Valls, who recently called Islam a “problem” for France, is not a fringe voice. And although Macron has tried to temper the debate around laïcité and Islam—warning against a “radicalization of laïcité,” which some considered a veiled reference to the former prime minister and his numerous followers—he’s in the minority, both in his government and among the public. One of the scholars Macron plans to consult on Islam, Gilles Kepel, is a member of the Printemps Républicain (Republican Spring), a group of intellectuals and journalists who, from the left, advance an agenda in keeping with Valls’s views. According to a February survey, 43 percent of the public considers Islam “incompatible with the values of the Republic.” That’s down from 56 percent in 2016, but is still a testament to just how divisive Islam has become, complicating any attempt to institutionalize or manage the religion in a way that is both politically palatable and doesn’t alienate Muslims themselves.

That raises the question of legitimacy. While the spike in anti-Muslim sentiment that followed the 2015 and 2016 attacks has significantly receded, many Muslims say this prejudice is still pervasive both socially and legally. They cite, for example, a 2004 law that bans religious symbols in public schools (including symbols of religions other than Islam), a 2010 ban on the full-face veil in public, and, as of January, a ban on religious garb in the National Assembly. For some Muslims, then, the very notion of a French Islam created by the state may seem like a continuation of policies they see as tools of assimilation that are stifling religious expression.

According to Hakim El-Karoui, a fellow at the Institut Montaigne think tank and one of the experts Macron intends to consult, the state should enable the emergence of a French Islam, not create one itself. He applauds Macron’s objective to distance French Islam from the Arab world, and believes it should go even farther: “I’m proposing that we shift responsibility to French Muslims who have no interest other than that of France,” he told me, referring to those he calls “silent Muslims”—members of the middle class and elite.

But that might not be so easy. “Many Muslims who have managed to climb the social ladder don’t want to be linked to Islam, too frequently associated with jihad, or the banlieues,” said Roy, referring to the often impoverished suburbs that surround French cities.

El-Karoui, who is Muslim, isn’t convinced that the “silent Muslims” will shy away from the task, but acknowledges that the challenge is long-term. For him, it’s about drowning out the extremist ideologies that have managed to conquer the radio waves. “On social media, or in the public debate, who talks about Islam, who talks about religion? The Islamic State on the one hand, and Salafis on the other,” he said. That’s somewhat of an exaggeration, but those groups are the loudest, with well-oiled PR machines that overpower the smattering of other, disunited actors. “We need another public narrative on Islam,” El-Karoui said, adding that this could help reduce anti-Muslim sentiment, chipping away at a faulty conflation of Islam and terrorism.