In the United Kingdom, a debate has resurfaced that goes far beyond the technicalities of family law. The discussion around whether to ban marriage between first cousins raises a deeper and more uncomfortable question for liberal democracies: what happens when cultural accommodation begins to override the idea of a shared legal standard?
At present, marriage between first cousins is lawful in England and Wales. This legal permissibility, inherited from a long-standing common law tradition, has rarely been questioned until recent years, when concerns related to public health, social cohesion and integration have entered the political arena. Proposals to introduce a statutory ban have triggered strong reactions, not only in Parliament but also in the wider public debate.
One of the most emblematic positions to emerge is that of Iqbal Mohamed, an independent Member of Parliament, who has openly opposed the idea of a legal prohibition. His argument is not based on denying medical evidence. On the contrary, he has acknowledged that marriages between close relatives can be associated with increased genetic risks. The core of his position lies elsewhere: the belief that legislation is not the appropriate tool to address practices deeply rooted in certain cultural and familial traditions.
According to this line of reasoning, the role of the state should be limited to education, awareness campaigns, genetic counselling and voluntary screening, rather than the imposition of binding legal rules. Law, in this view, should step back in favour of so-called “soft” measures, designed to inform rather than to prohibit.
This approach is revealing. It reflects a broader political philosophy that has shaped British multiculturalism for decades: the idea that the state should remain neutral with respect to cultural practices, intervening only in cases of clear coercion or direct criminal harm. As long as a practice is presented as consensual and culturally meaningful, the threshold for legal intervention is set extremely high.
The difficulty with this model is not theoretical, but structural. A legal system that consistently refrains from setting common limits risks losing its normative function. Law is not merely an administrative framework; it is also an instrument through which a society defines what it considers acceptable, permissible or incompatible with its core values. When legislation retreats, those boundaries become blurred.
The cousin marriage debate illustrates this tension with particular clarity. It is not simply about genetics or family structures. It is about whether a liberal state is willing to assert that certain standards apply equally to all, regardless of cultural background. If every sensitive issue is reframed as a matter of cultural autonomy, the very concept of integration becomes hollow.
Integration, in a legal sense, presupposes convergence towards a shared framework of rules and responsibilities. It cannot be reduced to coexistence without friction. Where the state refuses to articulate limits, integration turns into parallelism: different communities living under the same jurisdiction but guided by different normative references.
This is not a uniquely British problem, nor is it confined to family law. Similar dynamics can be observed across Europe, particularly in debates on education, gender norms, criminal responsibility and social behaviour. The recurring pattern is the same: when confronted with cultural practices perceived as sensitive, the state often chooses not to choose.
Yet neutrality is not without consequences. A legal order that avoids conflict at all costs may preserve short-term social peace, but it does so by sacrificing clarity and coherence. Over time, this erosion undermines public trust in the law as a common point of reference.
The British discussion on cousin marriage therefore matters far beyond its immediate scope. It forces us to confront a fundamental question: can a state remain a state of law if it consistently defers to culture instead of defining common standards?
From the perspective of the Integration or ReImmigration paradigm, the answer is straightforward. Integration cannot be unconditional or indefinite. It requires rules, expectations and, where necessary, enforceable limits. Where integration fails, and where the state is unwilling to uphold its own normative framework, the system enters a zone of ambiguity that benefits no one.
The choice, ultimately, is political. Either integration is understood as a demanding process, grounded in shared legal principles, or it dissolves into a form of managed fragmentation. The debate unfolding in the UK today is not about cousin marriage alone. It is about whether culture is allowed to prevail over the law—and what that means for the future of the rule of law itself.
Avv. Fabio Loscerbo
EU Transparency Register – Lobbyist ID 280782895721-36
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