The Virgin Mary Statue

Pallabi Sanyal

Kindergarten through fourth grade was absolutely beautiful. We all sat together at lunch, played tag together on the playground, laughed and listened to the teachers together in class. Then fifth grade rolled around, and all my friends started to evolve, and for the worse as I saw it. We all started noticing things that we weren’t aware of before. We used to be like a bunch of happy naked babies, absolutely oblivious to the fact that we were all unclothed and different from one another. Then, some of us took the role of Eve; we became seduced into eating the forbidden apple and offered it to our friends. We started realizing that despite the fact that we were all wearing the same black plaid uniforms, our skin colors differed. We all acted differently too. Some of us had accents, others didn’t. Some girls had long hair, others had bob cuts. Some wore glasses and had skirts that went past their knees; others had perfect vision and had their skirts hiked up to show as much leg as possible. As I said, we were all becoming aware of these things.

Whether it be in fifth grade ,earlier, or after, we all have these moments of “revelation” and we start to interpret our surroundings in a different way. For me, after fifth grade, my surroundings were changing all the time. Formation of “cliques” had officially started. The word “cool” was being redefined almost every month. With these new definitions came new friends and ex-friends. I recall watching girls in the “popular” group playing a game of running behind the Virgin Mary statue whenever they saw someone they didn’t like entering the playground. It was a way of letting the unwanted girl know where she stood with the “clique.”As embarrassing as this is to admit, I used to be one of those girls who ran towards the Virgin Mary statue as if there was some reward there awaiting me. But there was no treasure there. And even if I did find some comfort in being part of the “clique” that day, the following day I had become a victim of the same cruel game I was in part responsible for. When I stepped off that bus that day, I saw the same group of black plaid skirts swishing in the air as the wearers of those uniforms fled behind the statue. As I neared the Virgin Mary, I noticed several pairs of eyes peeking from behind Mother Mary’s white stone veil; they were all watching to see what I would do next. I just stood there, watching those eyes. I could feel the blood drain from my face. As I turned my head, I noticed the girl that we had all snubbed a day ago, standing by herself, looking at me. So this is what it felt like to be alone.

Why do we do this? Why are we so afraid of being alone? Why do we find security in superficial things? Why do we feel more “included” when someone is “excluded”? Why did I do this?

In fifth grade, all the false senses of security were often displayed in the meanness and cruelty of immature kids (including me) who just didn’t know any better. I remember often dreaming that someday the Virgin Mary Statue would be removed and there would be nowhere for the girls to hide. Nevertheless, I realized as I grew older that there would always be some people hiding behind something from someone even when there were no statues to escape to. There would always be someone who wasn’t accepted. And there would always be the several people who would cling onto any sense of belonging in order to feel special.

I guess no one is an island and no one one ever wants to be. When I got to college, I started to view fraternities as Virgin Mary Statues. All the freshman boys, no matter how much they denied it, wanted to be included and identified with something that gave them security. Many had their moments of vehemently declaring they did not want to be associated with a particular group, with a particular house. Yet, when all the frat boys came out wearing their house tee-shirts that had their Greek letters proudly gleaming on their chests, I could see most of my guy friends “eyes” take notice of this; I could see them secretly wanting to be the ones who could strut about with such tee-shirts themselves. How could anyone blame them? You come to a totally new and unknown place. You’re by yourself for the first time. You need to have something, someone to turn to. Fraternities seem like the perfect answer. Yet I’ve noticed over and over again that the very system that proclaims to promote brotherhood most often creates disunity. I’ve seen fraternities create selective brotherhood. I’ve seen them turn my friends into clones of what the fraternities are supposed to represent. I’ve seen identities squashed, and I’ve seen young minds branded. I’ve seen these very young men run behind Mary Statues when they do not see one of their own.

Perhaps I’m being a bit too critical about everything. Perhaps we should go along with what Woody Allen wrote in “Random Reflections of a Second-Rate Mind”, “ Maybe we can afford to have some disunity.” Allen was referring to his own position that he had taken and written about, stating his objection against fellow Jews, Israeli soldiers, “ going door to door and randomely breaking the hands of Palestinians as a method of combating the intifada.” What he says is indeed true. Had I not conformed to the actions of my fellow popular friends at the time, than I would have set a different moral path for myself in the future. I would not only stand up in the midst of cruelty, but I would show everyone including myself that I make judgements based on my own moral principles, not those of my group. The snubbed girl from before would no longer be looking at me from a distance when I became the victim. We would both be standing together looking at the cowardly faces behind the Virgin Mary Statue.

Groups, can be a good thing at times. They provide organization to what otherwise would have been chaos. We do have to face the fact we’re not like the Smurfs, in other words, we’re not just a large mass of happy blue creatures. But maybe our perspective is wrong. Perhaps the Smurfs would look at us as a huge group of just people. Sure, some of us resemble Smurfettes, others show “Papa smurf” qualities, and then there are “Clumsy’s” and “Grouchy’s”. They all lived together; as far as I saw, there were no factions. But is there truly a chance at reaching utopia? We’ve learned to find comfort in similarities for too long. Face it, we are all not the same. Maybe the Smurfs were all blue, but they were cartoon characters. And anyway, their show was taken off the air.

So if disunity leads us to bring a moment’s worth of awareness in unjust situations, then it is an answer to many of the problems we face. However, if disunity leads us to hide behind the Virgin Mary statue and sheepishly look out at the excluded, I would have to say it isn’t the answer. If only there was a universal book stating the moral code which everyone followed in the world, would we then not have to face such complicated problems? Or maybe growing up gives us a chance to stand out as human beings, to use our free will to decide if we will be followers or leaders, heros or cowards, human or not. Despite all the opportunities we get as we grow old to make our mark in this long, twisting, arduous maze we call life, I’d rather go back to the years before fifth grade, to the time before Eve ate the apple. I’d rather be running around happy and naked with everyone, letting the world see us all. I’d rather have nothing to hide.

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