You Think You Know, But You Have No Idea

The most obvious theme thus far in William Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night is that of deception or feigned identity. While the audience is clearly confronted with situations of disguise, most noticeably in the characters of Viola/Cesario and the fool, there is undoubtedly a level of deception that occurs without the presence of disguise. This form of deception, although less noticeable, is far more misleading. It forces us to contemplate a person’s ulterior motives and question their sincerity rather than simply identify shifts in their exterior qualities.

Throughout daily life we are very often confronted with situations in which we are forced to choose between two likelihoods (people, objects, or events) and most of the time we are compelled to pick the option that is most visibly appealing or beneficial. In other words, in cases where appearance plays a factor, individuals typically favor the “prettier” option. Unfortunately, this mode of decision making frequently backfires. And for those of you familiar with the saying “you can’t judge a book by its cover”, you understand why. Sometimes the quality of a person or thing cannot be determined solely by externalities. In Twelfth Night this becomes inherently clear in the juxtaposition of characters such as Viola/Cesario and the fool with those like Malvolio, Maria, and Sir Toby Belch. Although Viola and the fool are disguised throughout the play, they remain two of the most reliable and truthful characters. In moving between the two households they obtain reason and insight beyond that of any other character. And while they do often make jokes or act “foolishly” they do so in a very witty manner that allows them to articulate the truth. Malvolio, Maria, and Sir Toby, on the other hand, who are entirely devoid of anything close to a disguise, are the most manipulative and untrustworthy.

Nonetheless, whereas we are, or mainly I am, prone to making accusations about other people, coming to college, especially in Baltimore, has been a challenge. Ever since I was little I have considered myself to be an extremely good judge of character, meaning that I can usually gauge a person’s personality within the first few encounters. However, while my techniques may have sufficed throughout high school, now that I am in college I find my talents fading. Of course, most would jest at the fact that I would even attempt to find differences in people at such a “homogenous” school, but that only shows how oblivious they are to the world around them. Sure, Loyola may consist of predominantly upper class, white, catholic students, but to say that they are all alike is clearly a stretch. Each student, while they may share a taste for Abercrombie or J. Crew clothing, maintains an entirely different outlook or expectation for life; they have different goals, talents, etc. and before we can make any sweeping accusations about the Loyola campus we must be able to understand and appreciate these differences. Similarly, it comes without saying that students at Loyola are the first to make claims about the surrounding communities of Baltimore. We hear about the violence on York Road and automatically assume that every colored person we pass on the side of the street that happens to be wearing baggy jeans, a big white t-shirt, and a puffy, down coat, is a gangster waiting to steal our wallet or hold us at gun point. What we neglect to realize is that York Road is not representative of all of Baltimore; in fact, it is probably the worst representation of all. A good percentage of the city may be struggling with poverty, violence, and/or illiteracy, but the majority is doing what it can to counteract such negativity. And if we can’t take the time to appreciate their efforts and understand that not all of Baltimore is bad, we will not only be hurting ourselves, but subsequently those who are trying to make a difference. As I said before, I am no exception. My tendencies to see only what I want to see, or only what is visible to the naked eye, frequently keep me from recognizing the good. It isn’t necessarily that I see the glass half empty, but rather that I only see a glass with water in it—I only see what’s obvious.

This past weekend, over Easter break, I finally came face to face with my ignorance. Having been part of youth ministry throughout junior high and high school, when our parish minister (a Loyola alum I might add) asked me to shuttle participants to and from a soup kitchen in Newark, New Jersey as part of a confirmation requirement, I eagerly complied. Eva’s Kitchen is a soup kitchen and housing facility connected with the Catholic Church that offers food, housing, and social service to homeless citizens on a first come first serve basis. And, in order to help with the success of the shelter, members of the youth ministry program gather together each week to cook and serve food at the facility. Each of the visits fulfills a service requirement needed for confirmation. Hence, I had been to Eva’s several times before. But, whereas the other times I had practically been forced to go by my mother, this time was entirely on my own accord. When we arrived at the shelter we were greeted by its owners and staff and began setting tables for the guests. Before we knew it the hall, which seats approximately 500, was completely filled and there was a line flooding out the door waiting for people to leave. After we had finished dishing out the meal we had made, Mrs. Ann Marie Gisoldi, the facility director, invited one of the guests to say grace. We all bowed our heads and awaited the prayer, but contrary to what we had expected (a Hail Mary or Our Father), the man who had been called upon stood up, gestured towards us, and said simply “I give thanks to the good people standing right here”. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for me to realize that just because these people were homeless, or struggling to overcome some sort of difficulty in their life, didn’t mean that they were bad people. I had come here time and time again expecting to see drug addicts, teen parents, convicts, etc., etc., but when it came down to it these people were no different from myself.

Now, when I walk down York Road, or through Newark, although I still take refuge in the safety of day-light and remain fairly cautious, I’m a little less quick to jump when I pass a burly black man or a homeless person begging for change. I may still have my reservations and I may still be sheltered by the security of campus, but rest assured, I have learned that people often surprise you. And that when you think you know—you really have no idea.