Even though I was active and outspoken during the 2004 debate on the ban on religious symbols in French schools, I have no definite opinions on the voile intégral — the burqa, sitar or khimar. But the French parliamentary inquiry has now been launched, and for the next six months, a debate will take place. The outcome is unknown. When the Stasi commission was set up, all the senior members (except for two) were opposed to legislating on religions symbols. During the hearings, young Muslims told them that if the veil was authorised in public schools, they would be forced to wear it. All the senior members, except one, subsequently asked for a law. But this debate is different: those in favour of the veil are not vocal in supporting the voile intégral. Dounia Bouzar, an anthropologist who is otherwise inclined to oppose any prohibition, refers to the "cultish practice" of burqa supporters. Conservative Muslims and those sympathetic to them are protesting against the inquiry, but with uncharacteristic reserve. And the debate was initiated by a communist deputé, but supported by the rightwing majority in parliament.

So will we need a broad and all-encompassing law on Islamic garments, or various decrees addressing one issue after another, as they arise? In France, women who wear the voile intégral do it by choice, not by obligation. This isn't an exotic symbol, but a political one. We're used to showing our faces on a daily basis, as part of our identity: picking up a parcel at the post office, collecting children from Kindergarten. But what then, for women whose face cannot be seen? In what case would a political position, even one stemming from religious conviction, put someone above the law? This isn't a question of religious freedom, but of equality before the law. In other words, women wearing the burqa aren't asserting their right not to be discriminated against – they're asking for specific rights.

If the commission supports the right to wear the burqa, French society will need to look at changing some of its habits. Here, the public space is a bit like a herbal infusion: the flavours of many different plants are present, but by blending together they create harmony of sorts. It's possible that we could choose to make our tea by singling out some of those leaves for different treatment – we've never tried it, but why not? It would, however, mean that we'd be moving from universality to separatism.

Today, our freedom of expression is only curbed by laws against the incitement of racial hatred. If the government supports the burqa, we would have to consider how to deal with a different type of situation. An Algerian chef whose sister died when extremists cut her throat recently told me that she would never serve a woman wearing a niqab, because she saw it as a symbol of support for those who murdered her sibling. Today, her attitude could send her to court for racism and refusal to serve a client on discriminatory grounds. If the burqa was legitimised, there would be no reason to permit one political discourse and not two, something which would risk out social cohesion.

Another point: how can we reconcile specific rights with universal ones? If by some sort of magic trick a woman maintained that she was consenting to her own discrimination, what would happen if she later changed her mind?

A German judge recently ruled in favour of a violent man who beat his wife because, according to her, the woman knew what was in store for her since her husband had made his views clear on the question.

Will we accept that some citizens are less equal than others?

Finally, it would be wise to remember France and the UK are not one and the same – we really do not live in the same country. Some 79% of French Muslims are said to feel strongly attached to the French principle of secularism, also known as laïcité, whereas polls have suggested that 40% of British Muslims would prefer laws based on sharia. But Muslims who settled in the UK did it by choice, and often for economic reasons; they didn't flee anything. In France, Muslims are active at the grassroots level on the left. Many are political refugees who escaped from a form of politicised Islam. In the UK, Ken Livingstone could afford to welcome Yusuf al-Qaradawi – the man who, with reference to homosexuality, openly wonders whether it is best first to kill the "active" or the "passive" one. In France, this would be like spitting in the face of Algerian and Iranian political refugees. Given that women wearing the niqab do it by conviction, they can always do it in countries which tolerate such practices – such as Great Britain. But for many Algerian and Iranian women, France is their only refuge from political Islam.

I am still unsure if a law prohibiting the voile intégral is necessary, or even possible. I am waiting to hear the different points of view that will be aired during the investigation. But because I am of the left, I will say that I will mainly listen to Muslim democrats.