On a routine trip to a local market to buy flowers for her grandmother, Sofia Oliveira never anticipated that an everyday errand would end with her shaken, threatened, and verbally and physically harassed by a stranger couple—all because of the niqab she wears. Accompanied by her husband and father-in-law, the 2-year convert to Islam from northern Portugal stood frozen as bystanders stared at the escalating confrontation, an encounter she says foreshadowed the harm Portugal’s new face-covering ban would bring to Muslim women across the country.
Implemented in September, the controversial legislation, widely nicknamed the “Burqa Law,” prohibits covering one’s face in public spaces, with narrow exceptions for medical needs, professional obligations, and diplomatic duties. While the text does not explicitly name Islamic face coverings, far-right party Chega, which proposed the bill, has openly acknowledged it is crafted to ban niqabs and burqas across the nation. Penalties for violations range from a €150 to €750 fine for first-time offenses, rising to €400 to €3,000 for repeat offenders.
Chega, which has built its political platform on harsh anti-immigration policies and now holds the position of Portugal’s second-largest parliamentary bloc with 60 out of 230 seats, defended the ban during October parliamentary debates by framing it as a defense of women’s freedom, public security, and national social cohesion. But for Oliveira and other affected Muslim women, the law does nothing to advance freedom—instead, it legitimizes anti-Muslim hostility and emboldens members of the public to target women who choose to wear Islamic face coverings.
Oliveira, who made the intentional decision to convert to Islam after reading the Quran out of curiosity and finding its core values clashed with pervasive negative stereotypes, argues that the niqab is itself an expression of her personal autonomy. Raised in a traditional Christian family, she worked to help her relatives understand her choice, and over time they came to accept it as a legitimate exercise of her freedom. For her, covering her face is a deliberate rejection of what she describes as society’s constant sexualization of women, allowing her to control who sees her body.
This perspective directly contradicts the narrative pushed by bill supporters, who claim the ban is necessary to “free” Muslim women who are allegedly coerced into wearing modest clothing. Oliveira pushes back on this framing sharply: if the law’s backers truly care about Muslim women’s freedom, why does their legislation leave us more vulnerable to harassment and violence in public spaces than ever before? The law, she argues, is explicitly designed to demonize and dehumanize a small, already marginalized religious minority, and it directly violates Article 41 of the Portuguese Constitution, which enshrines freedom of religious practice and bans religious persecution.
Portugal is not alone in enacting such restrictions: it joins 10 other European countries that have implemented full or partial bans on Islamic face coverings. Just last month, Italy’s far-right government under Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni approved a ban on Islamic veils in all primary and secondary schools. Across the continent, these restrictions are tied to growing far-right political movements that frame Muslim immigration as a threat to European culture and push exclusionary policies targeting religious minorities.
Data from the European Union Agency for Fundamental Rights (FRA) underscores just how widespread anti-Muslim discrimination has already become across the bloc. In its 2024 report *Being Muslim in the EU – Experiences of Muslims*, the agency found that 47 percent of Muslim respondents had experienced racial discrimination in the five years before the survey, up from previous measurements. Discrimination is most acute in employment and housing: 39 percent of Muslim job seekers reported facing discrimination when looking for work, a jump from 31 percent in 2016. Currently, Norway is the only European country with a formal national strategy to combat Islamophobia, with most EU member states failing to explicitly address anti-Muslim racism in their national anti-racism frameworks.
International human rights groups have roundly condemned Portugal’s new ban. Amnesty International released an official statement in July labeling the law a clear threat to fundamental human rights, noting that it directly violates the freedom of expression and religious freedom of Muslim women who choose to wear face coverings. “No one should dictate what a woman may or may not wear, and no woman should be penalised for practising her faith, cultural identity or beliefs,” the organization stated.
Leonor Costa, advocacy coordinator for Amnesty International in Portugal, told Middle East Eye that the widespread approval of the bill, which passed with 160 votes in favor out of 230 deputies, signals a worrying shift for the country. “The fact that such a bill is approved with so little popular noise, unfortunately shows which path Portugal chooses to take from now on, a path where discriminatory and fascist speeches against religious, and ethnic, minorities hide behind security reasons,” she explained. She added that human rights advocacy groups struggle to match the high public visibility of far-right parties like Chega, limiting their ability to mobilize opposition to discriminatory legislation.
To push back against the ban, Oliveira has helped organize a public petition to challenge the law, which requires 7,500 signatures to be formally considered by parliament. As of reporting, the petition has gathered roughly 1,400 signatures. But her advocacy has come with notable barriers: she has received no official support from Portugal’s leading Muslim institution, the Central Mosque of Lisbon.
In comments to Middle East Eye, Central Mosque head Sheikh David Munir explained that the institution holds that burqas and niqabs are not mandatory requirements of Islamic faith, so the law does not violate core religious rights. He argued that individual Muslim women should adapt to the new legislation rather than challenge it, noting that for women who have worn face coverings for their whole lives, adapting will be difficult. He also acknowledged fears that the ban could open the door to future discriminatory legislation that frames Portugal as a “Christian nation” and further restricts religious freedom. “When the laws of the country do not give me security or freedom… we all flee from dictatorship,” he said, also noting the unique integration challenges faced by refugees fleeing conflict in the Middle East, who often have to rebuild their lives from scratch in new countries.
The lack of institutional backing leaves women like Oliveira more vulnerable, but she has found support in her own family, who have come to accept her choice of faith and clothing. Still, she notes that many other Muslim women in Portugal do not have this safety net. With the law legitimizing public hostility, these women are left completely exposed to harassment and discrimination, all for the simple act of choosing what to wear.
For Oliveira, the core issue at stake is simple: the law’s claim to advance women’s freedom is a lie. True freedom, she argues, means allowing every woman to make her own choices about her body, her clothing, and her faith—without punishment or harassment for that choice.