Quotes of the Day

The Jean-Baptiste de la Salle school is destined to be at the sharp end of the debate on integration, since it is located in a suburb north of Paris that takes in around 10% of the roughly 140,000 immigrants to France each year. Yet the school has largely achieved the goal, so elusive for France as a whole, of creating harmony from diversity. "Saint-Denis may be the biggest melting pot in the world today, and we reflect that diversity of ethnicities and faith among our students and teachers," says school director Gérard Héloir. He says that the school is not out to create an institutional form of multiculturalism, but simply to help students integrate into wider French society. "We provide a setting where everyone lives and works together in spite of racial or religious differences, but without allowing those to become dividers or boundaries," says Héloir. "Without compromise, we'd all wind up in our own ghettos."

When it comes to religion, the school practices what it preaches. Though a Catholic establishment, Jean-Baptiste de la Salle gets applications from more and more parents from other backgrounds who want better instruction and discipline than their kids can receive in the disadvantaged area's public schools. Around 50% of students admitted qualify for the financial aid the state offers to students turning to private education. That means that what gets them in is not money or religion, but dedication to study, Héloir notes. Only 27% of its 2,436 students are practicing Catholics, compared to 25% Muslims, 8% Jews and 4% Protestants; the rest don't practice any religion. Religious studies are voluntary and largely focus on history and philosophy; those seeking the traditional religious instruction of their faith may also do so in classes led by trained educators who share those students' beliefs. The school cafeteria is attentive to religious dietary rules and accommodates fasting during Ramadan or Lent. Students can take religious holidays, no matter how awkwardly they sit with the school calendar. Yet for all that, religion doesn't play a big role in school life, says Gregory Kimbembe, 15, who is of African origin. "You don't really notice religion at all except for the crucifixes in the classrooms."

In fact, Héloir bans what he deems nonscriptural expressions of faith — a rule that's in line with France's law against religious symbols in state schools (except that law applies to crosses, too). "We have no head scarves here, no yarmulkes, no turbans, no hoods, piercings or tattoos," he says. "Students are here because they want to be, so they must adhere to our rules. Effort is made by everyone — that's what a community does."

Why do parents scrape together the €3,840-a-year fees? Because they want to give their kids a better chance to move up eventually in French society. The school — which takes elementary students to baccalaureate and vocational training — has earned a glowing reputation among universities and companies recruiting trained workers. Its director says almost all youths leave the school with a diploma or professional training certificate, and estimates around 90% of those who receive occupational training find jobs within six months. That's no small boast in an area where unemployment ranges from 25-40%. "You work harder here and the rules are stricter, but that's why you come," explains Axel Blanchard, 15. "All I want is that line on my CV that says, 'Graduated Jean-Baptiste de la Salle.' What that represents can change your entire life."

• BRUCE CRUMLEY | PARIS