Its report led to the law of 15 March 2004, a decisive legal turning point: in public elementary, middle and high schools, students may no longer wear symbols or clothing that visibly display a religious affiliation. The Islamic headscarf was explicitly covered, along with other conspicuous religious symbols.

The 2004 law did not, however, constitute a general ban on the veil. French law continued to distinguish between schools, public servants, private-sector employees and ordinary users of public spaces.

The Baby-Loup case, which spanned the years from 2008 to 2014, marked another milestone. After several legal twists and turns, the Court of Cassation upheld the legality of the dismissal of a veiled employee at a private daycare center for babies whose internal regulations required neutrality. The debate then moved beyond schools: it came to focus on the presence of the veil in the workplace and in childcare facilities.

In 2010, another milestone was reached with the ban on face coverings in public spaces. The law does not specifically target Islam, but it applies to the niqab and the burqa. A simple headscarf that leaves the face uncovered remains legal in public spaces.

Since then, the boundaries of the debate have been constantly redefined. The burkini, school chaperones and religious symbols in sports: the issue has expanded into new areas. The 2021 law reinforcing respect for the principles of the Republic – known as the law on “Islamic separatism” – further strengthened the legislative arsenal.

In schools, reports of violations of secularism have also revealed a new battle over religious attire. In 2022–2023, the Ministry of Education recorded 4,710 reports, 1,984 of which concerned symbols or clothing that could be prohibited under the 2004 law – the vast majority involving abayas, the long, loose-fitting robes worn by some female students. In 2024, the Council of State upheld the legality of banning them in schools, ruling that, in the context observed by educational institutions, they could constitute an ostentatious display of religious affiliation.

Sports have become another battleground. The group Les Hijabeuses, in particular, has advocated for the right of female soccer players to wear the hijab during games. In 2023, the Council of State upheld the French Football Federation’s regulation prohibiting, during matches, attire that conspicuously displays political, philosophical, religious or union affiliation. Federations entrusted with a public service mission may thus impose a requirement of neutrality, but the controversy has not subsided.

The issue has also entered the political arena. The debate over veiled female candidates and activists has revealed a fundamental contradiction, even within the presidential camp: French law does not prohibit citizens or candidates from expressing their religious beliefs, whereas certain specific roles involving the exercise of public service are subject to a requirement of neutrality. The headscarf thus highlights the boundaries, sometimes difficult for ordinary citizens to grasp, between individual freedom and the obligation of neutrality.

A Generational Shift

It would be inaccurate to speak of a general surge in headscarf-wearing. The figures are more nuanced. In 2025, 31% of French Muslim women surveyed reported wearing it, the same figure as in 2019. The most dramatic change is generational. Among Muslim women aged 18 to 24, the proportion who wear the headscarf rose from 16% in 2003 to 30% in 2016 and 45% in 2025. Among women aged 50 and older, by contrast, it fell from 35% in 2003 to 16% in 2025. The veil is therefore not becoming more widespread across the board: it is becoming more common primarily among younger generations, while declining significantly among their elders.

The stated motivations are themselves complex. According to the French Institute of Public Opinion (Ifop), 80% of veiled women cite a religious obligation; 38% say they want to display their religious affiliation; 44% say they wear the veil because they do not want to attract men’s attention; and 42% cite the sense of security it provides. Only 2% report being directly pressured by family members.

For some women, therefore, the veil is a personal choice that they refuse to have interpreted politically. For others, particularly some Islamist activists, it can become a tool for advocacy and visibility.

Marine Le Pen is now considering a referendum to circumvent constitutional obstacles to such a ban. She is supported in this by public opinion, which is largely in favor of the measure.

In her work on “frérisme” (a term which describes the influence of the Muslim Brotherhood movement), anthropologist Florence Bergeaud-Blackler analyzes the veil as one element of a broader normative system involving gender segregation, behavioral control and the assertion of a religious identity in the social sphere.

Conversely, some Muslim women, such as former Salafist Henda Ayari, have made removing the veil an act of emancipation, but they remain few and far between and are a source of embarrassment to those who have made the right to wear the veil one of their favorite media battles. Following the Rassemblement National’s latest proposals, the phenomenon resurfaced on TikTok and Instagram: women posted photos of themselves wearing the veil on social media “in solidarity” with Muslim women threatened by a ban, presenting a pop and glamorous image somewhat disconnected from reality.

Twenty-five years after 9/11, the French paradox is complete. The law has gradually become stricter, while the practice has continued to expand into new areas, making the veil more than ever a political symbol.

A European Dilemma

France is not an isolated case, even if it is probably the European country that has gone the furthest in regulating the veil. Approaches vary widely: a ban on visible religious symbols in public schools in Flanders; restrictions on the full-face veil in Denmark, the Netherlands and, more recently, Portugal; and recurring debates over the headscarf in the civil service in Belgium and Germany. In May 2024, the European Court of Human Rights ruled that the ban on visible religious symbols in Flemish public schools was compatible with religious freedom, as part of a general policy of neutrality.

This diversity masks a common concern. Across Europe, states are confronted with phenomena that are difficult to ignore: family pressure, the early imposition of a religious identity, challenges to gender equality or, in some cases, strategies of social separation. These issues concern a religion whose adherents are, in a democratic society, entitled to the same freedoms as everyone else.

This is where the real European dilemma lies. The problem is not that democracies are incapable of acting: they do legislate, sometimes vigorously. But they cannot legally address an intention, a culture or a sense of collective belonging. They must limit themselves to specific behaviors, coercion and concrete violations of rights, which often leaves them reluctant to acknowledge the West’s own Christian identity. Yet for those who flew the planes into the World Trade Center, there was no doubt that such an identity existed.