Pledging Allegiance: Brotherhood, Beer, and The Making of Men

A lone crushed can in a frat house’s front yard.

The University “where fun goes to die” seemingly defies its reputation.

A Friday night. A familiar scene unfolds. A vast house, its exterior decaying, yet alive with a buzz of youthful energy. The thumping bass of a mid-2010s pop playlist seeps out into the yard.

In the basement, a game of beer pong plays out, a competition so fierce it might be game seven of the finals. Above, a bomb site resembling a kitchen, the countertop a graveyard of empty cans and cartons, while in the corner a lone soul concocts a drink so strong it could strip paint.

Crowds pulse in and out of dimly lit rooms, laughter ringing over the crinkle of red solo cups. Odors of cheap beer mingle with juvenile desperation and misplaced promise. The air is a cocktail of inebriation and exhilaration. The night is messy, loud, and utterly unforgettable.

Here, social hierarchies bubble like a pan sauce, reducing in alcohol and patriarchal bravado.

Amidst the laughter, spilled drinks, and sprawled bodies, you realize, for all its absurdity, this chaotic, uniquely American ideal of fun is alive and well at the University of Chicago.

Fraternities, mysteriously absent from official University messaging, are a staple of the social scene on campus. These exclusive all-male societies have historically had a troubled relationship with the press, appearing in headlines alleging misconduct, depicting them as housing racists, sexists, and rapists.

As a straight-passing man, I have had candid insights into these male-dominated spaces; some members suppose I’m “one of them,” and others are willing to break vows of secrecy to share their experiences…

Read the full Op-Ed at the Chicago Maroon