She wears her faith but as the fashion of her phone.

Everything is a matter of time, isn’t it? Everything changes. Like the apocryphal monkeys typing away infinitely, everything will be written. Everything will be transmogrified somewhere. Some time. Somehow. I suppose that should be a comfort, but I can’t escape the nagging feeling that there is something unrequited in all that: an imbalance between now and then -no bridge to mediate between what is, and what some nebulous future may unfurl for our children’s children.

And yet, an article I found offers some hope that I might have missed the entr’acte, missed a vital link in the ever lengthening chain of progress –or at least underestimated its importance. I’m talking about the smartphone. I grow old… I grow old… I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled, as T.S. Eliot wrote –that, at least, may be a suitable mea culpa for my inattentiveness, perhaps.

I should have seen that with all of the changes occasioned by the phone, other subtle philosophical alterations might well hide within its shadow. ‘He wears his faith but as the fashion of his hat; it ever changes with the next block’, as Beatrice says in Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing. Who would have thought that religion itself might live the same fate? http://www.bbc.com/future/story/20170222-how-smartphones-and-social-media-are-changing-religion The mobile phone Bible seems to be replacing the book Bible –at least with many of the younger religious crowd. And the result may have been a loss of context –no thumbing through the pages looking for something, just an arrival at whatever nugget was requested –like looking it up in Wikipedia. In other words, an information Christianity, a virtual religion. ‘“A new kind of mutated Christianity for a digital age is appearing,” says Phillips [director of the Codec Research Centre for Digital Theology at Durham University in the UK]. “One that follows many of the ethics of the secular world.” Known as moralistic therapeutic deism, this form of belief is focused more on the charitable and moral side of the Bible – the underlying tenets of religion, rather than the notion that the Universe was created by an all-seeing, all-powerful leader.’

Although I hold neither religious affiliation, nor any particular interest in the Bible, I have to say I am intrigued by the philosophical machinations the smartphone seems to be engendering –the moralistic therapeutic deism, as it is increasingly being referred to. The results of interviews with three thousand teenagers were summarized in (sorry) Wikipedia, and seem to establish the tenets of this theism. First of all, ‘A god exists who created and ordered the world and watches over human life on earth.’ And ‘God wants people to be good, nice, and fair to each other, as taught in the Bible and by most world religions. The central goal of life is to be happy and to feel good about oneself.’ But what I found particularly interesting was the idea that ‘God does not need to be particularly involved in one’s life except when God is needed to resolve a problem.’

And why do I find this  so-called ‘moralistic therapeutic deism’ so interesting? It seems to me it may be the early phases of an evolution of religious thought engendered by the way we are beginning to assimilate information. Or perhaps I should say they are –the millennials. I suspect that we elders –or should I say just ‘olders’- still adhere to the belief that data does not necessarily spell knowledge.

But, as the article points out, ‘[…]a separate strand of Christian practice is booming, buoyed by the spread of social media and the decentralisation of religious activity. For many, it’s no longer necessary to set foot in a church. In the US, one in five people who identify as Catholics and one in four Protestants seldom or never attend organised services, according to a survey conducted by the Pew Research Centre. Apps and social media accounts tweeting out Bible verses allow a private expression of faith that takes place between a person and their phone screen. And the ability to pick and choose means they can avoid doctrine that does not appeal. A lot of people who consider themselves to be active Christians may not strictly even believe in God or Jesus or the acts described in the Bible.’

I doubt that this phenomenon is exclusive to Christianity, either. Any religious doctrine which has a credo that can be digitized, is susceptible -nuggetable into bite-sized digestible portions. Wikipediable.

I think that is what two girls were talking about at the bus stop a few days ago. Both wearing delightfully colourful hijabs, they were huddled around their smartphones giggling.

“Where did you find that?” the taller of the two said shaking her head. She was dressed just like any other teenager –running shoes, jeans, and a bright orange leather jacket- but a dark blue hijab seemed almost tossed onto her head and barely draped over her shoulders. Perhaps it was the wind, but the almost-studied disarray was charming.

The other girl, stouter and wearing a long black coat, also sported a red, hijab-like scarf that barely covered half her head despite her constant readjustments. “It’s Al-Quran [an app, I later discovered],” she answered as if that should have been obvious.

The taller girl tapped on her screen for a moment and then nodded her head. “But, you know that’s not what Abbad said…”

The other girl just shrugged. “He always thinks he knows everything, Lamiya.”

“Well…” I could see Lamiya sigh, even though I was trying not to watch them. “He usually gets it right, Nadirah… I mean, don’t you think…?”

I couldn’t help but smile when Nadirah rolled her eyes. “He only gets it right when you don’t know! If you don’t check on it…”

Lamiya seemed to pout. “I just, like, took his word for it…”

“You can’t do that blindly, Lami… Not anymore.” She made another attempt to readjust her hijab in the biting wind. “Not when you can look it up!” She shivered deeper into her coat and I could see her breath whenever the wind died down. “Things just aren’t what they used to be for our parents… We can actually, like, check,” she said as their bus pulled up and they got on, leaving me still informationless in the cold.

 

Sometimes the Twain Should Meet

That we are, each of us, different is a given; that societies and the cultures they produce are different, is also self-evident. But that any one individual picked at random should be representative of that difference is another matter. We humans tend to be bicameral when and if it suits us. For example: my Asian friend is clever and devious, so most Asians are probably clever and devious (inductive reasoning); but at other times: everybody knows the French are rude, so perhaps I should not hire that French person (deductive reasoning).

How much credence can we put in either type of reasoning when it comes to judging world views of different cultures? There was an interesting article in BBC News about this a while ago: http://www.bbc.com/future/story/20170118-how-east-and-west-think-in-profoundly-different-ways  And as you can imagine, the issue is complex: ‘From the broad differences between East and West, to subtle variation between U.S. states, it is becoming increasingly clear that history, geography and culture can change how we all think, in subtle and surprising ways – right down to our visual perception. Our thinking may even have been shaped by the kinds of crops our ancestors used to farm, and a single river may mark the boundaries between two different cognitive styles.’

‘[…] our “social orientation” appears to spill over into more fundamental aspects of reasoning. People in more collectivist societies tend to be more ‘holistic’ in the way they think about problems, focusing more on the relationships and the context of the situation at hand, while people in individualistic societies tend to focus on separate elements, and to consider situations as fixed and unchanging.’

For example: ‘An eye-tracking study by Richard Nisbett at the University of Michigan found that participants from East Asia tend to spend more time looking around the background of an image – working out the context – whereas people in America tended to spend more time concentrating on the main focus of the picture.’ So, ‘[…] this narrow or diverse focus directly determines what we remember of a scene at a later date.’ But because things like these seem to be so widely dispersed in a population, is it a genetic difference, or merely a learned, culturally favoured response? ‘Alex Mesoudi at the University of Exeter recently profiled the thinking styles of British Bangladeshi families in East London. He found that within one generation, the children of immigrants had started to adopt some elements of the more individualistic outlook, and less holistic cognitive styles. Media use, in particular, tended to be the biggest predictor of the shift. “It tended to be more important than schooling in explaining that shift.”’

The article goes on to suggest several theories as to why the so-called East-West differences arose in the first place -everything from epidemics, to types of crops grown by different populations, but the problem still remains: the differences lie on a spectrum –‘broad trends across vast numbers of people’. And yet even so, especially in small interpersonal discussions –dare I say ‘arguments’?- we are very likely to use whatever generalization makes our point.

But, for many of us, that tends to preclude any semblance of critical analysis. It’s far easier to succumb to the prevailing opinion without questioning the reasons for its presence, let alone its validity. And it’s not just the so-called East/West divide –the potential seems to arise whenever any culture examines another. Perhaps an example that stands out clearly in contemporary life, is that of the hijab –the headscarf. Sometimes the objections are couched in religiosecular terms of course, but they often boil down to simple perspective –Weltanschauung.

Aaisha, a Muslim friend of mine recently decided to wear the hijab, and although there were no prohibitive policies or objections from her bosses at work, she encountered resistance from a source she had not anticipated –her co-workers.

Some of it was just petty –“Why would you want to cover your hair?” one woman said to her, adding “It’s so beautiful” no doubt to take the sting out of her rudeness. But the woman had never complimented her hair before, so it rang hollow to Aaisha.

And then she told me about another, a man who had just joined the company a few months before and who seemed quite uncomfortable with hijab and glared at her whenever he passed her desk. Finally, she decided to talk to him about it.

“You keep staring at me, Jeffrey,” she said, smiling confidently as she walked up to his desk. “I get the impression you’re unhappy about something.”

He acted surprised at first, and then his scowl returned and he pointed at her head. “You didn’t used to wear that scarf, Aaisha,” he said, trying to keep his tone friendly.

Her smile broadened and she pointed to his tie. “I don’t remember you wearing that tie before, either, Jeffrey.”

He blinked uncomprehendingly. “It’s just a tie. I wear different ties all the time…”

She didn’t skip a beat. “It’s just a hijab,” she said, obviously proud of the word and pointing to her head.. “And you may have noticed, I also wear different ones all the time…”

His eyes narrowed and his forehead wrinkled. “A tie is different, Aaisha…”

She waited for him to continue, but he seemed to think his answer was complete –and for him, it probably was. Finally, she decided to ask the obvious question. “Oh…?  And how is it different?”

He actually rolled his eyes at the stupidity of the question. “It’s what men are expected to wear to work.”

The smile never left her face and she pointed to another man at the next desk. “John never wears a tie…”

Jeffrey shrugged. “We’re different, that’s all… And anyway, I’m my own person.”

Aaisha stood there, for a moment, and then blinked. “And so am I, I guess…”

Jeffrey seemed surprised at her answer, then shook his head. “Nobody makes me wear the tie…”

At this point, Aaisha laughed. “And nobody makes me wear a hijab, Jeffrey.”

He didn’t seem to know how to react. “But… Well, how about your husband?”

She shook her head, still smiling. “I’m not married… And my father and brothers are still back in England -just in case you want to involve them,” she added with a laugh.

Jeffrey began to sense he was losing the argument. “It’s a family tradition -and also a society thing- Aaisha. My father always wore a tie to work –and his father before him…” But his voice was less confident.

Aisha sighed. “Should I tell you about my mother, and her sisters? They all wore the hijab back in London –and not because they were forced to, they’d be quick to tell you. They just felt more a part of the community wearing hijab, so it, too, was a society-thing as you called it…”

He blinked, but slowly. “Your society, Aaisha, not ours!”

The smile returned, and she nodded her head towards John again. “And what about John? Does he belong to another society, as well? We’re all immigrants, Jeff; we’re all other if you go back a generation or two. And thank god we don’t all have to dress the same,” she said, touching the sleeve of his fraying shirt with her hand and winking coyly at him.

And for the first time, he smiled at her.

Is Beauty really skin deep?

Although love looks not with the eyes but with the mind, as Shakespeare reminds us, there is a redness of the cheek that is not as kind as a simple blush. So may the outward shows be least themselves, he also says. The world is still deceived with ornament.

Acne arrives at the wrong time of life; it usually declares itself around the same time a teenager is trying to establish her identity; trying to acquire independence; experimenting with relationships outside the family. It is a time of uncertainty when self-esteem and confidence may be suspended, like the Sword of Damocles, on that single hair of outward appearance.

Acne is nothing new; it has probably been around as long as there has been skin with hair follicles to get blocked. Oil from glands is one of the culprits and these are more common on the face and upper body. The hormonal changes of puberty may result in changes in activity of these glands -that, plus genetics, and excessive growth of the bacterium Propionibacterium acnes, all contribute to the unfortunate timing.

An article last summer in the BBC News reminded me of the consequences that affected a patient I once saw in my office for gynaecological consultation.  http://www.bbc.co.uk/newsbeat/article/36712810/doctors-warn-acne-could-become-resistant-to-antibiotics

The waiting room was full that day and I saw Janice sitting quietly in the corner, her face almost buried in a magazine. She was a tall, thin, sixteen-year-old wearing tight designer jeans with a cream-coloured baggy sweater and beautiful deep blue hijab that she wore sufficiently loosely around her head that, even when she looked up, seemed to cover most of her face.

At first I wasn’t sure what to make of this. I wondered if it might be a cultural, or religious requirement for seeing a male gynaecologist -or merely a teenage affectation. But apart from her continuing reluctance to expose her face, she seemed more at ease once she was seated in my office.

The consultation note from her GP was one word: Contraception!! -with two exclamation marks. I took that as a sign.

“So, what can I do for you, Janice?” I usually like to let the patient tell me why they were referred; it’s sometimes different than what the family doctor thinks.

She shrugged. “Birth control, I guess…” But she seemed rather unsure.

I smiled and tried to make eye contact, but she continued to look away, first to a painting on the wall beside her, and then to the other wall where I had placed a terra cotta statue of begging woman on an oak stand. Janice seemed to favour the statue.

“Is that for tips?” she said, indicating the bowl the woman was holding in front of her. It was filled to overflowing with coins.

I laughed and shook my head. Everybody seems to ask the same question, and then puts a coin on the pile. “I’m not sure why some people do that, but I empty it from time to time and give it to real people begging on the street. I like to think that’s what my patients want me to do with it.”

She turned her head to look at me and I could see a smile peeking from the shadows inside the hijab. “I didn’t bring any change…”

My smile broadened. “That’s okay, I’ll put a coin in the bowl later for you if you like.”

The hijab nodded.

I settled back in my chair. “So you want to discuss contraception, Janice?” Another nod. “What have you been using so far?”

She shrugged. “Condoms at first…” She hesitated and then sighed. “Then when we got to know each other better, I went on the pill.”

“Is that what you’re on now?”

She shook her head. “They didn’t work. Well…” She lowered her head, so all I could see was the top of her hijab. “Actually, I kept forgetting to start them again after my period…” Two eyes peeked timidly from the shadows on her face. “So I had a couple of… accidents.”

She said the last word in a whisper I could hardly hear as she lowered her head to look at her lap. Suddenly, her head jerked upwards to face me and she pulled the hijab back so I could finally see her face. Both her cheeks were rough and jagged seas of red nodules, some weeping and moist, some merely little cysts about to burst. I could understand why she had chosen to wear her hijab as she did.

“My GP tried me on several kinds of treatments for the condition, but none of them helped. In fact, it was getting worse, so she sent me to a dermatologist. And she just put me back on higher doses of some antibiotic I’d already been on: mino-something.

“Minocycline?”

She nodded, and her eyes filled with tears, so I handed her a tissue from the desk. “But she said it was dangerous for a developing baby, so I had to stay on the birth control pill.” She looked up at the ceiling for a moment, shaking her head. “I told her I kept forgetting to take them, but the doctor just shrugged and told me to write little notes for myself… Stupid woman!

“After the second abortion, my boyfriend and I decided the birth control pills didn’t work so I stopped them. When I told my GP about it, she took me off the antibiotics, too… I guess because she thought I might get pregnant again…” She wiped her eyes and grabbed another tissue from the box I kept on the desk. “And now look at me!”

Her eyes flitted around my face for a moment, and then she summoned them back. “They wanted to put an IUD in me at the time of the second… procedure, but I wouldn’t let them.” Her eyes found mine again. “They recommended the hormonal one.” She seemed on the verge of tears again. “But they told me it might worsen the acne.”

All of a sudden, she leaned over the desk towards me –as if she wanted me to really see what she had to deal with. “I can’t stand my face like this!” She sat back in her seat again. “My boyfriend has already left me; my friends whisper behind my back. Everybody is afraid to look me in the face…” She grabbed a handful of tissues this time and dabbed her cheeks when she’d dried her eyes. “I’m really confused, doctor. Nobody seems to know what they’re doing; they keep changing their minds…

“I can’t go on like this! I can’t…” She took a deep ragged breath. “I need somebody to tell me what to do before I fall off the edge… Or jump,” I heard her whisper into the folds of her hijab.

And then her eyes almost bored into my skull. “Can you help me, doctor?”

Her expression worried me; she was desperate and clearly in crisis -obviously at that edge. I had to do something.

“Tell me, Janice, when you were on both the pill and the antibiotics that last time, was your acne improving?”

She nodded vigorously. “The doctor told me the hormones in the pill sometimes help.”

I smiled in agreement, although I didn’t feel comfortable dealing with acne; I suspected she needed to go back on the antibiotics and her GP was right, she needed absolute protection against pregnancy while she was on them. Minocycline is a class D drug –meaning there is positive evidence of human fetal risk.

And then something occurred to me. “Was it only when you were restarting the birth control pill after your period finished that you forgot to take them?”

She nodded, obviously embarrassed. “There was a lot going on in those days…”

“But you were happy with the pill? I mean it wasn’t giving you any problems?”

“No… except for the pregnancies.”

“So, if you didn’t have to stop the pill for a period, would that work for you?” I watched her closely. “I mean, do you think you would remember to take them?”

She nodded carefully, and stared at me. “Yes… But you mean I wouldn’t have any periods?”

I nodded. “You can take the birth control pill every day for three or four months at time –or even more- then stop and have a period.” Sometimes the simplest solutions work the best.

She thought about it for a moment. “Uhmm… But if I didn’t get my period, how would I know I wasn’t pregnant?”

A good question. I smiled what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “Well, it’s true that Minocycline can interfere with the absorption of the pill, but the risk of pregnancy is still low. And you should supplement the pill with a condom.” I waited till she made eye contact again. “In fact, if you’re starting a new relationship, wouldn’t condoms be a reasonable precaution anyway?”

The acne made way for a face-swallowing smile. “I’ve sworn off sex… Well, at least until I get my face back.” I could tell she was blushing, even under the hijab. Even under the acne.

But I could finally hear some hope in her voice, and I was reminded of another verse from Shakespeare: ‘I will go wash; and when my face is fair, you shall perceive whether I blush or no.’ It seemed fitting, somehow…

 

The itsy bitsy teenie weenie?

I am no longer simply bemused at the secular paranoia that seems to be growing like Topsy in the Western world; I am becoming irritated; I am becoming annoyed that it is now even conflating fashion with politics and spreading like blight in a deliberately monocultured crop. Pick your battles, folks –this is a demeaning one. https://www.theguardian.com/world/2016/aug/16/burkini-ban-defended-as-french-mayors-urged-to-cool-local-tensions?CMP=Share_iOSApp_Other

Or is it just silly: burkini -coined merely to suggest the word ‘burka’ and also contrast it with its other ‘ini’ cousin the bikini? An attempt to denigrate opposites? Have we grown so accustomed to less being more on the beach, that more is now less? Have we already forgotten how shocking the bikini was when it first appeared in the middle of the last century? How it was banned from many beaches then, and declared sinful by no less an authority than the Vatican?

Admittedly, the bikini reveals considerably more of the female anatomy and no doubt arouses different sorts of… well, passions, shall we say, than the iteration I’m discussing. But some of the burkini styles and colours are quite beautiful and, at least from my prairie -and admittedly male perspective- far more attractive than the burka parent. It is, for all intents and purposes, a tempest in a teapot.

Terrorist events in France have undoubtedly kindled a controversy over an issue that would otherwise have been merely a dispute over aesthetics –“Why would anybody want to wear something like that, on a beach? It must be so hot…” And that would have been that. Except for the resistance of some governments to clothing with even a hint of religious affiliation, the burkini would have quietly slipped into normalcy – become as obvious as nose-rings or purple hair. A barely noticeable mise-en-scène.

Of course there was that skirmish on a Corsican beach in August between some villagers and three Muslim families: https://www.theguardian.com/world/2016/aug/15/corsica-mayor-bans-burkini-violence-beach-protests-sisco-france  But, interestingly, it was not at all certain whether any of the women were wearing burkinis at the time… The mayor decided to ban them anyway.

I can understand the reason… sort of. The idea, presumably, was to defuse tensions -not draw attention to cultural or religious differences in a time of us and them. Even when, in fact, they are actually us. The problem, I suspect, is that we are living in an inter regnum –a time when differences, no matter how picayune or superficial, may assume larger than life proportions –a significance that, when viewed years hence, might seem recondite –if not puerile. But it’s all very confusing, not to mention counterproductive, even now.

Surely inclusivity engenders familiarity and acceptance –on both sides. Banning something often breeds resistance and anger. And banning an innocent article of clothing is both capricious and inflammatory. If there were ever anything that could engender feelings of separation and non-acceptance, it is the belittling of the honest attempts of a culture to adapt to something that so enamours the population in which it is enmeshed -something that allows Muslims to visit beaches while letting them adjust their customs to what may never have been envisioned as a desirable or even feasible activity by their ancestors.

I remember a patient of mine that had a different take on the issue. Fatima was a devout Muslim woman who had nonetheless adopted many of the dress codes, so familiar on our streets. I was seeing her and her husband for antenatal care in their first pregnancy and once they both realized that I was nothing to be feared, we were able to talk openly about many things other than her pregnancy.

At the beginning, for example, she would always arrive wearing the more inclusive covering of a niqab –albeit a colorfully patterned one. Then she began wearing a hijab to our visits. I asked her why.

I remember she looked at me and her eyes twinkled as her mouth wrinkled into a shy smile. I noticed her husband was smiling, too.

She immediately shrugged, as if it was an unimportant observation on my part. “I wanted you to know when I was smiling,” she said mischievously. Then, her eyes suddenly became the interrogators –gentle inquisitors- and hovered about my face for a moment. “And quit looking at him,” she giggled. “He’s terrible at choosing clothes anyway…” It was a good-natured rebuke; Fatima evidently disliked our western stereotypes.

Although it was her husband that was the reason for her presence in Canada –he was doing some post-doctoral research in oceanography- Fatima was also fluent in English and more observant about our own vagaries than I was.

It was a hot summer that year, and conversation naturally turned to Vancouver’s love of its beaches.

“I really don’t understand Vancouverites,” she said with a laugh. “They flock to the beach and strip down so they can lie on the hot sand like wieners on a barbecue…” We all laughed. “I think it’s just a fad, though,” she added, her face turning serious for a second.

I nodded. “Maybe someday, someone will design beach clothing that is comfortable and cool, but still protects them from the sun…” I said it without thinking, I have to admit.

“We already have,” she said and winked.

How parochial we can be in this country, despite the vaunted cultural mosaic of which we are so demonstrably proud.

Cultures change –but more slowly than fashions. Maybe the rest of us will someday find ourselves covering up more of our skin on beaches to prevent UV damage; mothers are already dressing up their toddlers as they muck about in the sand… Beaches themselves are a fashion, after all. There was a time not so long ago when people feared the sea and –at least in Britain- only aristocrats seeking the putative benefits of both spa and beach for reasons of health were able to afford the areas where this was offered. In time, of course, the rabble followed and now we merely view beaches as de rigueur. But given the fickleness of contemporary life, perhaps this too shall pass, as the adage has it.

Fortunately, however, France’s highest court has allowed us to breathe deeply again, and step back a few paces for now -it has decided to suspend the ban on burkinis: http://www.bbc.com/news/world-europe-37198479 Sadly, the issue has not yet been put to bed; there is still considerable resistance among politicians and elements of the population who fear an upheaval of the status quo, and a slide into the morass of sectarianism. Several mayors have even threatened to ignore the ruling.

French law notwithstanding, it seems to me that the noticeability of an article of clothing like the burkini should not merit more than a transient raising of an eyebrow –if that- and certainly not a clash of Civilizations. Its proscription will not discourage terrorism, but perhaps its approval might. Who knows what a welcome might do to a culture so long viewed as other: strangers in a strange land…?

 

The Skirt’s the Thing

Skirts are back in the news –this time in France… for being too long

You’re kidding! A skirt’s a skirt, right? They’ve been around for thousands of years it would seem, albeit of multiple lengths and designs that accorded with local customs and –perhaps- fashions. The wearers were, of course, were no doubt sometimes tempted to flout the prevailing dress codes and deviate from what was common practice. This risked social approbrium at first, but eventually, as nowadays, also risked becoming the norm. We all flirt with change. We all want to be noticed on occasion –and, at least in the Western world, unique clothing is often a fledgling’s first dangle outside the nest. An experiment in independence.

But what is this deviation –this anti-Fashion- and can we ever differentiate it from protest? Isn’t it always about change? A statement of belonging –or not belonging- to a particular group? An identification for any who care to notice?

Indeed there is a growing body of evidence to suggest that the brains of teenagers, for example, are not just young, unruly adult brains. They differ in neural connections, and although intellectually comparable to those of adults, lack the impulse control that develops with maturity. http://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/publications/the-teen-brain-still-under-construction/index.shtml And this is not all bad. For example, Scientists believe that the loss of synapses as a child matures is part of the process by which the brain becomes more efficient. Although genes play a role in the decline in synapses, animal research has shown that experience also shapes the decline. Synapses “exercised” by experience survive and are strengthened, while others are pruned away. From a societal –but mainly, an evolutionary­- standpoint, this is probably a good thing: it encourages new thinking, new perspectives. Innovation.

But what has all this to do with long skirts, I hear you mumbling? Well:

http://www.bbc.com/news/world-europe-32510606­

What bothers me is that a girl in France, along with several of her friends, was sent home from school for wearing a long (black) skirt –a 15 year old, Muslim girl no less…

In 2004, France introduced a ban on ‘conspicuous’ religious symbols at state schools in an attempt to enforce its secular version of separation of religion and state. The orginal issue seems to have been Islamic headwear.

But the girls had already removed their Islamic headscarves before entering the school! So what was the issue? The Toronto Star reported that: “It was a concerted action… with a will to put a (religious) identity on display,” Patrice Dutot, inspector of the Ardennes Academy, which oversees the schools in the area, commented by telephone: “It is not the long skirt that is the problem,” Dutot said. The issue is that the girls “had agreed to wear the same skirts… to display their belonging” to a religious group.

Stuff and nonsense! They are teenagers striving for an identity in a society that is bent on a futile quest for homogeneity. If they had decided to dye their hair green, or worn rings in their noses instead, they may well have been tolerated. But even if they were admonished it would not have had the same effect as stigmatizing an entire segment of society –France has about 5 million Muslims which is the largest Muslim minority in Western Europe.

I think it is a policy gone recklessly wrong! While I do not agree with their ban on conspicuous headscarves, if the argument was that the very ostentatiousness of a niqab identified the wearers as members of a religious group, surely the decidedly unpretentious length of a skirt is an individual prerogative –a fashion statement, even. Witness the popularity of the hashtag #JePorteMaJupeCommeJeVeux (I wear my skirt how I want)!

As the BBC reports: In 2011 France became the first European country to ban the full-face Islamic veil – the niqab – in public places. Most of the population – including most Muslims – agree with the government when it describes the face-covering veil as an affront to society’s values.

You’ve made your point, France. Don’t push it too far, though: the lion only slumbers.