Reply #1: My Experiment in Modesty (from my college days.)

[Dunvegan]

Projections.

(Edited to say: I hope the length of this essay is acceptable. But my experience in the experiment I conducted over 30 years ago may speak to this topic, even today. --Dunvegan)

Back in college in 1971 I conducted an experiment on the first day of sophomore classes. I constructed a head-to-toe "black bag" (i.e., a 5' 9" "pillowcase" of heavy black fabric, with a rectangular insert of thin black gauze over the eyes to see through. Slits in the side seams allowed my arms to be free, yet covered with opera-length black gloves. Knee-length black shoe-styled boots completed the coverage.

I was a communications major with a psych minor taking my first elective creative writing class that year at Michigan State University. My idea wat that the experiment would give me a blanket topic to write about in all three disciplines.

I was actually unacquainted then at 16 with burqas worn as Islamic wear, only to be introduced to the custom via research after my experiment. I simply wanted to examine first-hand how people treat someone who had no physical cues to respond to, and then write about the excercise.

Although apprehensive as to the possible public response, I was surprised that I garnered far more reaction than I had expected.

I had also decided to not speak during my experiment, so as to minimize my influence on reactions...and also so when I returned to classes the next day (claiming that I had difficulty in registering -- common in those days for students who were receiving financial aid and had extra paperwork first day) no one would recognize my voice and make the connection between me and the black bag.

I and my husband both sat out first day classes, and we arrived the second day together, which was pretty effective at breaking any conjecture I was the "black bag person."

Cut to the "projection" syndrome:

First class, Communications 101

The class murmured quite loudly when I entered the classroom with my covering, arms wrapped around my books. I took a seat in the back.

The professor brought the class to order. Seemed to go into their usual spiel regarding the aims of the course, what would be expected of students regarding work and attendance, then carefully wove a short discourse about communications and tolerance into his lecture. At one point he made a strong yet subtle point about no student interfering with any other student's ability to study based on physical or ethnic factors.

Upon finishing his remarks he made a very matter-of-fact point of coming directly to me in the back of the room and speaking to me kindly, asked me if I required any assistance regarding meeting the requirements of his class, and if so to please let him know. Not speaking, I used a notepad to write to him a thank you, and let him know I'd call on him for help if I required it.

After this the Comm 101 students settled down completely and focused on the class. Most seemed to have demonstrably now accepted me as simply a human being, and went on about their own first day business.

I gathered my books when class ended and as I moved to the next classroom in the same building, several students followed me in a distanced, but protective manner.

Second class: Creative Writing 101

Here we had the flip side reaction. The professor immediately began to "crack wise" when I entered the classroom and sat in the back. He invited the other students to speculate on "the baggage in the back." Snide, hurtful, and downright inciteful comments were encouraged by the professor if the comments were sufficiently creative and clever. The entire class was focused on "riffing" on the "funeral floursack."

I vividly remember how many were craining around in their seats to hurl rather vicious remarks back my way. One fellow actually placed himself a few inches in front of me and delivered a caustic monologue, like a proto-Andrew Dice Clay, trying to provoke me into speaking or removing the bag. The prof smiled at the "creative cleverness" of his sudents and piled-on.

At the end of this class, I was confronted by some of the Creative Writing class students in the hall. This caused others students to notice and some of those joined in the provacative atmosphere.

Several large males pushed me around a little, demanding I remove the bag or talk and defend my self. Because my hands are a size 6+ glove, and my feet are a AAAA size it was fairly obvious I was probably a female. But shove hard they did.

The creative writing prof came into the hallway, joining in the carnival scene, and that seemed to lend a boost authority to the students that chose to torment the bag.

I finally had to break and run away from their hectoring as it had become loud, physical, and frightening. Several of them actually ran after me and chased me for several blocks.

Running. I fell. I tore a hole in the bag at the knee. I lost a textbook. I tore my bag covering and brused my knee. I scrambled back up, running. Those giving chase finally fell away.

I had asked my husband to be ready with the car in a secluded parking lot about a quarter of a mile away on campus. I made my way through a stand of trees, circled, found the lot, and nearly dove into the car, soaked in a fear-sweat.

What did I learn? Just that supporting intolerance assists those who fear what is different...and authority figures that do so throw gasoline on violence towards those different from ourselves.

Being mixed-minority, I was used to some societal exclusions, and I had even travelled as an astonished child through a "Jim Crow" south once upon a time. But nothing had prepared me for the reaction to the black bag.

I was able to ask a lot of questions about the "bag" the next day by feigning ignorance of the event, and saying it was too bad I missed that first day and a chance to see for myself.

I reveled my identity during finals. In Communications I wrote my experience up as the requisite final exam study. In Creative Writing I wrote my short story (our final exam) on the experience.

The Creative Writing prof had my husband and I out to a bar to give us his assessment of our stories, and our final grade. He drank and railed on that he was so haunted and ashamed of his behavour toward the black bag on that first day of classes, and the bags subsequent disappearance, that he was going to write a novel about his anguish...and that I had now spoiled it by solving the mystery that had plagued him. He reluctantly gave me a good grade for the story, but was quite angry, overall.

All that to say this: I felt that it wasn't me people were reacting to, because I couldn't be seen, and did not speak or interact with others. My attire was surely my private business. I was in a relatively liberal environment. And yet, there were either strong reactions of protective or confrontational behaviour dependent on the prevailing "microculture" of two very different authority figures and their classrooms.

What people reacted to was the consent of authority, and something in themselves projected their own fears onto that unaggressive and silent dark figure.

Finally, back on topic: I think the Wholesome Wear suits are neither here nor there, except as a choice for the wearer. From the black bag experiment I saw intolerence towards a body covering. So, I strongly support all fashion or personal convention from burqa to bikini to body manipulation to bareness.

I support choice of personal prerogative in a free society. I support others freedom of choice and am grateful for my own freedom.

Long-story-short: Choice is good.

Peace.