It was nearing the end of my French 2 class when that day in mid-October, I told a student to put away her cell phone.

Miriam looked at me defiantly, her eyes showing hurt and mistrust. “But I was using the phone to adjust my hijab,” she said.

That was clear to me. I had seen how she had used her phone as a mirror, her fingers fiddling with the headscarf, tucking in a few strands of hair, and smoothing out the cloth’s creases.

“You’re pretty the way you are,” I said. “Mais tu sais, pas de telephone dans la salle de classe.”

Everyone knew the rule from Day #1: No cell phones. If I saw a phone, I would confiscate it, putting it in what I called “a cell phone prison,” a hanging jewelry holder with slots big enough for iPhones and Androids. Students didn’t want that. They loved their phones. They used them to text family and friends, check Instagram and TikTok, and play games–at the expense of learning a lesson. I joked their phones had become appendage of their body.

Finally, I wasn’t getting tough on cell phone use. I had almost completely banned them, though there were a few exceptions. If a student’s Chromebook wasn’t charged and we were playing a game like Quizlet Live, Kahoot or EdPuzzle Live, the student could use a phone to enter the game. It was either that or providing an alternative assignment for 10-15 minutes–and the student missing out on a fun activity.

But Miriam wasn’t using the phone for those purposes. She was violating the rules. And, though she was an A student, I couldn’t let her get away with it.

“Donne-moi le portable,” I said, reaching out my hand. She hesitated for a moment before handing me her phone, reiterating that she was just adjusting her hijab, so what was the big deal? Her friend Leslie backed her, mouthing the same message as Miriam and looking at me as if I were a criminal.

It was then I understood their accusations. They both thought I was insensitive to Miriam being a young Moslem woman. Did they think I was anti-Moslem?

The next day, I received an email from Miriam’s guidance counselor to discuss an incident in French class. Yes, it was happening. I would be labelled anti-Moslem, the student assuming power of making baseless accusations.

But, I explained to her counselor, it had nothing to do with that. I just wanted her to put away her cell phone. I had lived in the Arab world, learning Arabic in Egypt in high school. My brother had converted to Islam when he married an Egyptian woman. I had been surrounded by Moslems in Morocco and Niger, where I had learned about their customs and ways.

The counselor listened to me. He was obligated to make Miriam comfortable and listen to her complaints. He didn’t think I had done anything wrong, though I had felt attacked. Miriam was worried she was in trouble. No, I said, she had given me her phone, so no need to get her parents involved.

At the end of the conversation, I still felt that Miriam had overstepped her bounds. She hadn’t had the courage to approach me about her feelings that I was anti-Muslim, and instead had told a counselor. I felt slightly betrayed. I was also very disappointed that my words of putting away her cell phone were interpreted as anti-Moslem. What had our educational system–or was it society in general–done to make her reach that conclusion?

A colleague recommended I speak to Miriam the next day. I should tell her my backstory about living in the Moslem world, and ask her how a cell phone rule had any thing to do with religion. I wasn’t sure it was worthwhile to have that conversation with her. The drama was over. It might make legitimize her position.

The next day, Miriam walked into the room just as a colleague and I were finishing up a conversation. “She’s your BFF at school,” she said.

I nodded. “I don’t know what I would do without her,” I said. “She makes school fun.”

No need to talk to Miriam about her unwise thoughts about me. She had seen me in a new light. A friendship with a fellow teacher made her aware that I too had another side to me. Someday, I would mention in class my background of growing up amongst Moslems, and having a brother who shared Miriam’s faith. But it wasn’t that day. Students needed to learn some French and develop strong work ethics. I didn’t want to take the time to dwell on one’s student’s issue. Nor was on a crusade to change the attitudes of some overly sensitive teens who believed they were victims of biased remarks.