Article content continued

Most people will concede that there’s nothing inherently inappropriate about the burkini, the full-body swimsuit worn by some Muslim women, which, until Friday, was banned in about 30 French municipalities. The garment does not cover the face, meaning that there are no security or identification concerns; it doesn’t cover the hands or feet, meaning it does not pose an impediment to swimming; and it’s hardly more conspicuous on a beach than a wetsuit or caftan.

What makes the burkini objectionable, rather, is the notion that some women may be wearing it against their will, or else, that they’ve put it on out of some internalized obligation to cover their bodies from the male gaze. Yet if that’s the case — and it certainly is with some Muslim women — banning the burkini merely compounds their oppression by limiting where they can go while dressed modestly, and attacks the symptom of the issue without addressing the root of the problem. It’s also an egregious breach of “the fundamental freedoms to come and go, the freedom of beliefs and individual freedom,” as France’s Council of State declared Friday, which should make any person who purports to stand up for individual rights — which includes women’s rights — shudder with incredulity.

The burkini has paradoxically become a sort of feminist symbol of freedom and individual autonomy.

The unfortunate consequence of the utter deafness of French authorities, however, is that the burkini has paradoxically become a sort of feminist symbol of freedom: an icon representing resistance to authority and a sign of individual autonomy. In response to the ban, some women have started buying burkinis in solidarity with French Muslim women, and Londoners recently held a “wear what you want beach party” to show support for those who choose to cover up.