnation, expresses the dilemma of a creature that can know the world of which it is existentially a part only by taking leave of it. Yet in our experience as inhabitants […] our knowledge is not built up as an external accretion but grows and unfolds from the very inside of our earthly being (Ingold 2013: 6). Perhaps this grounding of knowing in being lies at the heart of the kind of sensibility we are apt to call ‘religious’. Scripture for the reformers was to be read not figuratively or allegorically but as an authoritative record of historical truth. […] It is all the more ironic, then, that leaders of the Reformation should have campaigned in the name of religion to turn the relation between knowing and being inside out. In so doing, they assisted materially in the birth of empirical science […] the Reformists’ stress on the ostensive truth of words and works, while proceeding from the purest of religious motives,  Term from the German philosopher Karl Jaspers (1883–1969), indicating a pivotal period in the spiritual development of humanity. 8

144 

T. Storrie

inadvertently set in train a process that would eventually undermine the biblical authority they were so keen to promote. (Ingold 2013)

In terms of the sociology of social transaction, the mythos-logos tension constitutes an example of those basic oppositional couples, unavoidably interdependent and conflictual, which structure society in its continual forward movement seeking always some amalgam of reproduction and reinvention. Theories of order and action are invoked as the parties involved seek more or less acceptable compromises, success in which necessarily requires competence in ‘conflictual cooperation’ (Remy 1998; Blanc 1998). These oppositions are grounded in relations of power, always unstable and unequal and it can occur that one element exercises excessive dominance; for example, when a State seeks to institute more efficient systems, it can very quickly tend to override its civil society which in the eyes of certain politicians can seem nothing more than a superfluous nuisance. In such a case, wisdom suggests a rebalancing in favour of this ‘negative’ side; in this case, the civil society (Storrie 2015). In the case of the mythos/ logos couple, the mythos element is today the ‘negative’ side as the literal prescriptions of the logos assume overwhelming precedence. This is another example of ‘It’s the culture, Stupid!’, illustrating how the culture of the rational feeds literal theological prescriptions.

10

Rebalancing in Favour of the Negative

The person who liberates him or herself from the grip of an institution, religious or otherwise, finds themselves (?) ‘condemned to the freedom’ (Sartre) of being responsible for oneself, including coping with those great metaphysical mysteries concerned with the source of life and of the universe, and with what constitutes a life well lived. This level of questioning is beyond trivial questions of procedure and of cultural obligations, and even of the necessity of institutionalised membership of a belief system. For Karen Armstrong religion is ‘ethical alchemy’ and she notes that for the sages of the axial age the practice of compassion and not belief was the most important (Armstrong 2006: 391).

8  It’s the Culture, Stupid!: Cultures Maintain a Strong Hold… 

145

There is the example today of Richard Holloway who, in 2000, resigned from his post as bishop of the Episcopal Church in Edinburgh. He could no longer live with his ‘bad faith’ (again a term of Sartre’s), remaining in post and seeming to promote in good faith and complete certainty the specific doctrines of his church in which he no longer believed. Karen Armstrong took a similar decision when, at aged 28, she renounced her vocation as a Catholic nun. Having freed themselves in this way from the grip of their religious organisations, both now continue assiduously to labour for the ‘negative’ mythos, writing books and stimulating debate. Probably a good number of people persist in living their versions of ‘bad faith’ within their everyday institutions without thinking of extricating themselves (or even knowing how to begin). They are resigned to paying the price of not shouldering the unaccustomed discomfort of arousing the confusion if not the irritation or anger of their group, a good illustration of how ‘each institution can be an instrument of alienation from our liberty’ (Berger 1967: 167). In this case, the choice is a kind of refusal to perceive the machinery by which one is manipulated, marionette rather than actor. However ‘only a person who understands the rules of the game retains the possibility of cheating’, a logic which values intelligent ‘insincerity’ rather than the ‘sincerity’ of the person who only knows how to loyally follow the imposed rules (ibidem: 173). As opposed to collective events (e.g. a massed right protest), such ‘intelligent transgressions’ (Storrie 2014) are usually the work of solitary individuals courageous enough to run the risk of being isolated, alienated from group sympathy, even liable to physical aggression. The extreme case is that of the ‘whistle blower’, the person who unmasks to the public the details of unacceptably dishonest or corrupt practices in their institution. In the religious domain, a reason for such extreme dissatisfaction is the far too ‘literal’ reading of the sacred texts and Armstrong and Holloway have shown the courage of ‘whistle blowers’ in their determination to draw this deficit to public attention. Fortunately, as in the seventeenth century where there were those able to stand against the religious hegemony in place, as for example Hobbes who set aside the notion of the monarch representing God on earth or Galileo who argued for heliocentrism, we have today thinkers who are pioneers working to challenge and replace the still too settled opinions

146 

T. Storrie

which block contemporary thinking as it concerns the nature of nature— or to put it bluntly, are there not still many who remain persuaded by a teleological and unreflexive ‘common sense’ that the earth and all its goods, already fully in place, are there to serve our needs, by the grace of God? If disasters are imminent, the reasons are not to be found in nature but (too) simply that we are unfaithful stewards. James Lovelock is one such pioneer today whose life’s work has been the elaboration of the Gaia theory which maintains that ‘regulation (of the equilibrium of the planet) is a property of the whole system of life and its environment, not solely of life itself ’ (Lovelock 2001: 261) which immediately puts us, humans, before a much more complex reality. Although Lovelock has given to his theory the picturesque name of Gaia (Goddess of the Earth for the ancient Greeks), it is clear that she is not a reference to a religion: ‘Gaia is part of science and is therefore always provisional, but the Earth, which is its embodiment, is something real for us to respect and revere. It is something much larger than we are and, unlike imaginary goddesses, can truly reward or punish us’ (ibidem: 418). The discipline for this theory is geo-physiology which ‘sees the organisms of the Earth evolving by Darwinian natural selection in an environment that is the product of their ancestors and not simply a consequence of the Earth’s geological history’ (Lovelock 2010: 31). For Bruno Latour (2015), Lovelock is for us what Galileo was for his time when heliocentrism seemed to undermine the whole ecclesiastical edifice of belief and power with its frightening image of planets all alike and all in free fall while by contrast Lovelock confines us to this unique earth contained in a ‘sensitive and perishable envelope’ and with ‘the strange destiny of having inadvertently become Gaia’s sickness’ (Latour 2015: 115–118).

11

Beyond Fraternity

The question of sincerity/insincerity is delicate. Without devaluing the sincerity of believers or withholding the respect due to each person—fundamental in maintaining a common basis of mutual sociability—one must not deduce from this a ‘right not to be offended’, or by extension, a

8  It’s the Culture, Stupid!: Cultures Maintain a Strong Hold… 

147

‘right to vengeance’. Everyday social life is shot through with conflicts arising from disagreements, differences or misunderstandings, relatively minor, more serious or even at crisis proportions and these banal experiences are always more or less hurtful and difficult to manage well in the heat of the moment. This is an important fact for our emotional and social life but also for society as a whole because the social management of conflicts is a necessary citizenship competence. At the heart of democracy, the oppositional tension between equality and liberty—two clearly abstract values—can only be held within acceptable limits by the strong and elastic bond, which we continue to call ‘fraternity’. This indicates a very human value, indispensable for entering into conflictual cooperation while seeking to elaborate more or less satisfying compromises. However, ‘fraternity’ is a totally inadequate term as it refers only to the masculine and to the family clan, therefore including neither women nor strangers, and lacking the intelligence to promote ‘civil indifference’ which according to Giddens is ‘the gearing mechanism of generalised public trust’ (Giddens 1991: 152). It should therefore be replaced but with what? Sociability? Citizenship? Everyday Citizenship? Compassion?

12

Conclusion

The Protestant Reformation of the sixteenth century was a major event permitting the emergence of modern citizenships and civil societies. Its repercussions can still be felt today, bequeathing both a history and a culture which allow us to glimpse the possibility of societies able in and with profound differences, avoiding posturing as mortal enemies and inventing liveable compromises simply as adversaries (Mouffe 2000). Is there any hope for a reform of Islam? To my great surprise, President El-Sisi of Egypt declared in January 2015  in the University Al-Azhar in Cairo: I pronounce these words here before this assembly of scholars and ulema. […] I say and repeat again that we are in need of a religious revolution. You, Imams, you are responsible before Allah. The whole world awaits your

148 

T. Storrie

next move […] because this umma is being torn apart, destroyed, by our own hands.9

Before and during the Protestant Reformation the powers in place, Catholic or Protestant, put their heretics and apostates to death. Today, fortunately, Richard Holloway, ex-bishop and ex-Christian, runs no risk of being assassinated for his ‘crime’ of apostasy, very clearly explained in lectures, articles, interviews and books. Is there a parallel example in Islam? I return to my introductory theme: ‘It’s the culture, Stupid!’. The quality of citizenship, in particular with reference to its everyday practices, is a matter for constant watchfulness because citizenship is ‘a cultural achievement, a gift of history which can be lost or destroyed’ (Morrell 1990). In broad terms, everyday citizenship is located between two great fields of action in the democratic universe: governments with their administrative institutions and a major current within civil society which challenges and contests the power of the State. The State is obliged to make and implement political decisions which always run the risk of displeasing some citizens either because of injustices perceived or because of unacceptable measures of implementation failure. Citizens act together in social movements, in trade unions, in environmental or other associations to contest the status quo, propose modifications or alternative policies. The referentials of these two opposing camps can be stated as ‘regulation’ versus ‘rights’ or the ‘common good’. The third field, that of everyday citizenship, does not refer primarily either to hierarchical procedures or to rights or the common good, but rather indicates the practice and the capacity of individuals and groups to exercise their own discretion in their interactions in the local public domain as they seek to maintain or create a pattern of living together more or less acceptable for everyone. Discretion here indicates not the fairly general tendency for example of professionals to keep their secrets but its opposite ‘the liberty or power of deciding, or of acting according to one’s own judgment’ (Shorter Oxford Dictionary), by which 9  [www.raymondibrahim.com/from-the-arab-world/egypt-sisi-islamic-thinking-isantagonising-the-entire-world/].

8  It’s the Culture, Stupid!: Cultures Maintain a Strong Hold… 

149

individuals, each according to their own judgement, learn how to listen to others and to gain the attention of others in their exchanges. In this case, the referential is neither regulation nor rights, but relationship.

References Armstrong, K. (2000). The Battle for God: Fundamentalism in Judaism, Christianity & Islam. London: Harper Collins. Armstrong, K. (2006). The Great Transformation: The World in the Time of Buddha, Socrates, Confucius & Jeremiah. London: Atlantic Books. Berger, P. (1967). Invitation to Sociology. London: Pelican. Blanc, M. (1998). La transaction, un processus de production et d’apprentissage du ‘vivre ensemble’. In M.-F.  Freynet, M.  Blanc, & G.  Pineau (Eds.), Les transactions aux frontières du social. Lyon: Chronique Sociale. Butler, J. (1997). Excitable Speech: A Politics of the Performative. London: Routledge. Butler, J. (2011). Is Judaism Zionism? In E. Mendieta & J. Vanantwerper (Eds.), The Power of Religion in the Public Sphere. Columbia: University Press. Claim of Right. (1689). in The Crown and the Unicorn, https://thecrownandtheunicorn.wordpress.com/the-claim-of-right-1689/ Droeber, J. (2018). Citizenship in Question. A Minority Perspective on Palestine. Pensée plurielle, 47, 49–59. Retrieved from https://www.cairn.info/ revue-pensee-plurielle-2018-1-page-49.htm. Friedan, B. (1963). The Feminine Mystique. Norton. Giddens, A. (1991). Modernity & Self-Identity. Cambridge: Polity Press. Habermas, J. (2008). Secularism’s Crisis of Faith: Notes on a Post-secular Society. New Perspectives Quarterly, 25, 17–29. Hobbes, T. (1651). Leviathan [web edition: eBooks@Adelaide]. Ingold, T. (2013). Dreaming of Dragons: On the Imagination of Real Life. Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute, 19, 734–752. New Series. Latour, B. (2015). Face à Gaia. Paris: La Découverte. Lovelock, J. (2001). Homage to Gaia. Oxford: University Press. Lovelock, J. (2010). The Vanishing Face of Gaia. London: Penguin. Malouf, A. (2000). Le périple de Baldassare. Paris: Grasset & Fasquelle. Marshall, T.H. (1951). Citizenship & Social Class, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Morin, E. (1987). Penser l’Europe, Paris: Gallimard.

150 

T. Storrie

Morrell, F. (1990). Encouraging Citizenship. London: HMSO. Mouffe, C. (2000). The Democratic Paradox. London: Verso. Paine, T. [1791]. The Rights of Man. In T. Paine & M. Philp (2008). Rights of Man, Common Sense, and Other Political Writings. Oxford: University Press. Pew Research Centre. (2015). The View from Above: Faith & Health. The Lancet, 31/10/2015. Remy, J. (1998). La transaction sociale: forme de sociabilité et posture méthodologique. In M.-F. Freynet, M. Blanc, & G. Pineau (Eds.), Les transactions aux frontières du social. Lyon: Chronique Sociale. Rose, J. (2014). Women in Dark Times. London: Bloomsbury. Ross, A. (2012). The Rest Is Noise. London: The Fourth Estate. Storrie, T. (2014). La citoyenneté: entreprise laïque et interculturelle. In J.  Stoessel-Ritz, M.  Blanc, & B.  M. Salhi (Eds.), Développement durable, citoyenneté et société civile. Paris and Tunis: L’Harmattan & Institut de recherche sur le Maghreb contemporain. Storrie, T. (2015). Pour une formation interprofessionnelle dans les domaines de la santé et des services sociaux. Pensée plurielle, 39, 51–61. Thompson, E.P. (1993). Witness against the Beast: William Blake and the moral law, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Voltaire. ([1778] 1961). Lettres sur les Anglais, 1V, 1726. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

9 The Elusiveness of the Word ‘Citizenship’ in Connection to Religion Bilal Shafei

1

The Arab-Muslim Context

In the Middle East and/or in the Arab-Muslim world, there is always confusion about terms of Occidental1 origin and their use in everyday life by the people of the region. Occidental terms often have a socio-cultural value in the life and practices of Occidental societies that the peoples of the Middle East have difficulty adapting to their own culture. For this reason, words and concepts like ‘democracy, human rights, equality, tolerance and freedom’ take different forms in the practice of Muslims in general and Arabs in particular.

 The term Occident is usual in the Arab and Islamic world to designate Western countries.

1

B. Shafei (*) French Department, An-Najah National University, Nablus, Palestine e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2020 M. Blanc et al. (eds.), Citizenship and Religion, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-54610-6_9

151

152 

B. Shafei

The following example provides a good illustration. I asked students from a class on French language and civilisation at An-Najah University2 whether they agree with the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. Out of 31 students (22 females and 9 males), 30 were very supportive of this Declaration. Only one girl, who had a full veil [Niqab], did not give her opinion, indicating she was not very familiar with the articles of this Declaration. After asking whether they supported it, I commented on some articles of the Human Rights Declaration, in particular freedom of belief. All students agreed that a Christian, a Jew or a non-believer [atheist] could freely choose his or her religion, especially if they chose to become Muslim. The overwhelming majority of students (29 out of 31) categorically refused to allow Muslims to change their religion. The same majority opposed a Muslim (female) being able to marry a non-Muslim. Two students distinguished themselves from the group by stating that Islam is not at odds with freedom of belief, and that belief must be a private matter that affects everyone. The group disputed this opinion to such an extent that one of the two female students changed her mind quickly, obviously to please the group. We concluded by explaining the different articles of the Declaration of Human Rights, in particular analysing the notions of citizenship and equality of all before the law. Again, all students agreed that we are all equal before the law, citing stories and facts from Muslim history, such as the famous phrase of the Second Caliph of Islam Omar: ‘Since when did you put men into slavery, knowing that Allah created them free?’ (Al-Aqad 1941). However, they consider that a Christian or a Samaritan (one of the only two Samaritan communities in the world is in the city of Nablus) cannot have the same rights as a Muslim. When I explained to them that it is contradictory with being equal before the law, some argued that Islam is, in principle, tolerant of other religions. We ended with a small survey, asking students if they were still in favour of the Declaration of Human Rights and the concept of Citizenship. Of the 31, 29 were in favour of articles that are not at odds with religion and against this Declaration, if they had to choose it in its entirety. Two  Fourth-year students in 2007  in the French Department at An-Najah University, Nablus, Palestine. 2

9  The Elusiveness of the Word ‘Citizenship’ in Connection… 

153

female students expressed strong support for the Declaration, although some articles may be at odds with the Muslim religion (UDHR, Articles 7, 16 and 18). Equality of citizens before the law divided the group: a small majority (16 out of 31 students) considered that Muslims must be equal before the law. Others (14 students) felt that in a modern country like Palestine, all citizens must be equal before the law, despite the difference of beliefs, respecting the principles of the Muslim religion. Only one female student declared herself in favour of secular laws, guaranteeing the equality of all before the law, regardless of religion. This little exercise, on the meaning of certain terms and concepts of Occidental origin, shows that students, as well as a significant part of Palestinian society, apprehend the term ‘citizen or citizenship’ differently from members of Occidental societies, as it is a translation. For this reason, this contribution is entitled: ‘The linguistic ambiguity of the term citizenship in its relation to religion’, thus underlining the misuse of the terms ‘citizen’ and ‘citizenship’ in the Arabo-Islamic sociocultural context. The introduction of such terms occurred at the time of the meeting between Arab-Muslim and Occidental culture in the late nineteenth century.3 Some theologians consider these terms (democracy, citizenship, secularism etc.) as foreign borrowings that do not exist in the Muslim religion, even though Arabic-language media frequently use them. Others (Ghannouchi, Qardawi, Daghi etc.) consider that these concepts have existed in Islam, but with variations in their implementation. The issue is how do Arab peoples perceive the translation and the use of terms like citizen and citizenship. How this work may help clarify the debate around these terms? The concept of citizenship and its relation to religion derives from the different French and Occidental definitions of the term ‘citizenship’ and their equivalents in Arabic. This is a first explanation of the present confusion among many Arabic speakers. It often finds its roots in the modern media culture that dominates the daily lives of Arabic speakers. Use

 Of course, it is not the first contact, but this one was a tipping point: the Western culture was ahead and some Egyptian students tried to understand the reasons for this advance (see below). 3

154 

B. Shafei

varies from country to country, depending on the type of relationship the government has with its ‘population’ and ‘people’.

2

Definition of Terms

The terms ‘citizen’ and ‘citizenship’ being relatively new in Arab-Muslim societies, we looked at them in French dictionaries to know if they are used in France and in Europe in the same way as in the Arab world. For the Larousse dictionary (2014, translation mine), citizens ‘have, in a given political community, all their civil and political rights’. Being a citizen implies the same rights and obligations for everyone. The context of citizenship explains this: Citizenship is the status of citizen. It gives the right to an individual to become a member of a society: a City in Antiquity or a state today, granting the right to participate in the political life. (ibidem)

By extending this definition to the lives of today’s citizens, citizenship becomes a social and political concept that gives full citizens the same rights and obligations. Being a citizen imposes the right to enjoy the rights of citizenship and obliges the citizens to perform duties towards the group or society. We often hear in Arab countries that citizens have the same rights and obligations, but what are these rights and obligations defined by law? In reality, are we equal with respect to rights and obligations? Why are ethnic, religious and other minorities not convinced of the existence of this equality? Is it real or is it still an abuse of language? We analyse the definitions of these terms and concepts in Arabic dictionaries, then their introduction into the language. The first group of Egyptian students sent by their government to study in France introduced the concept of citizenship in the Arabic language in the early nineteenth century. The translation of the terms ‘citizen’ and ‘citizenship’ into Arabic is due to Sheikh Tahtawi (Refaa Tahtawi 1872: 434–437). Its definition is close to the French definition, because it advocates the equality of all citizens before the law and the acceptance of the same

9  The Elusiveness of the Word ‘Citizenship’ in Connection… 

155

responsibilities and the same rights. This definition is not to the taste of the theologians of our time (see below). Currently, the word ‘citizen’ (‫ مواطن‬Muwatin) is used in states of the Arab-Muslim world without distinguishing between a Kingdom, Emirate or Republic, because it is derived from the term homeland (‫ وطن‬watan). Arabic dictionaries explain that this term refers to people who live and belong to the same place, whether they were born there or not (dictionaries Almuhite, Lissan Al-Arab and Alwasite, on the theme: ‫)وطن‬. These dictionaries do not consider the equality of all before the law as important. Their definition of the term ‘citizen’ derives directly from the word ‘homeland’ and its different uses, without considering the new conception of citizenship. This work tries to show the place of this new concept in the Muslim religion (Daghi 2013).

3

 ar of Terminology or Concepts W (Language Conflict)?

The words ‘citizen’ and ‘citizenship’ derived directly from the root ‘city’ in French and in English, which has its origins in the Latin language (civitas, civitis—Larousse 2015). Almost all Indo-European languages refer to this origin. The Arabic translation of these words, if it wants to keep the origin ‘quoted’, should be ‘Madina’, which would give ‘madani’ for citizen and ‘Madanya’ for citizenship; as for the terms ‘patriot’ (‫ )مواطن‬and ‘patriotic’ which come from ‘homeland’ (‫)وطن‬. During the debates in the public and private spheres of the Arab world, following the popular uprisings baptised ‘Arab Spring’, especially in Egypt, the Arab intellectuals tried to return to this concept of ‘Madanya’ to qualify the form of the State that revolutionaries want to put in place. They demanded a ‘Madanya’ state, to speak of both a civil state, in opposition to the state held by the military for decades, and a ‘secular’ state, in opposition to the religious state, advocated by Islamists. Islamists have translated the term ‘madanya’ as ‘civilian’ and not secular, because they violently oppose any idea of secularism and any separation between the public and private spheres. A pro-Islamist writer spoke

156 

B. Shafei

on ‘madanya’ and this dilemma; he explained on Aljazeera-Net the opposition between ‘military’ and ‘civilian’, but he considers that the opposition between ‘secularism’ and ‘religion’ is unacceptable (Huwaydi 2012). He even added that, according to some religious scholars, the opposition can be between ‘madani’, in the sense of city dweller, and ‘Falah’, which means peasant. This obvious desire not to address the theme of secularism is very clear in the speech of Islamists, especially the Muslim Brotherhood. Secularism for most Islamists is a heresy, prohibited by Islam. For the record, Turkish Prime Minister Racep Tayyip Erdoğan received a warm welcome in Egypt just after the Egyptian Revolution. He was considered by Islamists around the world as an example of success of the Islamist movement. He was the undisputed hero of the Muslim Brotherhood in the Arab world. However, when he praised secularism and presented the Turkish secular model as an example for countries where the Revolution succeeded and even for all countries in the region4 (Erdoğan 2012), he was criticised from all corners. The Islamists in Egypt said that an experiment [the secular Turkish system] is not replicable without special conditions and that the majority of Egyptians prefer to be governed by a Muslim regime, despite the presence of a significant Christian community, the Copts. In schools and universities in most countries of the Arab world, except for the Tunisia of Bourguiba, secular systems are considered to be contrary to Islam, so much so that ‘secularism’ is often confused with ‘atheism’. Yet the Arabic origin of the word secular (‫ )علامين‬comes from science (‫)عمل‬, which is distinct from atheism. But the choice of this word is not random, because the opposition plays here between concrete and metaphysical: considering that religion is part of the domain of ‘metaphysics’ and science is ‘concrete’, so when we say ‘‫ ’ملانية‬which is secularism, we refer to the idea that rules are made by humans and not by God. This kind of amalgam is common in Arabic in the use of terms and concepts from Occidental culture. Most of the time, the war of terms and concepts is open and public, the belligerents on all sides using all their linguistic and cultural panoply to impose their terms or their concepts. We wondered  In recent years, President Erdoğan changed his mind on secularism and Islam.

4

9  The Elusiveness of the Word ‘Citizenship’ in Connection… 

157

how Palestinian students perceive words and concepts of Occidental origin and how they understand and analyse these words. The Israeli-Palestinian conflict is a perfect example of this terminological war. This conflict has led to a significant change in the political, economic, social and cultural discourse from a linguistic point of view. The list of words, expressions, idioms and concepts goes far beyond the scope of this work. We can give a simple example with the word ‘Fedayeen’, introduced in the early twentieth century by Fatah movement to describe people who defend others by sacrificing their own lives. This word mainly referred to Palestinian resistance fighters from the 1960s to the 1990s, whom the Israelis referred to as ‘mukhareb’, which means destroyer or saboteur. The choice of this last word is not innocent, since it means the exact opposite of ‘Fedayeen’ [who sacrifices him/herself ]. The Israelis have partially succeeded in imposing this word in the territories they occupy. However, the emergence of Hamas in the late 1980s saw the birth of new terms with a more religious connotation (‘mujahid ’ to replace ‘Fedayeen’ and a series of words engendered by the term ‘martyr’). Let’s go back to the word ‘madaniah’: The Israeli occupation army (Israeli Defense Forces in Israeli nomenclature) used this word to designate its administration (‫—ادارة مدنية‬Idara madaniya, Civil Administration) in the occupied territories just after the peace agreements with Egypt in 1977. This term implies that a civil and secular administration runs the territories, while almost all the employees of this administration are soldiers of the Jewish faith [there are some Druze also]. Religious affiliation appears in almost every official document: identity card, birth certificate, driving licence. Some see in the use of the term madaniya an opposition between civil and military, and not an opposition between religious and secular.

4

Cultures or Religion

A debate has been ongoing for some time on the relationship between the local cultures of Arab-Muslim societies and the Muslim religion. It concerns the practices in place before the arrival of Islam in relation to slavery, the status of women, social classes, the origin of language and in

158 

B. Shafei

particular Arabic, the tribal system and so on. This raises an important issue: can we separate the modern Arabic language from local cultures? This question may be surprising because the Muslim religion sanctifies the Arabic language. A hadith (tradition) of the Prophet Muhammad emphasises this relationship: ‘I love Arabic for three reasons: it is my language, the language of the Koran and the language of people in paradise’ (Al Tabarani, circa 900). Arabic, as a language, has a status of heavenly and divine language, hence the fear of Arab linguists to change certain rules of writing or to accept borrowing foreign words. However, local cultures in the Middle East have continued to influence this language: an in-depth study of Arabic in Palestine shows how much the Palestinian language is influenced by centuries of wars, occupation, cohabitation between several religions and even by practices and words from periods prior to the appearance of monotheistic religions. When a Palestinian talks about ‘rain-fed’ vegetables and fruits, he says they are ‘Baaliya ‫”بعلية‬, which literally means ‘irrigated by the God Baal’, a Canaanite and polytheist deity. Arabic has incorporated this word into most of the dialects of the eastern Mediterranean region. This example shows how local cultures influence Arabic. This very close relationship between culture, language and religion is essential to understanding the misunderstandings and ambiguities engendered by translations or the search for appropriate terms to represent the cultural concepts of secularism, citizen and citizenship. The new religion (Islam) introduced and even adopted many pre-Islamic social rules and practices, such as religious and societal practices towards women or slaves. The analysis of this phenomenon shows three phases that have affected the progress of Islam: (i) the call to a single god and the recognition of his only messenger, the Prophet Mohammad; (ii) the building and foundation of a State in the city of ‘Al medina’; (iii) the affirmation of that State and its expansion around the world. In the first stage, the terms and concepts derived from the local culture; they were the expression of this culture in the language and the talk of the inhabitants of the city, the tribes of Quraish (‫)قريش‬. The Prophet Muhammad began his mission by inviting the notables of Mecca to join his new religion and leave their religion based on the worship of local deities, often represented by statues housed within the Kaaba, the local

9  The Elusiveness of the Word ‘Citizenship’ in Connection… 

159

sanctuary in Mecca. The goal was to convince the relatives and inhabitants of Mecca of the merits of the new religion. Many words and phrases that evoke paradise, hell, angels, devils, fruits, vegetables and all the riches of paradise derived from the language and the local culture. The word ‘‫جنة‬ (janah)’ (paradise) is often used to describe the paradise that awaits those who convert to Islam (Alwassite 2004 and Almuhite 2006). This term has its origin in the word ‘‫( جن‬junna)’, which literally means ‘go crazy’. It is also the state in which poets find their inspiration. This word is generic in Arabic since it also engendered ‘‫( جن‬jinn)’ genii, creatures that men cannot see or hear. In this first period, Islam was open towards other beliefs, recognising and accepting differences. This tolerance was encouraged by several verses that give polytheists (called unbelievers by Muslims) the right to keep their faith and worship the ancient deities if they wish to remain unbelievers (Surat Al kahf Aya, 29). The goal of the ‘messenger’ was to preach the good word without proselytism.5 During this period, it seemed unthinkable that the new followers of Islam could impose their faith on other inhabitants of Mecca. Followers of the new belief were marginalised, persecuted, often humiliated and very weak compared to the other inhabitants of this central city who practiced ancestral and traditional religions. Each tribe had its own deity housed within the Kaaba. Tolerance and acceptance of the other strongly mark early Koranic revelations, as well as the explanation of the new message and the role of its messenger. The use of new terms [Kufar (unbelievers), Ahl Althima (Jews and Christians)] is very strong; they belong to foreign cultures and traditions, such as Roman [‫ = الرصاط‬The Path] or Persian [‫ = �أابريق‬Pitchers] cultures. The second stage is marked by the immigration of the first believers of Islam to Amadina or Yathrib, where Muslims were confronted with a new reality: people of diverging origins and various beliefs inhabited this city (‘Amadina’ or Almadin). There were Jews and Christians, monotheists and polytheists worshipping the traditional deities of the Arabs. A new phase of Islam began, called the formation, or foundation, of a state (e.g. Montgomery 1961). Prophet Muhammad set up agreements of  This period is usually called ‘AlDa’awa ‘‫ ’’لدعوة‬that means literally ‘the call or the invitation to Islam’.

5

160 

B. Shafei

coexistence with the different communities based on mutual respect, the protection of each other in time of war and the definition of the duties and responsibilities of each one in the city. This agreement, called the ‘Al Medina’ Agreement (Hamid Allah 1987), is a form of Constitution establishing relations between Jews and Muslims, between two groups of different religions, but living in a common territory. For many theologians, the ‘discovery’ of citizenship began in this period (Ghannouchi 2010; Amara 1981). The agreements reached between the different ethnic and religious groups testify to the recognition of their presence as ‘citizens’ in their own right. Koranic texts call on Jews and Christians to enter into dialogue and to hold on to the foundations of monotheistic religions, such as believing in one god, doing good, loving one’s neighbour. An important part of the early Medinan Surahs evokes the common heritage of Judaism, Christianity and Islam. In this period of coexistence, minor confrontations redefine the relationship of Muslims with other religions, first with Judaism. The third stage is a period of affirmation of the state and the supremacy of Muslims over other believers (monotheists or polytheists). The Islam of this period tolerates or accepts the presence of monotheists only under certain conditions, but it no longer accepts the worship of ancient polytheist deities. This step marks the supremacy of Islamic power and the beginning of Muslim invasions to countries around the world. Today, most ‘jihadist’, ‘Salafist’ or Muslim fundamentalist movements refer exclusively to this period to mark their opposition to any compromise with ‘the enemies of Islam’. The recent activities of the militants of the Islamic State (IS) are part of this logic. They advocate on their sites ‘the pact of disavowal’, which means to disavow all religions or beliefs other than Islam, by referring to the ninth surah of the Koran: ‘disavowal’ (‫( )براءة‬Q9:1). These three periods reflect three different ways of seeing the world. Islamist movements often navigate between the three. Some adopt the last, considered as the ultimate step; they advocate total separation between Muslims (true believers) and non-Muslims (non-believers), except for Christians and Jews, tolerated under special conditions.6 The  For example, they must pay Aljisyah [tribute] tribute] (Q9:1).

6

9  The Elusiveness of the Word ‘Citizenship’ in Connection… 

161

rules and prescriptions elaborated during this period require a strict observance, without modifications and/or interpretations. Proponents of this vision of Islam are called radicals, fundamentalists and/or jihadists. They are the main activists of Al Qaeda, IS and other groups of ‘radical’ Islam. The movements of ‘moderate’ Islam try to find interpretations and explanations in the Koranic texts and the words of the Prophet that are appropriate to their vision of the modern world. This is the work of the theoreticians of the Muslim Brotherhood movements in Egypt or the An-Nahda movement in Tunisia. Rachid Ghannouchi, in Tunisia, often uses modern Occidental concepts and terms such as ‘citizenship’, ‘human rights’, ‘separation of powers’ and seeks an equivalent in the Muslim tradition. For him, these new concepts, defended by the secularists in the Muslim world, are inherently Islamic and they receive a better explanation in the Koranic texts and the words of the Prophet than in their modern and secular versions (Ghannouchi 2010). The same tendencies are present among the theologians and exegetes of the Muslim world. In Egypt, moderate Islamists, like Daghi and Qardawi, tend to show that since the twentieth century, the concepts of citizenship, secularism and human rights are not appropriate for Muslims because they are incomplete and do not take into account the religious affiliation, more important than equality before the law or other concepts. The method used to demonstrate the correctness of their explanations or affirmations is very simple: one must look for arguments in the Koranic texts, in the hadiths or in the history of the first Muslims. We must therefore navigate between the three phases of Islam, as well as in the explanations of the exegetes. The Arabic language, with its linguistic system (modern and old), is widely used to refine the arguments. This attitude aims first to convince the faithful of the validity of the arguments put forward and of the absolute superiority of Islamic (or Islamist) reasoning over other thoughts. The concepts and ideas defended by non-Islamists do not really concern these theologians. Secularism and citizenship have negative connotations, even blasphemous or heretical, for many Muslims. For others, they may have positive connotations, but in a confusion about their origins or their real meanings.

162 

B. Shafei

‘Human rights’ have a very positive connotation for most Arabic speakers, even if they are unaware of the content of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights and do not perceive the contradictions that exist with Sharia as it is explained and taught in schools and universities in the majority of Muslim countries. Teachers of Islamic philosophy maintain this confusion in schools and even at university. They avoid opening an objective and serious debate about these concepts. Proponents of this moderate Islam do not want a public debate about the founding concepts of modern society; they wish to frame and control this debate according to their own worldview. The result is known in advance, since religious institutions have declared their positions vis-à-vis these concepts. The role of other actors, especially Islamists, is to explain and simplify the position taken by these institutions or by their influential proponents (Qardawi 1986). Between radical and moderate Islamists, a third group represents official Islam, led by states or regimes in the Muslim world. Representatives of this tendency use convenient arguments for power. They justify at all costs the actions and decisions taken by politicians, whatever the contradictions of their positions in relation to religion or vis-à-vis religious institutions such as Al-Azhar University (Cairo) or committees of Islamic ‘scientists’. This is visible when a major event shakes the Muslim world: for example the war between Iran and Iraq or the First Gulf War, when the Muslim world was torn between the partisans of war, with support, texts and arguments borrowed from the Koran, Hadith or the Muslim tradition and those who were against, with other texts and arguments drawn from the same sources. Some ambiguous concepts and terms, such as social justice, the rule of law, human rights and ‘democracy’, have positive values among the three groups of Islamists already mentioned, but some distinguish themselves by using these terms only under certain conditions. The radicals completely reject those ‘Occidental notions’ foreign to Muslim tradition. Other Islamists try to designate them with other words so as not to use expressions foreign to Muslim culture. The term ‘Shura’ replaces, for example, the term ‘democracy’, while it refers to an assembly of qualified people of Islamic scholars who advise and give their opinion to the head in charge, often considered as the Prince of Believers (amir al-mu’miniin).

9  The Elusiveness of the Word ‘Citizenship’ in Connection… 

163

Modern and moderate Islamists want to transform this assembly into a true Parliament, with more authority and responsibility. For the notions of ‘citizen’ or ‘citizenship’, most of them agree on their positive value, stating that every citizen has rights and obligations and that ‘Muslim’ citizens must have the same rights and obligations, although some prefer the term ‘believer’ instead of citizen. Almost all of them omit equality before the law or equality between men and women, which are nevertheless contained in the notion of citizen (Daghi 2013). The majority of Islamists limit citizenship to Muslims (rights and obligations) and exclude women, who cannot be equal to men in Islamic rights and obligations. For non-Muslims (Christians and Jews), the rights are limited to those granted by the Muslim majority, while the obligations are numerous: financial, political, social, cultural, linguistic and even moral (Zidan 1982: 63–66). Among notions of freedom, equality and secularism, secularism has the most pejorative connotations. This is a negative value for most Islamists, whatever their tendency. They understand secularism as the separation between religion and the state. Very few Islamist intellectuals advocate secularism as a political, economic and social system, except for the pioneers of the modern renaissance of the Arab world at the beginning of the nineteenth century (Abed El Raziq 1925). All religious and official institutions of the Muslim world of the time strongly contested the position of Sheikh Ali Abed El Raziq and the term secularism appeared as a full heresy. Professors of Islamic philosophy call ‘disbelievers’ as those speaking of secularism and ‘infidels’ the secularists.7 Among non-Islamists (communists, nationalists, pan-Arabists, modernists, socialists, secularists), attitudes towards the concepts of citizenship, secularism and democracy vary according to their relationship with the regimes in place and the space of political or social freedom granted to them. They try to adapt their speech to the taste of society (Hourani 1991). They stifled the debate and helped maintain the ambiguity of these terms. They avoided going to open war with moderate and radical Islamists for fear of favouring regimes or losing the benefits they gained  This appears in textbooks and speeches of Imams in most Arab countries, specifically in the books and theses refuting Ali Abed El Raziq’s ‘Principals of governing in Islam’. 7

164 

B. Shafei

during their struggle. Often, they misunderstood the consequences of such confusion. This debate resurfaced at the beginning of the Arab Spring, especially in Egypt. The ‘secularists’ (for Islamists: all non-Islamists, believers or not) have coined the slogan: ‘The people want the collapse (or the fall) of the regime’ (literal translation meaning that the people decide the end of the regime in place) ‘and they transferred the power from Allah to the people’.8 Moderate Islamists approved this movement as they believe that the people are Muslim and that they will hand over this power to Allah again, as soon as they elect their representatives (preferably Islamists). The failure of the ‘secular’ trend in Egypt was resounding as the people chose Islamist representatives in the first free parliamentary elections since the fall of the Mubarak dictatorship. Islamist political parties were the only structures organised to win these elections. This case applies to all Arab countries, Egypt being the cultural, political and intellectual centre, even if ‘secularism’ has been able to exist, temporarily, in countries like Tunisia and Libya.

5

Conclusion

Modern Islamic theologians and exegetes adapt citizenship to the taste of the time by adopting Arabic terms, manipulating them to become compatible with the Muslim religion; but they are approximate equivalents of the concepts of Occidental culture, distorted and emptied of their substance. In linguistics, we must change the signifiers (the forms) and keep the signified (the contents) so that the concepts retain their exact function. Citizenship cannot be imagined in a democracy or a state of law without the equality of all citizens before the law, whatever their origin, religion and belief, culture, language and sex. It is unthinkable that a modern democratic state can define several levels of citizenship. This is the case in the Middle East since the State of Israel, wrongly called democratic by the West, has established two types of citizens: Jews who have all the  As all regimes in the Arab region are ruling in the name of Allah.

8

9  The Elusiveness of the Word ‘Citizenship’ in Connection… 

165

rights and non-Jews with a second-class citizen status. In this state, the legislator is Jewish (secular or religious) and passes laws made for Jews who are executed by institutions run exclusively by Jews. The Arab minorities ‘benefit’ from this rule of law made for the Jewish majority and have a better situation than the other citizens of the Arab world; but this does not hide the reality: Israel is an ‘ethnocracy or theocracy’9 and not a democracy. Iran is a second model of ‘religious democracy’ that prevents its own citizens (ethnic, cultural, linguistic or religious minorities) from fully enjoying their rights as citizens. Islamists in the Arab world, by stifling the debate on citizenship and trying to invent new forms, offer the Arabs one of the models outlined above. The debate on these notions must open and lead to true democracy in a state of law that does not differentiate citizens according to their origin, religion, culture, language or sex. Democracy guarantees equality of all before the law in order to make possible the construction of an authentic citizenship.

References Abed El Raziq, A. (1925). Islam and the Foundations of Power. Cairo: Dar Alkitab. Al-Aqad, A. (1941). The Genius of Omar. Sidon-Beirut: Ed. AlAssriya Library. AlTabarani, S. (about 900). Alma jam Alakabar and Alwassite. Several Editions, Hadith 31. Altawbah, Surah 9, Aya 1. Alwassite. (2004). Collective for the Arabic language (Majmaa) (Vol. I, 4th ed.). Cairo, Egypt: International bookstore Al Shorouk. Amara, M. (1981). The Benchmarks of Islamic Methodology. In Dar El Salam (Ed.), The Rights of Citizens in Islam. International Institute of Islamic Thoughts. Daghi, A. (2013). Citizenship in Islam and the Rights of Non-Muslims. Doha, Qatar. http://www.qaradaghi.com/chapterDetails.aspx?ID=2812 Dictionaries. Entry: ‘Watan’. AlWasite, Lisan AlArabes & Al Mohite. Erdoğan, R. (2012, November 17). Official Speech. Egypt: University of Cairo.

 Ethnic democracy or Religious democracy (theocracy).

9

166 

B. Shafei

Ghannouchi, R. (1981). Citizens’ Rights in Islam for Non-Muslims (Dar El Salam, Ed.). International Institute of Islamic Thought, Islamic Affairs Series (Issue 9). Ghannouchi, R. (2010). Islam and Citizenship. Aljazeera Net. Hamid Allah, M. (1987). Political Documents (6th ed.). Beirut: Dar Alnafis. Hourani, A. (1991). Arab thought and the West. Paris: Noufal. Huwaydi, F. (2012). Democratic State before Civil Status (Madanya) or Religious. Aljazeera Net. Montgomery, W. (1961). Muhammad Prophet and Statesman. London: Oxford University Press. Petit Larousse Illustré. (2015), Paris, France, Librairie. Qardawi Y., (1986).‫ إالسالم والعلامنية وهجا لوجه‬Islam and Secularism Face to Face. Cairo: Wihba Library. Surah Alkahf, Aya 29. Tahtawi, R. ([1872] 2010). The Honest Guide for Girls and Boys (Vol. 2). Albourak: Library of Alexandria. Universal Declaration of Human Rights. (1948). Retrieved from https://www. un.org/en/udhrbook/#40. Zidan, A. (1982). Laws for Jews and Christians as Well as Non-Muslims (Which Come to Seek Asylum and Protection) in the Land of Islam. Baghdad: Dar Alquds.

10 Daughters Against Fathers: How Islam Builds a New Social Fabric in Contemporary Algeria Cherifa Bouatta

Since the 1980s, we have witnessed the emergence of new religious practices in Algeria as well as in the wider world. Media images show Muslim women increasingly veiled, while Muslim men wearing beard and kamis (a long, dress-like garment) have also become more numerous. Even in our own families, the young, both boys and girls, question the family order as it does not conform with divine injunctions, wanting to impose a new religiously inspired order. This rediscovery of religion by the younger generation may lead to at least two opposed configurations in families: When other family members support their children’s claims, they may adopt new and very strict religious observances, far from Algerian ‘traditional’ culture. On the other hand, when other family members reject these changes, they show resistance towards the ‘innovations’ the younger generation would like to introduce in the family. This is the moment when intra-family conflicts emerge invoking previous conflicts and questioning the status and roles of every family member.

C. Bouatta (*) Association SARP, Algiers, Algeria © The Author(s) 2020 M. Blanc et al. (eds.), Citizenship and Religion, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-54610-6_10

167

168 

C. Bouatta

This contribution deals with the ‘re-islamisation’ of Algerian society, which can be observed not only in the public sphere but also in families. This re-islamisation is indirectly mirrored in our clinical practice (see below). Every individual must take a clear position on this new religious phenomenon: Islamic fundamentalism. The answer takes into account the benefits individuals can get from this process. The phenomenon described here does not only concern young women, some young men may be equally involved in this re-islamisation effort. Our focus is on young women in order to explore how, within a patriarchal system structured by masculine domination, they use religion and negotiate another status and role within a discriminatory system. To address how the family treats these young women, a complementary approach, inspired by Georges Devereux,1 is relevant. This approach has three levels: the social, the cultural and the psychological. We begin by briefly presenting patriarchal systems with the gender relations they impose on men and women. In a second step, we address the phenomenon of re-islamisation of Algerian society and how young women are involved in it. Finally, we address the psychological and psycho-social processes that underpin the career of young female Muslim fundamentalists or ‘supermuslims’2 as we call them.

1

Patriarchy

To define patriarchy in Algeria, we may refer to Bourdieu’s writings such as Sociologie de l’Algérie (1960) and Masculine Domination (1998), or to the works of Boutefnouchet (1980) and Addi (1999). The aim of this chapter is not a detailed description of patriarchy and we simply remind that a patriarchal social system is based on masculine domination: power is attributed according to both gender and age. Elder men are at the top  Devereux (1908–1985) is a Hungarian-French-American psychoanalyst and anthropologist, founder of ethno-psychiatry; he proposes a complementary approach including psychological facts in a broader context. 2  Every young Algerian woman does not become a ‘Supermuslim’; as any society, Algeria is plural. In Chap. 5, I show how different feminist movements fight for universal rights and legal equality between men and women. 1

10  Daughters Against Fathers: How Islam Builds a New Social… 

169

of the hierarchy. In order to reproduce itself, such a social system benefits from a gendered socialisation. From the beginning of life, sex is assigned and, with it, status and roles, that is a social destiny. This socialisation is mostly the result of women’s work in the family, specifically of mothers. Social space carries symbolic traces of sexual segregation. In fact, space is divided according to sex and gender: streets and coffee shops are often seen as ‘suitable’ for men, while women are often assigned to home and/ or in the private sphere. Even time is gendered: in Algeria, men are allowed to ‘hang around’ in the streets and to come home late at night, while women may walk in the street, but are usually not allowed to be late or to spend time in coffee shops. Sometimes, ‘passing by’ a coffee shop is forbidden. In the Algerian patriarchal system, we also find what Bourdieu has called ‘symbolic violence’: it is often exercised against boys and girls in order to make them conform to normative models of femininity and masculinity. Frequently, there is a true dressage of young girls’ bodies: how to sit properly (not to cross one’s legs, always to wear one’s panties, not to play in the streets, to avoid certain games etc.). Boys must prove their courage, not to play ‘girls’ games’, not to show their emotions and so on. It is a matter of family honour. This description fits ‘traditional’ families in Algeria, in which gender roles are usually defined in such ways. However, these sociological approaches neglect that individuals are not exclusively fashioned by external factors. In the world described by sociologists, at least those mentioned above, everything happens as if women and men were passive beings who conform entirely with their socialisation and the established order, in which they are presumed to live. However, the ‘construction’ of human beings starts from an original given (biological, neurological and psychological) and its development arises within a human environment: mother and father, indeed the extended family, sociologically and culturally located within a given society. Describing the place of a new-born in the family as a social organisation, Piera Castoriadis-Aulagnier uses the notion of ‘narcissist contract’: Every subject comes into this world already inserted into a succession of generations. The mission of each one is to ensure the continuity between

170 

C. Bouatta

generations and within the society. Each individual receives a pre-­ determined place within his/her group. In order to ensure this continuity, the group on its part makes a narcissic investment on this new subject. This contract, expressed by the group, assigns a certain place to everyone. The foundation myth of the group is thus maintained, before the birth of every new subject. (Castoriadis-Aulagnier, quoted by Kaës and Ruiz-Correa 1998)

In the course of its development, a child becomes more and more aware of others (emergence of objects). It then realises that there are many little human beings and grown-ups in this world and that it belongs to the little beings. The difference between generations begins to chip away at the child’s sentiments of all-powerfulness and of primary narcissism. A little later, the child learns that its human environment is made up of boys and girls, men and women, and that he/she belongs to one sex or gender, or the other. This sexual difference is the emergence of sexual identity. This second difference equally contributes to the limitation of the child’s all-powerfulness. The child cannot be both and is unable to want and to do everything. If things go well, the infant incorporates the law into a sense of the forbidden, differentiates its instincts, feels empathy towards others and is thus able to feel at fault and guilty. In other words, the psychological elaboration of gender differences organises the connection of the individual with the lack and the instinct of the phallic function. The ‘triad’, with Oedipus, engages the child in a progressive process, which inserts it into a register of instinct and defence, of culpability and restoration and, at the same time, brings about an internalisation of rules vis-à-vis the governance of the relations between genders and generations. This openness towards the Other offers the possibility of internalising the law, of differentiating instinct, of having substitutes, and, thenceforth, of being ‘creative’. Creativity is an attitude of the individual in the face of an external reality associated with health and appetite for life: It is, first and foremost, a creative mode of perception, which gives the individual a sense of life worth living. In contrast, the opposite attitude consists in the fact of establishing a relationship of complacency subject to an external reality: the world and all its elements are recognised, but only as something to which one has to adjust and to adapt. (Winnicott 1975)

10  Daughters Against Fathers: How Islam Builds a New Social… 

171

As already noted above, this is expressed in a patriarchal social organisation governed by masculine domination. Gender and age differences are constructed by the conjunction of two registers: on a psychological level (psychosexual development) and on a social level (patriarchy). A child, and later an adult, is not a blank page, on which culture can inscribe all its norms and values. Faced with their parents, their instincts, as well as cultural injunctions, the individual produces rejections, appropriations, management of cultural givens in terms of his/ her personality, gender and personal resources (Bouatta 2007a). These developments should be kept in mind when analysing the new interpretations of Islam in Algeria and elsewhere in the Muslim world.

2

Re-islamisation

The re-islamisation that has been taking place in Algeria since the 1980s consists of a diffusion of a new ‘kind’ of Islam breaking with ‘traditional’ Islam. It differently affects men and women, young and older generation. However, in all cases, the degree of re-islamisation impact depends on the personality of the individuals, their world views and their interests. Families react differently towards the re-islamisation of one of their members. They may reject them, borrow some elements (such as ritual prayer or fasting during Ramadan) or integrate the innovations that the follower of this ‘new Islam’ has introduced them to. The first attempts at re-islamisation began in the 1980s.3 It is the beginning of the emergence and visibility of this Islamic reform movement among some individuals and in the Algerian society as a whole. For some authors, however, the attempts to rediscover a ‘true Islam’ go back to the very birth of Islam.4 Others trace it back to the demise of the  In the 1980s and 1990s, Algeria witnessed a democratic opening that gave way to the emergence of several political parties, among them Islamist parties. The latter, particularly the Islamic Salvation Front (French acronym: FIS), encouraged changes in Algerians’ habits of nutrition and clothing; it held that ‘Islam is the solution’. 4  For instance, Jamal ad-Din Al-Afghani (1838–1897) or Muhammad Abduh (1849–1905), the ‘fathers’ of the Islamic reform movement, or others who call for a ‘return’ to ‘true Islam’ or ‘original Islam’. 3

172 

C. Bouatta

Ottoman Empire in 1924 (Benslama 2016). We need some historical connections for a good understanding of the problem. For example, re-­ islamisation inscribes itself globally and locally. On a global level, it means the emergence of Islamism after the Iranian revolution and the war in Afghanistan. On a local level, it raises the place of religion in so-­ called Arab-Muslim societies. Yet, how can we speak of re-islamisation, as if Algerians were non-­ Muslims or had abandoned their religion and had to re-learn Islam? This is not at all the case. Most Algerians have been Muslims since the fourteenth century. However, what we might call Algerian (or ‘traditional’) Islam is marked by a belief in saints, zawiyas (Sufi/mystic religious orders), talebs (members/students of such religious orders) and numerous rituals that go back to pre-Islamic times and continue to be practiced.5 Followers of the philosophy of re-islamisation consider this kind of Muslim practice as a heresy (shirk). It is being linked to the pre-Islamic religion and culture of the jahiliya (time of ‘ignorance’) and have to be fought6 before being replaced by ‘true’ Islam. Many parents thus see themselves deprived of their traditional parenting role as they are being linked with this ‘ignorant Islam’ and that they no longer have anything to teach their children in religious terms since the children—if they follow the new ‘fundamentalist’ ideology—now say they ‘know better’. In fundamentalist discourse, the fitna, or crisis, in the Muslim world, technological backwardness and earthquakes7 are considered divine punishments against the ‘lost souls’ who have forfeited God’s laws. The only way to salvation, they assume, is a return to ‘true Islam’. This re-islamisation becomes manifest, at least for girls and women, in the ‘Islamic veil’ (jilbab, a cloak, niqab, a full face-veil, or shar’i veil, a scarf ), in regular mosque visits and in religious education by women (so-­ called murshidaat). In ‘traditional’ Islam, religious knowledge has traditionally been retained by men. Re-islamisation enables women not only  It is a usual process in the history of religions. See Shafei’s Chap. 6 on Islam in Palestine (Editors’ note). 6   Between the 1990s and 2000s, Islamists destroyed mausoleums and sculptures deemed ‘un-Islamic’. 7  After every earthquake, several of our students display increasing religious signs, such as veiling or donning the jilbab (Islamic cloak) in order to ask for redemption. 5

10  Daughters Against Fathers: How Islam Builds a New Social… 

173

to have access to religious knowledge but also to pass it on. We must go much further in order to understand the re-islamisation of society and individuals. The introduction emphasised re-islamisation can be regarded as a rupture with many traditional rituals and as the introduction of new rituals, often previously unknown in Algerian society. One such example would be fasting. In the past, most Algerians used to fast during the month of Ramadan. Today, apart from fasting during Ramadan, many people also fast on Thursdays and Mondays and during the months of Muharram and Sha’ban (the first and the eighth months of the Muslim lunar calendar). While the former is compulsory for all Muslims, the latter are supererogatory periods of fasting. Other examples are prayers in the morning or before going to bed, consultatory prayers (istikhara) before making a decision, when one submits the choices to God, God being expected to give indications on the best choice. These practices give an idea of the comprehensiveness of religious prescriptions admitted by many Muslims in Algeria today. The contention is how to define what a Muslim is, since ‘traditional’ Muslims, including many parents, are now being challenged in their religiosity (see below). Fethi Benslama has described this contemporaneous ‘fundamentalist’ Muslim as a ‘supermuslim’.

3

The ‘Supermuslim’ Males and Females

Fethi Benslama (2016) has defined ‘supermuslims’ in his own environment (in France) in order to describe the different ways of radicalisation that young French Muslims have chosen. This notion equally captures what is observed in Algeria without the issues of radicalisation and turning to violence. This notion of ‘Supermuslim’ is also relevant in the Algerian context: Under the constraint, under which Muslims are led to rise above the Muslim they already are by representing a Muslim that has to be even more Muslim. This is the behaviour of someone subject to reproaches of desertion that they turn against themselves, and subject to the harassment of

174 

C. Bouatta

those armies of preachers, who accuse them of evil moral crimes and promise them hellfire. The imperative is not to ‘become’ but to ‘come again’. (Benslama 2016)

This notion appears entirely appropriate for analysing the behaviour observed8 in our psychological practice and everyday observations. Fethi Benslama, in elaborating this notion, obviously had in mind only young men living in the West and being susceptible to commit murderous attacks. In Algeria, we have already come across this kind of ‘supermuslims’ during the so-called dark decade,9 when ‘the best Muslim of all’ killed intellectuals and unbelievers, in short ‘Submuslims’. On the other hand, the outbidding described by Benslama does not only concern men. Women are equally concerned. They, too, demonstrate this competition for more Islam, more religion, for adopting a ‘purified’ Islam, cleansed of ‘unhealthy’ additions (i.e. ‘traditional’ rituals and beliefs). Therefore, we are talking about ‘supermuslim’ women, pointing out that psychological mechanisms may correspond between them, indeed be mixed, while showing certain differences due to their respective place in a patriarchal system.

3.1

‘Supermuslim’ Women and the Multiplication of Instructions

A first observation is about changes in habits: fasting, praying, drinking manners but also sitting, eating, washing. New rituals emerge and time-­ honoured rituals are less practiced: the sacrifice for the birth of a child (el akika), the prayers for the deceased on the seventh day after death; burial rituals are also changing with rapid burying and funerals of the deceased, no third day (traditional mourning period) and so on. Some rituals unknown by the previous generations replace the traditional ones. A new  With ‘clinical’, I do not mean I received ‘supermuslim’ women in my counselling practice. However, the figure of a ‘supermuslim’ woman often shines through in the way mothers, who came for counselling, speak about their daughters. I have also met ‘supermuslim’ women at university among my students, and even in my own family. 9  The term ‘dark decade’ refers to the 1990–2000 period when Algerians experienced terrorist violence. 8

10  Daughters Against Fathers: How Islam Builds a New Social… 

175

language emerges with the introduction of standard Arabic terms, such as ummi (mother) or abi (father) instead of Algerian dialect; religious references also infiltrate this language. Change is visible in clothing, such as jilbab, niqab or shar’i veil.10 Parties in festival halls and music are forbidden. For every important decision, one turns to God and prays for advice (istikhara).

3.2

The Crossing of Parental Boundaries

This second observation is about the changes in the Algerian traditional patriarchal system: things used to be clear, males and females had clearly marked roles to play. With the emergence of ‘supermuslim’ women, boundaries have been crossed. A ‘supermuslim’ woman is promoted to a higher place within the family hierarchy. From being women assigned to relations of dominance, they are becoming the ones knowing more than everyone else. They seem to know more than their mothers, but first of all more than their fathers and brothers. They have access to things many fathers and brothers know nothing of; therefore, places within the family hierarchy are mixed up. Rules of filiation, the negativated11 contract as well as gender and age differences are often challenged. These changes appear when a ‘Supermuslim’ woman expresses with her behaviour a rejection of ‘traditional’ knowledge. Religious practices of parents are regularly rejected, even fought, as they are said to go back to a time ‘prior to true knowledge’, to the jahiliya, the time of ‘ignorance’. In the Muslim fantasy, this pre-Islamic era is a period when instincts were unbridled, where disorder reigned or when female new-borns were buried alive. In this worldview, Islamic knowledge has come to put the world in order and to control one’s instincts. ‘Supermuslim’ women often display what they think is the knowledge that is above every other knowledge: ‘true’ Islam, cleansed of all ‘unhealthy’  These clothes cover the entire body of a woman, sometimes even her face (niqab).  I call ‘negativated contract’ the generic intermediary development, which, everywhere—be it a couple, a group, a family or an institution—is doomed to the fate of repression, of denial or of disavowal. […] We may call this contract ‘negativated’, as it is one of the consequences of both the contract of renouncement […] and of the narcissist contract (Kaës and Ruiz-Correa 1998). 10 11

176 

C. Bouatta

additions. No other knowledge can compete against this. Moreover, some say the most recent scientific discoveries can already be found in the Qur’an or that the Qur’an has already mentioned them. Thus, ‘Supermuslim’ women become those who transmit ‘true’ Islam, in its first purity, to parents who continue to be caught in a ‘wrong’ Islam. Such young women, therefore, frequently rise above their parents, above men. This turns on its head the gender and age differences that determine the patriarchal order of most Algerian families. In this case, we speak of a cognitive and psychological process of separation and individuation among young women, inasmuch as they establish differences and challenge familial traditions. However, it could also be a symptom of cultural and social conflicts in the Algerian society, which is neither entirely ‘traditional’ nor entirely ‘modern’. Algeria finds it hard to accept the emergence of individuals in their midst as it has largely adhered to a notion of ‘extended selves’, rather than the ‘bounded selves’ dominant in European societies (Joseph 1999). Sociological changes have affected society: education, paid work for women, the emergence of nuclear families and living separated from one’s parents have confronted the patriarchal system with new circumstances that are difficult to integrate and have partially undermined its very foundations, for example by the emergence of autonomous individuals.

3.3

The Diverse Outcomes of This Female Position

When the new rules imposed by ‘supermuslim’ women are accepted by other members of their families (parents and siblings), these parents may feel guilty: suddenly they no longer are recognised as ‘Muslims’. They seem to have been satisfied with a routine religious practice, ignoring the true foundations of Islam. Adversely, parents (specifically fathers) resist this and reject the adoption of the so-called true Islam of their daughters. They claim a ‘traditional’ Islam, taking the Islam of their own parents as a reference. This implies that they are part of a long line of men and women and want to remain loyal to this succession. There are, of course, various scenarios

10  Daughters Against Fathers: How Islam Builds a New Social… 

177

between those two extremes, marked by different constellations of conflict; however, it is beyond the scope of this chapter to go into further detail.

4

 he Psychological Processes T Characterising ‘Supermuslim’ Women

We mentioned the processes of separation and individuation and above all of knowledge. ‘Supermuslim’ women are also, like the great figures of Islamic history, those who transmit their knowledge. They preach to their families but also in mosques and on special occasions. At wedding celebrations, they remind attending women of their marital duties according to Islam. At funerals, they bring to mind the encounter with God in the afterlife and punishments waiting for sinners. By doing so, they reach a position of omnipotence, just like that of primary narcissism (i.e. a hallucinatory realisation of instinct by the new-­ born), which often persists in children who overestimate the power of their instincts and of their psychological activities. This omnipotence is found in obsessional behaviour and psychosis. Omnipotence connects the limitations during the process of learning the limitations imposed on the pleasure principle by the reality principle: The decline of the feeling of omnipotence is born of the necessity of reducing the perfection of the parents. The result is a compromise between the domain of the pleasure principle, which reigns instincts and fantasies, and the domain of the reality principle, which reigns in the sphere of thought and established facts. (Laplanche, Pontalis 1967)

In ‘supermuslim’ women, this feeling of omnipotence linked to infantile narcissism continues to be at work. It expresses itself in the certainty of knowing ‘the absolute truth’ as it is of divine origin, being a role model for others. This position does not accept any kind of otherness as this would detract from ‘the truth’. In their minds, there is no place for any ‘other’, which should be rejected as kuf (unbelief, loss or perdition). The ‘other’ is a sign of fitna, or crisis, and must be fought. This is one of the duties of ‘supermuslim’ women, who think of themselves as

178 

C. Bouatta

depositories of power, of an ultimate power to fulfil divine orders. They are upheld by ideal developments, such as the ‘Ideal of Self ’. The first development is under the aegis of infantile omnipotence: Its existence does not mean that the individual has necessarily reached it. Those who have replaced their narcissism with the veneration of an Ideal of Self have not necessarily succeeded in equally suppressing their instincts. Idealists may refuse to see reality, even that of their own instinctual experience, but they have not suppressed anything in the sense of a modification of the purpose and object of their instincts. (Penot 2001)

The second ideal development takes place when children, as a result of the critical influence by their parents and teachers, are forced to renounce their narcissism: It is often reinvested, or the investment is reinforced, with the support of a new identification with prestigious personalities. The supermuslim woman identifies again with the Ideal of Self and tries, by this means, to free herself from the Uber-Ich and the Ideal of Self, or with a prestigious cause that does not tolerate any change and provides affirmation against doubt and otherness. Lagache refers in this case to ‘heroic identification’. (Penot 2001)

Let us apply these quotes to ‘Supermuslim’ women. We spoke earlier of the process of individuation within the family and a society in transition. ‘Supermuslim’ women are often in a process of individuation, which is not always easy for them, and the weight of patriarchy seems to prevent this process from being completed. By becoming more individualised, many ‘supermuslim’ women dis-identify themselves by searching for other identification figures that are more prestigious than those of their parents are. ‘Supermuslim’ women, therefore, apparently ignore the third difference defined by Kaës: What is organised on the basis of differences in the order of social and cultural belonging. It introduces the individual to identity landmarks, to shared identities, to psychological alliances, narcissist and defensive necessities for a life in common. […] Overcoming this position results in subversion and hostility. (Kaës and Ruiz-Correa 1998)

10  Daughters Against Fathers: How Islam Builds a New Social… 

179

The process of individuation, on which ‘supermuslim’ women embark, is visible here: by adopting fundamentalist ideas, they seem to be denying this third difference by turning their backs on identity landmarks of the group and at psychological alliances at the source of intersubjective and interpersonal relations. They obviously defend a cause: ‘true Islam’ and the religious figures of early Islam. They usually consider the return to the origins as a return to purity, to a ‘Golden Age’, when ‘true Islam’ reigned. However, they pass over the workings of history by glossing over the temporality of things: they see a possible return today because ‘Supermuslims’ exist. Historically, this vision is of course not grounded (Bouatta 2007b) and is built on a denial of the reality of times past. The wonderful world related by many ‘Supermuslim’ women has never existed. History shows that three of the first four caliphs, successors of Prophet Muhammad, have been assassinated, sometimes in a mosque during prayer. These early times were marked by numerous wars and several splits of the religious community (e.g. separation of Kharijites, Shiites). The history they often relate is an invented ‘neo-reality’ based on the denial and on an imagined ‘Golden Age’. The story of the ‘original Islam’ frequently combines with a vision of a ‘here-below’ that is completely lost. What many ‘Supermuslim’ women say about contemporary Algerian society is simply edifying. They generally describe Algerian society as a society in which luxury reigns, a misguided society that has forgotten its religion and that bathes in sin. Here too, this does not at all correspond with the reality of a society, where prohibitions are numerous and where the tiniest difference is socially and/or legally12 sanctioned. ‘Supermuslim’ women are usually characterised by an absolute knowledge built on absolute certainties. It is built against the parents’ heritage. It supports a process of individuation with regard to parental figures and it turns towards a more prestigious external identification because it is marking the religious field. These specificities have created personalities sure of themselves, with a very elevated sense of self (i.e. ‘the arrogance of those who know’). They also have a mission to accomplish: spreading the ‘true Islam’ in the dar al-Islam (territories under Muslim 12

 For instance, when the police arrests people ‘breaking the fast’ during Ramadan.

180 

C. Bouatta

sovereignty) and in the dar al-harb (territories under non-Muslim sovereignty). The erection of this ideal might correspond to what Freud called the process of sublimation: [Sublimation] appears like a privileged instinctive fate because libidinal energy coming out allows a realisation which is more valued by the Uber-­ Ich and by society. It appears like the guarantor of social ties and the driving force of culture. […] These processes are opposed to the transformation and the production of what is beneficial for others and for society. If sublimation upholds social ties, Islamist idealisation contributes to their disintegration in as much as it challenges the ‘human community’. (Prokhoris 2016)

Sublimation is related to thinking. The shifting of the libido above other objects enables the thinking about elaboration, creation and theorisation. It mobilises large quantities of energy of investment, dedicated to the determination of thinking. Based on these definitions, the psychological processes implied in the idealisation of ‘supermuslim’ women raise neither any sublimation nor the setting up of a thinking enriched by facts about reality and by fantasy resonance. It is not an absence of thinking but a thinking with a decrease of operative thinking. Psychosomaticians define this process as: A deficient thinking, semi-conscious, without organic ties with oniric functions of fantasmatisation or symbolisation; […] it evokes the idea of a ‘dementalization’. It does not work according to an associative regime. It has neither symbolic scope nor sublimatory value. (Fine 2002)

We are neither in a process of sublimation nor in thinking. The notion of operative thinking seems convenient as the discourse of ‘supermuslim’ women is usually based on prescriptions (repetition of hadith, or sayings of Prophet Muhammad, of fatwas or legal rulings, of surahs or rituals etc.), without any personal reflexion, without any other source of knowledge and without any doubt. It is a self-sufficient kind of thinking, needing no other input. This operative thinking goes along with a new language that breaks with the day-to-day language of Algerians (see

10  Daughters Against Fathers: How Islam Builds a New Social… 

181

introduction). It also becomes evident in behaviour: fasting according to new prescriptions, repeated prayer, repeated reading of the Qur’an, how to carry oneself and so on. Anything outside religion becomes unthinkable.

5

Conclusion

The title of this contribution is ‘Daughters against Fathers’. In the discussion, we referred to two dimensions: social and individual. The first would be patriarchal systems, marked by male domination. Fathers and brothers tend to hold power in the family and in the Algerian society. Islamic fundamentalism appears to insert itself in the breaches of the patriarchal system in Algeria and, thus, gives birth to ‘supermuslim’ women. By succumbing to the ‘fundamentalist attraction’ (Gauchet 2016), they appear to be equipped with absolute knowledge and power, they individuate themselves and dis-identify in order to follow more heroic references than their parents. They become more autonomous, and by doing so, shake the order of the ‘ignorants’ represented by their parents. The second dimension, the individual, engages gender and age differences, which allow the ‘human community’ to exist; they are challenged in the cases discussed here. This knowledge and the thinking that it engenders are in reality an absence of thinking or, rather, an obstacle to thinking. It is present very early in a child’s life. Algerian schools—by using a pedagogy that usually takes no account of either child psychology or children’s interests—are far from aiming at fulfilment for a child on the level of personality and of cognitive development fostering criticism, doubt and imagination. It also plays a role in inculcating the operative thinking discussed here. Courses of Islamic education delivered to children include the punishment in the grave (‘adhab al-qabr), and the injunctions and sanctions ordained by religion for those who go against it. All of this is taking place in a climate of increasing intolerance, where the historical context and Islamic humanism have become side-lined. To my mind, this constitutes an obstacle towards the development of thinking and explains in part the failing of Algerian schools.

182 

C. Bouatta

Let us conclude with two questions: the origin of fundamentalism and of ‘supermuslims’. Here too, we can refer to the social and individual level. On a social level, fundamentalism is today a worldwide phenomenon, which uses various channels of diffusion. Like tele-evangelists, fundamentalist ‘fishermen’ use modern technology like the internet, social media, CDs or TV.  On a local level, Muslim countries, among them Algeria, have faced a religious crisis. They are trying to outbid fundamentalists by Islamising school curricula and TV programmes, building mosques, discriminating against Christians and followers of the Ahmadiyya, a Muslim sub-denomination. The Algerian Minister of religious affairs extols a moderate national Islam, inherited from our parents. On a psycho-sociological level, the changes the Algerian society has undergone have led to the emergence of new needs. Their goals are no longer determined as they were in ‘traditional’ society, when marriage at an early age, social status and roles and gender-education were the norm. A new order has emerged, yet it is incapable of taking charge of thinking about new individuals, sexuality, individuation or instincts. This incapability feeds both the seductive power of fundamentalism and the desire of the West (Badiou 2016, quoted by Laoukili 2017) or into the kharjas (clandestine migrants). Some escape and have happier destinies. We have to take into account the individual level in order to understand how any given individual gets caught in the nets of fundamentalists. To open this kind of reflexion one may go back to the biography of individuals, their ties with people in their family environment, to events in their lives that may have shaken their course. In all cases, it is entirely plausible to invoke the first interactions between child and mother/ father/siblings, and their contribution to the development of their personality. Several authors have postulated the fragility of a Self that is probing into identity resources and being afraid of collapsing. In that case, having a mission to fulfil—spreading the fundamentalist message— may constitute a crutch of support, a conservator of resilience.

10  Daughters Against Fathers: How Islam Builds a New Social… 

183

References Addi, L. (1999). Les mutations de la société algérienne: famille et lien social dans l’Algérie contemporaine. Paris: La Découverte. Benslama, F. (2016). La figure du surmusulman. Figures de la psychanalyse, 34, 51–60. Bouatta, C. (2007a). Violences, traumatismes et prise en charge psychologique. In A. E. Aubert & R. Scelles (Eds.), Dispositifs de soins au défi des situations extrêmes (pp. 185–213). Érès: Toulouse. Bouatta, C. (2007b). Les traumatismes collectifs en Algérie. Alger: Casbah. Bourdieu, P. (1960). Sociologie de l’Algérie. Paris: PUF. Bourdieu, P. (1998). La domination masculine. Paris, Seuil. [Masculine Domination, 2001. Stanford: University Press]. Boutefnouchet, M. (1980). La famille algérienne. Évolution et caractéristiques récentes. Alger: SNED. Fine, A. (2002). Pensée opératoire. In A. de Mijolla (Ed.), Dictionnaire international de psychanalyse. Paris: Calman Lévy. Gauchet M. (2016). L’attraction fondamentaliste, La psychanalyse et le fait religieux. [Espace analytique.org/evenements/172]. Joseph, S. (1999). Intimate Selving in Arab Families. Gender, Self, and Identity. Syracuse: University Press. Kaës, R., & Ruiz-Correa, O.  B. (1998). Différence culturelle et souffrance psychique. Paris: Dunod. Laoukili, A. (2017). Empire de l’idéal, pacte dénégatif et répétition: l’islamisme comme matrice idéologique du terrorisme djihadiste. Connexions, 107, 87–106. Laplanche, J., & Pontalis, J-B. ([1967] 1988). Vocabulaire de la psychanalyse. Paris: PUF. Penot, B. (2001). La passion du sujet freudien. Toulouse: Erès. Prokhoris, S. (2016). Au bon plaisir des ‘docteurs graves’. À propos de Judith Butler. Paris, PUF. Winnicott, D.  W. (1975). La créativité et ses origines. In Jeu et réalité. Paris, Gallimard. [Playing and Reality, 1971, Tavistock].

11 French Youth and Secularism: Towards Social Polarisation Bruno Michon

Contemporary modern democracy is practiced within the framework of nation-states (Deleixhe 2011). Despite numerous reflections in support of democracy on the basis of international cosmopolitanism (Archibugi 2009; Held 2000), democracy as it exists today operates exclusively within national borders. This simple fact leads us to pose a fundamental question: how can and does democracy respond to encounters with ‘the Other’? Starting with the works of Alfred Schütz and Georg Simmel, the ‘foreigner’ calls into question what is considered normal in a nation (Simmel [1908]; Schütz 2003). We are at a time when asylum-seekers are knocking at the doors of European democracies; some young Europeans prefer to die in the name of extremist ideologies claiming allegiance to Islam; fear of the dissolution of traditional identities is causing a rise in xenophobia across Europe; and finally security is constantly invoked to address these challenges. We see that ‘the foreigner’ has never been so revelatory of the state of our democracies. The travails of democracy as an

B. Michon (*) ESEIS Research Department, and University of Strasbourg, Strasbourg, France e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2020 M. Blanc et al. (eds.), Citizenship and Religion, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-54610-6_11

185

186 

B. Michon

institution are all the more significant because, despite many years of cohabitation within the national space and a widespread trend towards naturalization, the fact or even the possibility of having been a migrant appears to remain an unsurmountable stigma (Bonnafous 1991; Barats 2001). This contribution connects this fundamental question to issues of religion in general and specifically Islam, which has long been a target of scrutiny and opprobrium, with recent attacks and the so-called migration crisis sparking a veritable moral panic around the religion. From the issue of the revocability of nationality,1 to that of the wearing of veils at universities, to the ‘burkini’ affair, there have been countless debates surrounding Islam since 2015. These flashpoints add to a long succession of polemics whose origins can be traced to the first ‘headscarf affair’ in French schools in 1989. Islam poses a direct challenge to a fragile democratic balance which has been forged between Church and State in modern Europe. The dynamics of this challenge consist of a dual movement: on one hand, Muslim immigrants and their offspring are confronted with national traditions regarding management of the Church-State relationship; on the other, Islam disrupts these national traditions. Several sociologists have taken an interest in this issue (Bader 2007; Lamine et al. 2008; Warner et al. 2010; Bowen 2011). The focus of our analysis is on differing characterizations by Muslim and non-Muslim youth in France and Germany of this relationship between Church and State.2 We analyse these tensions in terms of the phenomenon of social polarization. Our specific objective is to understand how certain discourses on secularism contribute to fragmentation in society, specifically among young people. We first describe enduring divisions around the secularism issue in terms of the opposition of a Republican and a Democratic pole. We will then address the ways in which these divergent interpretations of secularism appear in current discourse among French teenagers.  In 2015, François Hollande proposed and supported the revocation of French nationality for dual-citizens convinced of jihadism. The related bill failed to pass into law. 2  This contribution develops work published earlier, ‘Muslimische und nicht muslimische Jugendliche und Laizität ein deutsch-französischer Vergleich’ (Michon 2016). We focus here our analysis on French teenagers in order to draw conclusions on processes of polarization operational in French society around issues of secularism. 1

11  French Youth and Secularism: Towards Social Polarisation 

1

187

Secularism(s), Democracy and the Republic: A Polarized Debate

Secularism has evolved since the creation of the French nation-state between a ‘republican’ and a ‘democratic’ pole (Safran 1991; Debray 1985; Donegani and Sadoun 2012). The first emerges from the Jacobin ideal3 of the nation-state. With universal suffrage, democracy is understood as the immediate expression of the nation, itself ‘one and indivisible’. The State is thus the guarantor of the emancipation of all its citizens from any form of particularism, as noted by French revolutionary Camille Desmoulins: Saint Paul, who was sometimes known to demonstrate the gift of eloquence, writes admirably somewhere: ‘all you who have been reborn through Baptism, you are no longer Jews, you are no longer Samaritans, nor are you Romans, nor are you Greeks, you are all Christians’. This is how we have now come to be reborn through the National Assembly, so that we are no longer from Chartres or Monthléri, we are no longer Picardians nor Bretons, we are no longer from Aix or Arras, we are all French, all brothers. (quoted by Birnbaum 1998: 64)

The democratic pole, on the other hand, emerges from the recent history of France. The contemporary need for the recognition of cultural diversity and challenges to the traditional republican model have led sociologists, philosophers and political scientists to call for the ‘democratization’ of the former model (Wieviorka 1997; Colombani 2000; Dieckhoff 2012). Globalization, the increasing mobility and migration that it has engendered, and what Axel Honneth, Charles Taylor or Nancy Frazer term ‘the Age of Recognition’ are part of this necessary rethinking of secularism. Struggles for the recognition of sexual, cultural and religious minorities correlate with the critique of the French Republic’s blindness to difference.

 During the French Revolution, the Jacobins were a revolutionary faction supporting a centralizing State, in contrast to another faction, the Girondins, in favour of a federal concept of the State. 3

188 

B. Michon

Fig. 11.1  Republican and democratic poles

The classic French model of integration is based upon universal political values and a national culture. The Republic considers itself a ‘protective mother’ (Aghulon et  al. 2006) within whose embrace all differences dissolve. Despite some successes (accompanied by recourse to state violence), this model, which aims to give primacy to the common before considering difference, is today in freefall. This failure is expressed, inter alia, in the requirement that French Muslims adopt ‘normal’ practices, whereas the norm remains largely modelled on Catholicism, in what Jean-Paul Willaime and Jean Baubérot, following Edgar Morin, label ‘Catho-secularism’ (Morin 1990; Willaime 1998) (Fig. 11.1). Today, these two interpretations of secularism find themselves in direct and frontal opposition within the French public sphere. Each new ‘crisis’ linked to Islam reinforces this opposition, which translates into social polarization. Philippe Portier (2018) proposes its use in ‘Le tournant substantialiste de la laïcité française’ [The substantialist turn of French secularism]: Public debate has been structured over the last decades around two great polarities, ‘multiculturalist’ on the one hand, ‘universalist’ on the other, with each locating itself under the auspices of the idea of the Republic. The ‘multiculturalist’ school, committed to inclusive secularism, was still dominant at the dawn of the 1990s; but was supplanted by the ‘universalist’ school starting at the turn of the century. (Portier 2018: 28)

11  French Youth and Secularism: Towards Social Polarisation 

189

The conflict between these two poles serves to divide French society, forcing each person to choose sides in an ideological debate reminiscent of the case of North America as described by American political scientist James E. Campbell: Polarization is the condition of substantial and intense conflict over political perspectives arrayed along a single dimension—generally along ideological lines. Rather than political differences being aligned differently on a variety of unconnected issues on which opinion are weakly held, highly polarized conflict is aligned across different issues with strongly held and divergent views. In highly polarized politics, there are distinct sides who see the political world in diametrically opposite ways. (Campbell 2018: 15)

This ideological bordering is today apparent in the public sphere (Céfaï 1996), including in the mediatic arena, as evidenced by the publication of, and subsequent furore surrounding polemics, such as Caroline Fourest’s In Praise of Blasphemy or Eric Zemmour’s The French Suicide. These divisions are also present in statements from anonymous French citizens, specifically with regard to the Islamic headscarf. This is what we show in this contribution using a survey of teenaged respondents.

2

Survey Presentation

The data are the results taken from a qualitative survey conducted in France and Germany between 2006 and 2011 as part of my doctoral research in sociology.4 This research project focused on the religious culture of teenagers, more specifically on the modes of acquisition and structuring of their stock of knowledge on religion (Schütz and Luckmann 2003).  See my contribution in Chap. 4 of this book.

4

190 

B. Michon

Two hundred and seven teenagers were interviewed between 2008 and 2009 in Alsace, the Greater Paris area, Baden-Württemberg, Berlin and Brandenburg. A method called the ‘playful interview’ (entretien ludique) was developed specifically for this research project. The goal of ludic interviewing is to access a fuller range of knowledge (visual, academic, media) through the use and combination of various methodological tools in the context of a game (mental mapping, photo elicitation, quizzes, scenario development). The sociologist creates a situation in which he/ she plays both the role of facilitator and that of sociologist. The aim is to facilitate adolescent interactions and engender confidence in the sociological interview process. The research used collective interviewing and involved the creation of focus groups comprising six young secondary school students (in Grade 9). In each of the selected five regions, urban and rural schools were chosen based on the characteristics of their student cohort (working class, mixed, elite5). The findings presented in this chapter rely on data derived from the use of the scenario method. This method was developed within the field of clinical psychology and Jean Piaget made a significant contribution to its development (Danic et al. 2006). This technique has since been transposed and adapted to sociological research interviewing (Barter and Renold 1999; Schnurr 2003). This method suits well the pursuit of three research objectives, namely: 1. [The] interpretation of actions and occurrences that allows ­situational  context to be explored and influential variables to be elucidated. 2. [The] clarification of individual judgements, often in relation to moral dilemmas. 3. [The] discussion of sensitive experiences (Barter and Renold 1999: 2).

 Annex 1 outlines the characteristics of the investigated population.

5

11  French Youth and Secularism: Towards Social Polarisation 

191

These objectives are applicable to the analysis of religious plurality and the debate surrounding Islamic headscarf, where it is important to both distil respondents’ representations and avoid stereotyped responses and characterizations. The scenarios are based on ‘the playful nature of fictional experience’ (Zaccaï-Reyners 2005). More specifically, as she explains, ‘the ludic dimension derives from the possibility to interact with scenarios in a lower register, in being able to “act as if ”’ (ibid.). By proposing that young people place themselves in situations that are understood to be fictive fictional, we gain insight into their ways of thinking and acting, while still reducing their risk of ‘losing face’. The following scenarios were developed and proposed to respondents: (1) You are a newspaper editor, and one of your cartoonists has just proposed that you publish a caricature of Mohammed. Would you agree to publish the cartoon or would you refuse? Why? (2a) France: A girl in your class, who is Muslim, decides to wear the hijab, and is expelled from school. What do you think of that? What would you do? (2b) Germany: One of your teachers wears the hijab in class, and she is fired from the school. What do you think of that? What would you do? Each scenario derives from events reported by current news to ensure that the fictive situations remained anchored in a media reality familiar to young people. The interviews were re-transcribed and analysed using the qualitative data analysis software Atlas.ti. The analytical method used was that of grounded theory6 (Corbin and Strauss 2004).

3

The Veil as a Vector of Social Polarization

Religious minorities, in particular Islam, constitute relevant indicators of the functioning of a country’s democratic life. In this sense, the veil, insofar as it has become a subject of widespread public discussion  Grounded theory is a method of qualitative data collection and analysis, which aims to construct theory not on the basis of predetermined hypotheses but rather through a constant exchange between fieldwork and theoretical development. 6

192 

B. Michon

and controversy, allows us to access the representations of democracy and secularism held by each member of a society. Given that this issue is in many ways linked to the school as an institution, French and German students represent a well-placed population to address the topic. The following questions were raised in analysing the data collected: –– What interpretations of secularism are being conveyed by the young people? –– What are the factors that explain their endorsement of these interpretations? –– What forms of polarization are evidenced by these observations?

3.1

The Veil in Schools

It is necessary to briefly outline the particular characteristics of debates in France surrounding the use of the veil. The ‘headscarf affair’ began to occupy an increasingly large space in the political and media sphere starting in 1989. The genesis of the affair can be traced to Creil in the suburbs of Paris, where two young girls attending a local high school decided to wear the veil. Between 1989 and 2004, decisions regarding a student’s wearing of the veil remained at the discretion of principals of the institutions concerned. The veil was not seen as inherently contrary to secularism, although a principal could, for specific reasons, prohibit its use. This relatively pragmatic phase of the headscarf affair would come to an end with the passage in 2004 of legislation stipulating that ‘the wearing of signs or clothing by which students conspicuously demonstrate religious affiliation is prohibited in schools, colleges and public high schools’ by a vote count of 494 in favour, 36 opposed and 31 abstentions. The veil was seen here primarily as a sign of dominance over women. The mission of French national education Department of Education,

11  French Youth and Secularism: Towards Social Polarisation 

193

on the other hand, was to ‘enlighten’ French youth. For example, Elisabeth Badinter expressed the view that ‘the veil is a symbol of the oppression of women’ (Le nouvel observateur, 9 November, 1989). In describing the wearing of torn jeans and dyed hair as acts of liberation from social convention, and the wearing of the veil as an act of submission to patriarchy, Badinter clearly situated herself on the side of the Republican pole described earlier. In her discourse, as in that contained in the 2004 law, we find language typical of this second approach to secularism. The veil represents here a powerful lens through which to examine French configurations of secularism. Opinions elicited by the issue are often trenchant and provide insight into the relationship forged by French democracies with religious plurality. In this case, we analyse this relationship using perspectives gleaned from discourse among teenagers.

3.2

French Youth Are Predominantly ‘Republican’

In order to understand French youth’s relationship to secularism, our point of departure was the analysis of representations derived from the above-mentioned scenarios. We sought to isolate factors contributing to the construction of these representations. Affiliation to Islam was of particular interest to us. The reflections outlined in the previous section on the treatment of Islam within the context of French and German secularism raised the question of the potential uniqueness in young Muslims’ relationship to secularism. We would therefore begin by contrasting and comparing representations by non-Muslim youth to those of Muslim young people. The following are verbatim excerpts that typify the interviews conducted:

194 

B. Michon

James, Paris, middle class, Catholic.

Strasbourg, Valentine, privileged background, Protestant; Christopher, disadvantaged background, Catholic. James: I’d say they did the right Christopher: Well, that’s terrible for her, because there are, people wear necklaces thing to expel her because with huge crosses on them, so why? school is secular. … They ask Christians not to wear crosses. Valentine: I agree with Christopher. … Either you take it all off or we should allow … So yeah, ostentatious signs. everything, but there are crosses … baptism … We’re not allowed to wear bracelets … communion and all that. … ostentatious signs for Muslims, People say it’s too visible, but a big cross as for Jews, as for Christians. hanging from neck. … You can see that too. B.M.: Normally the law also prohibits large crosses …. Valentine: Well then, they’re not paying attention. … They let that go. … You should hide it … if you have a cross on. … You can wear it, but it must not be visible. B.M.: So, would it be better that everyone dresses as they please or should people be wearing nothing at all? Both: Nothing at all. Valentine: Nothing at all because otherwise you can. … There can easily be racism … Insults … Damn Arabs here to blow yourselves up, stuff like that. … Whereas if we don’t know …. B.M.: Do you agree, Christopher? Christopher: Yeah! B.M.: And so, would it need to be like that in the street or just at school? Valentine: In the street, we’re free …. Christopher: In public places. B.M.: You’d need to ban religious signs in public places like town halls, schools …. Valentine: Yeah, but you shouldn’t do that because then stores and other places are going to start saying … we don’t want that, that, that and that … them to come and that would be going back to. … Like during the Second World War against the Jews.

11  French Youth and Secularism: Towards Social Polarisation 

195

On the issue of the veil, a Republican version of secularism prevails. For most of the respondents, the veil had no place in school. A majority of the French youth interviewed held that the State was responsible for ensuring that its citizens had the opportunity to exercise freedom of thought unencumbered by any imposed identity. The veil was in this sense considered an obstacle that did not have a place within the school. Furthermore, Valentine conveys a particular variation of this conception of secularism, adding the protective role of the State which, by imposing neutrality on students, ensures their security: ‘better not to wear anything, because it could cause racism or insults, like “dirty Arab, coming to blow yourself up”, it’s better not to show anything, so no-one will know’. This is a very clear statement in favour of a secularism which is ‘blind’ to difference. There is, however, a third and less prevalent interpretation of secularism which has not yet been discussed: the ‘identitarian’ version of secularism. In this case, secularism is seen to apply in a differentiated way to Christianity as opposed to Islam in recognition of France’s cultural heritage and the antiquity of Christianity’s presence in France: [Alsace, Rural Area, Marvin, working class, Catholic; Mathieu, middle class, Protestant]. B.M.: So, what I’d like to talk about is that there’s a law prohibiting young girls from attending school with a veil on. What do you think of that? Marvin: It’s a good thing! Mathieu: That’s normal, since we also can’t leave our caps in the corridor anymore …. Marvin: It’s not because they do that in their country that they should do it in ours …. B.M.: Yeah Mathieu: It’s as if we went over there and acted like …. Marvin: Yeah like they’re in their church and we show up with our caps on, it’s the same thing …. Mathieu: Yeah [when] we come down there we fall in line with their thing … their law.

The identitarian reading of secularism draws a distinction between Muslim and non-Muslim populations. Secularism no longer represents a political tool for ensuring the equality of citizens and their freedom of

196 

B. Michon

conscience but a means to protect the cultural homogeneity of a nation. This version of secularism remains marginal and concentrated in the rural areas selected. In terms of its underlying ideology, this version represents a third pole with fundamental differences with the Republican pole in terms of the values which undergird it, but which also bears significant similarities in terms of its implications: namely, use of the veil should not be allowed in schools. In terms of social polarization, this observation is of interest as, derived from discourse that could be described as belonging to the far right, it serves to fuel distrust vis-à-vis a religious sign and, more broadly, the religion from which it emerges. We can now proceed to compare this interpretation of secularism by young non-Muslims to those given by young Muslims.

3.3

F rench Young People in Working-Class Neighbourhoods Are Predominantly ‘Democratic’

In national contexts where the simple fact of being a member of the Islamic faith is sufficient for one to be labelled as the ‘Other’, the hypothesis of a difference in the perception of secularism between Muslim and non-Muslim youth would seem self-evident. Data analysis reveals two trends that characterize the representations of secularism conveyed by young Muslims. • The majority adopts a secularism which is oriented towards freedom of conscience. • A minority adopts a theological conception of secularism. Alsace, Strasbourg, Mahad, middle class, Muslim. Mahad: I don’t know, it’s (hesitates) … On the one hand, we are in a secular school and I understand if they say put away the headdress, but not expelling her [...] on the other hand, if everyone showed who they were, that would mean that there’d be a lot of fights.

11  French Youth and Secularism: Towards Social Polarisation 

197

These two statements are testament to the persistence of the dominant interpretation of secularism found in the discourse of Muslim young people. Mahad’s contribution reflects, although with some qualification, the French concept of school neutrality. However, many young French Muslim respondents expressed a critical attitude with regards to a secularism that they perceive as anti-Muslim. Particularly revealing of this trend is the following exchange drawn from an interview conducted in the suburbs of Paris: Greater Paris area, Nassim, working-class background, Muslim; Amel, working class, Muslim; Yassine, working-class background, Muslim; Guillaume, working-class background, Catholic. B.M.: And do you think that they talk a lot or not enough about religion at school? Nassim and Amel: Not enough. Nassim: We don’t talk about it at all. Amel: Like ‘Yeah, this is secularism! … You can’t wear that, that or that, when honestly … as long as you do it discreetly, I don’t think it’s bothering anyone. … If you’re not talking about … I’m like this … If you’re insulting other religions. … But if you’re just calm and keeping to yourself … there’s nothing wrong ….’ Guillaume: We talk about it, but we don’t …. B.M.: What do you mean? Yassine: Stuff from the olden days and all. … We don’t talk about normal religion. … I mean yes, in history, one and done, but you don’t have the right to give your opinion and the teacher doesn’t have the right to give hers …. B.M.: What do you think of that? Amel: It sucks! Yassine: Honestly, I’d would really have liked to get the teachers’ opinions. Amel: Yeah! ‘It’s personal’ They say it like that so that don’t have to show what feelings they have about religions. Guillaume: They don’t what us to know that they’re racist!

This excerpt speaks to a powerful feeling of confusion regarding school neutrality that prevents schools from addressing issues that concern their students in favour of a focus on anecdotal aspects of the issue (ancient religions) and in order to mask the ‘racism’ of the national education system. Even if this claim is relatively extreme, it sheds light on the sombre side of a French secularism, which finds itself incapable of making sense of the daily lived reality of these teenagers. This strong critique of the ‘republican’ interpretation of secularism and the promotion of a

198 

B. Michon

‘democratic’ interpretation, which tends towards the freedom of conscience, reflects the penetration into the very heart of discourse among adolescents of the social polarization we identified in the public sphere arena. However, this faultline does not follow the confessional divide between Muslim and non-Muslim youth, but rather is contoured along the lines of the social division between youth in working-class regions and ‘other’ young people. We propose by way of explanation the religiously plural environment (Alfred Schütz’ Lebenswelt) that characterizes the lives of youth in these working-class neighbourhoods. The dissonance experienced between an interpretation of secularism that favours neutrality and the daily life experience of a ‘visible’ plurality sharpens social polarization. This is similar to the way that the identitarian version of secularism contributed to fuelling the ‘republican’ pole with even more extreme speech and a ‘theological’ reading of secularism, that is, a discourse of secularism founded on denominational arguments. We find this, for example, with Bijet, a Muslim Parisian young man: Bijet, middle class, Muslim. Bijet: It’s a bit … unfair for the women who wear the veil. … It’s meant to protect them from the male gaze. … Because with us Muslims, I can tell you. … I’m not going to chat up a woman who is wearing the veil, there is a bit of respect. … Whereas as I would approach one who doesn’t have the veil … it’s the easiest. … It’s meant to hide a woman’s beauty. … As you have to remember that in Islam women don’t have the right to have sexual relations before marriage. … They don’t have the right to kiss or hang around with men. … If a women wants to wear the veil she puts it on, if a Jew wants to wear the kippa, he puts it on. … If … you know … Except those who wear beards, that not obligatory that’s the Sunnis … those who want to follow the Prophet … but for example if they wear it. … I can understand. … If they don’t want to. … But the veil, it’s discreet, it’s a little thing that you put on your head … it’s like the kippa.

This type of statement reflects the permeation of the speaker’s interpretation of secularism by a strong religious identity. The question of state neutrality or the separation of Church and State is irrelevant. In this instance, denominational norms take precedence over the secular. This type of interpretation of secularism openly flouts representations from the teaching profession and more generally the principle of the secular

11  French Youth and Secularism: Towards Social Polarisation 

199

state, and explains some of the difficulties encountered in the classroom. Even if it remains extremely marginal in the corpus of interviews conducted, it serves to undermine the democratic interpretation that is often criticized for its conciliatory relativism with regard to this type of religious interpretation. It therefore accentuates the polarization between the two poles that we have described.

4

Conclusion

The study of adolescent discourses on issues related to secularism and religion allow us to uncover the social dividing lines which structure French society. In distinguishing republican and democratic poles, we show that this cleavage, which is a historically persistent feature of French political life, is today being further polarized by the emergence of two alternative discourses on secularism. The first, an identitarian discourse on secularism, is reinforcing a republican discourse oriented around ‘neutrality’ by focusing attention on Islam. The second, a denominational perspective, reinforces a democratic discourse which is supportive of freedom of conscience by accepting a religious discourse on social life. Neither the identitarian nor the denominational interpretation can be superimposed on the republican and democratic interpretations. However, by borrowing a certain number of elements of each discourse, they serve to undermine debate by strongly polarizing French society, obliging citizens to ‘choose sides’ and thus abandon the very idea of rational and peaceful debate. The veil thus becomes an object of polarization which is completely disconnected from the reality of its meaning, as evidenced, for example, by the recent declarations of government officials regarding the accompaniment of students on school trips by mothers wearing the veil.7

 For more details, see: https://www.lemonde.fr/les-decodeurs/article/2019/10/14/la-loi-autorise-­ l e s - m e re s - vo i l e e s - e n - s o r t i e s - s c o l a i re s - c o n t r a i re m e n t - a - c e - q u - i n s i n u e - c h r i s t i a n -­ jacob_6015465_4355770.html. 7

200 

B. Michon

 ppendix: Summary Table of Survey A Population Table 11.1   The surveyed population France Privileged Middle class Working class TOTAL Male Female TOTAL Catholic Protestant Muslim Jewish No religion (atheist) Buddhist Other TOTAL No. interview

Alsace

Greater Paris Area parisienne

Total

8 17 25 50 23 27 50 24 14 7 0 5 0 0 50 9

15 17 20 52 31 21 52 17 2 13 2 16 1 1 52 10

23 34 45 102 54 48 102 41 16 20 2 21 1 1 102 19

References Aghulon, M., Becker, A., & Cohen, E. (2006). La République en représentations: autour de l’oeuvre de Maurice Agulhon. Paris: Presses de la Sorbonne. Archibugi, D. (2009). La Démocratie cosmopolitique. Sur la voie d’une démocratie mondiale. Paris: Cerf. Bader, V.  M. (2007). Secularism or Democracy? Associational Governance of Religious Diversity. Amsterdam: University Press. Barats, C. (2001). Les mots de l’immigration et l’ethnicisation des rapports. Réseaux, 107, 147–179. Barter, C., & Renold, E. (1999). The Use of Vignettes in Qualitative Research. Social Research Update, 25, 1–7. Retrieved from http://sru.soc.surrey.ac.uk/ SRU25.html. Birnbaum, P. (1998). La France imaginée. Paris: Gallimard.

11  French Youth and Secularism: Towards Social Polarisation 

201

Bonnafous, S. (1991). L’immigration prise aux mots. Paris: Kimé. Bowen, J. (2011). Can Islam be French? Pluralism and Pragmatism in a Secularist State. Princeton: University Press. Campbell, J. E. (2018). Polarized: Making Sense of a Divided America. Princeton: University Press. Céfaï, D. (1996). La construction des problèmes publics. Définitions de situations dans des arènes publiques, Réseaux, 75, 43–66. Colombani, J.-M. (2000). Les infortunes de la République. Paris: Grasset. Corbin, J., & Strauss, A. (2004). Les fondements de la recherche qualitative, techniques et procédures de développement de la théorie enracinée. Fribourg: Academic Press Fribourg. Danic, I., Delalande, J., & Rayou, P. (2006). Enquêter auprès d’enfants et de jeunes. Objets, méthodes et terrains de recherche en sciences sociales. Rennes: PUR. Debray, R. (1985). Les empires contre l’Europe. Paris: Gallimard. Deleixhe, M. (2011). L’immigration dans les théories contemporaines de la démocratie, la part salutaire d’indéterminable. European Journal of Social Sciences, 49, 123–144. Dieckhoff, A. (2012). La nation dans tous ses états. Paris: Flammarion. Donegani, J.-M., & Sadoun, M. (2012). Critiques de la démocratie. Paris: PUF. Held, D. (2000). A Globalizing World?: Culture, Economics, Politics. London: Routledge. Lamine, A.-S., Lautman, F., & Mathieu, S. (Eds.). (2008). La religion de l’autre, la pluralité entre concurrence et reconnaissance. Paris: L’Harmattan. Michon, B. (2016). Muslimische und nicht muslimische Jugendliche und Laizität, ein deutsch-französischer Vergleich. In P. Eigenmann, T. Geisen, & T. Studer (Eds.), Migration und Minderheiten in demokratischen Gesellschaften. Politische Formen und soziale Grundlagen von Partizipation (pp.  277–288). Wiesbaden: VS-Verlag. Morin, E. (1990). Le trou noir de la laïcité. Le Débat, 58, 35–38. Portier, P. (2018). Le tournant substantialiste de la laïcité française. Horizontes Antropológicos, 52, 21–40. Safran, W. (1991). State, Nation, National Identity and Citizenship: France as a Test Case. International Political Science Review, 12, 219–238. Schnurr, S. (2003). Vignetten in quantitativen und qualitativen Forschungsdesigns. In H. U. Otto, G. Oelerich, & H. G. Micheel (Eds.), Empirische Forschung. Sozialarbeit—Sozialpädagogik—Soziale Probleme (pp. 393–400). München: Luchterhand. Schütz, A. ([1944] 2003). L’étranger. Paris: Allia.

202 

B. Michon

Schütz, A. & Luckmann, T. ([1975] 2003). Strukturen der Lebenswelt. Konstanz: UVK. Simmel, G. ([1908]1979). Digressions sur l’étranger. In Y.  Grafmeyer, & I. Joseph (Eds.), L’École de Chicago. Naissance de l’écologie urbaine. Paris: Aubier. Warner, M., Van Antwerpen, J., & Calhoun, C. (Eds.). (2010). Varieties of Secularism in a Secular Age. Boston, MA: Harvard University Press. Wieviorka, M. (Ed.). (1997). Une société fragmentée? Le multiculturalisme en débat. Paris: La Découverte. Willaime, J.-P. (1998). École et religions: une nouvelle donne? Revue française de pédagogie, 125, 720. Zaccaï-Reyners, N. (2005). Fiction et typification. Contribution à une approche théorique de la transmission de l’expérience, Methodos, 5. Retrieved July 23, 2009, from https://journals.openedition.org/methodos/378.

12 The Place of Islam Within a Secular France and Europe: How to Avoid the Traps of the So-Called Islamic Extremism? Maurice Blanc

1

Introduction: Fundamentalisms and Extremisms

Since September 2001, the blind and murderous attacks against New York, then London, Madrid, Paris and Brussels—as well as in Africa and Asia—were followed by huge controversies about the place of Islam within the modern world. Usually, such controversies are very emotional and they miss their point. Avoiding these traps requires first rigorous definitions of the words used but also the rejection of simplistic causal relationships. In its original religious meaning, the jihad is ‘the effort in the path towards God’ (Bouzar 2014: 116, my translation1). In other words, it is the spiritual fight of any believer against him/herself with the aim of 1

 Quotations from French and German were translated by the author.

M. Blanc (*) University of Strasbourg, Strasbourg, France e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2020 M. Blanc et al. (eds.), Citizenship and Religion, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-54610-6_12

203

204 

M. Blanc

purification. It also means the ‘holy war’ and the modern word of ‘jihadism’ means a murderous religious extremism. In the Western world, jihadism is presented as an anachronism specific to Islam; however, every religion has extremists of its own and has been involved in religious wars. The word, radical comes from racine (root), but radicalism and radicalisation remain fuzzy concepts: ‘A radical is an individual using religion either for his/her self-exclusion from society or for the exclusion of others’ (Bouzar 2014: 17). Radicalisation is a dynamic process, as well as ‘de-radicalisation’, an unsatisfactory expression which refers to the attempts to bring extremist militants to repudiate their murderous certainties. Extremism is not only religious but political also: Maoists in China, Red Khmers in Cambodia and so on. Within a sect, the individual is subject either to phantasms or to delirious theories of its guru. The jihadist belongs to a very large collective belief, the Islamic identity myth, fuelled by a war in which he is offered to play a heroic part and to receive material and sexual presents, as well as real and imaginary powers. The mix of myth and historical reality is more toxic than delirium. (Benslama 2016a: 13)

Fundamentalism—stricter than traditionalism—appears early in any religion (and on the political scene as well). It pretends to be the only one keeping the ‘authentic’ message of the founding fathers. It is a literal and rigorist understanding of the holy texts, with a focus on ritual obligations. Historicity is not taken into account: the doctrine is universal and out of time; the distinction between the letter and the spirit is unthinkable. Any adaptation of the rules to modern times would be an alteration and a treason. A dialogue with fundamentalists is impossible as long as they reject the very idea of compromise. Social transactions are required for a conciliation of fidelity to tradition with adaptation to modernity: what is the ‘hard core’ to keep and what might be either suppressed or adapted? Fundamentalism may be either peaceful and tolerant, or aggressive and intransigent, or a combination of both. Its pacific forms include among others: Hassidism within Judaism, Quietism within Protestantism,

12  The Place of Islam Within a Secular France and Europe: How… 

205

Sufism, Pietism and Salafism within Islam; however, extremist Wahhabism2 abusively pretends to be the ‘true’ Salafism. Extremism is a warrior and defiant vision of religion: yesterday, crusades and Inquisition within Catholicism, then religious wars among Catholics and Protestants and so on. Today Islamic extremism pretends to go back to the authentic Islam but, as a matter of fact, it is very far from fundamentalism. The first one is a religious patch up made by individuals deeply individualistic and sometimes very ignorant of Islam. They select what is convenient, neglect the rest and invent a fully new ‘religion’; paradoxically, it is ‘the product of secularisation and globalisation’ (Roy 2008). To some extent, this patch up is grounded on so-called Republican values: freedom of conscience, equality and brotherhood. These activists are convinced they are helping their Syrian brothers when the Western world gives them up. For a good understanding of the dynamics of the extreme radicalisation process, Luc Van Campenhoudt (2017) proposes six ‘keys’ which are very relevant and useful: Six keys for understanding jihadist terrorism (Luc Van Campenhoudt 2017) . Small local groups are the basic units. 1 2. Material and virtual networks reinforce each other. 3. The liaison officer is coordinating local actions within a global strategy. 4. Jihadists deliberately exacerbate ethnic antagonism. 5. The resolution of terrorists grows in the confrontation process. 6. At the end of a three-stage process, jihadists cannot escape to death: they are first indoctrinated and brainwashed, then they are trapped in a secret army and death appears as the unique solution.

The border between extremism and fundamentalism is real but porous. Fundamentalism might be an antidote to extremism, encouraging its adepts to wait for God’s sentence. But fundamentalism may also become the antechamber of a violence which remains marginal but gains more credibility (Khosrokhavar 2014: 152). A fundamentalist group may  It is present mainly in Saudi Arabia.

2

206 

M. Blanc

pretend to be tolerant as long as it is a minority group. After winning elections, its true sectarian face might appear. In Tunisia or Turkey, ‘Muslim Brothers’ are suspected of using such a strategy.3 In such complex issues, a binary logic is irrelevant. There is no clear frontier between truth and error, or good and evil; hybrid forms appear. Two opposed views may include both elements of truth. They may be at the same time complementary and opposed. About the sexual assaults, which happened in Cologne (Germany) on January 1st 2016 and were attributed to Muslims, the Algerian writer Kamel Daoud was right in his denunciation of an Islam which reinforces a pathological relation with sex and considers women either as virgins or as whores. However, he was wrong at the same time as the problem is much larger: most religions have an obsessive relationship with sex; the current paedophilic affairs among Catholic priests are a flagrant illustration. The issue is not restricted to religious institutions: it is present in firms, public administration and so on. For instance, in France, paedophilic affairs also appeared in state schools and the Department of Education did its best to hush them up (Collas 2016). Political leaders pretend to promote gender equality but, in their private life, many of them reinforce male domination. After Cologne, a new generation of German feminists rightly denounced sexual assaults during the traditional Bier Festival in Munich. They are very frequent but silence is the rule, as the perpetrators are ‘real’ (non-Muslim) Germans: Sexual violence cannot only be denounced when its authors are presumed to be ‘the others’—Muslims, Blacks, Arabs and/or North-Africans males. […] Attention should not be drawn only when (presumed) victims are White women.  (Manifesto #ausnahmslos [with no exception], quoted in Lemaître 2016a)

My focus here is the place for Islam in France and in Europe today, considering its pacific forms and its extremist and murderous tendencies. How to be tolerant with the first ones without compromise with the  In Turkey, before his election, current President Erdoğan promoted a tolerant Islam. Once in power, he appeared as authoritarian and sectarian. 3

12  The Place of Islam Within a Secular France and Europe: How… 

207

second ones? Section 2 describes migration policies and their impacts on the religious practices of newcomers in Western Europe. The period of discreet practice (‘Islam in cellars and/or garages’) is over. Islam wants to be visible with its mosques and big mosques—as the Catholic Church has its cathedrals. Section 3 presents a brief historical account of the emergence of secularism in France, marked by the 1905 law on the separation of the churches with the state. A permanent tension appears between tolerant laicity and neutralising laicity (2015). The increasing rise of Islamic attacks reinforces a selective antireligious laicity. The gap is increasing between the Muslims of France, their neighbours and the state.4 Section 12.3 deals with two attempts to explain the origins of Muslim radicalism in France. Olivier Roy (2008) offers a sociological vision of extremism, embedded in the racist contempt of the French society against Muslims. Gilles Kepel presents a more religious and theological vision of Muslim extremism (Kepel and Jardin 2016). However, these two explanations are both opposed and compatible. Section 12.4 considers the different scenes of this confrontation. (1) For the prevention of extremist fascination, specifically on the internet, two issues are at stake: social justice and the critique of pseudo-religious arguments. (2) For many applicants to an international jihad, the discrepancy is deep between the initial dream and the reality discovered after arrival. For these repentant extremists, the loss of French nationality—an option seriously considered by a former French government—would be a cure worse than the disease. Some ‘de-radicalisation’ experiments are ongoing, but whether they reach their target is arguable. (3) The police also arrests determined jihadists with no repentance. Neither isolating them in specific prisons on the Guantanamo model nor mixing them with other prisoners is a relevant and viable solution. This paper offers no pragmatic solution. It enlightens the stakes of the ethical and socio-political challenges. For the conclusion, the quality of democracy is most important in challenging Islamic extremism.

 In France, it is usual to speak of ‘Muslim in France’; in Belgium of ‘Belgian of Muslim religion’, putting first the common territorial inscription and not the religion which divides. 4

208 

2

M. Blanc

Migrant Workers and Their Religions

After World War I and II, the economy re-started in France and in Europe thanks to foreign workers replacing national youth killed on the battlefields. However, a deep misunderstanding was at the origin of serious tensions: ‘Workforce was called for, but human beings came’ (Frisch 1967). They mainly were young male workers, bringing with them their cultures and their religions.

2.1

Migrants Diversity

In France, many migrants came from neighbour countries: Italy, Portugal, Spain and so on. They used to speak a Roman language and most of them were Catholics. Contrary to a common sense assumption, these cultural characters did not ease their acceptance and integration (see below). Another important group of migrants came from former African French colonies, mainly from Algeria,5 Morocco and Tunisia. Before and after the Second World War, firms wrongly considered their needs for a foreign workforce were short term and not structural. In this perspective, they looked for workers in good health and accepting of hard, dangerous and ill-paid jobs. They were expected to go back to their homes when they were no longer needed and/or when their health began to decline (Cordeiro and Verhaeren 1977). Migrants themselves often live with the illusion of a temporary stay abroad. They are ready to work hard because they believe they will quickly become rich and be able to go back home in an honourable position (Sayad 1999). Agriculture also needed migrant workers, mainly for seasonal work, also open to women. At the same time, in a long-term perspective, family migration is a necessity as a compensation for a rural exodus, against a ‘desertification’ of villages.  Since 1865 and until its independence in 1962, Algeria used to be a ‘French Department’. However, this Department was unequal with others. In 1954, when independence war began, only one million citizens had full statute, but it was restricted to citizens of French, Spanish and other European origin. Nine million Algerians—called ‘indigenous’ and/or ‘Muslims’—were ‘French subjects with a local statute’. Algerian Muslims were granted a limited citizenship in 1945: the right to vote, but inside the ‘non-citizen college’! (Borella 1987: 45). 5

12  The Place of Islam Within a Secular France and Europe: How… 

2.2

209

Migration and Integration of Settlers

Migrant workers saved as much as they could, first for sending money to their families when they remained at home. Therefore, many of them lived in poor and dilapidated slums, either in the inner-city or in shantytowns in far suburbs. In Paris, huge shantytowns were suppressed in the 1970s. However, smaller ones emerge everywhere: migrants in Calais expecting to cross the Channel, Romas everywhere and so on. In the fight against slums, the French government also started in the 1950s a policy of hostels for isolated migrant workers. They should live together without mixing too much with the French population as their stay in France was presumed temporary. However, many of them still live there and hostels for migrant workers are becoming old people homes. A big change occurred in 1973 with the oil and economic crisis, followed in 1974 by a ban on new migrant workers’ arrival. Only families of migrant workers already established in France were allowed to enter and then on two conditions: sufficient resources and decent housing for the family. At that time, blocks of high-rise social housing began to fall into disrepair and middle-class tenants left them, attracted by the new housing policy of cheap home-ownership. Foreign families were easily allocated into dilapidated social housing empty flats; but such housing contributed to their marginalisation and stigmatisation (Blanc 1983 and Hammouche 2012). The integration of migrant workers and their families became a major issue for the government. However, its doctrine was surprising: the integration of Italians, Spaniards and Portuguese was presumed to be easier because they share the same basic culture (Roman language, Catholic religion). ‘Arabo-Muslims’ (category created by colonial administration) would be more difficult to integrate because they are more distant in terms of language, religion and culture. This vision is first an idealisation of a recent past: at the beginning of the twentieth century, when Italians settled in Lorraine and worked in steel companies, they came with their parish priest, but were victims of racist assaults (Noiriel 1984). Second, this doctrine is incoherent as it also considers Chinese as ‘good’ migrants, their discretion allowing their acceptance into the French society. How is it that cultural distance might be an asset for the Chinese and a handicap

210 

M. Blanc

for the Arabs? The will of remaining invisible is opposite to a successful integration: even when it is to some extent self-inflicted, it is a process of marginalisation and exclusion. Portuguese migrants used to be valued as they were discreet and invisible. Albano Cordeiro (1999) rejects this positive appreciation: invisibility is an obstacle to the participation in political action and discussion. Paradoxically, North African migrants are perceived as too visible and not enough integrated into society. However, reality is more complex. For Algerian migrants, Abdelhafid Hammouche (2015) considers four different stages. (1) After the Second World War and until 1973, very few families settled in France. Most male migrants were shuttling between their families in Algeria and their jobs in France. Specifically during the Algerian Liberation War6 (1954–1962), their everyday life in France followed two rules: remain as discreet and invisible as possible and make no fuss; save as much as possible and send money to the family. The link with the country of origin was essential and it is ‘the stage of the fathers’. A major change occurred in 1974 when families began to settle in France. Spending more in France became a necessity. Children went to state schools, in which they suffered from racist bullying and various forms of discrimination. They began to criticise their fathers who preferred to keep quiet instead of claiming their rights. In the 1980s, the sons did not hesitate to address meetings. Their integration within the French society includes open confrontation. It was ‘the stage of the sons’. Even if the sons ignored it, some of the fathers, though not very many, went through a confrontation process within unions, which used to be a ‘citizenship school’ (Noiriel 1984). (3) The emergence of the third stage is more diffuse. The frontal opposition to the father began to soften and these young people became active in social actions at a local level. It was ‘the stage of the brothers’, marked by the ‘March of the Beurs7’ in 1984, a successful media event. (4) The last stage was that of the mothers who built their own associations, specifically on health issues (Hammouche 2015). These stages have a religious translation. The stage of the fathers included a high but invisible religious practice. Sometimes cellars or  The word ‘war’ was politically incorrect: officially, it was simple ‘troubles’.  In back slang, Beur means Arab.

6 7

12  The Place of Islam Within a Secular France and Europe: How… 

211

garages temporarily served as mosques. Religious practice lowered during the stage of the sons and new forms of political claims emerged, such as the already mentioned Beurs March, although the Socialist Party and the central government tried to exploit this March politically. The times of the brothers and of the mothers produced some soothing and a reinforcing of religious practice, going along with a claim for worthy and highly visible worship places. Paradoxically, it is a claim for more laicity: Islam must truly be on an equal foot with other religions. With a focus on the identity crisis of young migrants, Dounia Bouzar (2014) offers an alternative interpretation of the same period, with much stronger conflicts between generations. Parents did believe in the virtues of modernisation, for their children and for themselves. Some parents maintained a discreet religious practice; others distanced themselves from Islam. However, the economic crisis trapped them in a dead-end (Sayad 1999): returning in their village would mean a full failure and their unique option was to make a living of sorts in France, between precarious jobs and unemployment benefits. That is fully unacceptable for their children. They have a superficial knowledge of their parents’ country and they idealise it. Many turn to religion, but in two different ways. Girls tend to search a compromise between tradition and modernity. Some highly educated girls develop a non-sexist reading of the Koran, doing a sort of feminist Islamic theology8 (Bouzar 2014: 127). It is easier for boys to admit a traditional and sexist Islam which favours them. Young women wearing a veil are presumed to be victims of family and community pressures. It is sometimes true, but it is not the rule. In the generational conflict, some young people (boys and girls) teach their parents a lesson. They demand that they return to an authentic Islam and to practice it openly: veil, halal food and so on (Rodier 2014). More boys than girls seem to become radicals, but there is no clear cut between sexes. A few teenaged girls attempted to go in Syria with the aim ‘to kill for Allah’ (Seelow 2016a).

 About Islamic feminists in Algeria, see Bouatta’s Chap. 10. In France, I have never heard of ‘Super-­ Muslims’ women as those described in Algeria. 8

212 

3

M. Blanc

Secularism and Islam in France

Murderous attacks in Western countries allowed for talking more freely against Islam, presented as inherently intolerant and unable to fit with modernity; it should be eradicated.9 Secularism is often antireligious, but it is today more selective. For a long time, the claim for secularism in France was against the hegemonic Catholic Church. Today, the Catholic Church appears more acceptable and the claim for laicity is first directed against Islam.

3.1

 he Separation Between the Churches T and the State in France

The December 1905 Law is relative to the separation of the churches and the state but it was usual to consider it as the separation of the Catholic Church and the State. This law arose from intense controversies and is a major disruption: it is a unilateral denunciation of the Concordat signed a century earlier by Napoleon 1st and the Pope.10 Other laws came after to complete it (Baubérot 2013). A first dividing line separates Catholics and anti-clericals; the second is a division between an anti-clerical hard wing and a moderate one, which is looking for an acceptable compromise with the Catholic Church. The moderate wing won for pragmatic reasons: with a stricter law, the risk was to cause a civil war and to put the country to fire and sword. This law looks for appeasement and it is based upon three principles: (1) Freedom of conscience, with the right to believe in God or not. (2) Freedom to practice any cult. (3) State

 Hostility to Islam is strong in Germany with the success of the new far-right party, Alliance for Germany (AfD): ‘To a large majority, delegates decided “Islam doesn’t belong to Germany”. […] AfD also decided minarets, muezzins and integral veil should be forbidden. Delegates also hissed a participant calling for a dialogue with German representatives of Islam’ (quoted in Lemaitre 2016b). In France, the National Gathering (new name of the far-right Le Pen’s National Front) is cautious as its credit among French Muslims is increasing. 10  This Concordat is still valid in ‘Alsace-Lorraine’ (today, Alsace Region and Moselle Department). After the 1870 war, Alsace-Lorraine was annexed by the German Empire; at the end of the First World War, Alsace-Lorraine demanded its re-integration to France, but as France was in 1870. 9

12  The Place of Islam Within a Secular France and Europe: How… 

213

neutrality: all religions are on an equal foot and they are not state-funded. ‘The state (and not the society) must become secular’ (Debray 2016). The 1905 Law said nothing about a controversial issue: the ownership of religious properties (mainly churches) and their maintenance (which might be very expensive). A new law in 1908 considered churches as public properties. Municipalities became landlords of existing places of worship (churches, temples and synagogues), they were in charge of their maintenance but religious communities should have free access. This was a social transaction which was politically clever: it affirmed the primacy of the state but, as a counterpart, religious communities gained indirect but strong financial support. However, this transaction was ambiguous and became a ticking-bomb. For an antireligious laicity, such a compromise can only be provisional: the aim is a full state withdrawal of any support to churches. Therefore, any claim coming from a new church must be rejected. For a tolerant and open laicity, this modus vivendi might be enlarged and it is legitimate as long as the state remains neutral in religious matters. A century later— notwithstanding tensions about either abortion, contraception or homosexual marriage—the separation of churches and state introduced peaceful relations. At the beginning, the Catholic Church was very hostile to a law putting an end to its privileges; afterwards, it became evident such a laicity has more advantages than drawbacks for the churches.

3.2

Islam in Front of an Antireligious and Selective Laicity

However, the 1908 Law introduces an unequal treatment between the old established religions and the new ones—mainly Islam which is today the second religion in France with some 5  million believers (Gastaut 2004). Most of the places of worship built after 1905 are mosques. They are mainly funded either by the governments of the countries of origin of the Muslim migrants (Algeria, Morocco, Turkey etc.) or by rich countries practicing a fundamentalist Islam, such as Saudi Arabia; but such funding produces malefic dependencies.11  In Germany, funding and imams come from Turkey and Saudi Arabia. See Julia Droeber’s Chap. 13. 11

214 

M. Blanc

Inequality also appears in the choice of national holidays. Jews insistently but unsuccessfully claim for the introduction of the main Jewish feasts into national holidays. Muslims have begun to do so, but they disagree on who legitimately may negotiate with the government in their name. Christian traditions and feasts do not shock: they are established and benefit from ‘an allowance linked to seniority’ (Elias and Scotson 1965). Islam is an ‘outsider religion’ and it takes the place of Catholicism as the ‘bad’ religion. French Muslims denounce such a hypocrisy: ‘laicity’ is tolerant with other religions and intolerant with their own.

3.3

 ow the ‘Islamic Scarf’ Reveals H an Anti-Muslim Laicity

For some 30 years in France, the so-called Islamic scarf crystallised the debate on the place of Islam into a secular state. This is very surprising for their British and European neighbours. In 1989, when some teenaged girls went to school wearing a scarf, they were excluded and the case was submitted to Conseil d’État.12 In the United Kingdom, in a similar case, the school headmaster solved the problem: a scarf in school colours was acceptable! The French Council of State considered school-girls wearing a scarf did not offend secularism; the exclusion of a school-girl ‘could be justified only by a risk either of disorders in the school or of dysfunction in the teaching’. This ambiguous decision did not put an end to the controversy, the result of which was a 2004 Law on the wearing of a conspicuous religious symbol. Islamic veil, kippa and big crucifix are forbidden, but ‘discreet’ signs are allowed: small crucifix, medals, David Stars and hands of Fatma.13 In the weekly Le Point (12.1.2016), the secretary in charge of integration issues in the Party Les Républicains (Conservatives) declared: ‘the veil as well as the burqua are symbols of women’s oppression’; sociologist Farhad Khosrokhavar (2016) answered: ‘By detecting a religious  The Conseil d’État (Council of State) is the highest court of appeal for administrative law tribunals in France. 13  See Michon’s Chap. 11 and Wikipedia: ‘Voile islamique dans les écoles en France’. 12

12  The Place of Islam Within a Secular France and Europe: How… 

215

fundamentalist sign in any scarf, authorities stiffen the debate’. A feminist collective claimed for the abrogation of the 2004 Law on the veil in schools: We are feminists and we believe it is irrelevant to summon 10 years old girls to make a choice between family and school, between religion and enforced laicity. It is an obstacle to their emancipation. According to an old feminist saying: ‘Do not free me, I do it myself!’ […] Sexism will regress neither by forcibly removing the veil of a school-girl, nor by excluding her from a state school. It’s the opposite. (Cannat et al. 2016)

The main issue is left aside: the freedom of choice. Is wearing a veil a choice or an obligation? Laicity in France is often ‘neutralising’ (Baubérot 2015): religion is a purely private issue and out of the public sphere. Furthermore, such laicity is selective: open to ‘reasonable’ religions but closed to barbarous Islam. Whether right or wrong, many [Muslim] prisoners sincerely believe Islam is discriminated compared with Christianism and Judaism. They mention the restrictions to the practice of Islamic cult—specifically the absence of collective prayers on Friday in most prisons—when Sunday mass and Saturday Sabbat prayers go without saying. (Khosrokhavar 2014: 162)

4

 he Roots of an Extremism Claiming T to Be Islamic

Among radical Islamists, two distinct profiles appear, but they may combine: the ‘wretched of the Earth’ and the ‘rebels by proxy’. The first ones are the darling of media as direct victims of multiple discriminations (economic, racial, religious etc.). The second ones are the witnesses who become indignant about these injustices. They often belong to ‘White’ intellectual middle classes and express their solidarity with the victims by adopting their radical vision of Islam. Visiting radical websites and charismatic leaders bring them to accept armed struggle as the unique way to reach a noble cause: a just Muslim society.

216 

M. Blanc

Neither the living conditions alone nor the Islamic call to a holy war alone can explain the acceptance of violent and criminal extremism. These two dimensions are simultaneously present with others, such as the psychoanalytical dimension. Fethi Benslama calls ‘Super-Muslim’ a radical Muslim: ‘Super-Muslim is a diagnosis on the psychic life of Moslems becoming soaked by Islamism, haunted by guilt and sacrifice’ (Benslama 2016a: 13). Radicalisation is the result of an ‘identity rift’ and this dimension is compatible with others (Benslama 2016b).

4.1

Violence, Social Exclusion and Islam

The descent into violence is linked with social exclusion (Khosrokhavar 2014: 20). Accused of minimising the impact of religion in the radicalisation process, Olivier Roy (2016) is clear: ‘I do not remove religion, I try to understand this new religious register. Terrorism is not a direct consequence of Salafism.’ For an understanding of its development in France (and in Europe) another expert, Gilles Kepel, develops a planetary vision of Islamic warriors, born in Afghanistan with the active support of US secret services.14 Three analytical levels are relevant: ‘the global trends in French society’, specifically its suburbs; ‘Islam at a world level’, from Afghanistan to Europe and North America by way of Algeria; ‘the specific traits […] of a small city [Lunel, in Southern France, a case study]’ (Kepel and Jardin 2015: 187). The articulation of unemployment with discrimination and France’s rejection by reversal of the stigma and value disruption based upon integral Islam and enlistment in jihad […], then violent acting out in the Middle East and/or Europe is allowed by the invocation of the mantra ‘islamophobia’. (Kepel and Jardin 2015: 193)

 From 1979 to 1989, the Afghanistan war opposed moudjahiddins (supported by the United States) and countries with a Muslim majority to the Afghanistan communist regime, supported by USSR. When funding and arming these terrorists (including Bin Laden) who went out of control, the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) played the sorcerer’s apprentice—or Dr Frankenstein—as they were equally hostile to the Western world and to communism (Wikipedia: Afghanistan war). 14

12  The Place of Islam Within a Secular France and Europe: How… 

217

Islam in France is becoming more autonomous. Most young people poorly understand Arabic and religious teaching is often in French. Paradoxically, some values learned in state schools emerge: equality, freedom, personal independence; in this context, it is used to legitimate a rupture with the family and/or the community. It is opposed to the melting of the individual into the universal community of the believers (Oumma). Radical Muslims combine self-affirmation and integration into the closed community of Allah’s warriors (first virtually, then physically, in Syria and/or elsewhere). From the holy water sprinkler to the Kalashnikov, then from the Kalashnikov to the explosive belt, the result is a certainty. Nihilism has many arms in its bag. (Latour 2015: 266)

Olivier Roy (2015) also considers jihadism as a ‘nihilist revolt’, as it is an individual and collective commitment. It goes through virtual and anonymous ‘friends’ on internet and local physical networks; surprisingly, siblings enter together in the process. This commitment is presented as embedded in brotherhood and solidarity. ‘Participation to a humanitarian project in Syria’ is more than a simple alibi: it is a ‘strong’ action, perceived as a ‘just war’ and a concrete solidarity action with Syrian people fighting against a merciless dictator. The legitimacy of an armed engagement in Syria derives from the inertia of Western governments blind to the gazing of opponents: [The expressed French support to Syrians] resulting in no political and/or military efficient action, French young jihadists perceive themselves as the inheritors and followers of the members of international brigades earlier in Spain. They offer a substitute to the failed state of François Hollande, as these brigades palliated the defaulting French Popular Front in fighting against general Franco. (Kepel and Jardin 2015: 187)

Different approaches lead to the same conclusion: Islam is the cover for radicalisation and not its main cause: ‘It is not a radicalisation of Islam, but an “islamisation” of radicalisation’ (Roy 2016). ‘These subjects look first for radicalisation and after they look for the adequate product.

218 

M. Blanc

Its content is unimportant as long as it brings “the solution”’ (Benslama 2016a). The will to settle by violence the score with society as a whole (radicalisation) might be the deep cause, on which Islam would be superficially superimposed by chance; another ideology could have been mobilised in the same way. Today as in the past, some believers in violent action have shifted from extreme-left to extreme-right and even to organised crime.

4.2

The Fascination of Martyrdom

However, Islam is not fully excluded as a cause and one must listen what candidates to martyrdom say. Amer Deghayes is a young British citizen of Brighton, born in Libya. In 2013, he went in Syria with his brothers. At the time of the interview, he was the only survivor and this did not look like it weakened his resolution: I feel like I’m doing something valuable and important compared to if I was in Brighton, living a normal life. […] Of course, one of the main reasons for doing it is the hope Allah offers me martyrdom and I die in doing the most honourable thing in the world. (Deghayes, interview by Mark Townsend, The Guardian, 31.03. 2016)

This disconcerting declaration gives credit to an individualistic nihilist revolt: the aim is to get rid of a society of contempt. But not at any price: would it be ‘valuable, important and honourable’ without Islam? The argument is the same in the phone calls (listened to by Intelligence Services) of the young Foued Mohamed-Aggad with his mother in Strasbourg, a few months before finding the death he was looking for with the explosion of his suicide belt in the Bataclan in Paris on 13 November 2015: Having a martyr in the family must be a honour and not a sorrow. […] Do you believe I am in Koh-Lanta15 or what? Why should I go back to a country in which I know I shall fall in the dounia [material world]? […] The  A former successful ‘TV-Reality’ series in France.

15

12  The Place of Islam Within a Secular France and Europe: How… 

219

haqq [the truth] is neither in France nor in Algeria. […] I simply want to smash down the nidame [the regime] and the PKK (Kurdish Workers Party). I came for falling as a martyr, not for turning back. (quoted by Seelow 2016b) Marginals became Salafists, Salafists jihadists, and jihadists Allah’s kamikazes. Islam did not grab a radicality always present and available in our societies; extreme violence expresses a terrible drift and a race to the bottom, but not a level of societal action. […] The adoption of such a radical Islam is both regained dignity, an alternative way of life to Western modernity, and meaning, by self-sacrifice and murder of others. Young people failing in poor and migrant neighbourhoods find a form of redemption in radical Islam. […] They search after the certitudes of closed and patriarchal societies, in which you marry your cousin and innovation is a sacrilege. Their parents’ Islam is no longer attractive and they look for a binary world, which used to be incarnated by Al-Qaida heroic nomad fighters, then by Daech califat. (Lagrange 2016)

5

 takes and Challenges of the Fight S Against Extremism

When the roots of Islamic extremism both are on the religious and cultural field, as well as on the socio-economic field, the fight against extremism also is at these two levels. I bring no ready to use solution but an analysis of the stakes and the traps to avoid. In the frame of NATO, former President Hollande and current President Macron gave priority to the military dismantling of Islamic State (Daech). Should this succeed, Islamic extremism in France would be weakened: dispersed cells in the urban space would lose a large part of their logistic support and of their resources. However, they did become more autonomous and, with artisanal means, individuals are still able to generate unpredictable, spectacular and bloody actions. In small cities and in the centre of large cities as Paris, Lyon and Marseille, the targets are unexpected places such as a supermarket, an underground station, a public park or the Police Headquarters [https://fr.wikipedia. org/wiki/Liste_d%27attaques_terroristes_islamistes_en_France#2019].

220 

M. Blanc

International jihadism is like a Medusa in the Greek mythology. Its strength lies in its hair made of an interlace of snakes. Cutting its head, as did Perseus, is not enough: the interlace has its own life and generates its own strength. (Van Campendhoudt 2017: 86)

Jihadism will probably not disappear as long as its followers retain hope. Repressive measures might be a necessity but they remain inadequate. The true aim is the conquest of minds and hearts. Three levels need to be taken into account together. Preventively, a fight against the fascination of extremism among young potential recruits is a necessity. In dealing with extremists, two groups must be distinguished, although the frontier is hard to draw: repentant extremists—who might enter a de-­ radicalisation process and go out of indoctrination—and irreducible extremists. The society must protect itself from them while respecting their rights as human beings. My focus is on de-indoctrination as experimental programmes with different inspirations take place in various European countries.

5.1

Uphill Prevention of Extremist Fascination

This prevention is an attempt to remove the credibility and legitimacy of the extremist message. This cultural fight may use unexpected and efficient weapons such as laughter. Ismaïl Saïdi (2017) is a Belgian playwriter of Muslim religion and Moroccan origin. His play, Djihad,16 has been very successful in francophone countries since 2014. It presents the journey of three ignorant and ridiculous Belgian candidates to jihad. It shows how these young people are not simply victims either of their social exclusion by European countries or of Islamic extremist versions: they also are victims of Islamic communities in Europe giving a very rigid education to their children and imposing on them many taboos.

 Sub-title: ‘The tragi-comic odyssey of three inhabitants of Brussels departing for their Jihad’.

16

12  The Place of Islam Within a Secular France and Europe: How… 

221

At an individual level, the discussion with new adepts of a radical Islam is very difficult. As an experienced practitioner, Dounia Bouzar underlines the obstacles: (1) ‘a radical only listens to what he/she wants to listen’ (Bouzar 2014: 23). (2) It is most difficult to have a global vision of what happens on the internet and to determine the targets. (3) It is still more difficult to know what young radicals exchange in their closed meetings. A counter-narrative is not always efficient; its recipients must find it credible. Otherwise, it might become counter-productive, developing the appeal of the forbidden fruit: Any intervention may reinforce the belief in the existence of a conspiracy against the ‘truth’ he/she possesses. (Bouzar 2014: 181)

Sociologist and prison visitor, Farhad Khosrokhavar, confirms and deepens this analysis. Islam is now ‘the religion of the oppressed’ in Europe, specifically in prisons (ibidem.: 159). The dissemination of Islamic radicalisation is a co-production between extremist organisations and their opponents: ‘a “fundamentalist” version of laicity might encourage the violent radicalisation of people who, otherwise, would stick only to sectarian fundamentalism’ (ibid.: 152). Encouraging extremists to change is not enough for the eradication of extremism: society must look at them differently, even when they betray their religion. It is a blind spot in ‘de-radicalisation’ programmes. Measures are easy to write in a programme, but very difficult to implement: what is their practical translation, how to define stages and who is responsible for each of them? How to identify target groups? Some conversions to warrior Islam happen in middle-class families and parents may discover the truth when their child (boy or girl) is already in Syria. The stake is a ‘policy of happiness’ for young people. They need perspectives allowing the hope of getting a place in society and to be recognised. Following a French saying, ‘you cannot attempt to regulate the happiness of citizens against themselves’; a policy may only offer conditions allowing everyone to find his/her own way. The first dimension is socio-economic: a social and professional integration allowing self-­ fulfilment and confidence in the future. The second dimension is cultural (including religion) and much more difficult to achieve: how to find

222 

M. Blanc

answers to the questions on the value and the meaning of life? Everybody must be committed: young people and their parents, schools, churches, enterprises, state and civil society as a whole. The bureaucratic machine is unsuitable: networks are more efficient for the required small-scale projects, both personalised and flexible. The first stage of de-indoctrination is not to convince with rational arguments but to ‘touch the heart’ (Bouzar 2014: 181). It is a prerequisite before they are able to think again by themselves. Khosrokhavar stresses the ‘revolutionary romanticism’ as a blind spot, neglected by Bouzar: ‘[She] insists on the identity malaise but ignores the self-affirmation in a destructive project’ (Khosrokhavar 2014: 141, note 39).

5.2

 ow to Deal in Prison with ‘Hardened’ H Extremists: Concentration Versus Dispersion?

Extremists’ arrest creates problems in prisons. Traditionally, prisons used to be the best ‘school crime’ and they tend to become ‘incubators’ of radical extremism (Kepel and Jardin 2015: 160). Against proselytism, it seems relevant not to mix radical Muslims and other prisoners. In doing so, French prison authorities return to the separation between ‘political’ and ‘ordinary’ prisoners, with the same aim of avoiding the diffusion of subversive thoughts within the prison. In a Paris suburb, the famous prison of Fresnes has 2600 places but hosts 4200 prisoners in deleterious overcrowding conditions.17 Many prisoners complained about religious harassment from radical Muslims. The direction decided in 2014 to put together and to isolate radical prisoners, aiming at avoiding the constitution of a sectarian ‘caidat’.18 However, it allows extremist prisoners to build a parallel organisation and to reinforce each other in their convictions.  ‘Following the International Observatory of Prisons complaint, the Tribunal ordered nine urgent measures for improving the situation in the prison of Fresnes: clearing of rats, new matrasses without bedbugs, warm dishes in cells, warm water and efficient heating, improving work access for prisoners, reminding prison guards the rules for strip searches and for avoiding violence, etc.’ (Le Monde 5.4.2017). [http://www.lemonde.fr/police-justice/article/2017/05/04/sur-la-prison-defresnes-­le-conseil-d-etat-sera-saisi_5122186_1653578.html#sOssz28E29XwgXua.99]. 18  A ‘caid’ is a traditional leader in Arabic countries. 17

12  The Place of Islam Within a Secular France and Europe: How… 

223

In the absence of a legal frame providing criteria for the identification of radical prisoners who must be grouped together and isolated, the ‘Contrôleur général des lieux de privation de liberté’19 (CGLPL) made investigations on ‘the consequences in the field of fundamental rights of the creation of such a specific mode of surveillance’ (CGLPL 2015: 4). She calls into question the overcrowding of French prisons: 58,000 places and 67,000 detainees (ibid.: 29). Although the aim is legitimate—preventing ‘the increase of the influence of radical prisoners on more fragile detainees’—she is not in favour of this grouping as it relies upon legal uncertainties and is of a discretionary nature (ibid.: 30).

5.3

De-indoctrinating Repentant Extremists?

Dealing with hardened extremists is very difficult: they must be accountable for their actions but at the same time their rights must be respected. The follow up of repentant extremists is equally difficult: is their repentance sincere or largely opportunistic? However, it is essential for drying out extremism. Experimental initiatives are implemented throughout Europe, with different philosophies. In France, de-indoctrination is organised by central government in a police approach. The Ministry of Interior is its coordinator (Pietrasanta 2015: 68–90). Until recently, priority was given to de-indoctrination within prisons. It is allowed by the prison ombudsman as long as it is based on a volunteer basis (CGLPL 2015: 30). There are also some local initiatives outside prisons, some of them controversial. An opaque ‘market of de-indoctrination’ is emerging: specialised organisms are in competition (El Difraoui 2016). In May 2016, the creation of a centre for the re-insertion of radicalised volunteers in every region was announced: ‘A first pilot residential centre shall open in Indre-et-Loire. It should receive some 30 volunteers who had in mind to join Syria. A second one should open before the end of the year’ (Seelow 2016b). However, the results were far from expectations:

19

 A sort of ombudsman dedicated to prisons.

224 

M. Blanc

In February 2017, we visited the centre in Indre-et-Loire, dedicated to young ‘radical’ Muslims outside legal proceedings. We met its unique guest that day. This centre should be a medium term between a fully opened centre and a prison; it should be followed by the opening of 13 similar centres. Its capacity is of 25 places and the maximum used to be 9 persons. (Benbassa 2017)

However, ‘there is no “miracle recipe’” (Benbassa and Troendlé 2017). After this failure, different experiments are going on in France, but almost secretly, ‘for security reasons’ (Vincent 2019). Germany and the United Kingdom also have a state and police approach. Germany experienced terrorism of the Red Army Fraction and the United Kingdom the ‘religious’ Irish war and the fatwa of Ayatollah Khomeini against the writer Salman Rushdie.20 The role of central government is weaker than in France: local authorities take initiatives in association with civil and religious society (El Difraoui and Uhlmann 2015). Denmark seems to reach an egalitarian partnership between state and civil society, with the coordination by local governments. These initiatives follow the ‘trial and error’ method; they are embedded in confidence among partners and they lie upon three pillars: political will, long-term guarantees and relevant funding (ibid.: 180–181).

5.4

The Backlash of Attacks in Paris

The attacks on 13 November 2015 in Paris produced a very emotional shock. The Socialist Prime Minister suggested introducing the removal of French nationality for the authors of these criminal attacks. However, a constitutional change is required for this and it is a long and strenuous process. In doing so, the government endorsed an old claim of the extreme right with the illusion it would be a consensual manifestation of national unity against terrorism. It was a good idea only at first sight. Lawyers objected first to a quick constitutional reform: a long preparation is a necessity. Furthermore, it would create stateless persons, which is contrary to the Charter of human  See Chap. 2 by Tom Storrie.

20

12  The Place of Islam Within a Secular France and Europe: How… 

225

beings’ rights. Instead of flying to assistance as the government was endorsing one of its ideas, the opposition gave the government a hypocritical morality lesson. Instead of giving up the idea, the government intended to limit the deprivation of French nationality to bi-national terrorists as they should not become stateless. But the controversy increased: it means binationals are less French than the others (Badinter21 2016). The project was then given up, but it contributed to the disintegration of the French Socialist Party at the Presidential election of May 2017.

6

Conclusion

Every religion has its own fundamentalists and extremists, including ‘the religion of secularism’. For living together with our differences, in France, in Europe and elsewhere, we need a public sphere in which we can determine our common good through confrontations and controversies. But the confrontation with extremists firmly convinced that to deliver an irrefutable truth is doomed to fail if we stick to the deliberative democracy model of Jürgen Habermas (1986 [1983]): the exchange of rational arguments is not enough for reaching a consensus. Passions and emotions interfere and they are both constructive and destructive (Livet 2007): they bring hope and mobilising projects for the future but also disagreements and irreducible oppositions. According to Friedrich Nietzsche (1872) distinction, the world is both ‘Apollonian’ and ‘Dionysian’. Therefore, managing a productive debate is extremely difficult: eliminating emotion is illusory and the debate cannot be exclusively rational. For democratic societies, the present stake and challenge is to introduce extremists of every sort in the public debate without giving way to their threats, which must at the same time be seriously taken into account. A preliminary path might be a ‘democracy of emotion’, practised by some landscape architects in urban planning (Delbaere 2010). An ‘interaction democracy’ might be more relevant; it is conceived as a hereafter of a participative democracy whose focus on institutions is excessive (Rosanvallon 2011). At the same time, an interaction democracy 21

 A former Socialist Justice Minister in France.

226 

M. Blanc

introduces dissensus and not only consensus (Rancière 1995) and it considers the public sphere as oppositional (Negt 2007). With much effort and patience, the challenge is to transform antagonistic conflicts into agonistic ones (Mouffe 2014): an antagonistic conflict is between enemies trying to kill each other; an agonistic conflict opposes adversaries, which are involved in a serious confrontation but respect each other. Between partners-adversaries with different values and diverging interests, social transactions allow mutual concessions and pragmatic compromises, which are not dishonest (Blanc 2006). The role of civil society is essential: informality allows innovative answers, which do not fit into the bureaucratic frames of the state. However, informality is both strength and weakness: innovations remain fragile and they need to be ‘hardened’ and stabilised. Civil society must be backed by states and institutions at a supra-state level, such as the European Union. They have multiple roles to play: (1) be neutral and responsible of the public debate opening so that everyone may be listened to and heard; (2) be sensitive and adapt at administrative rules and practices when necessary; (3) ensuring stability and continuity of the process. The freedom to express and discuss any opinion, religious or not, is a necessity. It is not evident for the believers in a revealed and indisputable divine word. Discussions on our common good necessarily bring tensions and conflicts. It is a slow and time-consuming process, taking steps backward and forward. ‘God writes straightforward with curved lines’ (Portuguese saying). It is the same for human societies. The most tangible expression of radicalisation, terrorism, expresses the feeling of unease of a fraction of the citizenry in a world deprived of real citizenship. (Khosrokhavar 2014: 185)

References Badinter, R. (2016, February 5). Déchéance de nationalité: une révision constitutionnelle n’est pas nécessaire. Le Monde. Retrieved from http://www. lemonde.fr/idees/article/2016/02/05/decheance-de-nationalite-pour-robertbadinter-une-revision-constitutionnelle-n-est-pas-necessaire_4859815_3232. html#pBPcaikkw5Et5FPp.99.

12  The Place of Islam Within a Secular France and Europe: How… 

227

Baubérot, J. (2013). Histoire de la laïcité en France (6th ed.). Paris: PUF (Que sais-je?). Baubérot, J. (2015). Les sept laïcités françaises. Le modèle français de laïcité n’existe pas. Paris: Éd. Maison des Sciences de l’Homme. Benbassa, E. (2017, March 15). Quoted in: ‘Contre la radicalisation djihadiste, il faut plus que du “bricolage”’. Le Monde. Retrieved from http://www.lemonde.fr/idees/article/2017/03/15/esther-benbassa-contre-la-radicalisationdjihadiste-il-faut-plus-que-du-bricolage_5094645_3232. html#3GP6rjQp4wPJ80Dr.99. Benbassa, E., & Troendlé, C. (2017). Rapport de la mission d’information sur le désendoctrinement, le désembrigadement et la réinsertion des djihadistes en France et en Europe. Paris: Sénat. Retrieved from http://www.senat.fr/espace_ presse/actualites/201707/rapport_final_de_la_mission_dinformation_sur_ le_desendoctrinement_le_desembrigadement_et_la_reinsertion_des_djihadistes_en_france_et_en_europe.html. Benslama, F. (2016a, May 11). Assimiler la radicalisation islamiste à un phénomène sectaire pose problème. Le Monde. Retrieved from http://www.lemonde.fr/journalelectronique/donnees/libre/20160511/index. html?version=null. Benslama, F. (2016b). Un furieux désir de sacrifice. Le surmusulman. Paris: Seuil. Blanc M. (1983). Le logement des travailleurs immigrés en France: après le taudis, le foyer, et aujourd’hui le HLM’. Espaces et sociétés, 42, pp.129–140. Retrieved from http://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/bpt6k5614820g/f4.item.zoom. Blanc, M. (2006). Conflits et transactions sociales. La démocratie participative n’est pas un long fleuve tranquille. Sciences de la Société, 69, 25–37. Borella, F. (1987). Nationalité et citoyenneté en droit français (pp.27–51). In D. Colas (Ed.), L’État de Droit. Paris: PUF. Bouzar, D. (2014). Désamorcer l’islam radical. Ces dérives sectaires qui défigurent l’islam. Ivry-sur-Seine: Éd. L’Atelier. Cannat, M., Dayan-Herzbrun S., Cenival M. de, Delphy Ch., M’baye A. et al. (2016, March 24). Laissons les filles tranquilles. Le Monde. Retrieved from http://www.lemonde.fr/idees/article/2015/03/24/laissons-les-filles-tranquilles_4599912_3232.html#FSoYQbUbdwMgVCwT.99. CGLPL. (2015). La prise en charge de la radicalisation islamiste en milieu carcéral. Paris: Contrôleur général des lieux de privation de liberté. Retrieved from http://www.cglpl.fr/2015/avis-relatif-a-la-prise-en-charge-de-la-radicalisation-islamiste-en-milieu-carceral/.

228 

M. Blanc

Collas, A. (2016, April 23). Pédophilie: la responsabilité de l’éducation nationale. Le Monde. Retrieved from http://abonnes.lemonde.fr/societe/ article/2016/04/22/pedophilie-dans-l-affaire-de-villemoisson-l-educationnationale-a-commis-une-erreur-d-appreciation_4906726_3224.html. Cordeiro, A. (1999). Les Portugais, une population invisible? In P.  Dewitte (Ed.), Immigration et intégration, l’état des savoirs (pp.  106–111). Paris: La Découverte. Cordeiro, A., & Verhaeren, R. E. (1977). Les travailleurs immigrés et la sécurité sociale. Grenoble: Presses universitaires de Grenoble. Debray, R. (2016, January 27). L’œcuménisme est partout en crise (interview by N.  Truong). Le Monde. Retrieved from http://abonnes.lemonde.fr/idees/ ar ticle/2016/01/25/regis-debray-l-cumenisme-est-par tout-encrise_4853299_3232.html. Deghayes, A. (2016, March 31). From Brighton to the Battlefield: How Four Young Britons Were Drawn to Jihad (Interview by M.  Townsend). The Guardian. Retrieved from http://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/2016/ mar/31/brighton-to-battlefield-how-four-young-britons-drawn-tojihad-syria. Delbaere, D. (2010). La fabrique de l’espace public. Ville, paysage et démocratie. Arles: Actes-Sud. El Difraoui, A. (2016, January 14). Un marché opaque de la déradicalisation est en train d’apparaître en France (interview by C.  Hennion). Le Monde. Retrieved from http://www.lemonde.fr/societe/article/2016/01/14/unmarche-opaque-de-la-deradicalisation-est-en-train-d-apparaitre-enfrance_4847656_3224.html#rQ3JJFBqYVJdgw3t.99. El Difraoui, A., & Uhlmann, M. (2015). Prévention de la radicalisation et dé-­ radicalisation: les modèles allemand, britannique et danois. Politique étrangère, 4. Retrieved form http://www.cairn.info/revue-politique-etrangere2015-4-page-171.htm. Elias, N., & Scotson, J.L. (1965). The Established and the Outsiders. Frisch, M. (1967). ‘Überfremdung’, Öffentlichkeit als Partner. Frankfurt-am-­ Main: Suhrkamp. Gastaut Y. (2004). Dieu et la politique: le défi laïque. L’Histoire, 289. Retrieved from http://www.histoire.presse.fr/dossiers/dieu-et-la-politique-le-defilaique/l-islam-francais-est-il-soluble-dans-la-laicite-01-07-2004-5641. Habermas, J. (1986 [1983]). Morale et communication. Paris: Cerf. Hammouche, A. (2012). Politique de la ville et autorité d’intervention. Villeneuve d’Ascq: Presses universitaires du Septentrion.

12  The Place of Islam Within a Secular France and Europe: How… 

229

Hammouche, A. (2015). La santé et la politique de la ville en France au prisme des migrants du Maghreb. Pensée plurielle, 39, pp.  65–76. Retrieved from https://www.cairn.info/revue-pensee-plurielle-2015-2.htm. Kepel, G., & Jardin, A. (2015). Terreur dans l’Hexagone. Genèse du djihad français. Paris: Gallimard. Kepel, G., & Jardin, A. (2016, April 15). Il faut écouter les prêches du vendredi (interview by C.  Daumas). Libération. Retrieved from http:// www.liberation.fr/debats/2016/04/14/gilles-kepel-il-faut-ecouter-lespreches-du-vendredi_1446225. Khosrokhavar, F. (2014). Radicalisation. Paris: Éd. Maison des Sciences de l’Homme. Lagrange, H. (2016, March 20). En France, les jeunes issus de l’immigration musulmane ne partagent pas un destin commun. Le Monde. Retrieved from http://www.lemonde.fr/idees/article/2016/03/20/en-france-les-jeunes-issusde-l-immigration-musulmane-ne-partagent-un-destin-commun_4886666_3232.html#609WmUMfUMlgm888.99. Latour, B. (2015). Face à Gaïa. Huit conférences sur le nouveau régime climatique. Paris: La Découverte. Lemaître, F. (2016a, January 21). Les événements de Cologne divisent les féministes allemandes. Le Monde. Retrieved from http://www.lemonde.fr/europe/ article/2016/01/21/les-evenements-de-cologne-divisent-les-feministes-allemandes_4851217_3214.html. Lemaître, F. (2016b, May 2). Pour le parti populiste allemand AfD, ‘l’Islam ne fait pas partie de l’Allemagne’. Le Monde. Retrieved from http://abonnes. lemonde.fr/europe/article/2016/05/02/en-allemagne-une-troisieme-forcepolitique-a-droite-toute_4911822_3214.html. Livet, P. (2007). Dans quelles conditions les émotions collectives peuvent-elles bloquer ou aider la délibération démocratique? Revue européenne des sciences sociales. XLV-136. Retrieved from http://ress.revues.org/92. Mouffe, C. (2014 [2013]). Agonistique: Penser politiquement le monde. Paris: Éd. École nationale des Beaux-Arts. Negt, O. (2007). L’espace public oppositionnel. Paris: Payot. Nietzsche, F. (1872). La naissance de la tragédie [Online, in French]. Retrieved from http://classiques.uqac.ca/classiques/nietzsche/naissance_tragedie/naissance_tradedie.html. Noiriel, G. (1984). Longwy, immigrés et prolétaires, 1880–1980. Paris: PUF. Pietrasanta, S. (2015). La dé-radicalisation, outil de lutte contre le terrorisme. Paris: La documentation française, Rapport pour le Ministre de l’Intérieur.

230 

M. Blanc

Retrieved from http://www.ladocumentationfrancaise.fr/var/storage/rapports-publics/154000455.pdf. Rancière, J. (1995). La Mésentente. Paris: Galilée. Rodier, C. (2014). La question halal. Sociologie d’une consommation controversée. Paris: PUF. Rosanvallon, P. (2011). Écrire une histoire générale de la démocratie. Participations, 1, pp. 335–347. Retrieved from www.cairn.info/revue-participations-2011-1-page-335.htm. Roy, O. (2008). La Sainte Ignorance. Le temps de la religion sans culture. Paris: Seuil. Roy, O. (2015, November 24). Le djihadisme est une révolte générationnelle et nihiliste. Le Monde. Retrieved from http://abonnes.lemonde.fr/idees/article/2015/11/24/le-djihadisme-une-revolte-generationnelle-et-nihiliste_4815992_3232.html. Roy, O. (2016, April 15). C’est la radicalisation de la jeunesse qui m’intéresse (interview by C.  Daumas). Libération. Retrieved from http://www.liberation.fr/debats/2016/04/14/olivier-roy-c-est-la-radicalisation-de-lajeunesse-qui-m-interesse_1446227. Saïdi, I. 2017. Djihad. L’odyssée tragi-comique de trois bruxellois qui partent en Djihad. Paris: Flammarion-Librio. Sayad, A. (1999). La Double Absence. Des illusions de l’émigré aux souffrances de l’immigré. Paris: Seuil. Seelow S. (2016a, March 3). À 14 ans, des jeunes Françaises qui rêvent de “tuer pour Allah”. Le Monde. Retrieved from http://www.lemonde.fr/police-justice/article/2016/03/03/djihad-suicides-ou-le-terrorisme-a14-ans_4875680_1653578.html#MFVJbZZkVLSo6GlL.99. Seelow S. (2016b, May 10). Valls annonce des centres de réinsertion pour ‘personnes radicalisées’dans chaque région. Le Monde. Retrieved from http:// www.lemonde.fr/societe/article/2016/05/09/manuel-valls-doit-annoncerses-mesures-contre-la-radicalisation-djihadiste_4915701_3224. html#13fegx3dWEe1O7uI.99. Van Campenhoudt, L. (2017) Comment en sont-ils arrivés là ? Les clés pour comprendre le parcours des djihadistes, Paris: Armand Colin. Vincent, É. (2019, February 20). Le suivi des ‘radicalisés’ hors prisons s’organise. Le Monde. Retrieved from https://journal.lemonde.fr/data/448/reader/ reader.html?t=1551119307250#!preferred/0/package/448/pub/632/ page/12/alb/40779.

13 ‘Islam Does Not Belong to Germany’ or How Some German Citizens Have Rediscovered Religions Julia Droeber

Sometime in April 2016, on my way to work I was listening to the radio. I heard in the news that some right-wing German politician claimed that ‘Islam does not belong to Germany’. He later qualified this by saying that Muslims may perhaps belong to Germany (as long as they are ‘peaceful and integrated’), but that Islam as a religion was not compatible with the German Constitution. For him, Germany is a ‘Christian-secular country’, in which ‘Islam is a foreign body’ (Tagesschau 2016). At the time of writing this chapter (May 2020), I can no longer remember the name of this politician and, therefore, cannot say anything about his personal background or experiences that may have shaped his opinion in this matter. Reading through the first chapters of this book which reflect on the personal experiences of the contributors, I do have the suspicion that this politician’s experiences may have been rather ‘monochrome’. It appears to me that the contributors to this volume share a rather ‘relaxed’ relationship with religion(s) and have developed a more or less strong sense of ‘world citizenship’. They also seem to share various J. Droeber (*) Ludwigsburg University of Education, Ludwigsburg, Germany © The Author(s) 2020 M. Blanc et al. (eds.), Citizenship and Religion, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-54610-6_13

231

232 

J. Droeber

experiences of ‘otherness’, of being in a minority, of being ‘different’. Perhaps, these kinds of experiences have shaped their obviously high level of tolerance of diversity and ambiguity. Obviously, experiences of ‘otherness’ and ‘difference’ can just as well foster narrow-mindedness and isolationism as countless studies of (religious and other) fundamentalism and extremism show. Yet, coupled with a sense of self-confidence and respect, which I would attest is held by all the contributors to this volume, situations of ‘otherness’ may be experienced as enriching, rather than threatening. I am aware of the fact that I am speculating here as I have not studied this phenomenon in any scientific way. However, this question has vexed me for quite some time: where have the contributors to this book (and many others for that matter) learned to be tolerant, where have they acquired inter-religious competence that others sorely lack? I am still in the process of tracking this question within the German education system and hope to find an answer there. However, this contribution traces some socio-political developments that may explain why inter-­ religious tolerance in Germany appears to be on the wane and why this right-wing politician is far from alone with his opinion. A month after the said event, opinion polls indicated that not only the absolute majority (94%) of voters of the right-wing AfD party were of the opinion that Islam did not belong to Germany but also a majority (76%) of voters of the liberal FDP party (Die Welt 2016). Sixty per cent of all Germans seemingly shared this opinion. When in 2010, the German President Christian Wulff declared that ‘Islam belonged to Germany’, only 47% of Germans disagreed with him (ibid.). What had happened in the intervening six years? Why has the number of those thinking that Islam and Muslims are a legitimate part of Germany gone down from 49% in 2010 to 34% in 2016 (ibid.)? Why has religion resurfaced in the debate about what it means to be ‘German’ and about who can be a ‘German citizen’? In what follows I try to shed some light on the role of religion for German citizenship and the most recent developments in this regard. In particular, I examine the significance of Islam and Muslims for Germans’ perception of citizenship. I take issue with the sense of self-defence

13  ‘Islam Does Not Belong to Germany’ or How Some German… 

233

observable in many places among German citizens and voiced as, at times rather vicious, discontent. I am trying to understand why, after many years of apparent indifference, religion has reappeared in the debates about citizenship, including some and excluding others. Why has citizenship as a ‘good’ suddenly increased in value for many Germans, turning it into a ‘treasure’ jealously guarded? The thoughts laid out in this contribution are mainly based on personal experience with some anthropological leanings one could call participant observation (my academic home turf ). I arrived in Germany in September 2015 (after an almost 20-year-long odyssey abroad, most recently residing in Palestine) together with waves of refugees from the Near and Middle East. I came to start a job as a lecturer in Islamic theology/pedagogy (educating future schoolteachers of Islamic religious education), a subject that had its beginnings in 2007. In this position I have, on an almost daily basis, been faced with the debates about the constitutionally granted right (or otherwise) of Muslim pupils to receive education in their own religious tradition in state schools in Germany, like their Catholic or Protestant fellow pupils. Most of my students have some sort of migration background. Many of the pupils that my students will teach in the future will have a refugee background. I have become quite personally involved in the whole scene of Muslims in and of Germany. I begin with a brief discussion of the role of religion, including Islam, in German ideas and practices of citizenship. Then I take a look at the presence of Muslims of various backgrounds in Germany and efforts to turn them into good ‘German citizens’. What is often constructed as a stable, inalienable, and straightforward set of rights for a clearly defined populace—citizenry—is continually being challenged at the fringes of this populace. This challenge falls into relief particularly when a noticeable section of this population—Muslims—claims their constitutional rights as citizens and suddenly becomes highly visible, as exemplified in the establishment of Islamic religious education in German public schools.

234 

1

J. Droeber

Religion and German Citizenship

Citizenship can be defined as a person’s status of being a citizen of a particular place, of being a responsible member of a certain community, and of being the status of a person recognised under the law of a state. Both theoretically and empirically citizenship is, however, not as straightforward as these common definitions suggest. In this contribution, I would like to add and explore another point of critique, which concerns the static notion of citizenship reflected in such definitions. As Joseph (2000) has shown, on both the legal and the day-to-day-level, citizenship must be seen as a process, as constantly changing and adapting. The process of citizenship construction is marked by gender, race, ethnicity, religious affiliation, sexuality, and class, even though in theoretical and juridical terms ‘the citizen’ has usually been delimited as an abstract person or individual with universal characteristics, rights, and duties. In fact, Smith (1997, as quoted in Joseph 2000: 4) has called this construction of a one-­ dimensional citizen and citizenship a ‘civic myth’. The one aspect of this ‘civic myth’ I am interested in the German context is religious affiliation. It may be argued that ideal-typical ‘German citizen’ is commonly and implicitly understood to be religiously neutral or Christian. It was only when the constitutionally granted right for religious education in state schools was demanded by non-Christians that this myth became partially exposed and began to be interrogated. The German state or rather its laws do not link citizenship to religion or religious affiliation. Indeed, according to the website of the Ministry of Interior (BMI), the German State has a self-understanding of being the ‘home for all citizens’ regardless of their religious affiliation (BMI n.d.). In fact, the State must not identify itself with a particular religious or ideological philosophy and must be neutral (ibid.). This philosophy of the religious neutrality of the State is perhaps the result of the frequent conflicts between Catholics and Protestants that have marked Germany’s history. An often-quoted historical episode highlights the significance of religious affiliation for the right to citizenship and the potential conflicts implied by this. King Frederic the Great of Prussia responded to the request by the Protestant city-state of Frankfurt

13  ‘Islam Does Not Belong to Germany’ or How Some German… 

235

as to whether a Catholic could become a citizen of that city, that ‘all religions are equal and good as long as those who profess them are sincere and honest people’. In eighteenth-century Germany, therefore, religion was still an essential criterion of citizenship and the idea that all religions (even Islam, as the quote goes on) are equal in terms of the acquisition of citizenship rights was quite new. By now, it has become a firmly and legally established position that religious affiliation should not be used as a criterion for exclusion from citizenship rights. While this may have been a noble intention to end conflict, it also disregards and disrespects religious diversity and plurality. Indeed, on a day-to-day level, the degrading and stereotyping of religious (or non-religious) ‘others’ has continued until this day. Particularly with regard to Islam and Muslims, the practices of citizenship continue to be exclusive rather than inclusive. On a popular level, one often gets the impression that some people continue to think that religious ‘others’ are second-class citizens. I am not in a position to provide structured empirical evidence for the stereotypes and misperceptions that continue to mark the relationships between Protestants and Catholics in Germany, but anecdotal evidence suggests that all is not well in the religious climate in Germany. While hardly anyone would publicly deny a Christian from another denomination the rights of citizenship, the ‘othering’ continues. Some fifty years ago, for instance, it was impossible for a Catholic man (like my father) to marry a Protestant woman (like my mother) outside a Catholic Church. He would have been excommunicated. Obviously, this problem is created by the Catholic Church and a civil ceremony circumvents this. But my maternal grandparents also did not attend the wedding. Or take a Protestant colleague of mine who told me about how his father, living in a Protestant-dominated area of southern Germany, used to tell nasty jokes about Catholics, obviously not deeming them worthy compatriots. More than once I have heard Protestants make condescending remarks about Catholic or Orthodox Christians, seeing them as believing in and adhering to rituals too stiff and too meaningless for their liking, making them not only ‘lesser’ Christians but also ‘lesser’ citizens (because less ‘enlightened’). In a discussion after a talk about Islam in Germany held at my university, a member of the audience raised the very fair point that the stereotypes about Muslims in Europe today could have easily applied

236 

J. Droeber

to Protestants or Catholics respectively in the not too distant past. Add to this the degrading and stereotyping remarks about religiously observant people by non-religious people and vice versa and the result will be a very vibrant game of pointing fingers or worse. While officially and in public then, there is a lot of talk (and practice) of ecumenism between Protestant and Catholic churches (as there is between Muslim and Christian organisations), on a popular, day-to-day level there continues to be a non-negligible amount of ill-feeling between religious groups and denominations. With the growing presence of Muslims in Germany, this ill-feeling is increasingly being transferred onto Muslims. It is against this background that considerable sections of Germany’s population and politicians appear to consider religious affiliation important (again) for citizenship. The now oft-repeated slogan ‘Islam doesn’t belong to Germany’ is just one expression of the conviction that German citizenship goes well only with a particular religious affiliation, that is Christianity, or with none.

2

Muslim ‘Others’ and Citizenship

Thus, Germany’s ‘Other’ have once again become Muslims and Islam, particularly after the arrival of thousands of refugees from Muslim majority societies. That this ‘othering’ has a long history is no secret (see Said, 2001). For centuries, Muslims and Islam have been depicted in political, theological, academic, and popular literature and discourse as ‘different’, ‘strange’, and ‘other’. This history in and of itself is an interesting subject, but shall not be belaboured here. Suffice it to note that the current discourse on the ‘Muslim Other’ is yet another wave in what has been a long tradition of marking boundaries around a ‘Christian’ or ‘enlightened’ German ‘Self ’. There are, however, at least three problems with the notion that a generalised ‘(German) Christian Self ’ can be distinguished from a generalised ‘Muslim Other’. First, Germany cannot be described as particularly ‘Christian’ (in terms of religious practice or Christian ‘unity’). Second, the Muslim community in Germany is extremely divergent in both denominational and ethnic backgrounds. Third, those who triggered the

13  ‘Islam Does Not Belong to Germany’ or How Some German… 

237

debate about Islam and Germany again—the recently arrived refugees— are not all Muslims. I have just indicated that Germans as a population cannot easily and simply be described as ‘Christian’. This ‘selving’ and ‘othering’ must, as so often, be recognised as a rhetorical stroke of genius. The increased influx of refugees has then very quickly produced the generalised ‘Other’: Muslims. Since the majority of the refugees that have come to Germany are from Syria, Iraq, and Afghanistan, that is from Muslim majority societies (BAMF 2016), they are perceived as exclusively Muslims, despite the fact that many Christians and members of other religious minorities, such as Yezidis, have fled the extremism of the ‘Islamic State’. It is quite ironic that members of such minorities, who have fled discrimination and mistreatment in their home countries mostly at the hand of Muslims, are now being put into the same basket with their Muslim compatriots often because Germans have little knowledge of the religious landscape of the Middle East (Droeber 2015). Apart from this, the notion of a ‘Muslim Other’ also sidelines the fact that the label ‘Muslims’ brushes over the diversity within the Muslim community. Shia refugees, for instance, also often feel overlooked in their religious specificity. They, too, often complain about how Germans treat Sunni Muslims better than them.1 Anecdotal evidence indicates that most Germans are not very well educated about the political, social, and religious situation in the wider Middle East, where most refugees of the most recent wave come from. Their drawing of boundaries between ‘us’ and ‘them’ must be understood against a background of rather simplistic and dualistic perceptions of the  The diversity of the Muslim population in Germany is not a recent phenomenon. A broad spectrum of ethnic backgrounds, languages, worldviews, political positions, class backgrounds, religious denominations, and interpretations are represented in the ‘landscape of Islam’ that can be found in Germany. Some of this diversity is reflected in the multiplicity of mosques in existence, separated not only by religious views but also, perhaps mainly, by ethnicity and language. This problem of the heterogeneity of the Muslim community in Germany has had repercussions on the introduction of Islamic religious education in schools in some states (Länder) in Germany, which I will discuss later. The curriculum is presumed to be developed between the State and the ‘Church’ or ‘the’ religious representative body, which in the case of Muslims could simply not be found. Even after some efforts, most of them were unable to agree on a basic agenda and to form one united body as a partner of communication for the state. In most cases, therefore, the state developed curricula and Muslim associations merely served as consultants without crucial input however. The Islamic religious education on offer in the state of Baden-Wuerttemberg is of ‘Sunni character’, while there is also Islamic Religious Education (IRE) of Alevi character. 1

238 

J. Droeber

‘Muslim world’, or even the so-called Third World. Again, this is nothing new. Edward Said (2001) and others have shown that this ‘strange’ world, often called the ‘Orient’, has often been seen in one of two ways: either as threatening, violent, and generally unpleasant (the ubiquitous image of the ‘Muslim terrorist’) or as mystical, wonderful, alluring, and mystifying (the ‘Thousand and One Nights’ image). It seems that in the current debates about refugees in Germany, these two perceptions appear in various disguises in the daily discourse. The political and elite discourse on the issue of refugees and its wider contexts seems to emanate from the ‘wondrous’ image of the Muslim world, producing a quintessential ‘innocent’ refugee, who as a victim had to flee murderous circumstances and must be supported. On the other side of the coin, we find a discourse that appears to be nourished by the threatening image, generating a quintessential ‘terrorist’ refugee, who is a perpetrator and intruder. While these two images are diametrically opposed to each other and engender very different behaviours, they have one thing in common: they discursively create refugees that are fundamentally ‘other’ and usually ‘below’ Germans, mainly tied to their religious background but radiating into their whole existence. The first image renders refugees as poor helpless victims that are dependent on support by Germans. The second image positions them as morally inferior since they are supposedly less enlightened and closer to the animal kingdom than Germans (with violence seen as something more typical for animals). Such discursive strategies, divergent as they are, serve one particular purpose: portraying the ‘Self ’ as morally superior, either as the ‘Good Samaritan’, who helps the helpless, or as the less animal-like, who has supposedly reached higher evolutionary levels (notwithstanding the fact that the violence that this thinking engenders, as described earlier, is just as animal-like as any other kind of terrorism). In this way most Germans, who have something to say or have taken a certain position within the refugee debate, contribute in small or major ways to a discursive construction not only of ‘the refugee Other’ but also of German ‘Selves’. Consciously or unconsciously, the elevation of the Self as well as the debasement of the Other fosters the conviction that these Others are not fit for German citizenship. This phenomenon of ‘Othering’ has long been an issue of debate in social anthropology and other social sciences. One might refer at this

13  ‘Islam Does Not Belong to Germany’ or How Some German… 

239

point to an anthropological classic, ‘Ethnic groups and boundaries’ by Frederik Barth (1969), who has turned our attention to the processes involved in maintaining, manipulating, and transgressing (essentially fluid) boundaries between ethnic and other social groups. ‘Boundaries persist despite a flow of personnel across them’ (Barth 1969: 9). Social, ethnic, and national boundaries are so fluid that they threaten social stability and require a discursive framework that constructs such stability. I find these remarks particularly useful in trying to understand the processes of marking boundaries and of ‘Othering’ that have been ongoing in Germany concerning the refugee ‘crisis’ in recent years. In this view, it appears that most of the views held by Germans regarding refugees are part and parcel of an exercise of building walls around an ‘imagined community’, to use Anderson’s (1991) time-honoured expression. That this community is indeed only imagined in a globalised world, where almost everything is in flux, appears to be unknown to most Germans. They imagine the German nation as ‘both inherently limited and sovereign’ (Anderson 1991: 6). In this view, refugees, particularly as they have come in noticeable numbers, pull at these limits and boundaries and threaten Germans’ sovereignty. This is particularly the case as an end of the conflict in Syria is not in sight and many of the other refugees as well prepare to stay in the longer term if not for good. Most Syrian refugees, as a rule, are granted a one- or three-year residence permit. This, combined with the fact that refugees receive the same material support from the government as German citizens on benefit—accommodation and bills paid for, health insurance, and a monthly stipend—engenders ill-feelings among many, who feel that only citizens should be granted these rights. In other words, refugees are in many respects treated like citizens, reflecting the state’s concern with universal human rights. On the other hand, there are increasingly voices to be heard demanding a stronger defence of the sovereignty of the state and nation, that is the safeguarding of their citizenship rights. What then is to be done with this ‘Other’ that has arrived on the scene in now large numbers? Without wanting to fall into the trap of generalising and dishing out platitudes, it appears to me that a gut reaction has become to control this ‘Other’. A variety of ways have indeed already

240 

J. Droeber

been devised to do so: policies to limit their numbers; to control their movement and behaviour; to enforce integration, particularly with regard to language learning, activism, and volunteerism to provide refugees with what we think they need; talking about them (not with them) in a variety of ways as indicated above; and finally violence and hatred to make them go away again. Another path to solve the problem of the existence of an ‘Other’ in one’s midst is the integration of Muslims through education, which I will turn to next.

3

Integrating Muslims

Obtaining German citizenship is not easy, since Germany has so far not seen herself as an ‘immigration country’. Someone applying for German citizenship must prove that he/she is a ‘worthy’ citizen, which includes compulsory language and civic education, many years of legal residence in Germany, own income, health insurance, years of contributions to a pension scheme, and so on. German law demands many things before granting citizenship. The German government has, however, only fairly recently looked into a certain right that all citizens have, namely that of religious education in state schools. The German Constitution grants pupils and their parents the right to receive religious education in governmental schools: ‘Parents and guardians shall have the right to decide whether children shall receive religious instruction’ (BJVS 2014). It further determines that ‘[r]eligious instruction shall form part of the regular curriculum in state schools’ and that ‘without prejudice to the state’s right of supervision, religious instruction shall be given in accordance with the tenets of the religious community concerned’ (ibid.). Muslims of Turkish origin began to express their desire to apply the constitutionally granted right to religious education to the Muslim community. Muslims of Turkish origin are arguably the oldest established Muslim community in Germany. The first Turkish ‘guestworkers’2 arrived  After the Second World War, the German government invited temporary ‘guest workers’ to rebuild the war-torn country. Many of them came from Turkey, and while many returned after some years, a good number decided to stay. 2

13  ‘Islam Does Not Belong to Germany’ or How Some German… 

241

after the Second World War. Many of them decided to stay in Germany and began building cultural centres, prayer houses, and later mosques. The number of Muslims in Germany has since risen to about four million by the beginning of the twenty-first century, even before large numbers of Muslim refugees arrived. Their religious affiliation and practices vary greatly, adding to the plurality of the German religious landscape as I have indicated earlier.3 At around the same time, as the demand for IRE was voiced, the idea became widely acceptable in political circles that Islamic religious education in schools could be an effective tool for the integration of Muslims into German society. Therefore, the constitutional tenets mentioned above have been used to argue for the introduction of Islamic religious education in schools in some federal states4 (Darwisch 2012: 62). In the federal state of Baden-Wurttemberg, for instance, after long political discussions, a pilot project was initiated in 2006. Teachers were trained to offer IRE mainly in primary schools. Since 2015, Islamic theology has become a regular subject in teacher training faculties and can be studied as a major subject on bachelor and master levels. Other federal states have gone in different directions. Some offer religious education for all, beyond denominational boundaries, others have not included Islam in the denominations on offer. I shall focus on the situation in Baden-­ Wurttemberg here, as this is the case I am most familiar with (for experiences in other federal states: Darwisch 2012: 8 s.). It would be naïve to assume that the introduction of Islamic religious education was purely based on respect and the realisation of constitutional rights on the side of politicians. Representatives of the Muslim religious associations, of which there are many, of course insisted on the  At the time, when the first ‘guestworkers’ arrived there was already much debate about their position and role in society and there was much hostility towards them. When the expectation for them to ‘go back home’ did not materialize in all cases, there were strong sentiments of being ‘flooded’ by ‘Turks/Muslims’ among the German population, sentiments that did not exist to the same extent with ‘guestworkers’ from other European, ‘Christian’ countries. In other words, the developments and debates that are observable today have parallels and a prehistory in the immediate post-­ war past. 4  In Baden-Württemberg, other religious groups are granted the same rights, as there is Jewish, Alevi, Orthodox, Old Catholic, Protestant, and Catholic religious education offered upon request in state schools. 3

242 

J. Droeber

constitutional right of Muslim children to receive education in their own religious tradition. The motivation in the political and educational arena, however, was much more practically oriented. The common theme that runs through those debates seems to be one of damage control and prevention. In a conversation about her desire to introduce Islamic religious education in her school, a headmistress told me that during the time slot for Protestant and Catholic religious education, Muslim pupils often ‘hang around the school’ not knowing what to do with this extra time and being prone to causing trouble. Not every school offers alternatives to religious education, such as moral studies or philosophy, so that pupils have to be supervised during the time of RE lessons. This was not the first time I have heard this line of argument. Muslim pupils should also have somewhere (useful and structured) to go when the time for RE comes around. Another aspect that is emphasised by many in favour of the introduction of Islamic RE is that, from experience, the parents of Muslim pupils appear to become more interested in participating in school life once their children take part in Islamic RE. Yet another argument put forward in favour of Islamic RE is the as yet unproven assumption that Islamic teaching controlled by the state and offered in state schools could be an effective tool to prevent the radicalisation of Muslim youth. This argument reads as follows: Muslim young people receive religious education in ‘mosque schools’ (if they receive any religious education at all). There is very little control over what is being taught in these schools. Not only are they extremely diverse (different Muslim associations run their own mosques and hence mosque schools, differing, among other things, in ethnic background, language, religious denomination, and interpretation) but also the teachers very often come from abroad and teach in languages other than German, most notably Turkish. Several times, I had to use an interpreter to be able to communicate with mosques’ Imams, who did not speak a word of German (nor do I speak Turkish). There appears to be evidence that some radical teaching and preaching takes place in some mosques in Germany (Ceylan 2010). To prevent and counterbalance the assumed radicalisation of young Muslims in such mosque schools, the idea seems to have been to offer a controlled religious education for Muslims, in which the content

13  ‘Islam Does Not Belong to Germany’ or How Some German… 

243

of the curriculum is, while developed in cooperation with Muslim associations, effectively state-controlled. The pilot phase was concluded successfully and the IRE project moved into a new phase of offering Islamic theology as a major subject at universities. More and more schools turned to the Ministry of Education with requests for IRE teachers. It appears that the idea of offering IRE in state schools fell on fertile ground (after some initial misconceptions and holding back) both on the side of Muslim pupils and their parents as well as policy makers and educators. The as yet unanswered question remains: what can IRE do for the integration of Muslim children and youth into a non-Muslim majority society? There is anecdotal evidence that Muslim pupils and their parents do indeed feel more taken seriously once they get offered and are able to participate in IRE in their schools. Furthermore, there appears to be evidence that non-Muslim fellow pupils and colleagues become interested in the subject and start asking questions despite initial, often grave reservations about the issue. In other words, the introduction of IRE seems to bring some movement and inter-religious interest into the daily routines in schools and the lives of school populations. On the didactic and pedagogical level, it must be noted that the curriculum focuses not only on the transmission of religious knowledge and dogma but also to a large extent on the development of inter-religious competencies, that is the capability to enter into a dialogue with non-­ Muslims. In other words, IRE has a strong potential to become an effective tool for the integration of Muslims with non-Muslims in Germany. With some additional effort it also seems to be a good way of alleviating the fears of those who are undecided about how to think and feel about the Muslim ‘intruders’. Those who are ideologically and violently opposed to the idea of Islam and Muslims being or becoming a part of German society and culture will, however, in all likelihood also remain opposed to the introduction of IRE in the German school curriculum. However, in discussions with my students (future IRE teachers), it has also become clear that, especially after their first placements in schools, there is a strong need to explain oneself to non-Muslims (and Muslims at times, particularly the fact that the Islamic theology was studied ‘with the Germans’ rather than at an ‘Islamic’ university). There appears to be an overwhelming necessity for inter-religious dialogue on the ground in

244 

J. Droeber

order to understand the ‘Other’. This is also my experience after a number of seminars co-taught between the Islamic and the Protestant Theology departments, where the students’ feedback indicated a lack of time for inter-religious group discussions aside from the seminar’s curricular contents. My students went as far as to question the philosophy of offering separate religious education for every religious community. Would it not be more within the spirit of the German citizenship ideal of offering a ‘home for all citizens’ if they were educated together on shared religious values (of which there are arguably many) rather than focusing on the theological, ethical, and historical specificities of each religious community? The pedagogical counterargument put forward to this is that children first have to be firm in their own religious tradition before being able to start a dialogue with others (Schambeck 2013). At least with regard to the Muslim community this argument seems to be worth considering, since in my own experience even the students, who chose to study Islamic Theology (presumably because they are interested in and know something about the subject), often have extremely little knowledge about their own religious tradition. On this basis, dialogue with members of other religious communities can hardly happen, except on a level of platitudes. Where do we go from here? I frankly do not know. It can be questioned whether integration and inclusion—one of the main aims of successful citizenship projects—can happen on the basis of separation. This would even apply to IRE itself, since in Baden-Wurttemberg it is understood as ‘Islamic of Sunni denomination’, therefore excluding Shiite, Alevi, or Ahmediya Muslims and fostering strife and competition between different Muslim denominations. This has, in some cases, led to IRE being offered in three different shades: Sunni, Alevi, and Ahmediya. The issue of separation is a ‘hot potato’ in all fields of education and pedagogy. It has riddled educational policies, theories, and practices for decades if not centuries: integration of boys and girls, of differently abled children, of different school forms, and of different religious backgrounds (or none). Experiments abound, results are very chequered. With regard to IRE, I believe that under the current circumstances in Germany, separate religious education for a couple of years does make a lot of sense, yet this should, in later years, result in something like the Scottish RMPS

13  ‘Islam Does Not Belong to Germany’ or How Some German… 

245

(Religious, Moral, and Philosophical Studies), which I have taught for some years at Scottish schools and which is meant to provide pupils of any ideological background with general philosophical and religious studies skills, which includes the capability to enter into dialogue with people other than oneself.

4

Conclusion

I have tried to come to grips with the question of why religion has resurfaced in the debate about German citizenship and whether Islam belongs to German citizenship. The first part of the question is relatively easy to answer: both the increased presence of Muslims, mainly as refugees and migrants, as well as the rising self-confidence of Muslims in demanding their citizenship rights has renewed the discussion about whether religion should play a part in the granting of citizenship rights. After having somehow overcome the historic split between Protestants and Catholics, a new religious divide has opened up between Muslims and non-­Muslims. The answer to the second part of the question is still in its making. It has become evident that on a legal and constitutional level, religion should either play no part in the German citizenship regime, or all religions should be treated equally. In this sense, the ‘universal citizen’ claimed by Joseph (2000) can indeed be found in Germany. At the same time, we find that Muslims are often having a hard time being accepted as fully fledged citizens due to their religious affiliation. In other words, citizenship practices are not religiously blind, but more often than not differentiate between religious groups and denominations. The introduction of Islamic religious education in state schools is one step to move beyond such religiously biased citizenship practices. It means that Muslims, who are German citizens by law, can now exercise their right to be treated like most other religious or non-religious citizens of that country. The answer of the current German government to the question of whether Islam, and not only Muslims, belong to Germany appears to be ‘yes’, qualified by ‘we are working on this’. It is a specific kind of state-­ sponsored Islam that should belong to Germany, a ‘German Islam’. The imported kind of Islam that is often taught in mosques by foreign

246 

J. Droeber

nationals is not the Islam German officials are thinking of. The answer of some politicians and large parts of the populace continues to be a clear ‘no’. In this reading, Muslims may be granted German citizenship as long as one does not see or hear or feel their religious affiliation. These are times when the religious neutrality of German citizenship is being questioned by many. What emerges in popular discourse is a distinct sense of wanting to limit citizenship to particular religious groups, here Christians, agnostics, or atheists. Despite distinct efforts of the government to include and integrate Muslims, be they long-term residents or newly arrived refugees, into German society and legal systems, certain parts of the population and some politicians use religion as a criterion for exclusion from the ‘sacred good’ of German citizenship (rights). What differentiates the contributors to this volume from those Germans who would not like to accept Islamic religious affiliation as part and parcel of the German citizenship regime may be that perhaps most of the writers have been at the ‘receiving end’ of a minority-majority regime and have grappled with it intellectually and emotionally. Not having experienced a minority position and being secure in it may lead to feelings of threat once a minority becomes visible and audible and demands rights. In a sense, only ‘looking over the rim of one’s own teacup’ can make integration and tolerance happen.

References Anderson, B. (1991). Imagined Communities. Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism. London: Verso Books. BAMF (Bundesministerium für Migration und Flüchtlinge). (2016). Aktuelle Zahlen zu Asyl. Ausgabe: März. Retrieved May 5, 2016, from https://www. bamf.de/SharedDocs/Anlagen/DE/Downloads/Infothek/Statistik/Asyl/ statistik-anlage-teil-4-aktuelle-zahlen-zu-asyl.pdf?__blob=publicationFile. Barth, F. (1969). Ethnic Groups and Boundaries. The Social Organisation of Culture Difference. London: Little Brown & Co. BJVS (Bundesministerium der Justiz und für Verbraucherschutz). (2014). Basic Law for the Federal Republic of Germany. Retrieved May 24, 2016, from https://www.gesetze-im-internet.de/englisch_gg/englisch_gg.html#p0040.

13  ‘Islam Does Not Belong to Germany’ or How Some German… 

247

BMI (Bundesministerium des Innern). (n.d.). Staat und Religion. Retrieved August 24, 2016, from http://www.bmi.bund.de/DE/Themen/GesellschaftVerfassung/Staat-Religion/Religionsverfassungsrecht/religionsverfassungsrecht_node.html. Ceylan, R. (2010). Die Prediger des Islam. Imame. Was sie sind und was sie wirklich wollen. Freiburg: Herder. Darwisch, K. (2012). Islamischer Religionsunterricht in Deutschland. Darstellung und Analyse der islamischen Unterrichtsprojekte. Marburg: Tectum. Die Welt. (2016). Für 60 Prozent gehört der Islam nicht zu Deutschland. Retrieved July 15, 2017, from https://www.welt.de/politik/deutschland/ article155279501/Fuer-60-Prozent-gehoert-der-Islam-nicht-zu-Deutschland. html. Droeber, J. (2015). The Dynamics of Coexistence in the Middle East. Negotiating Boundaries between Christians, Muslims, Jews and Samaritans in Palestine. London: IB Tauris. Joseph, S. (2000). Gendering Citizenship in the Middle East. In J. Suad (Ed.), Gender and Citizenship in the Middle East (pp. 3–30). Syracuse: University Press. Said, E. (2001). Orientalism. Western Conceptions of the Orient. London: Penguin. Schambeck, M. (2013). Interreligiöse Kompetenz. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Smith, R.  M. (1997). Civic Ideals. Conflicting Visions of Citizenship in U.S. History. New Haven: Yale University Press. Tagesschau. (2016, April 14). Islam mit Grundgesetz nicht vereinbar. In Tagesschau. Retrieved March 9, 2017, from https://www.tagesschau.de/ inland/afd-257.html.

14 Conclusion: Where Do We Go from Here? Julia Droeber and Maurice Blanc

From our different corners of the world, we have been struggling to make sense of the relationship between religious and citizenship regimes. We have been in a conversation around these issues, on and off, for over a decade. We have met at different points in time and in various locations, in different pairs or groups, only once as the entire group. What we have documented in this volume are snapshots of how we view and have viewed the relationship between religion and citizenship at various moments and from a variety of positions. This collection reflects the development of our own thinking over the course of time and through reflection of what other group members have been saying. In a sense, the contributions to this volume represent empirical data for an investigation of the significance of religions for notions and practices of citizenship. At

J. Droeber (*) Ludwigsburg University of Education, Ludwigsburg, Germany M. Blanc University of Strasbourg, Strasbourg, France e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2020 M. Blanc et al. (eds.), Citizenship and Religion, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-54610-6_14

249

250 

J. Droeber and M. Blanc

the same time, we already work with this material that we have created ourselves to draw diverging analytical conclusions. It has become evident that we, while agreeing on different aspects, were unable to come to one overarching, straightforward result.

1

 ow to Reduce the Conceptual H Ambiguities of Citizenship and Religion?

Let us reiterate our ‘conversation’ and place it within the existing scholarly debate about the relationship between religion and citizenship. In the first part, we outlined our personal struggles with citizenship, religion, and secularism. We describe ‘from where we speak’, a basic requirement of feminist and other critical scholarship, as Blanc has mentioned in his Chap. 3. It provides the ‘lens’ through which we look at citizenship and religion. We position ourselves in order to create an understanding between ourselves, and between us and the reader, on some of the reasons why we see things the way we see them. Our view of citizenship and religion is coloured by the problems we have experienced in our own lifetime with these issues. These experiences were made in a wide range of times and places, which makes this collection quite unique. Our methodological approach could be included among the ‘lived religion’ approaches (Hall 1997; Orsi 2003; McGuire 2008) and the ‘lived citizenship’ approaches (Lister 2003; Siim 2000) that have replaced earlier approaches to citizenship and religion that have largely focused on status and rights. ‘Lived’ approaches work from the bottom up in order to understand dynamic relationships and developments rather than describing static positions on the macro level. In this sense, the first part of this book provides an ‘alternative narrative of the role of religion in the public sphere’ that interrogates ‘more precisely when, where and how religion played a (legitimate or disputed) role in democratic deliberation, policy formation and implementation’ (Nyhagen and Halsaa 2016: 34). It represents a bottom-up approach to the investigation of both citizenship and religion that helps us to discover ‘that religion—rather than being a single entity—is made up of diverse, complex and ever-changing

14  Conclusion: Where Do We Go from Here? 

251

mixtures of beliefs and practices, as well as relationships, experiences and commitments’ (McGuire 2008: 185). The first part of this book is a good illustration of this. We are citizens of three European and two MENA (Middle East and North African) countries, but all having experiences of living abroad for long stretches of time. Thus, while we all have roots in a particular citizenship regime, we all have been ‘guests’ among people with different citizenships from our own. These experiences of being ‘other’ have also shaped our critical views of how we can be active citizens and under which conditions. In other words, the first part describes different ‘shades’ of citizenship that we have personally lived and witnessed. What unites us in this part as well is that we all write from a minority perspective of sorts, be that of being non-religious among a religious majority, of women in a patriarchally dominated society, of being a foreigner, of belonging to a religious minority, or of having a contested political identity. The problems that seem to emerge from our contributions in the first part of this volume mirror in part the scholarly debate about citizenship in general and the relation between citizenship and religion in particular. Storrie’s Chap. 2 offers a personal perspective on how the multiplicity of cultural regimes has played out in the struggle to construct ‘citizenship’ in Great Britain during his lifetime. He offers a detailed description of the various aspects that play a part in these processes—social class, gender, religion, ethnicity. Different reform movements have contributed in diverging, often small, sometimes larger ways to a practice of citizenship that has become increasingly more participatory. The citizenship regime in Britain that is marked by the different pluralities represented in society has gradually moved towards the ideal of ‘participatory parity’ (Fraser 2003)—everybody should have the same status as partners in social interaction and be enabled to fully participate—even though there is still ample room for improvements. This ideal ‘background’ for just citizenship regimes is also pointed out by Werbner and Yuval-Davis (1999: 9): ‘particularities can only flourish in the context of shared, broad-based universalist-­democratic and social-economic equality’, a standpoint shared by all contributors to this volume.

252 

J. Droeber and M. Blanc

Another aspect of the relationship between religion and citizenship discussed by scholars emerges from Storrie’s Chap. 2 and Blanc’s Chap. 3: the tension between and the difficulty of clearly separating secular and religious, or public and private domains. For Blanc, a lengthy stay in the United States triggered a rethinking of this relationship and of the context in which he had been brought up. The question whether religion is a public or private matter has been at the heart of Blanc’s thinking about the link between citizenship and religion and shaped his contemporary view on the role of Islam in today’s secular France that he analyses in the second part of the book. Scholars have long struggled with this uneasy relationship between public and private, between religious and secular, beginning with Max Weber (1922). One result of this debate is the so-called secularisation thesis, prophesying a declining influence of ideas about the sacred (ibid.), a decline of religious explanations as opposed to scientific explanations (Bruce 2002), a process whereby religious institutions, actions, and consciousness lose their social significance (Wilson 1966: xiv), and an increasing privatisation and individualisation of religion (Berger 1967; Luckmann 1967). Blanc’s early experiences, even in his own family’s diverging understandings of religiosity, reflect more recent developments in this scholarly debate that consider the secularisation thesis largely untenable, particularly when looked at on a global scale (e.g. Demerath 2007). As Berger (1999: 2) puts it: the secularisation thesis is mistaken and the world is ‘as furiously religious as it ever was’. While the religious landscape worldwide is certainly changing, the significance of religion has obviously not decreased. Different concepts have been put forward to describe the processes, with which Blanc has also been struggling: Davie (2007) has called them ‘believing without belonging’ and ‘vicarious religion’. Day (2011) has conceptualised belief as the experience of belonging in a social context, an aspect Droeber picks up in her Chap. 12 in this volume. Others have described the renewed role of churches and other religious institutions in public policy debate and in the delivery of welfare services (Bäckström and Davis 2010; Dinham and Jackson 2012; Reynolds 2014), as well as religious growth and vitality due to immigration (Davie 2002; Ebaugh and Saltzman Chafetz 2000). Woodhead (2003) speaks of a ‘relational turn’ in modern religion, where emotions

14  Conclusion: Where Do We Go from Here? 

253

and relationships have moved centre-stage in contemporary religiosity. In other words, processes of secularisation and sacralisation seem to coexist in contemporary Europe, and in the world as a whole. Linked to the debate about secularisation is the conceptual separation of public and private spheres that also features in Blanc’s Chap. 3. Even before the secularisation thesis and the secular-religious binary used to be questioned, feminist scholars challenged the public-private binary. Particularly in the field of religious organisations and practised religion, the boundaries between public and private are blurred. Nyhagen and Halsaa (2016: 66) argue that ‘in combining private religious beliefs, civil society activism, and public deliberation and intervention, religious organisations represent a contested borderland where the practice and negotiation of citizenship status, rights, identities, participation and belonging may become especially acute’. Michon’s Chap. 4 supports the critique of the secular-religious binary as witnessed in his own life and in his research. In fact, he argues that teaching (about) religions should be an essential element of a functioning citizenship regime. Only when religions are taught in a ‘study-of-religion’ kind of approach is it possible to be Muslim in contemporary France, to answer the question he raises at the beginning. Such an approach, similar to that taken in Germany, as Droeber outlines in Chap. 13, could be a mechanism of inclusion of minorities into a particular citizenship regime (Benhabib 2004). Including religious education as a subject taught in schools may not only help stretch the discursive boundaries of the ‘citizenry’, but also, as Nussbaum (1999: 107) suggests, ‘contribute to the struggle for justice’. The focus on religious education would also take into account the kind of religiosity practised by the young people Michon has interviewed in Germany and France. While arguably changing in nature, religion and religiosity remain important issues in young people’s day-to-­ day lives and this ‘lived religion’ should be taken seriously for the development of ‘lived citizenship’. Another issue that features in the scholarly debate about religion and citizenship and that has been the focus of much feminist research is the role of gender in the construction of citizenship. It is at the heart of Bouatta’s experience described in her Chap. 5. The exclusionary nature of most citizenship regimes when it comes to gender equity or equality has

254 

J. Droeber and M. Blanc

been highlighted by feminist research on citizenship theories and practice. While for the male contributors to this book gender is not in the foreground of their personal experiences (although they may have later developed a critical stance), and Droeber, as the only other female contributor, does not describe personal discrimination on the basis of gender differences, for Bouatta it has become a central theme of her life story. Her personal experience in Algeria reflects the classical case discussed in much feminist scholarship on citizenship and gender since the 1990s. It is a useful reminder that while ‘Western’ feminist scholars may have moved beyond rights-based approaches to citizenship to also focus on questions of identity or participation (Lister 2003; Lister et  al. 2007; Siim 2000) there are other countries where women cannot even claim formal equal rights and status. Werbner and Yuval-Davis (1999: 8) have rightly observed that ‘in the states of the South, democracy and universal citizenship are—when they exist at all—relatively recent, often fragile achievements’. More than 25  years after Sylvia Walby asked whether citizenship was gendered (Walby 1994) Bouatta’s answer would be an emphatic ‘yes’ for the case of Algeria. It is against the background of her own struggle within the Algerian feminist movement that Bouatta has come to view the involvement of religiously motivated groups in Algerian politics with suspicion as they appear to undermine the feminist demand for equality of all citizens regardless of gender, class, ethnicity, or other such markers of identity. In this stance, she would agree with Nancy Fraser (2003), who speaks about the need for ‘participatory parity’ (ibidem: 29) of all citizens, that is, all citizens regardless of gender, religion, class, or other background should be granted the same status of full partners in the community, a right Bouatta would consider as conflicting with increasing participation of religious groups in decision-making positions. As Skjele (2007) has rightly pointed out, gender equality legislation does regularly not apply to religious associations, so that they can legally discriminate on the basis of gender or sexual orientation when such discrimination is based on religious doctrine. Shafei’s Chap. 6 is not only a useful reminder of the fact that the citizenship debate, just as the secularisation thesis, has its origin in Western Europe—Eurocentric or Occidentocentric, as Bauböck (2009: 10) has

14  Conclusion: Where Do We Go from Here? 

255

called it—and that the terms of the debate cannot be easily ‘transplanted’ into other parts of the world that are marked by diverging cultural and/ or religious traditions, historical developments, and political regimes. In both of his two contributions, Shafei elaborates convincingly on this problem. He reminds us, moreover, that citizenship, belonging, and identity are not only something we construct ourselves behind closed doors but are essentially, and often violently, influenced by political circumstances. Shafei’s experience of military occupation and of having both identity and citizenship constantly contested reflects what Werbner and Yuval-Davis (1999: 8) describe as a ‘particular, often hegemonic, vantage point’, which imposes ‘what is in reality a partial vision on others, placed differentially’. It reminds us that citizenship ideals—equal opportunities, participation on a par, legitimate identities—remain but a distant illusion in times of siege. Shafei’s contribution does, however, bear witness to the emotional and psychological aspects of citizenship also referred to in Droeber’s Chap. 7, albeit from a very different angle. Droeber’s personal experiences of a sense of belonging in a number of religious communities support another strand in the scholarly debate about religion and citizenship: the idea that religious belonging and participation within a religious community foster community engagement, particularly among migrants (Levitt 2008). Indeed, some scholars have moved towards using the term ‘religious citizenship’, without defining precisely what is meant by this, with the exception, perhaps, of Hudson (2003), who made out two levels of ‘religious citizenship’: the nation-­ state level and the civil society level. The former would be defined as the kind of citizenship ‘that your nation-state allows you to exercise in religious matters’ (ibidem: 426), whereas the latter is described as citizenship ‘which citizens exercise as religious persons in the civic sphere’ (ibid.). Droeber’s Chap. 7 would fall neatly into the second category, where belonging to a religious community is the basis for civic engagement. In line with similar arguments in the scholarly debate about citizenship and religion, we see how the areas of religion and citizenship can be bridged through the notion of ‘belonging’. Citizenship itself has been defined as belonging (Yuval-Davis 2006). This conceptualisation takes into account an often neglected part of citizenship referred to above, that is more frequently mentioned with regard to religion: emotional and psychological

256 

J. Droeber and M. Blanc

aspects. A sense of belonging, while perhaps positive for the person who belongs, also always creates ‘outsiders’, those who do not belong (ibid.). Many of the contributions to this book provide evidence for these processes of ‘Othering’ in European societies, in the sense that Werbner and Yuval-Davis (1999: 5) have described it: the ‘specific location of people in society mediates the constructions of their citizenship as “different’”. Cesari (2013) and Joulli (2015) and others before them have shown that it is particularly the Muslim minorities in European societies who are excluded from ‘belongingness’ through the creation of symbolic boundaries between ‘Us’ and ‘Them’. The ‘politics of belonging’ are thus at the core of both citizenship regimes and religion. In short, part one of this volume provides ‘glimpses from below’ on both citizenship and religion and the relationship between the two. It establishes the places ‘from where we speak’ and provides some ‘raw data’ on both lived religion and lived citizenship. Most of the issues relevant to the scholarly debate about religion and citizenship have played out in our personal lives to some extent or another. It is from this basis that we have engaged in further conversations about the relationship between religion and citizenship, and how we evaluate this relationship.

2

 he Interactions Between Citizenship T and Religion

In the second part, we essentially consider whether religion is a resource or a barrier for active citizenship. What has emerged—quite unexpectedly—as a central theme in our discussion is the ‘re-emergence’ of religion, particularly of Islam as a social and political force in the places where we are located. In our lifetimes, we have been witnesses to developments of the increased visibility of religious symbols and practice in public spheres. This is not to say that we support the notion of a ‘post-secular turn’, but we have observed changes in the quality of religion as lived. The main question that we have been posing to ourselves against this background has become whether this increased visibility of and emphasis on religious behaviour in public (and private) was a good thing or an

14  Conclusion: Where Do We Go from Here? 

257

obstacle for what we understand as ‘active citizenship’ in a democratic system. To cut a long story short, we were unable to agree on an answer for a variety of reasons, often related to our personal experiences. We obviously also could not agree on the role of secularism in finding an answer. What we did agree on is that historical, geographical, and political contexts as well as definitions have to be spelt out and analysed thoroughly in order to provide a context-specific answer to the question whether religion is a resource or a barrier for citizenship. Issues that we identified as playing key roles in any analysis of the relationship between religion and citizenship are terminological problems and translation of concepts into other languages and societies, gender and generation relations, fundamentalism, and the impact of education. In Chap. 8, Storrie puts his finger on a sore subject: the role of culture in social change. He has positioned himself on the secular side of the citizenship spectrum, but would probably agree with Joan Scott (2009), who pointed out that secular society is not, in and of itself, a guarantor for political or social equality between women and men, or between other groups of people for that matter. Thus, while secularism—the concept that religion should be a private matter and not appear in the public sphere—might seem, at first sight, the best option for a just and democratic society, particularly feminist scholarship has shown that not only does the secular-religious binary not hold in a strict sense (Nyhagen and Halsaa 2016: 4) but also that identity, participation, belonging, and an ethic of care, tolerance, respect, and love are essential pillars of both religion and citizenship regimes (ibid.). Storrie throws another element into the equation, namely culture. He argues that, even if secularism was the best solution for a just citizenship regime, cultural precepts, including religion, are stumbling blocks in the process of secularisation and democratisation. Culture and religion, in Storrie’s reading, are a barrier to democratic and secular citizenship because they are something that we have been socialised into and that we carry within us on an unconscious level, and that is, therefore, hard to break. This traditional, unchangeable aspect of institutional culture (including the religious cultures of churches) is something he has experienced himself during his lifetime, as he describes in his first contribution.

258 

J. Droeber and M. Blanc

This appears to go against the grain of much contemporary scholarship on citizenship and religion that has moved away from a focus on institutional forms of religion towards day-to-day forms of religious practice; that has come to emphasise the commonalities of many religious and citizenship ideals and values (e.g. Dillon 2010; Hall 1997). However, Storrie also pleads for a move away from institutionalised religion if personal beliefs no longer coincide with the precepts of a religious institution, a move he historically identifies in the Protestant Reformation in Europe. In this sense, Storrie would also argue for a ‘lived citizenship’ approach, one that sees the workings of citizenship regimes less in institutions, but rather in people’s relationships with each other. Shafei starts his Chap. 9 with an experiment among his university students in order to illustrate the problems of ‘lived citizenship’ as opposed to discussions on a conceptual level. Particularly in the Arab-Muslim world, the citizenship debate suffers from two problems: first, the terms of the debate are borrowed and poorly translated from European cultures and languages and they are, therefore, ill-understood by the ‘citizens’; second, Islam offers competing concepts and ideals that have increasingly emerged in the citizenship debate in recent decades. However, Shafei also shows that much of this ‘alternative’ Islamic terminology that has increasingly come into play in political debates goes back to pre-Islamic languages and cultures. Here, he identifies a similar mix of barriers to democratic citizenship practices, as did Storrie, albeit in a Muslim-­ dominated context. The challenge of translating concepts into other languages has also been analysed by Parolin (2009), who also traces it back to ancient eras, for instance concerning Greek philosophical concepts. Similar to Shafei, Parolin (2009) argues that in the Arab-Muslim context, European concepts of citizenship cannot be applied one to one since the socio-political structures have historically differed and continue to do so to a large extent. He identified at least three competing identities that play central roles in most Arab-Muslim societies and cultures: kin group, religious community, and nation-state. Often, membership in those diverging groups crosscut, sometimes they do not, but the different senses of belonging that have priority in different contexts, may be one reason for the frustrating confusion of terms and values in Shafei’s experiment.

14  Conclusion: Where Do We Go from Here? 

259

A second reason for the confusion amongst his students would have to be sought, according to Shafei, in the values attached to different concepts and terms in the citizenship debate in the Arab world. Evaluation varies with the degree of conformity with Islamic ideals as they are currently interpreted from Quranic verses or Prophetic sayings. An ethic such as ‘human rights’ is highly valued and accepted as far as it seems in conformity with Islamic ethics. The concept of ‘secularism’, on the other hand, appears pejorative since it seemingly contradicts Islamic precepts. Against this background, he, too, would see religion—here particularly Islam—as a barrier to a democratic citizenship regime. In the Near Eastern context, Shafei has experienced the connection between religion and citizenship as fraught with tensions and inequality as the debate about it has become part and parcel of a ‘politics of belonging’ that creates ‘insiders’ and ‘outsiders’ (Yuval-Davis 2006). While in the European context, it is often Muslims that have been constructed as ‘Others’ (e.g. Cesari 2013), in the Near Eastern context, it seems to be the non-­Muslims (or non-practising Muslims) and ‘their’ concepts that have become the ‘Other’ within the rhetoric of the politics of belonging. The discourse that Shafei describes is one that ‘creates symbolic boundaries between those who allegedly belong and those who allegedly don’t’ (Nyhagen and Halsaa 2016: 61). It appears that what Nyhagen and Halsaa (ibid.) describe for Europe’s past is valid for the present in the Near East: ‘Religion has historically been used as a traditional boundary marker between people […]. Religion has also been used in various ways to instil terror in people’s everyday lives’. This experience is shared by Bouatta, who completes the picture from an Algerian perspective. In Chap. 10, she uses the term ‘Supermuslim’ in the discussion of the politics of belonging that has been taking place in Algeria in recent decades. For an apparently increasing number of Algerians, it has become necessary or relevant to identify as ‘more Muslim than Muslim’, that is, as particularly and openly devout. Bouatta’s experience shared in both of her contributions exemplifies the feminist debate about the significance of religion for feminist struggles. On the one hand, we find feminist scholars who argue that religion ‘can contribute to the struggle for justice’ (Nussbaum 1999: 107), which would also include gender equality, while others maintain that religiosity

260 

J. Droeber and M. Blanc

and feminist ideals cannot go together well and that ‘all world religions are inherently patriarchal’ (Nyhagen and Halsaa 2016: 55; Okin 1999; Jeffreys 2012). Given Bouatta’s personal involvement in the feminist struggle in Algeria and her personal negative experiences with increasingly fundamentalist readings of Muslim tradition and texts, her view of religion as a barrier to democratic citizenship and her struggle are easily conceivable. She would, therefore, probably find it difficult to comprehend what recent intersectional research is beginning to show: gender is not always ‘of primary importance to women’s lives’ and ‘women experience different forms of inequality depending on their positioning in relation to multiple identities and inequalities’ (Nyhagen and Halsaa 2016: 58). In other words, as Nyhagen and Halsaa (2016) have shown, piety or submission under a particular religious order is for many believing women an active choice and one that is not necessarily contrary to democratic citizenship values. Bouatta, while obviously struggling with such an analysis, does indicate that young women’s piety in Algeria is one way to ‘bargain with patriarchy’ (Kandiyoti 1988). Regardless of the interpretation of young ‘Supermuslim’ women in contemporary Algeria, what can be observed is some kind of social polarisation, also picked up by Michon in his Chap. 11. He, too, identifies diverging interpretations of the interplay between religion and citizenship or politics, this time in contemporary France and Germany. Like Bouatta, he is also looking at young people in order to reflect on the directions democratic systems and societies are taking. Yet, while Bouatta reflects on young women’s pious agency, Michon analyses young people’s discourses on this agency and its place in a democratic society. He adds to the debate that young people’s discourse on these issues takes place on similar terms as the historical debate that has known two poles: a republican one and a democratic one. These two poles have split French—and arguably other European societies—and are reflected in the debate about secularism and the role of religion in a democratic system. Michon has identified an identitarian discourse on secularism—emphasising ‘neutrality’ of the state—and a denominational one—accepting freedom of conscience, particularly with regard to Islam. Just as Bouatta’s observations can be interpreted along these diverging lines, Michon finds that French and German societies are split in two about this issue. The polarisation

14  Conclusion: Where Do We Go from Here? 

261

identified here is equally reflected in the scholarly multiculturalism debate that has focused on rights and status, on the one hand, on more nuanced approaches that take into account marginalised groups, intra- and inter-­ group dynamics, and diverging kinds of agency. Michon’s contribution is a reminder that in the debate about the role of religion and religiosity in democratic citizenship practices, wider social and political discourses have to be taken into account since they, too, direct people’s behaviour. Michon’s research is an example of how ‘lived citizenship’ can be investigated in order to take aspects of identity, participation, and belonging into account. Blanc picks up this debate on secularism in France, asking about the place of fundamentalist interpretations of Islam in a democratic citizenship regime, therefore adding yet another aspect to the debate: what kind of religion are we talking about? There would be little controversy about the role of (any kind of ) peaceful, quietist religiosity or piety in a democratic citizenship system. The splits that Michon has described appear when it comes to more openly expressed, counter-cultural, or even extremist and violent religiosity, as they were also described by Bouatta. In Chap. 12, Blanc asks how we can avoid the development of extremist interpretations of religion and describes various attempts that have been made. Unfortunately, there is no ‘one-solution-fits-all’ in this case. What has been tried is to dispel the fascination of fundamentalist worldviews by various preventative measures particularly among the young. What remains unclear is how to treat fundamentalist prisoners and criminals, including the question of whether citizenship rights can be removed in such cases. These questions seem a far cry from Nyhagen and Halsaa’s (2016) discussion of whether Muslim and Christian women’s beliefs and piety in a number of European countries constitute a barrier towards their citizenship participation. Blanc is not dealing with an ‘ethic of care’ that Nyhagen and Halsaa (2016) have identified among believing women and that is also at the heart of most citizenship regimes. Instead, he worries about the destructive side of religiosity that has very little to do with care for others. This side of religion must certainly be counted as a barrier to democratic citizenship. This aspect of religion is certainly also at the heart of Droeber’s Chap. 13, including observations about the discourse on Islam in Germany.

262 

J. Droeber and M. Blanc

While there is a growing number of people who consider Islam (more so than any other religion present in contemporary Germany) as a barrier to democratic citizenship, there are parallel efforts to actively include Islam into the concept of German citizenship. These efforts—as particularly evident in the establishment of Islamic religious education in state schools—are arguably the result of very pragmatic political considerations rather than the conviction that Muslims must be granted the same citizenship rights as members of other religious communities, which in Germany includes the right to denominational religious education in state schools. Yet, they reflect a trend in contemporary scholarship on religion, citizenship, and identity: it has been argued that religious belonging and identity as well as participation and involvement in religious communities can enhance engagement in the wider community (Levitt 2008; Nyhagen and Halsaa 2016). The results of this project of acceptance of Islam into the ‘religious-education-fold’ at German schools remain to be seen. The hope is, and anecdotal evidence indicates, that the civic engagement of many Muslims in Germany is increasing with the acceptance of the Muslim community as equal partner, at least in the education game. In this sense, Droeber would probably argue that religion may largely be a resource for democratic citizenship regimes. Where do we go from here? Our conversation has ended here for the time being. We have put forward arguments, observations, and research which indicate that religion can be both a resource and a barrier for democratic citizenship regimes: Religion is thus a malleable resource that may have empowering and disempowering effects in relation to citizenship as lived or practised. (Nyhagen and Halsaa 2016: 68)

These authors further recommend that the question of whether religion is a barrier or a resource for citizenship practices ‘must therefore be investigated in specific, historical and socio-political contexts’ (ibid.), which is what this book has tried to do. Authors from a variety of backgrounds have provided evidence for and reflection of the relationship between religion and citizenship. The book is also a plea for a bottom-up

14  Conclusion: Where Do We Go from Here? 

263

approach to both citizenship and religion, or ‘lived religion’ and ‘lived citizenship’, as Nyhagen and Halsaa (2016) have called it. We hope to continue this conversation on both a personal and a scholarly level to listen to each other and learn from each other in our effort to make citizenship democratic in the best sense of the word.

3

 itizenship, Religion, and Extended C Complexity

When the team of authors decided to write this book together, their first aim was to consider the impact of citizenship and religion on the protection of nature and of the environment, threatened by industrial modernity. The Bruntland Report (1987) promoted sustainable development—associating ecological, economic, and social issues—as a global answer. Sustainable development quickly appeared to be a necessary but not a sufficient solution: we believe that citizenship and religion also are key factors to take into account. Today, although we do not know the precise causes of the expansion of the coronavirus which have given birth to a world crisis, the deregulation of both nature and the environment is presumably playing a huge part. However, religion and citizenship, as well as solidarity, already appear to be other major factors to enable us to get out of this crisis. Following Edgar Morin (2008), sustainable development is a restricted entirety and it should be incorporated into a general entirety, including also health, citizenship, and religion, and possibly other pillars not yet identified. This is the challenge of the increasing complexity of the world society.

References Bäckström, A., & Davie, G. (Eds.). (2010). Welfare and Religion in 21st century Europe (Vol. 1). Farnham: Ashgate. Bauböck, R. (2009). Preface. In G.  P. Parolin (Ed.), Citizenship in the Arab World: Kin, Religion and Nation-State (pp. 9–13). Amsterdam: University Press.

264 

J. Droeber and M. Blanc

Benhabib, S. (2004). The Rights of Others. Aliens, Residents and Citizens. Cambridge: University Press. Berger, P. (1967). The Sacred Canopy. Elements of a Sociological Theory of Religion. New York: Anchor Books, Doubleday. Berger, P. (1999). The Desecularization of the World: A Global Overview. In P. Berger (Ed.), The Desecularization of the World. Resurgent Religion and World Politics. Grand Rapids: Williams B. Erdmans. Bruce, S. (2002). God is Dead. Secularization in the West. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing. Bruntland, G. H. (1987). Our Common Future. Report of the World Commission on Environment and Development. Retrieved from https://sustainabledevelopment.un.org/content/documents/5987our-common-future.pdf. Cesari, J. (2013). Why the West Fears Islam: An Exploration of Islam in Western Liberal Democracies. New York: Palgrave. Davie, G. (2002). Europe: The Exceptional Case. Parameters of Faith in the Modern World. London: Darton, Longman & Todd. Davie, G. (2007). The Sociology of Religion. London: Sage. Day, A. (2011). Believing in Belonging. Belief and Social Identity in the Modern World. Oxford: University Press. Demerath, N.  J. (2007). Secularization and Sacralization Deconstructed and Reconstructed. In J.  A. Beckford & N.  J. Demerath (Eds.), The SAGE Handbook of the Sociology of Religion (pp. 57–80). London: Sage. Dillon, M. (2010). Can post-secular society tolerate religious differences? Sociology of Religion, 71(2), 139–156. Dinham, A., & Jackson, R. (2012). Religion, Welfare and Education. In L.  Woodhead & R.  Catto (Eds.), Religion and Change in Modern Britain (pp. 272–294). London: Routledge. Ebaugh, H. R., & Saltzman Chafetz, J. (2000). Religion and the New Immigrants. Walnut Creek, CA: AltaMira Press. Fraser, N. (2003). Social Justice in the Age of Identity Politics: Redistribution, Recognition, and Participation. In N.  Fraser & A.  Honneth (Eds.), Redistribution or Recognition? A Political-Philosophical Exchange (pp. 7–109). London: Verso. Hall, D. (Ed.). (1997). Lived Religion in America. Toward a History of Practice. Princeton: University Press. Hudson, W. (2003). ‘Religious Citizenship’, Australian Journal of Politics and History, 49(3), 425–429.

14  Conclusion: Where Do We Go from Here? 

265

Jeffreys, S. (2012). Man’s Dominion. The Rise of Religion and the Eclipse of Women’s Rights. London: Routledge. Joulli, J. (2015). Pious Practice and Secular Constraints. Women in the Islamic Revival in Europe. Stanford: University Press. Kandiyoti, D. (1988). Bargaining with Patriarchy. Gender and Society, 2(3), 274–290. Levitt, P. (2008). Religion as a Path to Civic Engagement. Ethnic and Racial Studies, 31(4), 766–791. Lister, R. (2003). Citizenship: Feminist Perspectives (2nd ed.). New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Lister, R., Williams, A., Anttonen, F., et  al. (2007). Gendering Citizenship in Western Europe. New Challenges for Citizenship Research in a Cross-National Context. Bristol: Policy Press. Luckmann, T. (1967). The Invisible Religion. The Problem of Religion in Modern Society. New York: Macmillan. McGuire, M. (2008). Lived Religion: Faith and Practice in Everyday Life. Oxford: University Press. Morin, E. (2008). Restricted Complexity, General Complexity. Retrieved from https://arxiv.org/pdf/cs/0610049v1.pdf. Nussbaum, M. (1999). ‘A Plea for Difficulty’. In: J. Cohen, M. Howard, and M. Nussbaum (eds.). Is Multiculturalism Bad for Women? Susan Moller Okin with Respondents. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 104–114. Nyhagen, L., & Halsaa, B. (2016). Religion, Gender and Citizenship. Women of Faith, Gender Equality and Feminism. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Okin, S. (1999). Is Multiculturalism Bad for Women? Princeton: Princeton University Press. Orsi, R. (2003). Is the Study of Lived Religion Irrelevant to the World we Live in? Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion, 42(2), 169–174. Parolin, G. P. (2009). Citizenship in the Arab World. Kin, Religion and Nation-­ State. Amsterdam: University Press. Reynolds, N. (2014). Resurgence of Religion in Public Life: Expressing Christianity through Public Service Provision. Doctoral Thesis. Department of Social Sciences, Loughborough University, UK. Scott, J. (2009). Secularism. Florence, Italy: Ursula Hirschmann Annual Lecture on Gender and Europe, European University Institute and Robert Schuman Centre for Advanced Studies. Siim, B. (2000). Gender and Citizenship. Politics and Agency in France, Britain, and Denmark. Cambridge: University Press.

266 

J. Droeber and M. Blanc

Skjele, H. (2007). Religious Exemptions to Equality. Critical Review of International Social and Political Philosophy, 10(4), 471–490. Walby, S. (1994). Is Citizenship Gendered? Sociology, 28(2), 379–395. Weber, M. (1922). The Sociology of Religion. Boston: Beacon Press. Werbner, P., & Yuval-Davis, N. (1999). Introduction: Women and the New Discourse of Citizenship. In N. Yuval-Davis & P. Werbner (Eds.), Women, Citizenship and Difference (pp. 1–38). London, New York: Zed Books. Wilson, B. (1966). Religion in Secular Society. London: Penguin. Woodhead, L. (2003). Feminism and the Sociology of Religion: From Gender Blindness to Gendered Difference. In R. Fenn (Ed.), The Blackwell Companion to Sociology of Religion (pp. 67–84). Oxford: Blackwell Publishing. Yuval-Davis, N. (2006). Belonging and the Politics of Belonging. Patterns of Prejudice, 40(3), 197–214.

Index1

A

B

Active citizenship, 3, 4, 6–9, 36, 36n1, 37, 256, 257 Ahmadiyya, 182 Alevi, 237n1, 241n4, 244 Algeria, 2, 5–7, 40, 77–79, 82, 84–86, 88, 90–92, 94n5, 167–182, 208, 208n5, 210, 211n8, 213, 216, 219, 254, 259, 260 Anglican, 15, 18, 114, 116, 140 Antigone, 15n2, 54 Arab, 90, 100–102, 106, 108, 109, 109n9, 151, 151n1, 153–156, 158, 159, 163–165, 163n7, 164n8, 206, 210, 210n7, 259 Arabic, 5, 7–9, 94, 100, 101n4, 119, 153–156, 158, 159, 161, 162, 164, 175, 217, 222n18 Arab Spring, 79, 90, 155, 164 Authenticity, 119

Belonging, 58, 95, 98, 101, 104, 111–124, 178, 196, 251–253, 255–259, 261, 262 Boundaries, 121, 124, 175–176, 236, 237, 239, 241, 253, 256, 259 C

Catho-laicity, 66–67 Christians, 5, 8, 14, 23, 24, 28, 29n8, 39, 40, 53, 54, 58, 59n3, 60, 61, 67, 69, 100, 101, 105, 107, 113, 114, 116, 117, 119, 121, 124, 132, 136, 140n5, 152, 156, 159, 160, 163, 182, 187, 214, 234–237, 241n3, 246, 261

 Note: Page numbers followed by ‘n’ refer to notes.

1

© The Author(s) 2020 M. Blanc et al. (eds.), Citizenship and Religion, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-54610-6

267

268 Index

Citizen, 1–3, 7, 8, 18–20, 22, 29, 31n9, 32, 36, 36n1, 49, 50, 53, 54, 58, 68, 75–95, 98–101, 103–109, 117, 118, 120–123, 132, 137, 140, 148, 153–155, 158, 160, 163–165, 187, 189, 195, 199, 208n5, 218, 221, 231–246, 251, 254, 255, 258 Citizenship, 1–9, 13–32, 35–54, 65, 72, 76, 77, 79, 89–92, 97–109, 111–124, 130, 138, 141, 142, 147, 148, 151–165, 208n5, 226, 232–240, 244–246, 249–263 Civil disobedience, 14, 14n1 Civil society, 3, 8, 20, 29, 30, 45, 47, 102, 104, 106, 138–140, 144, 147, 148, 222, 224, 226, 253, 255 Colony, 40, 208 Colour-blindness, 117, 120, 123 Common good, 3, 22, 36, 37, 49, 50, 141, 148, 225, 226 Community, 6, 20, 23, 30, 35, 41, 47, 49, 59n3, 86, 88, 100, 101n4, 112–124, 132, 138, 140, 152, 154, 156, 160, 179, 211, 213, 217, 220, 234, 236, 237, 237n1, 239, 240, 244, 254, 255, 258, 262 Compromise, 30, 46, 51, 52, 144, 147, 160, 177, 204, 206, 211–213, 226 Conflict, 23, 24, 27, 28, 30, 31, 51, 54, 61, 65, 119, 121, 136, 137, 147, 155–157, 167, 176, 177, 189, 211, 226, 234, 235, 239

Conflictual cooperation, 30–32, 144, 147 Constitution, 5, 78–80, 78n1, 82, 85, 91, 92, 132, 142, 160, 222 Culture, 6, 16, 17n4, 21, 22, 31, 36, 38, 62, 63, 66, 78, 92, 94, 101, 101n4, 105, 129–149, 151, 153, 153n3, 156–165, 167, 171, 172, 180, 188, 189, 208, 209, 243, 257, 258 D

Democracy, 3, 6, 8, 28, 29, 32, 44, 89, 92, 104, 105, 109, 133, 134, 137, 140, 147, 151, 153, 162–165, 165n9, 185, 187–189, 192, 193, 207, 225, 254 Denomination, 14, 15, 112, 116, 118, 119, 235, 236, 237n1, 241, 242, 244, 245 De-radicalisation, 47, 204, 207, 220, 221 Dialogue, 2, 29, 42, 160, 204, 212n9, 243–245 Discrimination, 5, 16, 17n4, 28, 45, 78, 100–101, 105, 106n7, 122, 132, 210, 215, 216, 237, 254 Dis-indoctrination, 220, 222, 223 Dissent, 139–140 Divorce, 40, 83, 84, 106, 135 E

Education, 4, 9, 15, 16, 28, 37, 39, 54, 59, 59n2, 63–65, 67, 90, 91, 103, 105, 106, 111, 112,

 Index 

117, 172, 176, 181, 192, 197, 220, 232–234, 237n1, 240–242, 241n4, 244, 245, 253, 257, 262 Emancipation, 8, 83, 187, 215 Emotions, 14, 118, 119, 130, 169, 225, 252 England, 6, 15, 15n3, 114, 135–137, 137n3, 142 Enlightenment, 21, 93, 133, 139 Environmental crisis, 22 Equality, 8, 13, 16, 18, 76, 78n1, 82–85, 89–93, 95, 104–109, 131, 141, 147, 151–155, 161, 163–165, 168n2, 195, 205, 206, 217, 251, 253, 254, 257, 259 Europe, 8, 20, 54, 67, 107, 133, 135, 136, 154, 185, 186, 203–226, 235, 253, 258, 259 Extremism, 203–226, 232, 237

269

103–106, 130, 140, 140n5, 142, 154, 173, 186, 187, 189, 191, 192, 195, 203–226, 252, 253, 260, 261 Freedom of conscience, 6, 78n1, 195–196, 198, 199, 205, 212, 260 Fundamentalism, 168, 181, 182, 203–207, 221, 232, 257 Fundamentalist Islam, 213 G

Gender equality, 8, 16, 93, 206, 254, 259 Germany, 5, 9, 20, 36, 43, 47, 52, 60, 61, 112, 113, 115, 116, 130, 136, 186, 189, 191, 206, 212n9, 213n11, 224, 231, 253, 260–262 H

F

Faith, 24, 31, 59, 60, 113, 114, 120, 121, 134, 138, 140, 143, 145, 157, 159, 196 Family Code, 5, 53, 78–83, 91–93, 95 Feminine, 5, 82, 83 Feminism, 93, 131 Feminist/Feminist Square/feminists, 5, 7, 50, 68, 76, 80–83, 92–95, 131, 168n2, 206, 211, 211n8, 215, 250, 253, 254, 257, 259, 260 France, 4, 5, 7–9, 20, 36, 38, 42, 45–49, 54, 57–72, 92,

Hirak, 5, 8, 94–95 Home, 83, 85, 112–116, 119, 121, 132, 169, 208, 209, 233, 237 Human rights, 19, 22, 26, 49, 58, 88, 104, 107, 139, 141, 151, 161, 162, 239, 259 I

Identity/identity card, 5, 20, 38, 61, 67, 77, 84, 99–103, 119, 120, 122, 157, 170, 178, 179, 182, 185, 195, 198, 204, 211, 222, 251, 253–255, 257, 258, 260–262

270 Index

Immigration, 16, 41, 54, 118, 142n6, 159, 252 Inquisition, 38, 52, 134, 205 Institutional racism, 17, 17n4 Intercultural learning, 21 Inter-religious, 46, 52, 232, 243, 244 Islam, 2, 4, 5, 15, 45, 58, 78, 124, 129, 152, 167–182, 185, 203–226, 231–246, 252 Islamic Front, 85–88, 90 Islamic scarf, 214–215 Islamic veil, 172, 214 Islamisation, 217 Islamist, 77, 79, 81, 83–94, 102, 104, 107, 108, 155, 156, 160–165, 171n3, 172n6, 180, 215 Israel, 98, 100–102, 107n8, 108, 165

M

J

N

Jews, 46, 54, 101, 107, 124, 152, 159, 160, 163–165, 187, 214 Jihad, 28, 203, 207, 216, 220 Jordan, 5, 97–99, 98n1, 101, 102, 104, 113, 114 K

Koran, 7, 27, 158, 160, 162, 211

Male domination, 7, 80, 91, 92, 206 Martyrdom, 218–219 Middle East, 7, 38, 103, 105, 109, 151, 158, 164, 216, 233, 237 Migrant, 49, 182, 186, 208–211, 213, 219, 245, 255 Minority, 15, 16, 17n4, 44, 47, 52, 63n7, 92, 100, 107, 113, 116, 132, 154, 165, 191, 196, 206, 232, 237, 246, 251, 253, 256 Mosque, 24, 29, 48, 79, 85, 86, 91, 114, 116, 172, 177, 179, 182, 207, 211, 213, 237n1, 242, 245 Muhammad (Prophet), 158, 159, 179, 180 Muslim, 4, 28, 47, 57–72, 82, 100, 111, 132, 151, 167, 186, 206, 231, 240–245, 253

Narcissist contract, 169, 175n11 O

Occidental, 17, 133, 151, 153, 156, 157, 161, 164 Occupied territories, 97–109, 157 Orthodox, 6, 114, 116, 117, 133, 235, 241n4 Otherness, 41, 177, 178, 232

L

Laicity, 65–69, 207, 211–215, 221 Liberation theology, 134–136, 139 Living together, 44, 148, 225 Local initiative, 36, 223

P

Palestine, 5, 6, 97, 98n1, 99–104, 106–108, 115, 152n2, 153, 158, 233

 Index 

Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO), 100, 101 Palestinian Authority, 106–108, 107n8 Participatory/participation, 36, 38, 45, 90, 105, 122, 123, 210, 217, 251, 253–255, 257, 261, 262 Patriarchy, 68, 168–171, 178, 193 PLO, see Palestine Liberation Organization Polarization/polarisation, 185–199, 260 Polygamy, 84 Poverty, 28, 47 Prejudice, 17n4, 64, 123, 240 Prison, 8, 42, 102n5, 207, 215, 221–224, 223n19 Private domain, 29, 37, 44, 140, 252 Protestant, 4–6, 14, 15, 23–25, 41, 47, 48, 52, 61, 67, 112, 113, 116, 117, 119, 134, 135, 137, 137n4, 140n5, 148, 205, 233–236, 241n4, 242, 245 Protestant Reformation, 6, 14, 135, 143, 147, 148, 258 Psychology, 121, 122, 181, 190 Public domain, 6, 29, 37, 44–48, 50, 104, 148 R

Race relations Race Relations Act, 16 Radical, 15, 21, 30, 135, 161–163, 204, 211, 215, 217, 219, 221–224, 242 Radicalisation, 8, 69, 70, 72, 173, 204, 205, 216–218, 221, 226, 242

271

Refugees, 49, 108, 134n2, 233, 236–241, 245, 246 Re-islamisation, 79, 90, 168, 171–173 Religious development, 47, 120 Religious education, 9, 28, 63, 65, 111, 112, 117, 172, 233, 234, 237n1, 240–242, 241n4, 244, 245, 253, 262 Republic, 5, 58, 66, 80, 81, 155, 187–189 Resistance, 18, 19, 29, 54, 100, 102, 130, 157, 167 Rights, 3, 7, 8, 14, 15, 17–20, 23, 26, 31n9, 36, 37, 46, 49, 54, 58, 65, 68, 77, 78, 80, 81, 83, 84, 88, 89, 91, 93–95, 98, 99, 103, 105–109, 118, 119, 122, 129–132, 138, 139, 140n5, 141, 142, 145, 148, 149, 151, 152, 154, 155, 159–163, 165, 168n2, 196, 206, 208n5, 210, 212, 215, 220, 223–225, 233–235, 239–242, 241n4, 245, 246, 250, 253, 254, 261, 262 Right to vote, 36, 91, 208n5 Roman Catholic, 14, 15n2, 112, 114, 134 Rushdie, Salman, 26–28, 31, 224 S

Said, Edward, 69n12, 118, 119, 236, 238 Salafism, 205, 216 Satanic Verses, 26, 27

272 Index

School, 2, 5, 8, 9, 15, 40, 41, 44, 49, 61, 62, 64, 68, 69, 75, 76, 87, 93, 104, 106, 111, 112, 117, 119, 123, 139, 140, 140n5, 156, 162, 181, 182, 186, 188, 190–193, 195–197, 199, 206, 210, 214, 215, 217, 222, 233, 234, 237n1, 240–245, 241n4, 253, 262 Scotland, 6, 14, 15, 15n3, 113, 115, 137, 137n3, 142n6 Secular/secularism, 2, 4–6, 29, 29n8, 35–54, 58, 59n2, 64, 66, 68–69, 78, 82, 86, 93, 101–105, 123, 129, 130, 132–135, 140–142, 153, 155–158, 156n4, 161, 163–165, 185–199, 203–226, 250, 252, 257, 259–261 Self, 30, 59, 179, 182, 236, 238 Sexual violence, 206 Shari’a, 26, 162 Shiite, 134, 179, 244 Social contract, 22, 107, 138 Socialist, 5, 58, 102, 103, 163, 224 Social transaction, 21, 39, 48, 51–52, 144, 204, 213, 226 Statutory citizenship, 3, 36 Strangerness, 58, 66, 131, 146, 147, 236, 238 Student, 7, 9, 15, 30, 42–43, 64, 65, 68n11, 76, 95, 103, 104, 106–108, 111, 113, 124, 129, 130, 132, 152–154, 152n2, 153n3, 157, 172, 172n7, 174n8, 190, 192, 195, 197, 199, 233, 243, 244, 258, 259

Supermuslim, 2, 7, 8, 168, 168n2, 173–174, 177–182, 216, 259, 260 T

Terrorist attack, 3, 64, 69 Theocratic, 6, 29, 52, 129, 130, 134, 137, 138 Tolerance, 5, 26, 41, 51, 66, 105, 132, 151, 159, 232, 246, 257 Translation, 7, 153–155, 158, 164, 203, 210, 221, 257 U

United Kingdom (UK), 5, 9, 18, 19n5, 24, 36n1, 98, 130, 132, 134–136, 134n2, 137n4, 140, 142n6, 214, 224 University, 7, 42, 68, 71, 76, 80, 85, 88, 103, 104, 106, 112–114, 129, 139, 156, 162, 174n8, 186, 235, 243, 258 W

Wahhabism, 205 West Bank, 97–102, 98n1, 107n8, 108 Women’s movement, 5, 7, 14n1, 78, 79, 82, 82n2, 83, 89 Y

Youth, 5, 17, 20, 62, 102n5, 113, 116, 185–200, 208, 242, 243