The French government's move this year to ban the wearing of the burqa or niqhab in public led to passionate debate about multi-culturalism and national identity. Mediapart talked to Muslim men and women of different ages, backgrounds and occupations to learn their views of the issues and what it is to live with their faith in France. All of those featured in this series live in La Courneuve, a suburb north of Paris notorious for the difficult living conditions in its large social housing projects. Abdel was one of the most difficult to convince to be interviewed (see Black Box at bottom of page).
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It took Abdel1 three months to decide that he would devote himself to Islam. That was ten years ago, at the turn of 2000. "There was talk that the world was coming to an end," he explained, and he wanted to change his life-style. Either he would become a true Muslim or he would cut all ties with tradition. Becoming a believer won out.
At 35, he now wears a beard as a sign of his religiosity despite the prejudice he reads on people's faces. Abdel doesn't expand on the subject of his youth. He talks about petty crimes, messing around with girls (only a little, "without toying with their virginity"), drugs (a lot), alcohol, theft. He says he could have done jail time but that he was lucky. He knew when to stop before things went too far. "I was excessive in nature. Fortunately I encountered Islam," he explained.
Islam was familiar to him while being foreign at the same time. Around him he saw "a lot of mates who prayed, yet they were liars, aggressive and thieves," he said. As for himself, he felt a certain "confusion". He didn't pray and more or less followed Ramadan, but "in the end I was pretty coherent with my actions," he added. Nonetheless, he felt a little guilty when his mother told him she didn't understand him.
It's clear that Abdel hasn't always worn the long beard that, today, dangles several centimetres below his chin. "When I would see a man with an ‘Islamic' beard, I didn't find that handsome," he explained, adding, "I thought that person was too committed. I pondered a lot about the terrorist attacks at Saint-Michel in 19952. Without realising it, I adopted the same clichés about bearded Islamists that, today, people adopt concerning me. I understand them. Whenever there's a picture of a terrorist, he's got a long beard like mine".
The turning point arrived in 2000. "I was praying and I felt [God's] mercy. Let's be clear, I didn't see anything, didn't hear anything but I felt the faith, which many people had told me about. Often people find religion when they are in a desperate situation, unemployed, for example. For me, it was more a kind of maturity," Abdel said.
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1: The name has been changed at the request of the interviewee.
2: Terrorist attack in the Parisian RER commuter train. A homemade bomb exploded while the train was stopped at the St. Michel underground station in central Paris in July 1995. Perpetrated by the Algerian Armed Islamic Group (GIA), the attack left eight people dead and 117 others wounded.
'People don't understand that it is stronger than oneself'
Trusting his own judgment, and especially not that of the elders "whom one trusts even though they're talking through their hats," Abdel began reading "in order to find out if God exists". He started his religious instruction anew, read Le Hasard impossible by Mohammed Keskas1 before moving on to Histoire des prophètes by Ismaïl Ibn Kathir2. He found that he was "disgusted by Muslims who do all sorts of things (such as meeting with marabouts3) and who then go on a pilgrimage at the end of their lives to get cleansed".
Very quickly, Abdel gave up trying to convince non-believers because "it's even worse than trying to convince a man with an ‘Islamic' beard to shave," he said. Too bad for them, "if they want to remain between two worlds," he adds. As for him, he feels stronger, ready "thanks to my religion, to react to what life has in store, to not collapse at the death of a wife or of a child."
For him, religion is also about taking action. "Those who say that they have it in their hearts but don't practice, that's strange. To a woman you don't say ‘I love you' without offering something to prove it," he said.
Yet, for three years, Abdel did not grow a beard. "It was internal," he explained. But his faith grew and "what God likes, I do," he said. This doesn't make him a mystic, however. "When I was young, I liked Hip-Hop, so I dressed like a guy who likes Hip-Hop. A guy who likes Johnny4 has tattoos. Well, when one really loves one's religion, it's the same thing."
When he was about to have his first child with his wife ("her background is about the same as mine, she wears a veil," he said), Abdel quit his job so that he wouldn't have to work nights. He let his beard grow even if that would complicate his life. "A beard is the male equivalent of the niqab5. Civil servants look at you differently", he said. "So does the family. People can't understand that it's something stronger than oneself. For them being that identifiable, being associated with terrorist attacks doesn't serve any useful purpose," Abdel explained.
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1: Loosely translated as: The Impossible Accident. The book examines the theory of evolution from the point of view of a believer in Islam.
2: History of the Prophets
3: A Muslim holy man, hermit or saint. Some also act as soothsayers and/or provide amulets to ward off evil or to induce good fortune. These practices are frowned upon by orthodox Muslims.
4: Johnny Hallyday, veteran French rock n' roll star.
5: Veil worn by some Muslim women that covers everything but the eyes and the hands. Also known as a burqa.
'It is only a problem on the job market'
It certainly doesn't help in finding a job. Civil service jobs are out of the question. "It's not possible with my appearance," he said. Security jobs, like the one he had before aren't possible. "I can't be a security guard in posh places like the Bastille Opera house or the American Hospital," he claimed. Through connections, Abdel did find a job as a security guard, but an old police record caught up with him. "If I didn't wear a beard, I'm not sure they would have checked me out. But with my stereotyped look, they were distrustful. My previous employer, for example, didn't check me out. At the time, I didn't wear a beard," he said.
Abdel admitted, however, that he will never be able to prove that there is a relation between the beard and his employment woes. "Everybody has trouble finding work. And there are people who have kept their jobs in airports with beards twice as long as mine," he conceded.
His beard, by some quirk of nature, stopped growing after two years. Only the appearance of a few grey hairs shows it is changing. Nonetheless, he is still called a salafist1. "You feel a kind of hostility, but, you know, when you live here, in such a social garbage dump, you can't feel ill at ease. It's only on the job market that it poses a problem," he said.
Abdel wears the qamis (traditional Muslim robe) only when he goes to the mosque. "There are some really beautiful ones, but for work or shopping, a sweat suit is more practical, he said. For now he's taking on odd jobs such as "doing a little of everything" in a bakery. He said he will give up his beard "only if the authorities force us to do so". He is not joking, he believes that is possible: "When you see the law on the niqab2, I tell myself that perhaps, one of these days, it will be our turn."
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1: A common term for an Islamic fundamentalist.
2: Earlier this year, the French parliament passed a law forbidding the wearing, in public places, of the niqab. Islamic headscarves were banned in public schools in 2004.
English version: Patricia Brett