Europe’s problem with the burqa

Is there an anthropological explanation for the high level of disapproval for a garment worn by so f

This week members of the lower house of the National Assembly of France approved a bill, which, if ratified by the Senate in September, will make it illegal for women to wear the burqa or niqab in public.

In France, it is estimated that only around 1,900 women, out of a total Muslim population of about five million, wear the full-body veil. In the UK, Germany and Spain the number is almost certainly smaller, yet a survey has shown that the public in all four countries overwhelmingly supports the measure.

Why should a relatively small number of Muslim women who wear this item of clothing in a small number of European towns and cities generate such a high level of disapproval from their fellow citizens?

There is no doubt that in modern multicultural societies -- open societies, in other words -- the tolerated range of behaviour, what people can say and do, including how they dress, is much greater than at any other time in human history.

This makes the widespread opposition to the burqa very puzzling. Part of the explanation must lie in the way that the symbolism of the garment relates to the key economic and social values of the dominant culture.

First, it is obvious that advanced economies require a pool of socially and geographically mobile labour. For better or worse, this means that a very high premium is placed on good social and interpersonal skills. For communication to be effective, it is obvious that a person's face and eyes have to be visible, not least because of the significance of face-to-face encounters in the workplace (even the virtual workplace). In other words, the face becomes symbolic of the whole person.

Moreover, this pattern is not confined to the world of work, but extends to free time as well. For example, it is no accident that a photograph of a face typically dominates a member's profile on social networking sites such as Facebook and MySpace. Information conveyed by text is a secondary consideration, often simply filling out details already conveyed by the image.

Image of power

Nevertheless, this emphasis on individuality, interpersonal skills and friendship networks, symbolised by a public face, comes at a price, as it necessarily devalues the role and significance of family and community -- the very aspects of social life that wearers of the burqa are trying to defend. In addition, they and the kinship group to which they belong see themselves pursuing a spiritual, rather than economic identity, guided by a more authentic form of Islam (though many other Muslims will dispute this). For them, the veil is a means to that end because, like all sacred objects, it is believed to be a source of metaphysical power.

Second, it is evident that in the advanced economies of Europe, the main focus of human activity is the production and consumption of secular goods and services. By default, religion has been relegated to the periphery. For most of the population, the evidence suggests that religion forms only a backdrop, mainly concerned with life-cycle rituals connected with birth, marriage and death.

The exception to this pattern is the very small number of seriously committed, full-time religious specialists who live in closed or semi-closed communities. In most of western Europe, the model of appropriate behaviour, including the dress code that is so important in distinguishing religious personnel from laypeople, comes from the Roman Catholic tradition.

It is also worth highlighting that nearly all religious specialists tend to reside within (or near) sacred spaces such convents, monasteries and churches, which are conventionally protected from the profane world by high walls. This is the way they and the secular majority like it; the physical separation permits the sacred status of religious personnel to be maintained.

The argument works the other way round, of course; the absence of religious specialists from mainstream work and leisure spaces ensures that the integrity or purity of the secular world is not contaminated in any way.

Wearers of the burqa, on the other hand, appear to violate this rule concerning division, because although their appearance suggests to many of the secular majority that they are full-time religious specialists who might be expected to behave like celibate Catholic nuns and live in a closed institution, they are to be found in ordinary houses, are often married and often have children, and they shop at the supermarket. Like all behaviour that is perceived as anomalous, this is a source of fear and anxiety for those in the population who do not understand the rules of the game.

Hail the puritans?

There is a further point. A significant segment of socially progressive Europeans, male and female, evidently find it very difficult to understand why women would voluntarily choose to wear the veil. For them, wearing the garment will be perceived as act of betrayal, an attempt to turn back the clock on often hard-won rights. Put simply, the visible marking of a rigidly defined gender role, the elimination of social mobility by restricting access to the mainstream job market, and the removal of a group of young women from interacting with people from other social groups does not sit well with the "open" values of a postmodern world.

For a variety of reasons, therefore, the veil looks certain to remain an important battleground in an ongoing struggle between the dominant secular culture of western Europe and a religious minority struggling to establish the right to worship in accordance with its religious world-view.

But it is important to keep a sense of perspective. Like any sectarian movement trying to make headway in the advanced economies of Europe, the burqa wearers are likely to remain tiny in number. We should also bear in mind that, although for many Europeans, wearers of the burqa resemble anomalous Roman Catholic nuns, these Muslims are, in reality, anti-ritualists, ideologically more akin to the radical puritans of Protestant tradition, another important strand in contemporary western culture.

Perhaps it would be helpful if Christian religious and political leaders pointed this out to their followers and constituents before matters get out of hand. For whichever way you look at it, it is surely in no one's interest that those in Europe who choose to wear the veil should be turned into martyrs.

Dr Sean Carey is research fellow at the Centre for Research on Nationalism, Ethnicity and Multiculturalism (CRONEM) at Roehampton University.

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Love a good box set? Then you should watch the Snooker World Championships

The game relies on a steady arm, which relies on a steady nerve. The result is a slow creeping tension needs time and space to be properly enjoyed and endured. 

People are lazy and people are impatient. This has always been so – just ask Moses or his rock – but as illustrated by kindly old Yahweh, in those days they could not simply answer those impulses and stroll on.

Nowadays, that is no longer so. Twitter, YouTube and listicles reflect a desire for complex and involved issues, expansive and nuanced sports – what we might term quality – to be condensed into easily digestible morsels for effort-free enjoyment.

There is, though, one notable exception to this trend: the box set. Pursuing a novelistic, literary sensibility, it credits its audience with the power of sentience and tells riveting stories slowly, unfolding things in whichever manner that it is best for them to unfold.

In the first episode of the first series of The Sopranos, we hear Tony demean his wife Carmela's irritation with him via the phrase “always with the drama”; in the seventh episode of the first series we see his mother do likewise to his father; and in the 21st and final episode of the sixth and final series, his son uses it on Carmela. It is precisely this richness and this care that makes The Sopranos not only the finest TV show ever made, but the finest artefact that contemporary society has to offer. It forces us to think, try and feel.

We have two principal methods of consuming art of this ilk - weekly episode, or week-long binge. The former allows for anticipation and contemplation, worthy pursuits both, but of an entirely different order to the immersion and obsession offered by the latter. Who, when watching the Wire, didn’t find themselves agreeing that trudat, it's time to reup the dishwasher salt, but we’ve run out, ain’t no thing. Losing yourself in another world is rare, likewise excitement at where your mind is going next.

In a sporting context, this can only be achieved via World Championship snooker. Because snooker is a simple, repetitive game, it is absorbing very quickly, its run of play faithfully reflected by the score.

But the Worlds are special. The first round is played over ten frames – as many as the final in the next most prestigious competition – and rather than the usual week, it lasts for 17 magical days, from morning until night. This bestows upon us the opportunity to, figuratively at least, put away our lives and concentrate. Of course, work and family still exist, but only in the context of the snooker and without anything like the same intensity. There is no joy on earth like watching the BBC’s shot of the championship compilation to discover that not only did you see most of them live, but that you have successfully predicted the shortlist.

It is true that people competing at anything provides compelling drama, emotion, pathos and bathos - the Olympics proves this every four years. But there is something uniquely nourishing about longform snooker, which is why it has sustained for decades without significant alteration.

The game relies on a steady arm, which relies on a steady nerve. The result is a slow creeping tension needs time and space to be properly enjoyed and endured. Most frequently, snooker is grouped with darts as a non-athletic sport, instead testing fine motor skills and the ability to calculate angles, velocity and forthcoming shots. However, its tempo and depth is more similar to Test cricket – except snooker trusts so much in its magnificence that it refuses to compromise the values which underpin it.

Alfred Hitchcock once explained that if two people are talking and a bomb explodes without warning, it constitutes surprise; but if two people are talking and all the while a ticking bomb is visible under the table, it constitutes suspense. “In these conditions,” he said, “The same innocuous conversation becomes fascinating because the public is participating in the scene. The audience is longing to warn the characters on the screen: ‘You shouldn't be talking about such trivial matters. There is a bomb beneath you and it is about to explode!’”

Such is snooker. In more or less every break, there will at some point be at least one difficult shot, loss of position or bad contact – and there will always be pressure. Add to that the broken flow of things – time spent waiting for the balls to stop, time spent prowling around the table, time spent sizing up the table, time spent cleaning the white, time spent waiting for a turn – and the ability for things to go wrong is constantly in contemplation.

All the more so in Sheffield’s Crucible Theatre. This venue, in its 40th year of hosting the competition, is elemental to its success. Place is crucial to storytelling, and even the word “Crucible” – whether “a ceramic or metal container in which metals or other substances may be melted or subjected to very high temperatures,” “a situation of severe trial”, or Arthur Miller’s searing play – conjures images of destruction, injustice and nakedness. And the actual Crucible is perhaps the most atmospheric arena in sport - intimate, quiet, and home to a legendarily knowledgeable audience, able to calculate when a player has secured a frame simply by listening to commentary through an earpiece and applauding as soon as the information is communicated to them.

To temper the stress, snooker is also something incredibly comforting. This is partly rooted in its scheduling. Working day and late-night sport is illicit and conspiratorial, while its presence in revision season has entire cohorts committing to “just one more quick frame”, and “just one more quick spliff”. But most powerfully of all, world championship snooker triggers memory and nostalgia, a rare example of something that hasn’t changed, as captivating now as it was in childhood.

This wistfulness is complemented by sensory pleasure of the lushest order. The colours of both baize and balls are the brightest, most engaging iterations imaginable, while the click of cue on ball, the clunk of ball on ball and the clack of ball on pocket is deep and musical; omnipresent and predictable, they combine for a soundtrack that one might play to a baby in the womb, instead of whale music or Megadeth.

Repeating rhythms are also set by the commentators, former players of many years standing. As is natural with extended coverage of repetitive-action games, there are numerous phrases that recur:

“We all love these tactical frames, but the players are so good nowadays that one mistake and your opponent’s in, so here he is, looking to win the frame at one visit ... and it’s there, right in the heart of the pocket for frame and match! But where’s the cue ball going! it really is amazing what can happen in the game of snooker, especially when we’re down to this one-table situation.”

But as omniscient narrators, the same men also provide actual insight, alerting us to options and eventualities of which we would otherwise be ignorant. Snooker is a simple game but geometry and physics are complicated, so an expert eye is required to explain them intelligibly; it is done with a winning combination of levity and sincerity.

The only essential way in which snooker is different is the standard of play. The first round of this year’s draw featured eight past winners, only two of whom have made it to the last four, and there were three second-round games that were plausible finals.

And just as literary fiction is as much about character as plot, so too is snooker. Nothing makes you feel you know someone like studying them over years at moments of elation and desolation, pressure and release, punctuated by TV confessions of guilty pleasures, such as foot massages, and bucket list contents, such as naked bungee jumping.

It is probably true that there are not as many “characters” in the game as once there were, but there are just as many characters, all of whom are part of that tradition. And because players play throughout their adult life, able to establish their personalities, in unforgiving close-up, over a number of years, they need not be bombastic to tell compelling stories, growing and undergoing change in the same way as Dorothea Brooke or Paulie Gualtieri.

Of no one is this more evident that Ding Junhui, runner-up last year and current semi-finalist this; though he is only 30, we have been watching him almost half his life. In 2007, he reached the final of the Masters tournament, in which he faced Ronnie O’Sullivan, the most naturally talented player ever to pick up a cue – TMNTPETPUAC for short. The crowd were, to be charitable, being boisterous, and to be honest, being pricks, and at the same time, O’Sullivan was playing monumentally well. So at the mid-session interval, Ding left the arena in tears and O’Sullivan took his arm in consolation; then when Ding beat O’Sullivan in this year’s quarter-final, he rested his head on O’Sullivan’s shoulder and exchanged words of encouragement for words of respect. It was beautiful, it was particular, and it was snooker.

Currently, Ding trails Mark Selby, the “Jester from Leicester” – a lucky escape, considering other rhyming nouns - in their best of 33 encounter. Given a champion poised to move from defending to dominant, the likelihood is that Ding will remain the best player never to win the game’s biggest prize for another year.

Meanwhile, the other semi-final pits Barry Hawkins, a finalist in 2013, against John Higgins, an undisputed great and three-time champion. Higgins looks likely to progress, and though whoever wins through will be an outsider, both are eminently capable of taking the title. Which is to say that, this weekend, Planet Earth has no entertainment more thrilling, challenging and enriching than events at the Crucible Theatre, Sheffield.

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