Covering your God – A Lesson in Coerced Assimilation

Mark Holmquist

In Kenji Yoshino's essay, “The Pressure to Cover,” he explains a concept of “covering.” Found

in a 1963 book by Erving Goffman, the word is explained such: “persons who are ready to admit

possession of a stigma...may nonetheless make a great effort to keep that stigma from looming large.”

Covering is something most people will experience at least once in their lives. It is an aspect of

discrimination, but not like we have known, as members of 21st century American society. Covering is

not endeavoring to hide how you were born—be it sexuality, race, or nose size—it is endeavoring to

hide how you have come to be, because of external pressure. It is the act of hiding a part of your

intellect, personality, or history that is undesirable to one or more persons. A student hiding his

conservative leanings in front of a liberal professor...a woman hiding her feminism from a chauvinistic

boss...a man hiding his lack of interest in sports when out with his guy friends...all of these are

examples of covering.

Because of the ubiquity of this phenomenon, I am forced to admit that I, too, have experienced

such pressure. Over the summer of 2009, I was struck by a bad case of unemployment. Two weeks into

the summer, a friend of my grandparents called and asked if I would like to work in a summer camp's

kitchen (the job mostly entailed washing dishes and preparing food). My mother explained that it was a

Christian camp, and that I would not only be working there but, because the camp was on the other side

of the Cities (St. Paul/Minneapolis), I would also be living there, at least during the week.

The news was mostly benign, but the religious nature of the camp actually somewhat frightened

me. I wondered if they would accept an atheist in their midst—as, I soon found out, my own family

was hesitant to. My atheism had been part of me since high school, and I was not about to give it up for

a job, or any other reason. I spent the next day thinking about how to deal with the situation, and how I

would explain my lack of faith in their God. I imagined myself giving a grand speech about it, and

defending my capability to fulfill my duties regardless of religion. I imagined defending myself to my

coworkers one-by-one. It was my family who first suggested that I simply say nothing. I learned, over

the course of the summer, that the decision to follow their advice was a poor one.

Over the summer, and after the catalyst of the job opportunity had brought the subject to the

surface, I had a series of brief clashes with my grandfather on the topic of religion. The first time, he

was simply aghast at the idea that his grandchild, with whom he had spent so much time, had turned

against the religion of his family. The second time, he uttered something which has affected me since:

“Fine, you don't believe in God, but don't tell me that, in a time of crisis, you wouldn't start praying.” I

then elicited that yes, that was sort of the idea, but was shushed by my mother. I learned that the

demand to cover this part of me was not only present at camp. My own family was unwelcoming of my

lack of faith.

The first day at work, I stepped into the camp and began work almost immediately. Kitchen

work is not the most religious of labor anyway, so much of the time, I was able to simply do my job.

However, such luck was not to last. At mealtimes, the campers would sing the praises of their belief to

the heavens—these small verses were simple, and sung to the melody of an existing song. The first

time, I was encouraged to participate. I feigned occupation, and continued working. Though I was

usually not busy at the beginning of the meal, I was generally left alone after that. On the job, I was

mostly scot-free.

The first time I told anyone at camp about my lack of faith was when I was talking with my

roommate, Jason, about his abundance thereof. I had been reading Dawkins's The God Delusion, and

was enthralled. I began asking Jason how he would respond to some of the arguments. Jason responded

in a thoughtful and, most importantly, calm manner. He is a very devout Methodist, and so was the

perfect person to talk to about the religion of my childhood. I learned a lot about religion in general that

day, and in the following weeks, that I would not have had I not opened up to Jason. This, I think, is

strong evidence that covering is detrimental to the pursuit of knowledge and, for that matter, the pursuit

of self-expression. Until the day I spoke with Jason, I was fairly lonely at camp, and was unable to
commiserate with most people. Most were busy during my time off—either volunteering, worshiping,

or ensuring the safety of the kids. Much of the time, even the opportunity to open up was not there. But,

having found someone to talk to, I was eager to find others.

My next confidants were two of my coworkers. The first, Nick, was a regular employee. He

helped at breakfasts and dinners, and was a good addition to our team. The second, Taylor, was the

grandson of the head chef, and joined us for two weeks to help while the kitchen was understaffed and

the groups were very large. Taylor was very young and, consequently, latched onto the two older boys

he was working with. Nick and I were irritated with him a lot, mostly because of his persistence and

lack of worldly knowledge. He seemed, to us, a very typical 15-year-old. Nick, Taylor, and I were

walking in the woods one day after lunch, and got onto the subject of God. I professed that I was, in

fact, a disbeliever. Nick was not one to jump on the bandwagon—he has a faith, though unsupported,

and I respected him for it. Taylor, however, was quick to say that he, too, was unconvinced in God's

existence. I was interested to find a kindred spirit, though his reasons, it soon became apparent, were

not terribly rational. He seemed to be a very stereotypical “rebellious youth” character. My interest

waned. His lack of faith seemed to be more of a following of the latest trend than being unconvinced in

the truth of an argument. However, I was happy to find that Nick, at least, was unimpressed by much of

the pomp and ritual of his religion. He did not regularly attend services, and joined me in snubbing the

pre-meal God-jingles.

On another difficult week, Taylor joined us once again. Nick was on vacation, and we needed

the extra hands. My misery was endless when the boy returned, but he at least did some work. Having

no one else to talk to, I found myself tolerating him a bit more than was healthy for me, and the same

topic continued to emerge as our discussions' center—religion. He was willing, I thought, to learn the

reasons for disbelief, but he was not able to make the arguments himself. Near the end of that week,

Taylor's mother joined us in the kitchen to help with a meal. I was, as was tradition, dragging around

my Dawkins book. His mother found it and asked whose it was and, having no reason to deny it, I
claimed it as my own. She then remarked, “ah, so, you must be where Taylor is getting his 'agnostic'

ideas!” I was somewhat surprised that Taylor had been talking about this to his parents already, but I

owned up to the fact that I had probably implanted the ideas, or perhaps had inadvertently supported

some inkling that was already there with sound argument. She the began attacking my position, asking

me about my reasons and prepared to tell me I was wrong. She was mostly polite, but was still hostile.

At this point, the head chef, Rusti, surprised me. Rusti had been the cause of most of the pressure I had

felt to cover, because she was the most religious person at the camp. She interrupted her work to

participate in the group sing-along before meals, she prayed before eating anything, she wished her

God's blessings on me fairly regularly, and thanked him just as regularly for things that, to me, seemed

fairly mundane. Rusti, having heard the argument going on, pushed Taylor's mother out of the way and

asked her to please let me finish my work. At this moment, I was thoroughly shocked (though unable to

express it, having had plenty to work on indeed), and respected Rusti all the more. Thenceforth, I was

able to talk more openly about my atheism and was more confident that I would not be shunned for it.

My experiences at Camp Kingswood were typical enough, I would imagine, for any kitchen

assistant. I worked a lot, I was tired a lot, and I had a good time. But I gained a lot more. I found

friends. I found a lot of answers about my own beliefs. I found a lot of answers about myself, from the

religion I grew up with. But, had I expressed my beliefs to the people who were interested sooner,

rather than later, I might have learned far more about my beliefs, and theirs. Not only learning, but I

would have been freer to express my own beliefs, and perhaps talk more openly with even the campers.

As Yoshino said, “the only right I have wanted with any consistency is the freedom to be who I am.”

(608). Who I am doesn't just include atheism—I am a scholar, and a debater at times. I lost a big part of

me while I was at that camp.

A lot of my reasons for taking the job revolved around learning about religion, and I missed

several good opportunities to do so, simply because I did not want to lose the job. This was, of course,

absolute overreaction, and should not have stopped me. In this light, I find that my choice was without
much reason and, in the long run, hurt me. If I could have done it again, from the start, I would have

been open with my coworkers.

 Works Cited

Yoshino, Kenji. “The Pressure to Cover.” Rereading America: Cultural Contexts for Critical Thinking

and Writing. Ed. Gary Colombo, Robert Cullen, Bonnie Lisle. Boston: Bedford/St. Martin's,

2007. 598-608.