(Photo: Scientology members demonstrate against a 1999 fraud trial in Marseille. Their banner says:"Scientology: 40 years in France. A new religion that will always be there.")

A new French law means the Church of Scientology cannot be dissolved in France even if it is convicted of fraud, it has emerged during a trial of the organisation.  A prosecutor has recommended that a Paris court dissolve the church’s French branch, which has been charged with fraud after complaints by former members who say they gave huge sums to the church for spiritual classes and “purification packs”.

The Church of Scientology’s French arm denies fraud.

Whatever the ruling, under a legislative reform passed just before the start of the trial in May, it is no longer possible to punish a fraudulent organisation with dissolution.  The legal snag was discovered by the Inter-ministerial Unit to Monitor and Fight Cults. Georges Fenech, head of the unit, demanded on Monday that the legal power to dissolve an organisation be reinstated.

Even if the law is changed again, it cannot be applied retroactively to the Scientology trial, which was held in May and June, with the ruling expected in late October. Registered as a religion in the United States, with celebrity members such as actors Tom Cruise and John Travolta, Scientology enjoys no such legal protection in France.

Read the full story here.

For more background on France's case against Scientology, see

-- French prosecutor seeks dissolution of Scientology

-- Scientology on trial (photo essay)

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Jamaa, who heads the Voix de Femmes (Women's Voice) group helping victims of forced marriage,  met me there last week for a interview for my feature "New school year puts French on forced marriage alert." In the feature, another activist, Fatou Diouf (pictured above in a photo by Jacky Naegelen), told of her family's attempt to kidnap her and force her into marrying her uncle in Senegal at the age of 18.

While I was in Jamaa's office, her phone was constantly ringing with emergency calls from threatened girls and women - most of them Muslims of Africa, Asian or Middle Eastern descent. Jamaa herself is a Muslim, like many of the activists who help victims of forced marriage here, and she keeps telling the families and the women at risk that Islam bans forced marriage.

In her experience, however, the families don't care. "They just pick the parts of Islam that are convenient to them," she told me. A few years ago, Jamaa worked with an imam to try and use religion to fight the practice. But they had to stop after the imam himself was threatened by angry families.

For now, she believes religion can play a marginal part in dealing with marriage conflicts. Once the girl has fled the family, and the parents show some regret, an imam may be able to smooth the reconciliation process. Faith can also reassure the victims, who almost always feel terribly guilty about running away. And Jamaa believes a strong stance among Muslim leaders could help: "I'm still waiting for a fatwa saying forced marriages are haram (forbidden)," she said with an air of resignation.

Even if such a fatwa were issued, most of these families would probably ignore it. For Fatou Diouf, a French woman of Senegalese descent, the practice is not about religion anyway, but about tradition. Her own ordeal began when she dated a non-Muslim Cameroonian in France at the age of 18. Her family lured her to Senegal, then told her they had already married her off to her 36-year-old uncle in a religious ceremony that did not require her presence.

(Image: Voix de Femmes poster -- the text says "Forced marriage ... a one-way ticket? The girls refuse.")

"I had my father on the phone, and he said, I'm fed up with you fooling around in France, you're going to stay down there," she told me. Later on, after she escaped, Jamaa travelled back to France and eventually confronted her parents about their betrayal. Her father justified himself - but not by invoking religion. "He said friends had started asking why I was always out, where I was, he said I would be treated like a whore," she said.

The activists and victims I spoke to cited many different motives for forced marriage in migrant communities here. But the strongest factor seems to be a fear of daughters becoming too independent, too rebellious, "too French". And even though activists say some of the victims are from Christian, Hindu or Jewish immigrant backgrounds, the majority -- based on their accounts -- does seem to be Muslim. There are unfortunately no reliable official statistics to give a clearer picture.

One interesting insight the activists gave was that the most fervent young Muslim women - the kind who wear the full veils that have sparked such a lively debate in France - tend to pick their own partners rather than submit to their families' will. Most fully veiled women say they have chosen to wear the niqab themselves, often against the wishes of their parents. So if their parents try to arrange a union with a man not pious enough for them, they reply by saying Islam forbids forced marriage and then choose a similarly devout spouse.

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(Photo: Kabul women in burqas, 20 Nov 2001/Yannis Behrakis)

Last week, a somewhat unlikely group of commentators joined the debate -- fashion designers at the haute couture shows in Paris. The niqab and the burqa are, after all, garments, so maybe it should not be surprising that the high priests of fashion have spent some thought on the issue.

In fact, many top French designers make customised abayas (long, baggy gowns some Arab women usually worn with a veil) and other luxury versions of traditional outfits for their Middle Eastern clients.

Speaking backstage before and after their shows, surrounded by half-naked models, most stuck to the middle ground, saying they had nothing against the burqa, abaya or niqab as long as the woman was not forced into it. Couturier Franck Sorbier pointed out that in most hot places, including Corsica, women
wear some kind of headscarf.

"If someone tells me, 'design an abaya,' why not, I'm proud of that. It's just a garment," haute couture designer Stephane Rolland, who has made many abayas for Middle Eastern clients, told me.

(Photo: Stephane Rolland and model in wedding dress he designed, 21 Jan 2004/Philippe Wojazer)

When asked about the broader debate whether veils are a sign of subservience and should be outlawed, his confidence wavered. "I don't want to speak about religion, that's a different subject. But I don't want to cover the woman -- alas, I don't want to think about that," he said before turning away.

And at Chanel, Karl Lagerfeld mused about the practical side of the burqa:

"It might be quite nice to wear it, you don't need to go to the hairdresser and you can see everything without being seen, I find that quite comfortable," he told me after the Chanel haute couture show last week. "Veils, tunics, I'm not against all that, I find it picturesque. Live and let live!"

For the latest on the French burqa debate, from the chic fashion shows to burqa shops in scruffy Paris suburbs, read my feature here.

Any reactions to this?

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    Armani's version of the tiny waist/big shoulder suit
featured peaked shoulders -- the type that slope upwards like
the roof of a Chinese pagoda. He showed them earlier this year
in an Asian-inspired collection; this time, they lifted up
silver, grey or black jackets with glittery baubles as buttons.
Slouchy trousers or shimmering skirts and killer stilettos
completed the boardroom-predator look.

    In the front row, Cate Blanchett, Mafalda von Hessen and
other female visitors bravely displayed pagoda shoulders off the
catwalk. Sharp pagoda shoulders were also spotted at Stephane
Rolland and even Christian Lacroix, who put on a reduced show
due to his financial problems.

    Whether this is the fashion world's response to the tough
economic climate, a play on the sharp shoulders of skinny models
or simply one designer's whim that was picked up by the others
is anyone's guess. Just don't expect it to go away anytime soon.

The hulking German's tale of love and loss has moved millions of viewers around the world, and the image of Steiner holding up the photo of Susann, who died after a car crash, was splashed across German websites on Wednesday.

"The first thing I'll do when I get home is visit her grave," German media quoted the 25-year-old Steiner as saying. "I'm never able to stay around her grave for long because it hurts so much. Susann was and is my great love."

Their love story started with a remote control. Susann was flicking through TV channels and happened upon a weightlifting contest. She saw Steiner, a grizzly bear of a man, and was  instantly smitten.

She e-mailed him, he agreed to meet her, and she took the train to Austria where he was living at the time. They fell in love at first sight.

Soon, Steiner applied for German citizenship and the two started saving up so Susann could accompany him to Beijing. But a car crash just before Susann's 23rd birthday shattered those plans. She was rushed to hospital and underwent surgery, but never regained consciousness. Steiner pledged at her bedside that he would make their Olympic dream come true.

"His gold has touched our hearts," sighed tabloid Bild on its website. Other media called him the "sad colossus" after Steiner, whose German citizenship only came through at the beginning of this year, claimed the unofficial title of strongest man in the world.

But for 67 minutes on Saturday morning, weightlifting had its place in the limelight.

Millions of Chinese had hoped shooter Du Li would win the first gold on offer at the Olympics for her homeland. Du caved in under pressure and failed, leaving the hopes of an entire nation resting on weightlifter Chen Xiexia's broad shoulders.

Weightlifting competitions progress from the weakest lifters to the strongest, and so we were watching several short women stumble, fall over or collapse under the weight of the barbells when suddenly the news broke that Katerina Emmons of the Czech Republic had won the air rifle gold.

The Reuters news flash of Emmons' victory and therefore, Du's defeat, appeared at 11:54, Beijing time. All of a sudden, weightlifting seemed a lot more important than before.

At the shooting range, Chinese fans kept their voices down to avoid distracting Du. In the weightlifting hall, they had apparently decided there was no such thing as too much pressure.

The cheers and shouts built up gradually: a warm welcome for Thailand's Laosirikul Pensiri, enthusiastic clapping for South Korean Im Jyounghwa, huge cheers and shouts of "Go! Go!" for Taiwan's Chen Wei-Ling. The Chinese audience was generously rooting for everyone in the Asian neighbourhood, even the island they see as a renegade province.

Then their own Chen Xiexia stepped on to the stage, yelling a slogan to fire herself up. The crowd went berserk.

There were Chinese flags big and small, shouts of "Go China!", whooping, cheers, applause, all converging into a deafening roar.

Chen was in a class of her own. Every other woman in the competition seemed to battle with the barbells, and many folded, failed to stretch their arms or lost their balance while straining to lift more than twice their bodyweight.

Again and again, Chen yelled, grabbed the bar, and lifted the weights with the confidence and precision. Easy. Her closest rivals all lifted around 195kg-199kg. In a sport where a single extra kilogram can make a lifter stumble, Chen hoisted up a combined total of 212kg.

At 13:01, we sent another newsflash: "China's Chen Xiexia wins Olympic gold medal in women's 48kg weightlifting."

By then, I could hardly hear my own voice amid the cries of celebration.

PHOTO: Chen Xiexia of China poses with her gold medal for the women's 48kg Group A weightlifting competition at the Beijing 2008 Olympic Games August 9, 2008. REUTERS/Yves Herman

For Italian weightlifter Giorgio de Luca, for example, doping is out of the question but coffee, cigarettes, and the occasional drink are all fine.

"We're aiming for a clean sport," the 24-year-old from Palermo said, puffing a cigarette outside the Olympic gym in Beijing, watched by his coach.

Several coaches and weightlifters huddled around the ashtrays in front of the gym on Tuesday -- a picture that is unlikely to please their Olympic hosts. Beijing has promised to do its utmost to ensure clean air for the Games, and that means smog-free and smoke-free.

Smoking is banned at Olympic venues, and a 100,000-strong puff police is supposed to enforce the rule.

Not that anyone told the smokers at the gym to stub it out. The volunteers at the venue were happily handing out water, taking pictures and chatting with the smokers. Apparently, "smoking ban" is just as ambiguous a phrase as "clean living".

PHOTO: A man smokes a cigarette as he walks past a billboard advertising the Olympics in central Beijing July 14, 2008. REUTERS/David Gray

So who wins in a stand-off between Chinese Olympic volunteers ("nothing is as soft and yielding as water, and yet it conquers that which is hard and unyielding" - Laozi) and Japanese reporters ("my heart burns like fire but my eyes are as cold as dead ashes" - Zen monk Soyen Shaku)?

The burning issue at hand: media access to the Olympic weightlifting training centre.

Japanese reporters have been crowding around the gym for days, trying to get inside and shoot pictures of weightlifter Hiromi Miyake, one of Japan's main medal hopes. Chinese volunteers, on the other hand, have been trying to keep them out.

On Saturday, about a dozen journalists infiltrated the gym. Photographers skulked around the mats and weights, looking for the best angle, while text reporters huddled in a corner next to the area where Miyake was training, watched by her coach and father.

A Chinese volunteer approached the group and announced that according to Olympic rules, journalists were not allowed to enter the gym.

The Japanese reporters nodded, smiled, and stayed put.

The volunteer took a deep breath and said: "So please, cooperate."

The reporters nodded, smiled, and stayed put.

Volunteer: "See, the rules..."

And so on.

Eventually, one Japanese reporter broke the silence and said: "Can you please stop. This is annoying me."

The next day, the main entrance to the gym was guarded by a dozen Chinese volunteers, photographers were barred from entering and Japanese reporters were squashed into a small media box at the far end of the gym.

Looks like all the zen proverbs in the world won't help you if the other party owns the venue.

PHOTO: Hiromi Miyake takes part in a weightlifting training session ahead of the Beijing 2008 Olympic Games August 2, 2008. REUTERS/Issei Kato

With her massive shoulders and bulging biceps and thighs, the petite blonde usually weighs in at 55kg, a tad too heavy for the 53kg category she'll be competing in on Sunday. Not that she'll be going hungry.

In a sport where every pound counts because it means extra lifting power, her crash diet is still generous by most standards: bread, cold meat, muesli and yoghurt for breakfast; meat, salad and fruit for lunch; meat for dinner; and chocolate if she feels the pounds are dropping off too quickly.

And unlike most dieters, she won't be trying to walk off the excess kilos between training sessions. Under her strict pre-competition regime, any unscheduled exercise that could strain her legs is, well, verboten. Which means she'll only be allowed to move between her room, the training centre and the Olympic canteen.

See here for the full story.

What connects deep-fried pork cutlets, black and pink noodles and the Beijing Olympics? An appeal to Japan's ancient fighting spirit or a clever marketing trick, depending on how you look at it.

All Nippon Airways served what appeared to be an ordinary, tepid airplane lunch on its Tokyo-Beijing flight -- "katsu" pork with curry, beefsteak with a cheesy crust, "somen" noodles. But a look at its in-flight magazine revealed that in fact, the aluminium trays contained a small homage to Japan's athletes, and each ingredient had been carefully selected for its pun value.

"Katsu" means "breaded cutlet" as well as "to win"*; the chewy, cheesy crust is meant to resemble a gold medal; the noodles evoke the five Olympic rings; the red snapper, in Japanese, is golden and therefore another symbol for sporting success. Even the cucumber slices were hollowed out to give them a ring shape.

And in case you still didn't get the message, the headline in the magazine spelled it out for you: "Gambare, Nippon!" ("Keep fighting, Japan!")

Photo by Alessandro Bianchi, Reuters

Kevin Fylan adds: I bet there are plenty of other people doing Olympic-themed food. If you spot any puntastic examples, let us know in the comments.

* Note: This post was changed at 0257 on Sunday, August 3 to correct the translation of "Katsu". See the comments below.