By Oumou Diakité
Hardly a week goes by without some remark, controversy, or « stance » serving as a reminder that Islam has become an object of routine suspicion.
It has become an obsession. It is discussed everywhere — on television, in legislative assemblies, on social media — yet rarely with the very people most directly affected. And, above all, it is discussed as if it were a problem.
As a young Muslim journalist, I am concerned.
What is being said today when we talk about Islamophobia? We hear it claimed that it is merely an opinion, not a form of violence, but a « right » as asserted by Julien Odoul, a deputy in the French National Assembly and member of the National Rally (Rassemblement National).
In the same vein, French journalist and editorialist Christophe Barbier attempts to create a hierarchy of hatreds, arguing that Islamophobia cannot be compared to Judeophobia. But since when is human dignity measured by a ranking system? Since when must we choose between different struggles, as if there were only one possible threshold for indignation?
While this discourse may seem distant, it is not. Its echoes resonate in Quebec — sometimes in more subdued forms, but just as structurally damaging. This is not merely an importing of debates, but rather a circulation of fabulations.
Conditional Citizenship
The example of the debate surrounding the abaya (a long, loose-fitting dress) is telling. In the summer of 2023, France became embroiled in a heated controversy over this garment. A few weeks later, the issue took hold in Quebec, as if the polemic had crossed the Atlantic, only to gain a new sense of legitimacy. Young girls found themselves defending a piece of clothing that had become an object of suspicion. And yet, it is a dress. Simply a dress.
Other incidents have shown that remarks targeting Muslims can circulate with relative indifference. On Facebook, a teacher from Trois-Rivières filmed herself hurling insults at “Black people and those… Muslims.” Two weeks later, she posted a video explaining that she had been “tipsy.” Then, she vanished, and I could no longer find her on social media. Is she still teaching? Will there be any justice for this “scornful racist”?
As a Muslim woman, something troubles me about the situation in Quebec: certain actions directed at my community seem to dissolve into the background noise without ever causing a real shockwave.
I am thinking, for instance, of the debate surrounding « street prayers » during demonstrations for Gaza. They became a matter that the provincial government was quick to frame as a broader societal problem. Yet, Christian processions or other types of religious demonstrations rarely elicit the same level of outrage or media coverage.
This disparity in treatment strikes me, because it reveals that, in Quebec, Islam is still frequently perceived less as one faith among many and more as a presence that must be monitored.
Never Simply a Citizen
A Muslim, or someone perceived to be one, is called upon to prove that they are not what is being projected onto them. They are never simply a citizen; they are constantly relegated to a state of otherness. They are cast as an extremist, a terrorist.
To deny this reality is, in effect, to accept that a segment of the population lives under a regime of symbolic exception. It is to concede that equality can be conditional, and that dignity can be a matter for negotiation. Yet, a democratic society cannot afford such a luxury.
This is not to suggest that Quebec is the same as France or the United States. But we must ask ourselves what we are doing with the debates we import, the fears we adopt, and the obsessions we adapt.
By constantly looking elsewhere to rethink our own internal tensions, do we not risk replicating the very same impasses here at home?
What was once thought to be confined to French or American discourse is now taking root among us: an Islamophobia that is increasingly overt, normalized, and scandalous.
As a Muslim woman, this does not frighten me. It saddens me.
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