Dressing for Protest

I am known around work for my fashion sense. I have a penchant for wild ties and socks.

Here you can see me wearing my coffee tie.  I bring this subject up, because a friend who had earlier complimented me on my taste in clothing--she said I would do particularly well in Cambodia, where the people love clashing colors--recently told me she had been thinking and felt that I was actually engaging in some sort of "punk protest" by dressing the way I do.

I wasn't sure how to take that; I hadn't thought of it that way before. If anything, I thought of it as a flowering of my inner self, more willing to wear wild work clothes because I enjoyed them. When I look back at previous jobs, I worked for a long time at a business publisher, and I remember I was the only man who didn't wear a tie to work. I did that, I think, because I was an editor who rarely met authors face-to-face, and didn't feel it was necessary to wear a tie. I also didn't enjoy wearing one, so as long as I could get away without, I would go tieless. My next job was a brief stint as a teacher, and I remember the principal telling me that he wanted male teachers to wear ties and suit jackets, because he felt it was a symbol of respect for the important work they do. I didn't have a choice on what I wore, but I respected his telling me why, and I agreed with him that teaching is a very important job.

Now I come to my current job, working for Maryknoll Lay Missioners, and I find myself as the only male wearing a tie. I feel that principal influenced me in deciding to wear a tie at work, because I think what we do at Maryknoll is very important, but I would wear wild ones, because I wanted to express my new love for colorful clothing. Below, I am sharing Ethiopian food with my thoughtful friend and wearing my Starry Night tie with my favorite purple shirt.

 Please note, I've received positive feedback from the people I work with for my ties and socks. Yet, I know I have a certain dislike for the corporate workplace, so perhaps my choice of ties and socks is a rebellion of sorts. In general, however, I don't think of Maryknoll as a corporate workplace. We are not motivated by making money, we are motivated to make a difference, guided by our Christian faith (let me add that all faiths are welcome to serve on staff). So while some things remain the same, there is always a different feeling about the workplace here than I experienced elsewhere.

Here above, you see me wearing my goose/duck tie while taking a lunch break with a friend and her son (pictured). So perhaps I am in constant rebellion against our money-driven society here in the U.S., where profit-making has done us more harm than good, in my oh-so-humble opinion. Most of my ties are gifts or purchased at my church's thrift shop, another way to avoid the commercial exploitation.

Perhaps my flair for clothing has gone on longer than I first thought. See above a picture of me in my struggling acting days, when I paid the rent by working at a adult movie theater selling popcorn and sodas to patrons.

And then there was that tux I wore at my senior prom. Whatever my motivation, I plan to continue wearing those ties and socks.

I almost forgot, I found a tie much to my taste this morning, abandoned, hanging from a doorknob. I guess God wants me to keep wearing these ties as well.

Embrace Every Glowing Soul

My first job in New York City was as a waiter for a diner on Wall Street. My main duty was taking outgoing orders for the breakfast rush.  People would stand in line, tell me what they wanted, and I would prepare their coffee and call out orders to the kitchen, “Two eggs, scrambled, with bacon on a roll!” Then I would take their money and hand them their order in a paper bag.

I would see the same people every day, and I would have a chance to chat with them while waiting for their order to be filled. We became friends over time. One of these friends sold me tickets to a party on a cruise around Manhattan. I had only been in New York a few months, so the idea of partying while watching the City pass by appealed to me.

Over the course of the next few days, however, a number of my white coworkers came up to me to tell me that I should not go to this party, because everyone there would be black, and I would be in some sort of danger as the only white person there. I shook off the first couple of people, thinking they must be putting me on. Why would my friend sell me tickets if this were true? But as person after person came up to me with the same message, I became concerned.

I first came to New York when I was 25 years old. I had been living in a rural area north of Seattle, where my interactions with black people were few (there was one black person in my high school, whom I didn’t know personally). In college, I met more types of people, but I had never before been in the absolute minority of a large group. Being new to New York and big city life, I wasn’t sure if these very serious white people knew something I didn’t. I decided to ask Nancy, a black waitress who was going on the cruise, if I really had anything to worry about. She looked at me with disappointment and said, “Richard, I thought you were different.” I was ashamed and embarrassed. She assured me that I had nothing to worry about.

I told my date that most of the guests would be black, and she decided not to come because she felt uncomfortable. She did encourage me to go on my own, however. The night of the cruise, I ran into Nancy, whose date also had not come. We spent the whole cruise together. We sat on the deck watching the City go by, we danced, and we found the woman who had sold us the tickets. She had set up a table for her group with free food and drinks. Who could ask for more? I had a wonderful time on the cruise.

As I look back on this incident, I am still embarrassed, and I regret that I asked Nancy about my safety, but I think I can forgive myself. I believe our society and our history has encouraged the separation of, and suspicion between, people of different races. We have gone to extreme lengths to split people apart: Indian reservations, Japanese internment camps, and white-only drinking fountains, business establishments, schools and seating on buses.

I recall a passage from Genesis, where Joseph has invited his brothers to a banquet. The author makes a point of describing the seating arrangements:

“So they served Joseph at one table, his brothers at another table, and the Egyptians who ate with him at another table. This was because Egyptians did not like Hebrews and never ate with them.” Genesis 43:32 (NCV)

As I look at that scripture now, my reaction is: Those poor Egyptians, they really missed out on a good time! Think of all the interesting stories Joseph and his brothers could have told them, but they cut themselves off from what could have been a lovely party. Just as I almost cut myself off, because I was afraid that black people wouldn’t like having me at their party.

But what I’m talking about here is, of course, more serious than that. In the end, I think we really are cutting ourselves off from better, richer lives by separating ourselves. When I became active in the Episcopal Church, I joined the Diocesan Anti-Racism Committee. We meet monthly to plan activities, such as Anti-Racism training, the annual Jonathan Daniels pilgrimage and the Absalom Jones Celebration. We always share a meal, and the stories I’ve heard and the times we’ve spent together have definitely enriched my life.

Jesus was criticized by the Pharisees (and even by his own disciples) for the people he associated with, but he knew we are all children of God. Ignorance is a big factor in the rising tensions between different racial, religious and cultural groups in our country. It is much harder to hate people after you’ve broken bread with them.

In Anything We Love Can Be Saved, Alice Walker wrote: “Our last five minutes on earth are running out. We can spend those moments in meanness, exclusivity, and self-righteous disparagement of those who are different from us, or we can spend them consciously embracing every glowing soul who wanders within our reach.” I plan on embracing as many of  those glowing souls as I can in the time I have left.

Originally published in the Episcopal New Yorker