Le Greek Politique

On a warm evening in my sophomore year of college, my friend and I passed by the university gymnasium and noticed hundreds of people huddled around a makeshift wooden platform. Next to the platform, a DJ loudly played the latest uncensored rap hits to keep the crowd entertained. We ran into a couple of friends that informed us that they had been waiting for the past hour to watch a prominent sorority introduce 13 of its newest members. It was a probate. After much waiting, a shiny black stretch limousine pulled up to the curb and the crowd began cheering in anticipation and running towards the car with their cameras ready. Upon the DJs cue, the ladies filed out of the car in a single file line and danced towards the platform. Draped in the sorority's colors and wearing the customary mask to conceal their identities, they lined up on the platform according to height and straightly stood with their chins tilted toward the sky. Being my first probate, I had seen nothing like it. I had never seen an organization stage such ceremony for introducing members to the public. It was as if the girls had become overnight celebrities. As part of the ceremony, the ladies were required to reveal their identity by taking off their mask. As each mask came off, the crowd would let up a huge roar with exclamations that they did not know that their best friend/classmate/roommate had made the decision to pledge lifelong affiliation to an organization that promises accountability on the planes of sisterhood, scholarship and service. After the probate ended and the girls had officially been inducted, several spectators who had yet to join a Black Greek Letter Organization (BGLO) quietly voiced their desires to do so.

I left the probate desiring the same thing. I was enthralled by the display of sisterhood that night, and made it a point to conduct a little research of my own. Growing up, I was familiar with their names. I can remember that my elementary school principal had a license plate frame on her car that read, "A Phi A Sweetheart, 1976." One of my science teachers in high school excitedly awaited rainy days so that she could pull out her humongous pink and green umbrella that let everyone know that she was a member of Alpha Kappa Alpha. My uncle took it upon himself to encourage my brother and me to make sure that we made Black greek life a part of our college experience by informing us of their histories and their significance in the Black community. I scoured the internet learning about the four sororities that are part of what is referred to as the "Divine Nine," or the nine organizations belonging to the National Panhellenic Council. I took in the histories of Zeta Phi Beta, Sigma Gamma Rho, Alpha Kappa Alpha, and Delta Sigma Theta, and soon learned that I wasn't the only one as their informational books did not become available at the campus library until weeks after I requested them. I eventually fell in love with the history and mission of one of these organizations and decided that I would attend the next interest meeting that they would hold in the upcoming semester. In the process of waiting for the interest meeting, I learned quite a bit about the politics of becoming greek. Displaying or vocalizing any interest in a particular organization virtually blacklisted you from becoming a member in the other organizations, and may even jeopardize your chances of becoming a part of your intended as it's crucial that one goes through the entire process undetected by the public. Approaching members for information on the next interest meeting, wearing the organization's colors at the interest meeting, and being seen arriving at or leaving from the interest meeting were all forbidden technicalities that put your chances of "making it on line" (or making it to the period that all pledges must go through for bonding and informational purposes) at risk. It was very confusing and intimidating. I had to get all of the information that I was looking for in a roundabout way so that I didn't give up the fact that I was interested in going greek. As the semester progressed, I didn't hear anything about an interest meeting and it wasn't until I picked up a copy of the campus paper and discovered that the organization had been banned for hazing.

The organization had been banned for the next three years from inducting new members and wearing any paraphernalia on campus due to reports that its most recent members endured physical assaults, intimidation and harrassment during their pledge process. I was aware of all that hazing could entail; I knew that some processes got off with little to no hazing while others endured extreme torture for the sake of earning three greek letters. Such was the experience of Michael Davis. Michael Davis was a 25-year-old student at Southeast Missouri State University when he decided to try out for membership in Kappa Alpha Psi Fraternity, Inc. One night during his process, he and other members of his pledge class were driven out to a secluded area and severely beaten by members of the fraternity. At the end of the incident, the members drove an unconscious Davis back to his residence (as opposed to the hospital), but not before stopping to get a bite to eat at Taco Bell. The next morning, Davis was found by his roommate, a member of his pledge class, foaming at the mouth and with a black fluid leaking out of his ear. Davis was taken to the hospital but succumbed from the several injuries that he had incurred that night (including a lacerated liver and kidney, broken ribs, and brain hemorrhage). The fraternity members told members of the pledge class to discard all fraternity-related paperwork that may have been in Davis' apartment and to tell authorities that Davis injured himself while playing football. When the truth surfaced, seven members of the organization served light jail sentences and, according to Davis' mother, Kappa Alpha Psi never offered an apology for Michael's death. The Davis family was recently awarded a $1.4 million settlement from the organization.

Hazing is prohibited by the executive board of all nine organizations in the NPHC, but it is covertly implemented and oftentimes overlooked as an integral part in the bonding aspect of the pledge process. It is believed that enduring physical and mental torment strengthens the bond between pledges who go through the ordeal together. Hazing is also supposed to instill within the pledges a sense of pride for having suffered for membership in the organization. It is what separates the strong from the weak. The member from the wannabe. The pledge from the paper.

"Pledging paper" is a somewhat tragic oxymoron that excludes actual members of an organization from experiencing authentic brotherhood or sisterhood within their organization.

This process is for those who seek to acquire membership via an intake process that involves signing off on paperwork, or for those who have graduated from college and are seeking membership through a graduate chapter. Though membership can be attained from this process, it is typically frowned upon by "real" members that have pledged into the organization. A lack of cohesiveness develops amongst members and the notion of belonging comes into question. For example, a NPHC sorority had been inactive on our campus for quite some time (about two or three years). They had not been banned from the university, they just told everyone that they were not seeking to acquire new members because they had "bonded" and were content with being the way they were. A handful of girls weren't trying to hear all that. Many of them had grown up with the anticipation of pledging the sorority once they got to college. Some had come from long familial lines of women who had been members in the organization, and it was expected for them to follow suit once their time came. To wait their whole lives to get to college and seek membership in the organization only to hear the excuse given by the chapter members was unacceptable. The girls went through the national board to obtain permission to sign paperwork that would grant them membership in the organization. They were obliged, and suddenly we now had new members of the sorority sporting paraphernalia on campus. There was no probate, no grand announcement introducing their accomplishment unlike the girls mentioned at the beginning of the post. The members who had "bonded" were livid to say the least. There was a Facebook fiasco where the older members denounced the newer members, saying in not-so-nice terms that they were not "real" sisters, their sisters were the ones who pledged into the organization. The newer members felt alienated, and questioned if they were really entitled to wear the greek letters that they had definitely paid for. It wasn't until the older members graduated that the new girls were able to rep their organization without being stigmatized for taking the "easy way in."

After learning that the organization I wanted to try out for had been banned for the rest of my undergraduate career, I wondered if I'd ever be a part of the sorority, or if I wanted to be associated with a group that would exchange torture for sisterhood. I tried to think over all of the ways that the organization had been beneficial to our university and our community, and I had a hard time doing so. I knew that they were good for throwing parties. I knew that they could put together a live step show. I knew that were able to commandeer the respect from greeks and non-greeks alike due to the prestige that is tied to their organization, but I just did not know enough about what they did for the community. I'd be overwhelmed if I received one community service flier for every two that I received advertising a greek foam party, club party or step show. In spite of being aware of all the good things that the graduate chapters of these organizations had contributed to the wellbeing of the community, I began to think that BGLOs were irrelevant on the college level.

Now, I have to give them some credit. I have attended my share of engaging, thought-provoking forums on campus that were hosted by members of these organizations. My questioning of the relevance of collegiate BGLOs was resultant of what I considered to be the prevalence of hypocrisy between what these organizations are today and what they were at the time of their inception. When I first became interested in a particular greek sorority, I remember how I was enamored by the indignation of the founders who sought to create a new organization in the shadow of another that they felt was more social than activist. I remember being enthused when I learned that several of my political, artistic and personal sheroes were members. I didn't want to join to step, strut, call, wear colors or throw up a hand sign. Those were fringe benefits. I wanted to join to be molded into a woman of intellect that had the power to change her world for the better, much like how its founders had. I do not doubt that BGLOs create individuals of this caliber, nor do I doubt the influence that BGLOs have had on our country and our world. But I cannot help but to imagine how much more efficient their impact would be on the college level if its members more closely emulated the organization's ideologies outlined in its original mission. Perhaps I still have a lot more to learn.

PEACE

P.S. -- I ultimately joined a non-NPHC organization, and I love my sorors dearly. I guess everything really does happen for a reason!

Ain't I a Woman?

In one of my previous posts, I mentioned that the Washington Post is doing a feature on issues affecting women globally. Amongst these issues was that of the danger childbirth imposes on women living in underdeveloped countries such as Sierra Leone. I ran across the stories of Saio Marah and Adama Sannoh, two women who find themselves giving birth in less than sanitary conditions without the use of necessary medical equipment. Sannoh, a 28-year-old wife and mother, ultimately dies during the delivery and subsequently loses her unborn child. A brief pictorial documentary was composed to convey the circumstances surrounding Sannoh's death and reactions by family members. Marah did not lose her life, but her child was not as lucky; after being in labor for three days, the stress was too much for her baby girl to handle. From the start, the chances of having both mother and child come out of the delivery virtually unscathed were not in their favor: as opposed to being seen by an OB-GYN, Marah had to settle for a doctor who had been trained as an opthalmologist. The doctor was accustomed to delivering babies as he is only one of two doctors servicing 300,000 people. The hospital could not afford medical equipment, so the burden of purchasing and retrieving the equipment necessary fell upon her family. Marah's husband earns a salary of $100 per year as a jewelry maker, and the $70 cost for the C-Section set him back severely. Why am I saying all of this?

Because just a few days ago, 20/20 did a documentary on Extraordinary Motherhood. The hour-long piece featured a birthing method that many women across the country are referring to as not only a "best-kept secret," but also a "neglected human right":

Orgasmic Birthing.

During the process of orgasmic birthing, a woman is capable of achieving orgasm during childbirth with the assistance of a doula, as opposed to the more satisfying feeling of being ripped in half (note the sarcasm). After watching the segment, I, of course, was skeptical. I was waiting on the footage that showed these women screaming Uncle once the child's head popped out. I couldn't really blame the women for wanting to sexualize something so... how do you say... not sexy, but then again I wondered why it was necessary to do so. Biblically, pain in childbirth is believed to be one of the consequences assigned to all of womankind due to Eve's decision to eat the forbidden apple. Henceforth, all women can now expect to experience some degree of discomfort while ushering a life into this world. Cool. But is it truly expedient to use your baby as an instrument of sexual pleasure?

Furthermore, the birthing disparities that exist between the women in Sierra Leone and the women featured in the 20/20 segment are blatantly inequitable. The 20/20 women all had the option of running to a nearby hospital if something were to go wrong. They could be assured that all of the appropriate equipment would be readily available and that they would be seen by someone who has been trained in the safe delivery of children. For many women across the world, this is a luxury as the nearest hospital may be hundreds of miles away. Birth pains indiscriminately wreak havoc on female bodies before, during, and after the actual delivery. Some of the damage is cosmetic, while others may incur extensive internal damage... this brings to mind the young women of Ethiopia and Niger who develop fistulas because their underdeveloped hips are too narrow to accomodate their child's girth. In these countries, the age of the woman at the time of birth compounded with a lack of medical assistance during the delivery often equates to a condition that is only reparable through a surgery that they cannot afford; they are thereby dismissed from their communities as outcasts due to their inability to control their defecation. It is quite apparent that the place in which you give birth dictates how animalistic and barbaric your childbirth experience will be, and also whether or not you will have access to adequate health care for the injuries that you may incur during the process.

Perhaps I'm wrong for feeling that those who engage in orgasmic birthing are selfish, and, well, weird, but I feel that there are far greater human rights that are being neglected beyond the ability to reach orgasm during labor. Don't get me wrong, if you can figure out a way to birth children without any pain, let me know before my time comes. I just feel that we should be more sympathetic to the fact that out of the 500,000 women who die in childbirth each year, 495,000 live in underdeveloped nations. If we expect to continue in our beliefs of liberty and justice for all, we should look beyond our borders to assist those who are limited in the entitlement of both principles. If you are interested in researching more about women's rights, feel free to peruse the plethora of topics listed on the Washington Post's website, or visit The International Center for Research on Women for information about what you can do to get involved.

PEACE

Song of the Day

After a rousing 24-21 win over Ohio State last night, today's Song of the Day is UT's "The Eyes of Texas." Quan Cosby, will you marry me?

PEACE

I Don't Think T-Pain Realizes How Pervasive He Is In Gospel Music

I'm not sure if T-Pain is aware of the extent to which his synthesized beats and vocoder prowess are employed by those seeking to appeal to lost souls. While at church today, members of our worship team composed and performed a song to the tune of T-Pain's most recent hit "Chopped & Screwed." I realized that many of the older congregants don't listen to hip-hop, much less the garbage they are playing on the radio today. But those closer to my age who listen to secular music were familiar with the song; we began to glance at each other questioningly, wondering if it were appropriate to condone the emulation of such a worldly song. Don't get me wrong, the song was catchy. I found myself walking out of service singing, "You've officially been saved by Christ, by Christ, saved-saved by Christ. You've officially been saved by Christ..."

But this wasn't the first time that I've heard Pain's influence in gospel music:


Mary Mary - God in Me

Powerhouse gospel group Mary Mary recently released an album that features a song entitled "God in Me." The song explicates the stories of those who are apparently living the "good life" as noted by peers and strangers while the subjects within the lyrics choose to credit God for blessing them with the things that they have. I think the message within the song is wonderful. Within the first 10 seconds, T-Pain's synthesized trademark "Haaa" is sampled on the track, and is looped several times throughout its duration. Christian rapper Sho Baraka also enlists references from the rap mogul in his song, "Higher Love":

I've been burned by the world, and it showed no sympathy
I would give my all and it stripped me of my dignity
Stripped me of my reason, my morals and my temper
Stripped me of everything, I was in love with a stripper

Of course, Baraka is not referring to an exotic dancer nor is he irreverently analogizing our Savior to one. After our worship team finished their song, I was left with a few questions (surprise!); it was difficult for me to understand how permissible it was to fashion Christian music after that of an artist who chooses to refer to himself as "Teddy Pinnedher[...]down." I was always wary of artists who employ secular music to appeal to the unchurched because I figured that it would eventually funnel them back into secularity. I imagined that if someone outside of relationship with Christ was actually appealed to by this type of Christian music, they would more than likely ask the artist about their song. Upon discovering that the song was actually a sampling of music by a secular artist, they may go home, research the secular artist, decide that genre appeals to them more, and essentially abandon the Christian artist altogether.

I met up with my friend after service and discussed the performance with her. Her opinion was that the worship team engaged in what she refers to as "deep sea fishing." By this, she meant that the team was simply approaching evangelism in a way that would reach those who aren't into Christian music. Her argument made sense as I know many people who aren't fans of Christian rap because they either don't like the beats, the lyrical styles, or either. Her point of view reminded me of a scripture in 1 Corinthians 9:21-23:

To those not having the law I became like one not having the law (though I am not free from God's law but am under Christ's law), so as to win those not having the law... I have become all things to all men so that by all possible means I might save some. I do all this for the sake of the gospel, that I may share in its blessings.

As it turns out, contrary to the older beliefs of what is and is not permissible for worship in the House of God, the worship team actually wasn't wrong for their decision to sample a secular song. Some may still have their contentions about whether or not it was appropriate to perform it at Sunday morning service, but neither here nor there, I am sure that the song appealed to somebody somewhere. Who am I to judge?

PEACE

Song of the Day

Ursula Rucker -- L.O.V.E.

Blackness

Nas -- Queens Get The Money

As an undergraduate, I remember sitting in one of my Afro-American studies courses when my professor posed this very potent question to his students:

"What does it mean to be Black?"

Saying no more, he surveyed the room and took mental note of the glances that we passed to one another. We were certain that Blackness was undoubtedly hinged upon society's reaction to the amount of melanin in one's skin. For our entire lives we accepted the label of being Black, accepted whatever implications came along with being Black, and unassumedly adopted the stereotypes and speculations associated with being Black. But was that the extent of it? Skin and stereotypes? Did it have its own culture? Do its members share a universal history of maltreatment? We individually wrestled with this question until someone was brave enough to offer their opinion:

"It's an issue of skin color."

Of course, the professor probed the student to go deeper.

"It's an issue of skin color that correlates with the culture, history, and treatment of African-American people."

"Just African-American people?"

"Well, no. It affects anyone who can visibly be identified as having dark skin, coarse hair and African features. Dark skin is a typically undesirable trait, no matter what race you claim."

We managed to turn that one question into an intimate seminar that lasted for three weeks. It wasn't on the syllabus. We were broadsided with having to confront the reasons why we so readily assumed that we were Black without having a firm understanding of what being Black encompassed. We had to come up with solid answers as to why we believed that it was solely our skin color that warranted injustice and prejudice. We had to address how we can substantiate faulty generalizations regarding the color of one's skin. He even tested us on it!

The questions worked. Our minds got to thinking. We wanted to discover if degrees of Blackness existed and the extent to which we could lay claim to being a part of the Black Experience. The discussions were so fulfilling that a fellow classmate took it upon herself to research her family's history. To say that she was proud of being Black (as she knew it) is an understatement. Having a relatively superficial knowledge of her familial background, it took her months before she ultimately discovered that no member of her family experienced American enslavement; she was actually the descendant of Black Spaniards that willfully immigrated to the US at the turn of the century. She know had to learn how to address issues of injustice on the planes of being Black AND Latina. The questions made me think of one of my girlfriends. She is Black by American standards, so is her family. She grew up in a predominately Black neighborhood. However, she does not identify with being Black. She is fluent in Spanish and listens to mostly Spanish music. She holds degrees in Spanish and Latin American studies. Under her own admission, she's Latina. Oddly enough, I do not feel that she is suffering from an identity crisis. I simply feel that she has chosen to relate to her Blackness on a more universal level; as opposed to conforming to the supposition of what it means to be African-American, she chooses to view herself as being a Black Latina. If placed in a Spanish-speaking country, she'd have no trouble being identified as such due to her infatuation with and immersion in Latin culture. The course also made me take into consideration members of my own family. I identify with being a Black American. But, my maternal and paternal bloodlines are like night and day -- literally. My mother is the descendant of extremely fair skinned Black French Creoles. If they chose (which they didn't!), they could have easily passed for being White. On the other hand, my father's family is extremely dark skinned. My brother and I are obvious products of their union as we are one of the few cocoa-colored members of our families. We have cousins that are technically polar opposites of one another with skin tones ranging from milk white to deep chocolate. And yet in still, we are all Black. To varying degrees, we are all subject to the nuisance of its stigma. Both sides are plagued with their own set of stereotypes relative to their Black ancestry. One member may battle accusations of being uppity, sadity and bourgeosie out of simply being a fair-skinned Black while another may struggle with accusations of being violent, shifty and dangerous due to the deep hue of his dark skin.

My professor would be pleased. Years after taking the course my mind is still questioning. Is our blackness linked to skin color or familial nationality? If it is not skin color, does that mean that Whites can be Black if they relate to pro-Black sentiment? If it is a question of family origin, is one's Blackness limited to those who have traceable roots to Africa? If this were the case, everyone could be considered Black as Africa is strongly believed to be the cradle of civilization. If African roots were all that it took to label you as a Black person, what becomes of the American born children of Egyptians and Moroccans who most resemble those of Middle Eastern descent? Is it truly just an issue of skin color?

The resolution that I took away from this course is that Blackness is a relatively social construct employed by individuals who feel the need to implement a way of maintaining an order of superiority. Blackness on the individual level can be something that one defines on his own terms. It is common knowledge that society has developed its own system of who falls in the category of being Black, but the system is broken and malfunctioning. Blackness is a theory that is so vast and incomprehensible that creating truthful generalizations is nearly impossible. Blackness is a concept that defines countless cultures and histories. And they are all truly beautiful.

... PEACE

I Don't Buy It

I still hate talking about relationships, but I feel that for the sake of my sanity there are some things that we still need to discuss before we continue in our cycles of villifying members of the opposite sex. I'm sure that many may be aware of the "[Negroes/Witches] ain't [sic]" philosophy, but let's take a moment to consider how detrimental this mindset is to the progression of our culture as Black people. Far too often, I'm reminded of the highly presumptive fallacy that there there are no positive, single Black men. It's reverberated by everyone from my closest girlfriends to my church's Sunday school coordinator to random strangers who choose to engage me in light conversation. I'm always perplexed by this argument, and before the end of our conversations I find myself engaged in a slight debate defending our men to our sisters. Not to White men. Not to Asian men. To Black women. Some have used the argument that no one knows Black men like Black women. This may very well be true. But I feel that it is important that we realize (as Black women) the effect that this may take on the psyche of our men. Women (not necessarily feminists) typically love to gain empowerment through any viable medium available and by any means necessary. I believe that within every woman, no matter how naturally docile she may be, there is a desire to prove to not only herself but to her male counterparts that she is a fomidable force capable of independent subsistence. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. I'm that way myself. But I must ask, at whose expense? With all of the 'girl power' songs coming out as of late, I have born witness to just how agitating the words mewed in the lyrics can be to those who are trying to embody whatever it means to be a Good Man. I can recall a situation that occurred a few weeks back while riding in the car with one of my good male friends. Usually a laid back guy, I noticed how quickly my friend's demeanor switched from placid to annoyed when Beyonce's "If I Were a Boy" began to play on the radio. Scowling, he turned off the radio and muttered, "I hate that song. It's just another male bashing hit." Before I could defend B and tell him that it was just a song, I decided to take the contents of its lyrics into consideration. As it turns out, Beyonce doesn't croon about how she wishes that she were her significant other. She sings about if she were a boy.

Oh, let's talk about generalizations.

Given the fact that most dissatisfactions with Black men are highly generalized, we put those men who strive to be epitomes of success, respect and intellect in a position that forces them to constantly battle the negative stereotypes surrounding masculinity in his culture. Beyonce catchily talks about how she would treat herself if she got the privilege of being both the male and female protagonists in her own relationship. She would listen, because she knows how it hurts. She would be more compassionate to avoid the assumption that she doesn't care how it hurts. It just hurts, and (s)he(?) did it. The most prevalent generalizations attributed to the unavailablility of marriageable Black men are most often personal flaws that can be assigned to only a handful of the actual population. For example:

1. "He's lazy and unwilling to find a job." -- Personal Flaw.

2. "He's unkempt and has bad hygiene." -- Personal Flaw.

3. "He's unfaithful." -- Personal Flaw.

4. "He's disrespectful and can't complete a sentence without using profanity." -- Personal Flaw.

5. "He's uneducated." -- I hesitate to say that this is a personal flaw as I'm almost certain that political and socioeconomic factors played a role in this. You get my drift.

Nobody likes generalizations. African American history (and Latino history, and Middle Eastern history...) is riddled with generalizations that continue to serve as stereotypes that its sharers have to dispel on a daily basis. In all honesty, how much sense is there (in view of the diversity of its defendants) in claiming that ALL Blacks are lazy, stupid, dirty mongrels? It was (and continues to be) a wildly popular opinion. There is not any more sense in upholding the belief that all Black males are lazy, disrespectful and uneducated. I feel that we'd all fare better if we decided to alter our verbiage to make labeling a bit more specific (if we must do it at all).

I suppose that the reason why this whole issue upsets me to the degree that it does is because the assumption that there are no "good" Black men is an attack on all of the positive men that I have known in my lifetime. They must not know who my father was. A man who, in spite of his flaws, never let his children wonder about how much he loved them. They must not know who my brother is. A man who, in spite of being a 16-year-old high school student, managed to work three jobs to support the family when we fell on hard times. They must not know who my frat brothers are. Gentlemen in their own right who love wisdom and truth. All respectable men. If I had to offer one piece of advice on relationships, I would have to say that we have to lighten up on one another. And yes that goes both ways; brothas, respect women as the awesome wonders that they are, the vehicles through which our people pass from eternity into time. Sistas, respect your men as the backbone of a people who managed to endure innumerable years of torture, injustice and oppression. Don't settle for anything less than God's best, but recognize a king when you see one!

PEACE