Why I'm not afraid of your headscarf

There was a time when I would never have written this article.

For twenty years I was politically active. And in those twenty years, the reasoning for me was almost conclusive: the government belongs to everyone, so the government shows nothing. No cross, no headscarf, no kippah. Neutrality as a shield. I defended that position with conviction.

But convictions that do not grow eventually become hollow.

What changed?

Not my belief in a neutral government. But my understanding of what neutrality should actually achieve.

The goal has never been the symbol. The goal is that every citizen, regardless of their belief, origin, or identity, is treated equally by the people and institutions that serve them. That is a noble and worthy goal. The question I increasingly ask myself is simply: do we achieve that with a ban on symbols?

The honest conclusion forces me to an honest 'no'.

Our government still discriminates today, symbol ban or not. Not always intentionally, but structurally. I don't have to look far for examples. As a church in a growing community, we know what it's like to want to repurpose a building and run into walls of bureaucratic reluctance. We know what it's like to be refused at a peace festival — not because we had done anything wrong, but because we are representatives of a church. If that is the fruit of strict neutrality, then we are solving the wrongproblem.

What our faith teaches us

In the Articles of Faith of our church — one of the most concise descriptions of what we as Latter-day Saints believe — there is a sentence that I have come to find increasingly important:

‘We claim the privilege of worshiping Almighty God according to the dictates of our own conscience, and allow all men the same privilege.’

That is not a diplomatic concession. That is an act of faith.

We are not neutral about our own faith. We believe with all our hearts. Precisely for this reason, we can understand from within what it means when someone else also believes with all their heart — or believes the exact opposite. That power of personal conviction does not make you narrower, it makes you broader. Those who are sure of themselves do not need to fear others.

Christ said it more sharply than I would ever dare: love your enemies. That is not a gentle recommendation. It is a radical instruction that completely undermines thinking in terms of ‘opponent’. If we must love our enemies, how much more so the people who are simply different from us?

Symbols are not a threat. They are an invitation.

I think the fear of religious symbols in public spaces does not stem from a clear principle, but from a decades-long habit of suppressing religion. Everything related to faith gradually had to disappear from sight. And the result? Religion has not disappeared. It has sought out dark corners. It has become less understandable, not less present.

What if we turn it around?

What if a teacher wearing a headscarf is precisely the moment when children learn that someone can be different and yet be completely trustworthy, completely righteous, completely worth learning from? What if the visibility of faith in public life is not a problem, but an opportunity — to ask, to learn, to become less afraid?

I want to know who stands before me. Not out of distrust, but out of respect. Someone who is open about what drives them, and who at the same time does their work for everyone — that is not a weak government. That is a rich society.

We as peacemakers

Our church leaders ask us to be peacemakers. Not as a beautiful metaphor, but as a concrete commitment in the world we live in.

In a debate that has been waged for years in terms of fear and control, there is room for another voice. Not the voice of those who shout the loudest, but of those who look the broadest. We know what it's like to believe and sometimes encounter resistance for it. Precisely because of this, we can understand what others are going through. Precisely because of this, we can build bridges where others erect walls.

It doesn't start with a decree or a lawsuit. It starts with a conversation. With the willingness to ask: what does this symbol mean to you? What drives you? What do you believe?

And who knows what will happen then.