What It Was Like Being Black in a Fraternity

I joined a fraternity in my junior year of college. I didn’t do the traditional recruitment in the spring semester like all of the other freshmen boys. Two leadership consultants went to sorority houses, asking them to write down the names of men who they thought would be perfect for the new fraternity on campus. Delta Delta Delta (Tri Delt) referred me and to this day, I still don’t know who referred me.

. . .

Senior Year of Fall 2017 recruitment. Invite night. There was one guy most brothers didn’t like, and they started arguing with each other about him. This guy was in the swimming club and was just like me.

“Well, we don’t need another Larry,” he said, looking at the brothers in the living room. There were arguments going left and right and words being thrown at him.

A brother texted me at almost 2 in the morning; he was wondering if he could speak with me one-on-one about fraternity stuff. The next day, I had an intervention with the two brothers regarding the comment. After listening to him, I forgave him but didn’t forget what he said.

The following day, I sent a message on the GroupMe about forgiving the brother and speaking in regards to brothers using my friendship to get with girls. Some brothers applauded me while others used memes to describe my message when I left the GroupMe.

The comment consumed me the entire day, as a result; I had no appetite. Tears wanted to stream down my face, but I was all out of them.

. . .

I attended crying night. I decided to share my story on why I was still a virgin to everything. I never had my first kiss, had sex, or been in a relationship. I was sexually assaulted in middle school when five guys violently smashed me against the lockers, caressed my body and humped me to send the message that they would rape me if I ever snitch on them and Anne, a girl who cyberbullied me on Facebook. I held this secret for six years.

While telling the story, only a few brothers listened while the majority were on their phones looking at the GroupMe, whispering jokes, and laughing at each other.

. . .

It was 2:45 AM. The television showed Django Unchained in my brother’s room.

“I can’t watch this movie. It’s too painful,” I said, walking out the door. “Why you don’t like black people getting killed,” he responded, laughing and looking back at my friend.

Here in my skin, being Black in America, watching other Black people getting killed. I stood there, silent, overthinking the incident.

I talked to one brother about this while studying for MAT 121. “Well, Larry, he’s from a different culture and he’s going through a lot right now,” he said. “Don’t take it personally.”

. . .

It was my birthday. The following weekend, I had to be the sober monitor for a sorority mixer. I went to the house early. While waiting for the party to start, the brothers brought a birthday cake and sang happy birthday to a brother whose birthday was two days after my birthday. “Don’t forget about Larry,” one brother said, the whole room looked at me.

. . .

It was Initiation night, part two. I wore an all-black tuxedo to dedicate to the #TimesUp movement. I also wanted to show everyone that I am a #MeToo victim.

One brother looked at my phone while I was creating the Instagram post. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to do that, Larry,” he said while looking at GroupMe memes. “No one will care.”

We had the fraternity alumni at our house that night. The alumni have a tradition of giving each brother a terrible nickname. When it was my turn, I had to tell the alumni that people call me “Larrbearrrr,” but they didn’t want to use that name. “Lamar,” the alum said. “Lamar, Lamar, sit down,” everyone was screaming at the top of their lungs.

I messaged one of the alumni who started this tradition on Facebook a few weeks later. “The tradition of nicknames goes back over 50+years. We all have terrible nicknames that are given from the older brothers immediately following initiation,” the alum said. “All I️ can say is to not take any of the nicknames seriously.”

. . .

“Wow, you’re a racist,” one brother said laughing at me. I walked outside to clear my mind. I heard the door open. “Hey, just wanted to make sure you’re okay,” the house dad asked. “I’m fine.” I texted him about his comment a few weeks later. “I did not mean that, it was absolutely a joke.”

. . .

I was a victim pretending to be confident to my family, friends, and professors. I stayed where I should’ve left. I was silent where I should’ve spoken up. I scrolled through my Instagram feed, spending countless hours at night, refreshing the feed to see images of friends being happy. There were also many nights where I kept consuming the words and overthinking each incident. The trials and tribulations were the needles that sewed my mouth together, keeping me silent because I didn’t want to show my blackness.

I used to write down their words, over and over again, until my head would go numb. I went to sleep and dreamed of an imaginary world of harmony. Instead, I was stuck being controlled and fined for not showing up to something I committed myself to and being miserable every time I saw one of the brothers.

This was a daily routine for me; I was accustomed to being miserable and I put misery on my to-do list. I got used to brothers using sarcasm, telling jokes, and projecting negative energy at me because I was an easy target.

The strings on my silent mouth broke loose in April. I decided to have a talk with each brother who hurt me. I made amends with the brothers, but what I should’ve done was address this in the beginning, but I didn’t know how to use my voice rhetorically and internalize my feelings towards each incident. Some interventions were on text messages because of conflicting schedules.

After each conversation, I realized I was searching for diversity and inclusion when I joined a fraternity. I was a founding father of a fraternity. I realized that if there is no diversity in an organization, then there is no possibility of great ideas and questions to bring to the table. The fraternity favored some of the brothers, but I was not part of it.

You may ask why I didn’t leave the fraternity from all that happened. To be honest, I felt that if I did leave, they won over me. I didn’t live my own truth or use my voice when I needed to.

I slowly discovered that it wasn’t me or my race that was the problem, it was them. I used to believe in all the things the brothers said to me, but I noticed something. I noticed that if you listen to people making a cruel judgment about someone in regards of their race, sexual orientation, or religion, it doesn’t reflect the person who they are judging, it reflects them. There is so much negativity in the world and many people want to tear, laugh, and bring you down. You do not want to allow people to take your power. Power is your greatest strength, not a weakness.