Europe's identity crisis
A growing Muslim minority is challenging Europe's view of itself
Such laws do little to solve the root causes of the problem, says Gijs von der Fuhr, spokesman for the Amsterdam Migrant Center. The Netherlands, like much of Europe, has made the mistake of long ignoring parallel societies growing in the poor, immigrant neighborhoods. "When you're not integrated, don't speak the language, don't have a job, are living in half ruins--we must not overlook that there is a breeding ground for real violence," says von der Fuhr. It all leaves young Muslims, even those born in Europe, vulnerable to what he calls "garbage can" Islam. A recent survey of third-generation Germans of Turkish origin found that they are far more, not less, dedicated to religion than their grandparents were. And little wonder, says Aydin, who grew up as the only immigrant in a small German village. As a young woman, she was denied a job at a local grocery store because of the veil she wears. Today, she hears often from the Muslim clients she represents, "OK, you don't want us, you don't accept us; we go back to our community."
Increasingly, however, Islamic communities are coming forward to encourage their ranks not to retreat into closed enclaves but to create civic organizations with a political voice. On the heels of the van Gogh murder, some 20,000 Muslims in Cologne, Germany, took to the streets to demonstrate against the violence. In France, the decision to ban head scarves in the public schools also had the effect of galvanizing the Muslim community politically. "Muslims who were not believers but define themselves culturally as Muslim mobilize under the banner of 'I'm a Muslim,'" says Amiraux. But in linking up with other antiracism, pro-equality movements, Amiraux adds, they are becoming more accountable and active participants in the democracies they are accused of rejecting.
And when potentially inflammatory incidents crop up, European organizations, in cooperation with Muslim counterparts, are becoming more proactive. After some Dutch Moroccans were accused of shouting anti-Semitic slogans during a World War II memorial ceremony last year, the Amsterdam Migrant Center launched a school program on the contributions of Moroccan soldiers in the liberation of Europe. With that lesson for students, says von der Fuhr, "the Second World War also became their world war."
At the same time, countries across Europe are increasingly working to counteract the negative preaching of the radical imams appealing to disaffected Muslim youth. In France and Britain, there are programs to create "homegrown" imams who can earn anything from vocational certificates to university degrees. The Netherlands has created an imam buddy system, linking volunteers to imams coming from overseas. One imam was paired with a Jewish homosexual student. "Now, he's the only imam I know who has a museum card and rides a bike," says von der Fuhr.
Turned away. Still, the cultural strains are evident to Nina Muehe, a German with bright-blue eyes who converted to Islam three years ago while doing volunteer work in Africa. After making the decision to wear the hijab, the traditional Muslim head scarf, she has found that the reaction among friends and strangers ranges from patronizing to prejudiced. Trained as an anthropologist, Muehe never expected to feel so alien. In December, she arrived at a school offering to do mediation counseling for teachers and parents of Muslim students. But when Muehe showed up wearing the head scarf, she was turned away by the principal because of a legal ban on public-school teachers' wearing the hijab. "Now I can see that we as Europeans are tolerant, but only within limits."
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