The UnMarked

He said nothing. He wore nothing. Looking out the window of his 15th-century office at the university, he could see sashes of various colors, all representing one camp of thought or another. Not another person, so it would seem, had the courage to step out and say, “I won’t conform,” and now, he’s unsure if he has the courage either.

Three Weeks Earlier

Marcus looked up from the papers he was grading for his “Cultural History” class his students had turned in. The knock came a second time, this time with more force and repetition. He wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone, especially with the note from the Dean and department Chancellor.

“Yes, come in!” Marcus hollered, before taking a sip of his coffee, wishing it was something stronger, knowing that it is too early for that.

“Professor! Did you see the message?” Sandra, his teaching assistant, said coming into the room, standing behind the chair, her arms taut, as if they were supporting the weight of her world.

“Yes,” he replied, motioning her to take a seat.

Sandra remained standing.

“They’re making it mandatory,” she said, voice low but fast. “The badge display. The seminar attendance. The public affirmation form. It’s not optional anymore.”

Marcus closed the folder in front of him and exhaled through his nose. He hated when policy came dressed in the language of unity. The Dean’s message hadn’t shocked him. It was the Chancellor’s addendum that stuck—the line that read: ‘Silence communicates values as loudly as speech. We must all participate visibly to model accountability.’

Sandra shifted her weight and finally sat, but only halfway into the chair, like she needed to be ready to bolt.

“They said I could pick any color,” she added. “Any cause. Just… something. But what if I don’t want to signal anything? What if I just want to do the work?”

Marcus looked at her. Really looked.

“You already are,” he said.

She gave a faint smile. The kind that comes just before someone breaks.

He wanted to tell her all of this would eventually blow over. Lie to her and tell her that institutions don’t really pay attention. But the lie caught in his throat and stayed there. A lie that he knew extended beyond the mere ‘institutions don’t really pay attention’ but stretched into what Sandra was saying and what he himself knew he felt. The lie that he just wanted to do the work, that he didn’t care.

He did care. More than he liked to admit, even to himself. He cared that the classroom felt less like a forum and more like a stage. He cared that nuance was dying a slow, silent death, replaced by applause lines and cautious nods. And he cared that Sandra, a sharp mind with a backbone to match, was already calculating what it might cost her just to allow her actions portray what she thought in private.

“I’m not sure what to do,” she said finally, her voice brittle around the edges. “If I say nothing, they’ll assign meaning to it. If I say something, I’m locked into it. It’s not—it’s not even about individual beliefs anymore—it’s about compliance.”

Marcus stared at the window. Outside, a group of students walked past the philosophy building, colorful sashes already worn like cause-coded festival bracelets.

“I feel the same.” Marcus started, “You don’t have to decide today,” he finally said with a sighing breath.

Sandra gave a weak laugh. “You think waiting changes anything?”

He didn’t answer. Because she was right. And the longer he sat in silence, the louder it became.

“You’re right, it doesn’t change anything. What about this?” Marcus started, “What if you wore a white sash…”

“White sash? That’s not one of the ones listed.” Sandra said, interrupting, not understanding her professor’s meaning.

“I know it’s not one, but it is a color that represents peace, and if anyone says anything to you, just answer accordingly.”

“Doesn’t white also represent surrender?” she asked.

“Only in times of war does it represent surrender,” he said, “you aren’t at war—and you aren’t fighting the thought, you’re just silently not conforming to a single thought.”

Sandra looked down at her hands, fingers twitching slightly as if they wanted to fold into themselves, to disappear from view. The idea rolled around in her mind like a pebble in a shoe—small, but impossible to ignore.

“A white sash,” she repeated, testing it. “Something visible, but not… compliant.”

“Exactly,” Marcus said, leaning back in his chair. “It doesn’t pledge allegiance to any of the causes they’ve boxed into colors. It doesn’t attack. It doesn’t kneel. It just… exists.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You do realize that makes it provocative by default.”

He allowed himself the faintest of smirks. “In this climate, breathing the wrong way can be provocative.”

Sandra’s laugh was short and joyless, but it was still a laugh. “Do you think they’ll let me wear it?”

“They won’t have a rule against it yet,” he said. “That’s the best time to act—when policy hasn’t caught up to principle.”

She nodded slowly, chewing the inside of her cheek. “Okay…okay…I’ll do it.”

Marcus said nothing more. He just watched her walk out of the room, back straight, steps still uncertain—but deliberate.

She believed she was avoiding taking a stance. But as she stepped out of the building and onto the open campus, she would soon discover—she had already taken one.

Marcus sat at his desk; eyes fixed on the memo once more. Each color of the rainbow, each assigned meaning, stared back at him like a coded demand to join a new life he didn’t want.

He pushed back from the desk, turned, and pulled the printed memo from the tray. He folded it neatly and slipped it into his pocket. No more avoiding the inevitable.

With a final glance around the office, Marcus locked the door behind him and stepped out into the gathering storm.

Stepping into the courtyard, Marcus paused. A sea of students and faculty stretched out before him, each adorned in a color of the rainbow—each one a silent proclamation of who they were, or who they wanted to be seen as.

Marcus made his way to a group of people where he noticed one of his department chair standing, talking to students and professors alike. As he approached, the voices quietened, becoming murmurs, heads turning towards him and then quickly away.

“Just wear the sash Marcus,” Professor Adams, wearing a blue sash, said leaning into Marcus, “You don’t have to believe, but look at the scene you are making.”

“And if I wear a sash, a color, then what does that say of me, when all of my students know I teach individuality?” Marcus said, his voice low but unwavering.

Adams exhaled, eyes darting toward a nearby cluster of admin staff. “It says you’re wise enough to survive the times we live in.”

“Or afraid enough to blend into them,” Marcus replied, walking away.

Marcus felt the weight of what his Dean—his friend—had said to him, all eyes now fixed on his every move.

Ahead, he spotted Sandra weaving through the crowd. She, too, was being watched, but not with the same intensity of judgment that seemed to burn against his back.

“If you’re not with us, you’re against us!”

“If you’re not with us, you’re against us!”

The chant surged around him, each repetition louder, more insistent.

A female student wearing a red sash stepped into his path, blocking his way. Her voice cut through the noise.

“You think staying neutral means you’re not part of this? Silence is violence, Professor Marcus!” she shouted, her finger hovering mere millimeters from his face.

Without waiting for a reply, she turned back to the crowd and rejoined the chorus.

“If you’re not with us, you’re against us!”

Marcus made his way to what looked like an isolated area. Not willing to retreat to his office, his safe zone, but needing a break, Marcus found a bench, sat down, and leaned forward holding his head in his hands.

“Not wanting to be seen, but knowing you are, here,” Claire, a counseling staff member said reaching out to hand Marcus an orange sash, “just put this over your shoulders and all of this will allow you to disappear.”

With a heavy sigh, Marcus held his hand up and politely said, “No thank you.”

“We all carry wounds, Marcus. It’s just a sash and wearing it acknowledges them.” She said as she walked towards a student who looked unsure of themselves, handing them a sash. Marcus watched as she consoled the student, not with words—but with compliance.

“Isn’t this great professor!” a chirpy voice came from behind him. Turning he saw one of his former students bouncing her way to him, “This is such a beautiful thing,” she continued, proudly wearing her yellow sash, “No more divisions-just beautiful harmony.”

“And you don’t feel that the grouping of colors creates further division?” Marcus asked.

“Oh no! Not at all!” She exclaimed, “All of the colors are beautiful, and together make a unified rainbow.”

Marcus looked around him as she bounced her way towards another group of people, hugging and singing along the way. What he saw wasn’t a rainbow, but rather a fragmented crowed of students and faculty.

Deciding that no place was truly safe from accusations, glaring eyes, or pleads to join them, Marcus stood up and began to work his way back through the crowd. Backs turning to him as he made his way through, a voice from behind caught his attention.

“I thought you understood, I thought your teachings meant you understood. Now I see that you—you were never really with us.”

Turning he saw James, one if his students from this semester, standing there wearing an indigo sash, his left arm still in a sling. Wanting to say something to him, but without the words that his student would understand, Marcus placed his hand on James’s shoulder, gave it a slight squeeze, turned and continued working his way through the crowd. Wishing James could hear what he wasn’t saying.

Marcus felt a hand on his shoulder, turning his head, he saw Professor Sims, from the Earth Sciences department, wearing a green sash.

“Hello Jim,” Marcus said, taking a step backwards to create a bit of space between him and his colleague.

“Hello Marcus—No sash?” Professor Sims said.

“Did you honestly expect to see me wearing one?”

“Honestly, no, but I would hope that you would have seen beyond the politics in this, show your students that you care.”

“I understand, really I do, but I think it speaks more to show my students that my integrity is intact.” Marcus said, hoping his friend would understand.

“I hope they do Marcus, because if they don’t, then I’m not sure you’ll be able to get through to them anymore.” Professor Sims said as he turned and walked back into the heart of the crowd.

Ahead of him Marcus saw Sandra standing alone, with her white sash. Making his way towards her he was stopped.

Jerome, wearing a violet sash, the campus police officer who was also part of the diversity staff stood before him, his arms folded. Jerome, a big man, standing over six feet tall was not a may to toy with. “Non-participation Professor,” Jerome said in his deep resonating voice, “creates barriers to others and prevents them from being in a space where they feel safe. Let’s not make this harder than it needs to be.” He continued as he reached to put a sash over Marcus’s head.

Reaching up, grabbing the arm of the officer, Marcus stopped him from putting the sash over his head, before asking “Kindly step out of my way officer.”

Knowing that he had no ground for preventing the professor from moving on, Jerome pulled his arm back along with the sash and stepped aside.

“Thank you” was all Marcus said as he continued making his way to Sandra.

“I was so worried just then!” Sandra said as Marcus joined her, “I thought he was going to arrest you or hurt you.”

“On what grounds?” Marcus asked, “He had no grounds to arrest me, and if he had chosen to hurt me, he would have been arrested himself, let alone gone against everything they are trying to say, don’t you think?”

“Yes, I suppose you are right.” Sandra said, “Oh Hello Professor!” Sandra continued, looking over to see Professor Hill join them.

“Hello Sandra, Marcus” Professor Hill said turning her eyes from the crowed to see Professor Marcus not wearing a sash. “I see you decided to make a statement today.”

“Seems you have as well Jillian, black sash?” Marcus replied, raising his eyebrows as he continued, “And do tell meaning behind the black sash?”

“I thought it fitting since I teach Individual Anarchism.” She said.

“And I suppose my lack of sash fits with my classes on Marcus Aurelius.”

“Indeed, it does.” She said

Together they stood, facing the crowd that no longer recognized their presence.

They wore no allegiance. Only a quiet refusal to conform to the voice society tried to assign them. Their beliefs, once rooted in individuality, had nearly been overtaken by the call for uniformity. But in choosing not to choose, they made the most radical choice of all.

They chose to remain themselves.