My Saturday night took an interesting turn on the way to St. George station last weekend. Walking south on Bedford, approaching Bloor, my friends and I neared a group of four freshman lining the sidewalk. They stood with impeccably straight backs, facing a characteristically stately Annex home, made unique by an unkempt lawn and a half-collapsed picnic table — the requisite characteristics of a university fraternity house. Dressed identically in black and holding thick, wooden paddles bearing characters in the Greek alphabet, they addressed us in monotonous unison: “Good evening.” The formal greeting combined with the ludicrous paddles gave me the impulse to laugh, and my friends and I slowed our pace to face them in curious bemusement. But within moments, taking in the rain, the paddles, how late it was, and the intense air of coercion, any humour at their expense faded.
In light of recent events that have brought highly publicized cases of bullying and exclusion to the fore, it seems ludicrous that these hopeful pledges would subject themselves to a senseless display of submission. “You know, you guys don’t need to do this to make friends,” I heard myself saying, completely in earnest. “Yeah,” chimed in one of my friends, “Why would you do this to fit in with anyone? It doesn’t really seem like they’re trying to make you feel welcome.” This might seem like grade school logic, but if it really is, then why are these young adults agreeing to it?
The conditions for admittance to groups vary across all social networks, but at this age it is nothing less than demoralizing to subject oneself to degrading hazing rituals, whatever tradition they might represent. Why shouldn’t shared interests, similar personalities, or simple friendliness suffice to initiate a friendship? Regardless of any allure that an organization might hold for reasons of prestige, prominence, or acceptance, it is baffling that anyone would be interested in a network that demands inconvenience at the least, and humiliation, danger, and dehumanization at the worst — even if it is only “initially.”
The pledges remained upright, but a tremor of doubt passed across their faces as they tittered nervously at our remarks. As if on cue, a man with a brown parka and significantly larger paddle appeared abruptly and filled the space between us and his fraternity’s hopefuls. “Did these guys say ‘good evening’ when you passed by?” he inquired curtly.
“Yes.”
“Well then, good night.” The statement seemed more like a demand than a farewell. We proceeded on our way, marvelling at the suddenness with which the pledges’ mentor had emerged from the woodwork. Our innocuous probing proved to be more offensive than we could understand. Offering a perspective that was critical of this useless vindictivness risked puncturing the mystique of a high-minded ritual, which made the midnight paddler’s farewell seem acutely vulnerable.
At a time when bystanders stepping forward to offer support for people who are being taken advantage of, mocked, and exploited is more vital than ever — globally and locally — we left the scene of the initiation ritual feeling collectively discomfited. Sadder yet, it struck us that in encouraging those young men to stand up for themselves and seek friends without highly conditional qualifiers of admission, we were being more supportive peers than their disgruntled supervisor will ever be. Although those young men might have been pledging the fraternity to seek a source of confidence and collective identity, the panicked reaction of their mentor will hopefully have signalled to them how far from acceptance they really were on that dreary Saturday night.
