English Canada misunderstands the logic behind bill 21

July 16, 2020

English Canada misunderstands the logic behind bill 21

Tagging this “news-related” might be a little off seeing as the debate surrounding bill 21 has largely died down in Canada. However, the bill is likely one of the most important civil rights issues in Canada at the moment, and has several ongoing lawsuits challenging the validity of the law, so you know, it’s topical enough alright?

Much ink has been spilled on both sides of the debate as to whether the law is just, and I am certainly on the side who believes that the law is not just. However, there seems to me to be something missing from many of the articles criticizing the law: an understanding of the logic behind the law.

Note, if you only want to condemn the supporters of the law, you don’t need this article in any way. However if you want to try and convince a supporter of the law that they’re misguided, or you simply want to understand the logic behind the law, or even if you have your mind open to supporting it (note I am not a supporter of the law, but I am trying to give it my best shot at explaining its rationale in a way supporters would agree with), then hopefully this article can help.

Laïcité is not the same as the American concept of separation of Church and State, in which the government is not allowed to interfere in the religious lives of citizens, nor the (English) Canadian idea of freedom of religion, in which government is neither allowed to promote or suppress any religion. Laïcité goes further in suggesting that a government must protect its citizens from the influence of religion.

In France, where the idea was first developed, schoolchildren are forbidden from wearing religious symbols under the pretense that they are unable to have made a fully informed decision about their religious beliefs, and therefore that the wearing of religious symbols could not be a free choice on their part. Further, it is argued that if children were able to wear religious symbols, they may be ostracised, teased, or otherwise harmed by their peers who may pressure them to conform. By removing the ability for children to wear religious symbols in school, they are prevented from being submitted to these potentially damaging social pressures (1, Ch 34, 36)

In Turkey, another country where secularism was strongly influenced by French-style Laicité (the Turkish word for secularism is laiklik, from French laïque, secular), the country banned the wearing of headscarfs for women in the civil service in the 1980s (2). The restrictions on the wearing of religious garments for women have since largely been relaxed in the 2010s (3).

Tunisia is another Muslim majority country (and a former French colony) where “Islamic dress” for women (i.e. the hijab and the niqab) had been banned for decades until such bans were relaxed in the 2010s, though just last year in reinstated the bans on the niqab for security reasons after a person in a niqab was involved in a suicide bombing there (4).

Clearly in the case of Turkey and of Tunisia, these bans are not the result of racism or Islamophobia, where Islam is the majority religion in both of these countries. The laws were put into place in order to restrict the influence of religion in the public sphere and to preserve the secular nature of the state.

Similarly in France, it is difficult to say that secularism is rooted in Islamophobia or racism, as the primary battles over the institution of laïcité in the country took place over the 19^th century. The 19^th century in France saw a see-sawing between responsibilities for things such as health care and education shifting from being the responsibility of the Catholic Church and the French state. Starting in the French Revolution, the Church’s assets were seized, and many priests and members of religious orders were forced into exile (1, Ch5). Under Napoleon’s reign, an agreement was reached known as the Concordat, that allowed the Church to operate in France as long as it was subject to French law, and several key functions such as health care, education and marriage were largely transferred to the French state (1, Ch 6). In 1880, the French government forbade members of religious orders from teaching in universities unless they had a qualification from the French government (1, Ch 9). In 1901, a law was passed allowing the dissolution of religious orders that were not registered with the government. In 1904, a law was passed preventing the preaching of religious orders, as well as preventing their engaging in commerce in an attempt to slowly suffocate them out of existence (1, Ch 12). Finally, in 1905, the “Loi de séparation des Églises et de l’État” was passed, invalidating the Napoleonic Concordat and declaring France to be a secular state who would not subsidise any religion or religious order (1, Ch 13). Needless to say, all of this action (and much more) was taken in a context in which Catholicism was the religion of the vast majority of the French people and was targeted against the presence of Catholicism not only in the functions of the state, but as the laws of 1880 and 1904 clearly show, against the presence of Catholicism in the fabric of French society.

Quebec is another society where the presence of Catholicism in society was deeply rooted, until the 1960s during which a concerted effort to modernise and consequently to secularise the Québecois state was undertaken, again in the context of removing the influence of Catholicism from the social fabric. The 1960s saw the establishment of the Université du Québec system (5), which established French-language universities across the province to supplement the Université de Laval and Université de Montréal, both of which have ties back to the Catholic Church, as well as RAMQ, the public health insurance ministry (6), where before public health had largely been the domain of the Catholic Church (7). Until the 1960’s it was also very common for nuns to be public school teachers, instilling religious values in their pupils with the open approval of the state. Further most schools were denominational; either Catholic or Protestant. During the 1960’s public education became increasingly secularised in Quebec, again primarily through the expulsion of the Catholic Church from the social fabric (8).

Still today, the proponents of secularism in Quebec have their sights on the influence of the Catholic Church. Whether it’s prohibiting prayer at a city council meeting (9) or the removal of the crucifix from the National Assembly (10), Quebec is a society where the legacy of the Catholic Church is very visible on the society’s infrastructure and many of its landmarks, much to the chagrin of its secularist (laïque) critics.

What can we draw from this discussion of the history of the idea of laïcité? First, that laïcité is not (inherently) racist. The laws in force follow in a tradition that has, in Quebec and France, primarily sought to remove the influence of Catholicism from their societies, and which several Muslim-majority nations have voluntarily imposed on themselves. Second, that the societies which have implemented laïcité laws have histories of actual religious institutions responsible for undertaking the functions of a modern state with the approval of those same states. Finally, historically, laïcité has been the method by which these countries have sought to establish and preserve the liberties of their citizens by removing the presence of religion from state functions.

Conversely, there are several things I want to be clear I am not implying. First, that because laïcité has historically sought to remove the influence of the dominant religion in these societies, that it doesn’t also apply to minority religions, which it certainly can. Second, I do not want to imply that because laïcité is not inherently racist, it cannot be implemented in a racist or discriminatory manner, nor that it cannot be used as a justification to hide the true rationale behind racist actions or legislation, which I believe that it can.

But if laïcité can be supported on discriminatory grounds or on principled grounds, then what do its supporters actually believe? Do people support Bill 21 because they believe it’s a good law, or because it paints an ostensibly principled justification onto a piece of discriminatory legislation as many commentators in English Canada have suggested? As you might imagine, the answers vary from person to person, though I’ll leave this comment thread from Reddit from a story of a Sikh woman who move to BC shortly after the law was passed: https://www.reddit.com/r/Quebec/comments/cuchd1/une_enseignante_sikhe_quitte_le_qu%C3%A9bec_pour_fuir/

That having been said, the internet will be the internet, and many people do sincerely believe in the justness of the law; that it follows the traditions of laïcité and that it is an important step in preserving the religious freedoms of Quebecers. Let’s take a look at the general logic that underlies this belief:

Premise A states that individuals ought to have the freedom of conscience and of association, and consequently the freedom of religion.

Premise B states that the instruments of the state cannot be used to promote any religion, as this would violate an individual’s right to the freedom of conscience.

Premise C, which follows from premises A and B states that an individual, while acting as a public functionary of the state, is limited in their freedom of religion since their exercise of their religion could impinge upon the freedom of conscience of other citizens. For instance, most people would agree that it would be inappropriate for a public functionary to openly proselytise while on the job for this reason.

Premise D states that religious garb is a proxy for the likelihood of one’s promotion of a religion. It is often also taken that religious garb is in and of itself a type of proselytism as it shows to the public which faith a particular person endorses.

Premise D is reinforced by point E, which was discussed earlier in the post about how previously publicly funded schools had nuns teaching religious values to children with the approval of the Quebec state until the 1960s.

Premises C and D therefore logically lead to conclusion F, that religious garb should be banned for public functionaries.

This is the fundamental logic behind laïcité and Bill 21 in Quebec. Whether you are promoting or attempting to debate the bill, this is most likely the logic you will have to defend or contest. In such an important debate over the civil rights of Canadians, it is important to have a clear understanding of the premises and logical chain that the supporters of a position use to defend their position. In the absence of such understanding, an honest attempt cannot be made to see whether the logic holds up, or where and how it fails. Without an understanding of the logic behind the sides of the issue, any attempt to convince those of the opposite opinion is likely to devolve into simply talking past each other. Hopefully this post has helped you understand the supporters of the bill and allowed you to honestly evaluate the validity of their logic, and of the premises upon which this argument stands.