When you're strange

I had no idea what I was doing when I decided to write my freshman English term paper about The Stranger by Albert Camus. Even though I had done alright in comp class as a junior in high school - not great, just alright - I had no idea what was up in existentialist literature, which was hot at the time. I had no idea what Camus was getting at in his alienated French-Algerian colonial condition. Maybe it's a required part of the first-year college experience to write in a disciplined way of things about which one is clueless.

So I did. And being a stranger has resonated - in strange ways - ever since. Like last Sunday when Rev. Susan talked about xenophobia, the value of being a stranger, of being around stangers, and the pressure to cover. Ostensibly everybody's in favor of diversity here in the land of opportunity, meltingpot, tossed salad, land of the free, home of the brave, whatever. Diversity is easy as long as those Other people behave according to the standards of the decent ruling-class folks who were here first. Oh, sorry, they were not here first, but they killed most of the Others, so they don't count.

In short, it's okay to be different as long as you blend in. Pull yourselves up by your bootstraps so you can afford to look, act, eat, dress, wear your hair, and consume the appropriate products, in short, be just like the dominant group. It's a time-honored tradition in Whitebreadland: homogenized, pasteurized, vitamin-enriched, processed and packaged people achieving success and distinguishing themselves as unique individuals by covering their differentness.

Just for fun, I just did a tiny bit of field research by walking past my three bosses' offices. I noticed that all three white male managers were wearing light blue shirts with their khaki pants, in perfect adherance to the company's definition of 'business casual'. NOT THAT THERE'S ANYTHING WRONG WITH THAT. It's a business after all. Furthermore, I like and respect all three of these men; they are not my oppressors, in fact they treat me well. They are good at what they do, and they (usually) make it easier for me to do what I do. More importantly, they represent real diversity in this workplace, in spite of or because of their skill in covering any remnants of strangeness by wearing the uniform.

I'm not here to blow anyone's cover, theirs or mine. I see people pushing the envelope in small ways all the time, and I like seeing that. But there is always a risk, otherwise the Doors wouldn't have recorded "When You're Strange," and if anyone was ever all about pushing the envelope, it was Jim Morrison. And he's been dead for how many years? Let that be a lesson to you. Don't be a stranger, eh?