Wednesday, March 9, 2016 // The Statement
4B
Wednesday, March 9, 2016 // The Statement
5B
In August of 2013, I flew across the country, from Los Angeles to Ann Arbor
and stepped onto a campus surrounded by thousands of individuals I had never
seen before. I anxiously prepared to begin my adventure at the number-one public
school in the nation.
Most of the freshman girls I came into contact with asked me the same question
in my first week at the University: “Are you gonna rush?” At first, the answer was “I
don’t know,” because I really didn’t, but everyone seemed to be doing it, so maybe
“Why not?” I thought. Don’t people think sorority girls are annoying? Pretty?
Fun? All of these girls walked around campus flaunting their bright letters on their
matching tank tops over their bikinis, with their long blonde hair and summer tan
skin; I couldn’t help but want to be a part of it. The idea of being a sorority girl
intrigued me. I was part of a cheer team for 10 years, I thought, It has to be similar
right? The “I’m Shmacked” videos looked wild and fun (possibly concerning, now
that I think about it). And Michigan is notorious for its tailgating, which I assumed
necessitated being part of Greek life.
A few days went on.
I told my parents my decision to rush a sorority, and in the moment I was beyond
thrilled. They were completely supportive of my decision, but I knew they were far
from it. [COPY: this contradicts itself. Maybe “they seemed/acted supportive”?]
“Are you sure?” my dad said, and “Have you really thought about it?” which was
followed by, “Is that what you want to do?” by my mom. I didn’t understand why
they were concerned. I wanted to be a sorority girl. I wanted to be pretty and cool
and fun — and at that point in my life, being in a sorority was the only way.
It only took about three long, tiresome, uneasy weeks for me to understand my
parents’ concerns. I may have been naïve, but I didn’t think my race would play a
part in my experience in Greek life. Coming from a white suburban neighborhood
and attending predominately white public schools my whole life, I knew that I was
comfortable in majority white spaces. I assumed that my life at the University of
Michigan wouldn’t be much different than my experiences at Beverly Hills High
School. Little did I know, an African-American woman rushing in Panhellenic
recruitment was a pretty rare sight. Now I understand why.
For those of you who do not know how sorority recruitment works, I will do my
best to break it down.
There are 16 Panhellenic sororities on campus. When the process begins, each
girl goes to every house and has conversations with multiple members of that
sorority. After each “round,” you rank your choices, putting your most desirable
houses at the top. There are three rounds, and then preference parties. Through
each round, you narrow down the amount of houses you have through a “cutting
system.” Normally, it decreases from 16, to 11, to seven, and eventually to three for
preference parties. The cutting system is mutual, meaning that in addition to the
girls “cutting” the houses they don’t want, the houses can do the same. Girls don’t
always get the houses back that they want, which is completely normal. However,
I felt as though my case was extreme. After the first round of cuts, most girls had
11 houses. I was left with only five. After the second round of cuts, most girls had
seven houses. I was left with only two. This meant I didn’t even have the complete
amount of three houses for preference parties.
My self-esteem was shot. I didn’t understand why I was not being given a chance
in any of the sororities. I asked myself, if I couldn’t even find an accepting house,
how I would be able to make friends at such a large school. First, I attributed all
of my “cuts” to my hair being frizzy, which I was already self-conscious about (it
was my first summer in humid Ann Arbor). I constantly ran a straightener over
my hair, trying to make it as flat and straight as everyone else’s. Other than my
hair, I thought I was doing fine with the process. I am perfectly capable of having
a genuine conversation, and I felt as if I brought great qualities to each house. It
was evident that some of the girls in the houses may not have agreed. Soon, I came
to realize that my brown skin may have not been the “look” these girls wanted in
their homes. Nothing explicit happened to make me feel this way, but there was
a sort of uneasiness I felt when heads turned as I walked into the houses. During
conversation, it seemed like these women weren’t particularly interested in
learning more about me; in some cases, I knew I would be cut the second I walked
out of the front door. I began to understand my parents’ concerns, and even though
I refused to admit it to them — or anyone around me — I knew they were right.
I did end up getting a bid (or, an invitation) to join a sorority that I enjoyed
through the process. Once I opened that envelope and saw the name, I jumped
up and down with pure joy. However, my excitement wasn’t because I got a bid
to my dream house, it was because I finally felt wanted. I realized that by the end
of recruitment, I was no longer looking for the house that was my best fit; I was
looking for any house that would accept me, and that was the problem.
Since middle school, I’ve constantly been asked a question. A question
that I thought was harmless if not some teasing fun. A question that has real
implications unlike the question of whether I shower with my hijab on (I
don’t! Why would this make sense?), if I have an arranged marriage (No. Also,
don’t ever ask that again.), and if a boy sees my hair if I’ll be forced to marry
him (…No. No. No.). Rather a question that I never truly thought about ‘til I
was asked it again recently.
“What would your dad do if you (insert action)?”
A. He would disown you.
B. He would hurt you.
C. He would lock you up.
D. Would ship you to India.
E. None of the above.
People love talking about my dad. And not about his occupation, his life
story, his favorite foods, what sports team he roots for (he always switches
so he ends up supporting the winner) or his experience as a brown Muslim
man. Rather people love talking about what my dad would do to me if I were
to disappoint him.
First, there is an assumption that my dad is overly controlling and angry.
Usually the question “What would your dad do?” is followed by either
“if you took off your hijab,” “if a boy saw your hair” or “if you went out to
a party.” First, there is an assumption that I do not have autonomy over my
body, second, that my father forced me to wear hijab, and third, that any of
these actions would justify an angry response from him.
Also, to answer the multiple-choice question above, the answer is E.
It took me years to realize how ridiculous these questions were. When you
ask me that question, you are being racist. No argument. You are reiterating
centuries of Orientalist ideals when you assume that as a brown woman I have
no autonomy of my body and that my own father oppresses me. Let me assure
you that I wear my scarf for no man, and that it is a decision I made on my
own and for myself. And despite what your question implies, the relationship
between my father and I is one of love and respect.
***
When you see my Dad you see a tall, overbearing brown man. You see my
oppressor. You see a man who apparently only knows harshness and violence.
You see images of terrorists, of barbaric men, of violence, the same images
that are shared in the media, reflected on my father’s face. I feel sorry for you,
because you aren’t able to truly see him.
When I see my Dad the first thing I look for are his crow’s feet, which
appear just before his smile does. I see his hands, which held four daughters
as he broke borders and oceans to be able to provide. I see a man who learned
to verbalize his love, not for his own sake, but for mine, so that I should never
doubt it. I see the person who taught me love in actions and sacrifice.
***
To my father:
Dear Baba,
I’m sorry you live in a world where brown men are seen as heartless. I’m
sure if everyone met you, you would be able to unravel the stitches of time
that so strongly hold onto the ideals of what brown masculinity look like. I’m
sorry that you traveled so long to be in a country that is not deserving of your
patriotism or love. I’m sorry that you traveled for your children, only for them
to unlearn your mother tongue.
Thank you for showing me what dedication, commitment and love look like.
Thank you for loving me at my worst self and for pushing me to be my best.
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you for taking care of me when I
forget to take care of myself. Thank you for reminding me the importance of
patience. Thank you for being a source of strength.
Once I was in the sorority, I immediately tried to assimilate to the culture of Greek life. Given
its isolated nature, I easily broke ties with anything non-Greek. I only sat with people in class
who had Greek letters on their laptops, my weekends consisted of parties with only a few select
fraternities and I wouldn’t dare go to the dining hall without my sorority sisters. I never hung out
with people of color. In fact, in my sorority of over 200 girls that currently attended Michigan, I
was one of very few women of color and the only Black woman.
Throughout my freshman year, I was very happy. I experienced some of my best memories thus
far, made great friends and fell in love with this University. But, in retrospect, I am now aware that
I wasn’t able to fully be myself in many ways. It seemed impossible to show my true colors while
simultaneously fitting into a sorority. I felt trapped. I don’t think I befriended anyone outside of
Greek life until the end of that year.
During my sophomore year, I started learning about the Black community at Michigan and
found ways to get myself involved. I made more friends and attended Black events for the first
time. This was happening while I was living in a three-story sorority house with over [COPY: more
than; over refers to space] 60 girls, where I was the only African American. Once I started going
to Black events, I realized the range of possibilities that Michigan had to offer. There was a whole
world that I had been completely oblivious to, because I was so caught up in my sorority. When
I started doing things outside of my sorority, I was questioned. A lot of the girls were completely
unaware that Black Greek life existed — they did not understand why there were spaces that
belonged to minorities. I found myself always explaining where I was going, saying things like
“Yes, there are all-Black fraternities” and ignoring comments such as, “If it’s only for Black people,
will they kick me out?” Some of the people around me were constantly curious about how they
would be perceived if they dared enter an all-Black space, while they were insensitive to the fact
that I spent a great amount of time being the only Black person in a room. I grew accustomed to
laughing off hurtful comments that were meant to be funny, and quickly got sick of having to offer
an explanation for my outside actions.
On other hand, when I did put myself into the Black community, I received very shocked
responses to my Panhellenic involvement. People would ask me why I decided to join and, “How
is it living with 60 white girls?” These conversations also made me uncomfortable — my choices
were being judged. I understood that it was out of the norm for a Black girl to rush a Panhellenic
sorority, but I did not understand why I was being criticized for it. It got to a point where I
completely separated my sorority life from my Black life. I stopped mentioning my involvement
in the sorority altogether. I was not at all embarrassed to be in my sorority, nor was I ashamed of
all of my friends in the house, but for me it was easier to say, “No, I am not in a sorority” than to
prepare for to the potential feedback of my Black peers.
This is when I began to realize, that for my own sake, it would be better if I was not tied to a
Greek organization. I do not blame the system for why I felt this way; I blame myself for taking
the easy way out by assimilating to a culture that wasn’t my own, rather than being bold enough
to embrace my Blackness in a white space, or to embrace my sorority involvement in a Black space.
I made the decision to deactivate, completely disassociating myself from the sorority. Now, I feel
comfortable going to events without being judged or questioned. I joined multiple organizations
and found diverse groups of people on campus. I feel much more in touch with my own culture
knowing that I have the freedom to express myself and my interests. Since leaving the sorority,
my social life has done a complete 180. I am involved in both Black and white communities on
campus, and I enjoy being in both environments. I still have my best friends from the sorority, who
I love endlessly, and they are more than accepting of my lifestyle. Despite the negative stereotypes
associated with Greek life, and despite my inability to find myself within the system, there are
definitely positive aspects within the organization. Greek life allows you to get directly involved
with philanthropy, which I loved. And I met wonderful people and sustained friendships that I
wouldn’t have today if I hadn’t gone through the rush process.
With this being said, to any women of color considering rushing a Panhellenic sorority, here’s
my advice to you:
I hope this piece does not deter you from rushing, but encourages you to stay confident through
the process and keep a tight hold onto your culture.
Don’t settle for being accepted in one out of 16 (or however many) houses and don’t lose yourself
through the process by assimilating into white communities.
Connect with the women of the houses that will appreciate all that you bring to the organization;
don’t let contentedness overcome you.
And if people are oblivious to your background, have the strength to make them understand.
It’s important to know how to teach others to love your culture, but that starts with you loving it
first — don’t hide it.
Walk into a room and let people stare if they want to — because yes, you are a beautiful woman
of color, and yes, they must deal with it.
Find a balance between engaging with your Greek community and connecting to the
communities of color on campus. You should not feel like you need to keep these spaces separate,
nor should you feel ashamed of one or the other.
Lastly, don’t let the perspectives and opinions of your sorority sisters deter you from connecting
with your community. But don’t let the thoughts of your community of color convince you that
being in a “white sorority” is wrong — you are powerful and smart enough to make your own
decisions, including choosing to immerse yourself in multiple communities.
An open letter to women of
color considering Panhellenic
recruitment
Questions and
Misconceptions
By Sarah Khan
Michigan in Color Editor
By Kayla Countryman, Michigan in Color Contributor