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What Not To Wear: Dress Codes and

Uniform Policies in the Common School

DIANNE GERELUK

A multitude of reasons are given for banning various forms of symbolic clothing. The only thing that is clear is that there has not been a definitive way to proceed. The lack of clarity and ambiguity over what children should be allowed to wear in schools is apparent. Consequently, policies regarding symbolic clothing are inconsistent and erratic, at best. This article explores the reasons used for the banning of symbolic clothing in schools and recommends four principles that may assist educators and policy analysts in developing more consistent guidelines. It is hoped that the principles put forward will underpin future policy discussions in defining the acceptable parameters of symbolic clothing.

INTRODUCTION

The restriction of dress in schools is not new. Students and teachers alike have always had restrictions on what is appropriate and inappropriate dress. Virtually with no exception, schools have minimum dress codes in place: rules about what cannot be worn at school. Uniform policies state explicitly what must be worn in schools. And while this is common practice across schools in many countries, what is controversial is whether and to what extent school pupils should be allowed to wear symbolic clothing. France has arguably had the most media attention in this respect as a result of its 2004 legislation banning all ostentatious religious symbols in schools. Yet various countries have increasingly had contentious debates about whether symbolic clothing should be allowed in schools and, more generally, in the public sphere. It is apparent that the broader issue of symbolic clothing is not peculiar to France, but a matter of growing international concern—one charged with emotion and sensitivity.

Schools shoulder much of the burden in trying to maintain the delicate balance between celebrating diversity, on the one hand, and instilling a cohesive shared ethos, on the other. To what extent can or should schools promote the kind of diversity that is reflective of the broader society? If clothing is a significant part of some individuals’ identity, are schools obliged to accommodate their requests and alter established uniform

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policies? By allowing certain exemptions to some individuals and groups, do schools privilege some affiliations and associations over others? Do we also undermine other arguably important values that may be linked to the existence of uniform policies? Symbolic clothing raises, then, a number of dilemmas for the common school.

What is considered symbolic clothing is not without debate. I start from the position that symbolic clothing is a piece of clothing (or accessory) that signifies a part of an individual’s identity. Most commonly, symbolic clothing is tied to religious items of dress that form part of a person’s identity. The symbol may have varying levels of significance to an individual. It may be simply an outward expression of what one believes, or it may be more like an essential part of one’s identity. In the latter instance, and especially where the item of clothing has religious significance, its removal may be seen as compromising a part of oneself. Symbolic clothing, however, can have a significance that is other than religious, a significance that is political or social. Wearing black may be tied to many different things. For instance, it has been connected to Goths, or to bereavement, and it may be a gesture towards the black armbands of the IRA. Similarly, wearing a piece of ‘gang wear’ is a strong symbol of allegiance to a particular group or cult. Individuals may wear a particular coloured ribbon to express their support for associations or movements, as in the case of the pink ribbon for breast cancer or ‘Make Poverty History’ wristbands. All such symbols fall under the umbrella of symbolic clothing.

While I have noted three general categories of symbolic clothing— religious, political and social—the role of symbolic clothing may cross between these categories in such a way that in many cases distinctions between the three categories may not exist. In France and England, for example, the wearing of the hijab is not only a symbol of one’s particular religious affiliation: it has increasingly become a political symbol, as a sign of solidarity against the state’s decision to curtail Muslim dress in the public sphere. Moreover, the Islamic doctrine of tawhid, for example, suggests that politics like everything else exists only beneath the broad umbrella of religion.1

Widely divergent views are presented about how to deal with symbolic clothing. France’s legislation seems to be at one end of the spectrum, while Canada’s protection of ethnic minorities, with its notion of ‘reasonable accommodation’, lies at the other (Shariff, 2006).2 Other countries muddle through with widely varying views and decisions, which are often erratic and inconsistent from one case to the next. And, with very few exceptions, few guidelines are available to help educators and policy analysts to deal with these matters in a more consistent way. If guidelines are developed, as has happened in England with the initiative of the Department for Children, Schools and Families regarding symbolic dress and uniform policies (DCSF, 2007), the guidelines tend to be ambiguous, at best. Decisions regarding dress rest primarily with those who are in office at a particular time, and this is so in the cases of politicians, judges and educators. And if these people change by the time the next challenge about clothing is brought to the fore, so do the decisions about how to deal

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with the issue. The reasons given for banning various forms of clothing differ drastically both between and within nations, and the only thing that is clear is that there has not been a definitive way to proceed. The hodgepodge of precedents from various schools, districts, legal courts and states leaves the lay-person, the professional educator and the policy- maker ill at ease about what should be done about symbolic clothing in schools.

In an attempt to shed some light on this issue, I examine various justifications commonly used in banning symbolic clothing. I return to the concept of ‘reasonable accommodation’ and suggest that, by using this principle as a guideline, it is possible to reduce the numerous reasons used in banning clothing to four main considerations: 1) whether the clothing creates health and safety concerns; 2) whether the clothing is oppressive to oneself or to others; 3) whether the clothing significantly inhibits the educational aims of the school; and 4) whether the clothing is essential to a person’s identity. These four principles provide some basic guidelines for schools to assist them in setting the boundaries of symbolic clothing without becoming too heavy-handed and arbitrary. I begin by considering common reasons used for curtailing symbolic clothing.

REASON ONE: TO PRESERVE THE PUBLIC SPHERE

France has taken the lead in preserving the civic republican tradition by banning religious symbolic clothing, although it is not the only nation to create such legislation. Turkey’s stance against headscarves, particularly in a largely Muslim country, is a direct attempt forcibly to make the country more secular (and arguably more Western) in order to parallel its counterparts in the Europe it aspires to join. Trevor Phillips’ remarks about England needing to inculcate a sense of ‘Britishness’ speak to a concern to create a stronger national identity (Phillips, 2005). Given that these are in their different ways moves towards a stronger national identity, one needs first to ask whether such an identity is desirable or possible. If it is desirable, the second question then becomes whether banning symbolic clothing will help create that identity. Let us begin with the first question.

Whether one wishes to argue in favour of preserving the civic republican tradition in France, protecting secularisation in Turkey or developing a sense of ‘Britishness’ in England, what each policy seems to promote is the concept of a commonly shared identity amongst its citizenry—at least in the public sphere. The assumption is that having a common identity will help foster a more cohesive and stable society. Shared norms and values help to create this level of cohesiveness. Michael Walzer, for instance, suggests:

Every substantive account of justice is a local account . . . One characteristic above all is central to my argument. We are (all of us) culture-producing creatures; we make and inhabit meaningful worlds. Since there is no way to rank and order these worlds with respect to their

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understanding of social goods, we do justice to men and women by respecting their particular creations . . . . Justice is rooted in the distinct understandings of places, honors, jobs, things of all sorts that constitute a shared way of life. To override those understandings is (always) to act unjustly (Walzer, 1983, p. 314).

What is central to Walzer’s argument is that shared cultural under- standings rest with the political community. We understand our fellow citizens through the meanings that we share, without which we cannot come to agreement about the principles that provide the foundation for a political structure.

The case of the Netherlands casts light on this claim. It is generally agreed that the Netherlands has held progressive political principles that reflect and underpin the shared political norms and values of its citizens. The threat to this political culture perceived by some as a result of the increasing numbers of Muslim immigrants seems to give added weight to the need to protect those shared norms and values. Ironically, the protection of its progressive political values has meant stricter legislation against the niqab for Muslim women and a conservative backlash about tightening up immigration into the country.

The common criticism of Walzer’s claim is that suggesting that there is a particular political culture assumes too homogeneous a picture of culture. It silences or represses those on the fringes, whether women, ethnic minorities or children. And it paints a picture of a culture that is somewhat ossified—of a political culture that is rarely if ever challenged but rather taken for granted as the status quo. Yet Walzer’s argument for a shared political culture does resonate to some degree. It seems reasonable to suggest that a minimum level of shared values is required in order that people contribute to and abide by the political rules and regulations that govern a society. As Joseph Carens points out, Walzer does not suggest that a political community is all-encompassing. One can have a shared political culture without it assuming all of one’s cultural life. So long as we acknowledge ‘(1) some range of morally permissible implementations on any given account of the principles and (2) some range of reasonable disagreement about how to interpret the principles themselves’, we can have some sympathy for Walzer’s arguments (Carens, 2000, p. 28). The minimum threshold of a common political structure seems worth pursuing and protecting.

So if we agree to a certain extent that there is value in developing a shared common identity, at least at the political level (as is argued by the French government), does it then follow that banning symbolic clothing will help in this cause? It is one thing to suggest that we wish to develop a shared political culture and that within this shared framework principles may be debated and discussed. It is another to suggest that banning symbolic clothing will be a significant factor in reducing friction amongst its citizens and in creating a more cohesive society with more shared understanding.

If France provides us with any telling sign of the effects of such judgements, it is that the initial suspension of the three girls wearing

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headscarves only exacerbated the tension between the Muslim commu- nities and the French government. The recent legislation against religious symbols does not appear to have brought various religious groups together under the larger political civic republican umbrella. To suggest that a neutral space can be achieved by simply removing symbolic clothing seems both naı̈ve and superficial (Gereluk, 2005). Further, it closes off an important debate in schools about how individuals can live together in an increasingly diverse and plural society. Instead, it ostracises and marginalises religious people, and in particular Muslims who have been portrayed negatively in the media, creating more tensions and hostilities. The race riots of November 2006 across France are evidence of this (Gereluk and Race, 2007). The focus on symbolic clothing seems both misplaced and inflammatory, and it deflects attention from the larger political discussion that needs to occur about the inequitable conditions suffered by many minority groups, whose members frequently live below the poverty line, face a greater chance of unemployment and experience discrimination on a regular basis. How can a society bring together such diverse groups of individuals when it does not tackle the inequitable and unfair treatment amongst these individuals? It is true that a debate must occur, but the debate must, if we are to come to some closer, reasonable consensus, include at its heart such issues of equality (Ramadan, 2007). Otherwise, it will perpetuate the unfair privilege enjoyed by dominant over minority groups. While banning symbolic clothing may be an easy policy to bring into law in attempting to foster the larger political culture of a society, it ignores the inequitable conditions that may be causing such tensions amongst groups.

Further, in enforcing a ‘neutral’ space in schools in order to protect the political values of the society, it limits in a significant way the discussion of what it means to live in a society that combines the aspiration of a shared political community with the reality of diversity. The tension between political and cultural community is one that needs to be addressed—not swept under the carpet.

REASON TWO: SYMBOLS MAY BE OFFENSIVE

A common reason used for curtailing symbolic clothing is that it may be considered offensive. However, trying to decide what is deemed too offensive to wear delves into tricky territory when it comes to schools. The fact that girls wear the niqab may be considered offensive because they do not show their facial expressions to other people. Conversely, the girls wearing the niqab may find it offensive and humiliating to uncover their faces. Political slogans on t-shirts may offend those of a different political perspective, and yet schools may find it perfectly acceptable for girls to wear bikinis to promote school-sanctioned car-washes—something that may be found socially offensive by others (Gereluk, forthcoming, p. 70). The criteria for what is deemed offensive shifts from place to place, along with the shared norms and values of the particular community and context.

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Dress codes that ban certain clothing often provide some principles about the appropriateness of clothing in schools, but that too seems arbitrary. In schools, G-strings, thongs and exposed bra straps for girls, and, for boys, baseball caps, ‘hoodies’ and jeans that do not cover boxer shorts are currently on the hit list of unacceptable and offensive forms of dress. Yet again the list drastically varies from school to school and from locality to locality. Moreover, the practicalities of enforcement in schools create further complications and inconsistencies.

The question of what is ‘reasonable’ is at stake here, especially when banning symbolic clothing may curtail an individual’s freedom of expression. A general consensus seems to exist that limiting freedom of expression is appropriate when physical harm is caused to other individuals. However, Joel Feinberg (1988) suggests that this may set the threshold too high, and he instead argues that limits can be placed on freedom of expression when that expression is offensive to other people. How that is determined may involve the consideration of a number of factors, such as the extent, duration and social value of the action in question, the ease with which it can be avoided, the motives of the agent, the number of people offended, the intensity of the offence, and the general interest of the community at large (see also van Mill, 2002). Feinberg’s offence principle may extend then to the wearing of symbolic clothing that is offensive to others.

The offence principle provides some guidance in deciding the kinds of circumstances where it may be appropriate to limit freedom of expression. Yet, a grey area still exists over where exactly that line is drawn. To complicate the issue further, the parameters may change depending on the norms and behaviour of a particular community. For instance, in an Amish community girls’ skirts may be well below the knee, in accordance with the modesty required by this faith community. In another community, girls’ hemlines may follow the current fashion of knee-length or just above the knee. And in many cases, girls may not be required to wear a skirt to school. The values of the community, the number of people to whom offence might be given, and the extent of that offence, will all be factors that help to determine the appropriateness of attire.

Schools have banned political t-shirts in the United States because of their offensive nature (Gereluk, 2006). Two such cases were those of Bretton Barber, who wore a t-shirt stating that George Bush was an international terrorist (ACLU, 2003), and Timothy Gies, whose shirts regularly displayed various symbols signifying peace or anarchy, and an upside-down American flag (ACLU, 2004). If we apply the offence principle to these cases, it would be hard for a school to argue that the t- shirts caused such offence as to warrant their ban. Neither school had a uniform policy. Regarding the questions of extent and duration, the boys wore the t-shirts to school on an inconsistent and irregular basis, and so these matters are hard to gauge. The t-shirts did not cause a major disruption to the education in the school. The t-shirts did not appear to be morally offensive to a large number of people. Finally, the intensity of the offence was questionable. Wearing a t-shirt that provides a general

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political message such as ‘anarchy’ or ‘peace’ does not seem de facto offensive. Similarly, whilst the t-shirt against George W. Bush may have been morally offensive to some, it is not clear that the intensity of the offence is on the same level as other morally offensive symbols (such as the swastika or the white hooded Ku Klux Klan gown) where the offensiveness is generally agreed across society.

What is considered offensive is difficult to ascertain without appropriate consideration of what it means to offend or to take offence. Robin Barrow contends that offence is used too readily, whether we are worried about offending others or whether we are taking offence ourselves. A number of distinctions are required before one can determine whether a behaviour or action ought to be considered offensive. For instance, the particular smell or taste of blue cheese may be considered offensive—in that it is displeasing to particular bodily senses. This, however, is very different from taking offensive action as: ‘1) meaning to offend; 2) actually giving offence, and 3) behaving in a manner that is likely to cause offence (or, of course, any combination of these)’ (Barrow, 2005, p. 268). For Barrow, the pendulum has swung too far in the direction of condemning behaviour or actions that may offend. Unlike the development of underpinning values of respect within the larger principle of toleration, taking offence ‘involves a refusal to show tolerance, to allow freedom, or to play fair’ (p. 274). Barrow’s remarks endorse the view that the complexity of using the offence principle is far from clear in setting the parameters for appropriate and inappropriate behaviour and actions.

Graham Haydon makes the further point that we must consider what it is that is being offended, ‘namely the sensibilities of human beings’ (Haydon, 2006, p. 21). What is inherently offensive must be considered in light of the individuals it may offend—and that depends from individual to individual. We need to make two further distinctions, suggests Haydon. The first involves the person’s experience. It is one thing to be upset or hurt by an event; it is another to be upset by an action for which someone else was directly responsible (p. 24). The second is that we need to attend to the offended person’s ‘action or inaction’ (ibid.) and consider whether that person was hurt by the other’s action or, conversely, whether the inaction of the offended person led to the feeling of offence. Both doing something or not doing something may duly cause offence. Haydon’s example of the French Revolution illuminates this discussion. While most individuals in this day and age would find the idea of watching people have their heads chopped off offensive, most Parisians of the time, inured to the numerous beheadings, did not find the use of the guillotine offensive. ‘Inherent offensiveness’ must take into consideration the nature of our moral sensibilities. Haydon argues then that moral sensibilities must be cultivated in schools in order to make judgments about the moral implications of various kinds of offence. He further goes on to suggest that while judgment must be used over what is to be considered offensive, the conception of the place of this that Barrow advances is limited in its appropriateness and range of relevance. Haydon contends that some people may just have a propensity to become more easily offended. One

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does not choose to be offended: one merely becomes offended. While one can attempt consciously and deliberately to suppress one’s feelings, the response will remain an emotional one, not entirely controlled by rational and deliberate thought. This does not mean, as Barrow suggests, that the individual taking offence is automatically ‘being intolerant’; that is open to interpretation and debate. What is offensive shifts and moves between individuals, groups and societies.

This theoretical debate illuminates the complexities involved in defining what is offensive, to whom it may be offensive, the degree to which it may be offensive and whether it is reasonable to take offence. Despite the problematic nature of offence, it has generally been applied to considerations of appropriate and inappropriate symbolic clothing. What becomes clear in this debate that ensues is where to draw the line. The principles that Feinberg puts forward provide some useful distinctions, but these too can be easily swayed by the political and social climate of the local community. And if the pendulum has swung drastically, as Barrow argues, then is that not worth challenging, despite perceived popular endorsement? ‘Offence’, as we have seen, is a slippery term that is increasingly being used too readily to ban symbolic clothing. A more useful distinction may be whether what should be banned is what is considered ‘oppressive’ rather than what is considered ‘offensive’.

REASON THREE: SYMBOLS MAY BE OPPRESSIVE

Much symbolic clothing is banned in the belief that the particular symbolic clothing is not only offensive but oppressive. Oppression is commonly understood as involving action that causes harm to another. Physical harm is the most blatant form of oppression, yet oppression can take more subtle forms. Feinberg argues that oppression is ‘a setback to one’s interest’ particularly when that individual has a stake in the action in question (Feinberg, 1995). Oppression can take the form of experiencing something that is against one’s particular best interests, or it can involve injustice, and it may also entail prolonged, severe physical or mental suffering.

Jean Harvey moves beyond Feinberg’s argument and contends that oppression involves ‘a systematic and inappropriate control of people by those with more power’ (Harvey, 1999, p. 37). The act need not be intentional, as often the individuals perpetrating the oppression may have little to no awareness of their oppression. And even if the oppressed does take notice of the oppressive act, the oppressed may choose not to challenge it—perhaps because it may cause others distress or because it may ‘cause a scene’. Alternatively, the oppressed may internalise the oppression through ‘long-standing and social shared biases’ (p. 46). The oppressed become, in effect, disempowered, excluded and unable to challenge the perpetrator.

If the act is unintentional, and the oppressed may not have any very clear awareness of the oppressive action, how can this principle provide us

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with particular guidance regarding symbolic clothing in schools? In very explicit cases, it seems quite clear that an explicit symbol may intentionally suppress or harm others. Gang and cult symbols may be designed to intimidate, to bully and to inflict harm on others. The potential victims may be those from competing gangs or simply those who do not belong to any group. The banning of such symbolic clothing seems both appropriate and justified.

The Confederate flag in the American South is a controversial symbol. Historically, several versions of the Confederate flag were used following the American Civil War by the Confederate States of America. The most common Confederate flag consists of a blue cross with 13 stars inside, on top of a red background. Despite its wide use by Southern American States, its symbolism has heavy overtones of those states’ complicity in slavery and in the subsequent racial segregation that endured for almost a century. The flag became a symbol for those who opposed the civil rights movement, particularly when civil rights activists challenged the racial segregation laws. While the Confederate flag’s historical significance cannot be ignored in American schools, the racist overtones in the symbol must be acknowledged. In this case, one might be able to justify its use in American history and acknowledge the Confederate flag’s importance in textbooks. However, due to its continued role in the oppression of African Americans, wearing this symbol in the form of symbolic clothing should be viewed as unacceptable. Whether the individual who wears the symbol is aware of this significance should not be a consideration. The Confederate flag is explicitly oppressive to African Americans. The intention of the wearer need not be a factor.

Muslim dress is trickier terrain. Many would suggest that Muslim dress is oppressive for girls. And if we follow Harvey’s criteria, intention does not need to play a part, nor does the person need to feel oppressed. Context and location are important here. It may be the case that in some countries, Muslim dress may be oppressive, linked with a political regime or dictatorship. The Taliban in Afghanistan provide a notable example of the forcing of women to wear strict Muslim dress. If, however, we consider the recent increase in the numbers of Muslim girls wearing the hijab in France, it is probable that the girls chose so to dress largely in reaction to the school suspensions and by way of growing political resistance to the French legislation (Gereluk, forthcoming, p. 121). There is nothing to suggest that—all of a sudden—French Muslim girls were being forced to wear the hijab by their families and communities. It is more likely that the girls decided to band together, perhaps as a sign of their religious conviction, and perhaps as a sign of solidarity against the government. In the case of Shabina Begum, her parents were already deceased when she decided to wear the jilbab to school. Her resilience in the face of media attention and when confronted by is the result of her believing that she was oppressed by the ban.

It is not enough to suggest that individuals may be oppressed by certain clothing, one needs to show supporting evidence to make the case. Such opposition to symbolic clothing has largely been directed against Islamic

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clothing for girls. But unless there is significant evidence to suggest the contrary, it is difficult to suggest that many Muslim girls are oppressed, at least in the Western countries to which I have alluded. And if there is a suspicion of oppression occurring, it is the burden of the state to demonstrate it.

REASON FOUR: SYMBOLS MAY BE DISRUPTIVE

Much symbolic clothing in the United States has been banned on the grounds that it may cause significant disruption. What is potentially disruptive often overlaps with what is considered offensive. Some order is obviously necessary in order for schools to carry out their educational mandate—that is a given. And minimising actions that may counter this basic requirement seems to be an appropriate response. If a piece of clothing creates tensions, unrest and instability, it may be justified for schools to consider banning the offending clothing. There is, however, a fine line between what may be disruptive and what is disruptive. Is it appropriate for schools to err on the side of caution or tolerance regarding what may be considered potentially disruptive? In Northern Ireland, for example, black armbands were banned in schools as they signified allegiance to and solidarity with the IRA. The probability that the armbands would cause unrest amongst pupils, parents and the community was so great that most would agree that the ban was warranted. Banning a t-shirt with a political message (as in many American cases) is, by contrast, more questionable. While the t-shirt may cause offence, would this be likely to lead to physical violence, insurgence or uprisings in schools? The particular context and circumstances are paramount.

An American landmark case makes this explicit. In 1965, a group of students and parents in Des Moines, Iowa, held a meeting in the private home of one of their members to plan a series of events and actions to show their public opposition to the Vietnam War, one of which was for the children and adults to wear black armbands in protest against the war. Having heard of the meeting and its proposed actions, the school adopted the policy that any student seen wearing a black armband would be asked to remove it, and if this was not done the student would be suspended until they complied with the new policy. On 16 and 17 December, three students wore the black armband to school, and they were suspended until they complied with the policy, which the private meeting had stated would be after New Year’s Day. The families challenged the suspension and the case went before the United States Supreme Court (Tinker v. Des Moines Independent School District). The Supreme Court argued that student expression should be protected unless the behaviour in question was likely to ‘materially and substantially interfere with the requirements of appropriate discipline in the operation of the school’ (393 U.S. 503, 1969). And while the judges acknowledged the school’s apprehension of potential disruption or violence escalating from the armbands, the judges noted that ‘undifferentiated fear or apprehension of disturbance is not

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enough to overcome the right to freedom of expression’ (ibid.). This landmark case changed the legal scope for constitutional rights for students. The US Supreme Court’s decision in Tinker proclaimed that ‘students do not shed their constitutional rights to freedom of speech or expression at the schoolhouse gate’ (ibid.). Potential disruption is not enough to warrant a curtailment of symbolic clothing.

In trying to draw some distinctions, we must also consider the degree to which the clothing is likely to cause disruption. It is not enough to suggest that particular clothing may cause disruption. Even if the symbolic clothing in question causes massive disruption, one also needs to consider whether the disruption to the school should still be tolerated. Let us consider hypothetically a situation where a number of girls are wearing the hijab, in a largely white school. The school finds that the hijab has caused social divisions amongst pupils and parents, and considers banning the clothing lest it cause too much disruption. Is that the correct response in this case? Even if the piece of symbolic clothing is disruptive, it is reasonable to take the view that the disruption is a necessary step in challenging the stereotypes and intolerances in society.

Should schools attempt to remain apolitical by taking a stance of neutrality on larger societal issues? While the disruption may cause instability in a school, it is appropriate to consider the unrest an opportunity to discuss and open up debate about contentious issues. Unfortunately as of late, there has been a tendency to move away from anything that may be considered controversial. Symbolic clothing is a target for attack in schools, but it is not the only one. If symbolic clothing calls into question the perceived norms and values of society, why is this considered a threat to the stability of schools? In the absence of any demonstrable significant and potentially violent threat, school authorities have been too ready to avoid confrontation and controversy, and they have preferred to stick their heads in the sand. This denial of open debate amounts to the loss of an opportunity to come to a better understanding of the complexities of major current issues of our time.

MOVING FORWARD: WHAT CAN SCHOOLS REASONABLY DO?

The way in which Canada has dealt with the problem of defining the parameters can provide us with some guidance. The idea of ‘reasonable accommodation’ takes a proactive stance with regard to how best to adapt institutions in order to redress the inequitable treatment of those in the minority who are particularly disadvantaged. The onus is on those who wish to maintain the status quo to provide clear evidence to suggest that allowing symbolic clothing is likely to cause undue hardship on others.

The criterion of offensiveness does not hold enough weight because judgments on such matters are always relative. How then do we create parameters of acceptable and appropriate clothing in schools? Clearly on the strength of the present argument, limits to clothing should exist in schools. Three considerations for both dress codes and uniform policies seem appropriate for judging clothing permissible or impermissible:

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1) Does the clothing create health and safety concerns? 2) Is the clothing oppressive to oneself or to others? 3) Does the clothing significantly inhibit the educational aims of the

school?

A fourth consideration then applies to schools where there is an already established uniform policy:

4) Is the clothing essential to one’s identity?

Let us turn to the first factor, that of health and safety concerns. It seems perfectly reasonable to curtail clothing that may cause concern from this point. Loose or baggy clothing may be a hazard during science experiments, particularly if the science class uses Bunsen burners. This pertains to all forms of clothing, not just symbolic clothing. This does not mean that the clothing must be banned, but it does suggest that it must be altered. Reasonable accommodation again suggests that small alterations and adjustments may allow pupils to wear certain symbolic clothing that does not pose a danger to themselves or others. For example, a small alteration on the hijab where, in place of pins, elastic is used to keep the head covering in place easily attends to the safety of the pupil and other students.

The banning of clothing that is oppressive to oneself or to others seems clearly justified. Racist slogans identifying gang culture are all within the boundaries of unacceptable dress. But if we follow Harvey’s argument of civilised oppression, we can extend this to clothing that exploits and suppresses certain individuals and groups. In this way, the principle of oppression can be useful in more subtle cases of the inappropriate mistreatment of individuals and groups.

The final consideration is whether the clothing significantly inhibits the educational aims of the school. Again, Muslim clothing is usually targeted because of the way that it supposedly prevents girls from taking part in various athletic activities. This, however, is a common misperception. In most cases, Muslim faith schools have addressed this either by altering the clothing in order that girls can participate in various physical activities, or by preventing males from viewing the activity. Such small alterations then allow Muslim girls to take part physical activity without compromising their faith, and they do not compromise the educational aims of the curriculum.

There is a stronger case to curtail the niqab, where only the eyes are visible. It would need to be argued that facial expressions are crucial for interaction and communication in school. And while this is not be essential in all subjects, it might plausibly be suggested that seeing the mouth and facial expressions are essential to learning a language. Seeing how the mouth forms various vowels and consonants is a vital component for learning a language. Similarly, if one assumes that facial expressions are crucial to interacting with other people, and if interacting with other pupils is an essential part of attending school, then arguably, the niqab would significantly hinder this social development for the particular

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individual. Such extremes in clothing are rare, however, and the burden again must be on the school to show that the piece of clothing creates a strong obstacle to the child’s learning and development.

Action against clothing that has the potential to disrupt the educational aims of the school needs to be taken only as a last resort, and even then substantial evidence must be provided to show that the ‘offending’ clothing will significantly inhibit the educational aims of the school. As I have repeatedly mentioned, it is not enough to suggest that the symbolic clothing is a potential source of disruption: it needs to be shown that it will cause the kind of disruption that will prevent the school from fulfilling its educational mandate of the school or from ensuring the general safety of pupils and staff.

Dress codes and uniform policies must take the first three considerations into account particularly when symbolic clothing may be a developmental hindrance and a safety hazard to oneself or others. The final considera- tion—that of whether the symbolic clothing is essential to an individual— becomes an additional criterion in determining whether the symbolic clothing should be accommodated within the uniform policy. One may justify a uniform policy for its perceived benefits of instilling pride and fostering a collective ethos in the school. Yet, uniform policies must acknowledge and recognise that symbolic clothing may also be an essential part of an individual’s identity. Unless the clothing in question poses a serious health and safety risk, is oppressive to that individual or to others, or significantly inhibits the educational aims of the school, it should be integrated into the school uniform policy.

CONCLUSION

The heavy-handedness of schools in banning potentially offensive or disruptive clothing has not helped in providing any clear policy for what is to be deemed permissible. Some schools (and some countries) appear to have particular targets for symbolic clothing. France has taken a hard stance on religious symbols, while the United States has generally targeted political and social symbols. In many of the cases, ethnic minorities seem particularly targeted in contrast to mainstream, established, Christian- Judaic religions. And certain symbols may, more often than not, have a blind eye turned to them. For instance, Christian jewellery is usually acceptable in uniform policies while other symbols (for instance, chastity rings3) may not be. The arbitrariness of how the lines are drawn seems both unjust and discriminatory in many of the instances, cloaked as it is behind ambiguous, rhetorical school policies. These shifting and changing stances provide little assistance to other schools that face similar dilemmas. Similarly they exacerbate relations between groups, particu- larly racial and ethnic groups who may already feel marginalised from mainstream society.

Creating flexible, yet consistent, guidelines that cut across all religious, social and political divisions, and are based on the best interests of children, in the light of their physical, emotional and developmental

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needs, is a sensible and pragmatic way in which to approach symbolic clothing. The criteria for such guidelines do not eliminate individuals’ fundamental freedoms but offer reasonable parameters within which certain symbols may not be judged appropriate, at least in the school setting. This approach still allows the possibility for implementing or maintaining a uniform policy, should schools so wish.4

Correspondence: Dianne Gereluk, School of Education, Roehampton University, Roehampton Lane, London, SW15 5PJ, UK. E-mail: [email protected]

NOTES

1. Many thanks to Mark Halstead for providing this example. Indeed in many cases there is little or

no distinction between religious and political symbols.

2. Reasonable accommodation is based on the premise that the state has a duty to adjust,

accommodate and make alternative arrangements for particular individuals or groups in order to

reduce discriminatory practices. It has been used in a variety of specific cases but has also been

applied in the defining of the parameters of symbolic clothing in Canadian schools.

3. In 2007, Lydia Playfoot, a sixteen year old girl, was suspended for wearing a ‘purity ring’,

symbolising chastity, to school. Wearing the ring is a symbol by girls to show that they have

decided to be virgins until marriage. The High Court of England ruled in favour of the school

noting that the ring was not an essential part of Playfoot’s faith. The ring was not ‘intimately

linked’ to the belief in chastity before marriage, nor was she under any obligation to wear the ring

(Gereluk, forthcoming, p. 91).

4. I wish to thank the reviewers for their helpful comments and suggestions.

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