I saw a swarm of '97 women leaving one sorority and heading for another a few nights ago. There was nothing particularly striking about them, except perhaps that they all looked so similar to me. And then, perhaps that was striking, because as I wandered past on the other side of the street, I felt troubled by the sight.
It was two years ago, now, that I visited the six sorority houses on their appointed nights with my rush counselor and group, chatting with my peers as we shuffled along. I wasn't intimidated by rush. I had the attitude that I would find out what it was all about and then probably just drop out. I knew rush was supposed to be degrading. But, vowing not to dress up or shmooze, I figured it wouldn't bother me.
It didn't at first. But cuts have to get made. And for all that I hadn't intended to follow through with rush, and even though the houses I liked most invited me back, I inevitably felt the accompanying self-doubt: Why didn't the other houses want me? What's wrong with me? What if the one I liked best didn't want me?
In addition to, Why do I care so much?
For some reason, it seemed terribly difficult to just drop out during rush. Everyone would ask for a solid reason, which didn't sound like I was judging them for continuing. And I wasn't sure, once I was in the middle of parties and surrounded by so many women looking for a social outlet and the company of other women, that I wanted out. There was comfort in being surrounded by those who shared that same desire.
I was seduced by a roomful of confident women speaking of solidarity, support, women's issues and individuality. And I was thrilled to get a bid from that one house I wanted to be a part of. But my memories from that point on are spotted with incongruity, beginning right away with pledge period -- which is notoriously demeaning in most houses. Not that I couldn't take it. But I wondered why I should.
Deciding whether to stay was a tug-o'-war. I objected to the separateness encouraged by the single-sex Greek system but felt entitled to my little piece of support (imperfect though it was) as long as fraternities existed. Continuing my involvement became an issue of taking individual responsibility for problems I felt were inherent in the system, or giving up my claim to this particular niche at Dartmouth. I chose the latter.
Freshest of my memories, because it marked the end of my affiliation, is being on the other side of rush. The side that chatted with hordes of women, aware that they were nervous, trying to memorize interests and names and faces. Asking them why they were rushing, telling them about the house. And later, sitting around for hours with all the sisters, trying to remember whom we each had met and what we had learned about them.
Report. Listen. Rate. There was no easier way to do it, no way around assigning numbers to each and every woman who had attended rush and relying on the testimonies of one or a few sisters to decide her fate. Often enough in our discussions, we didn't get far past the all-too-common, "She seemed nice."
There is now a guarantee that every woman who rushes will get into one of the houses. After all, sororities are supposed to be supportive. I just wonder how well deliberations and the judgments that have to be made before bids are offered actually facilitate respect for other women. What does talking about women behind their backs after a few minutes of acquaintance encourage, anyway? Honest friendships?
I remember asking, on the first night of deliberations, "Who are we to judge?"
I still haven't gotten a decent answer.
If women are going to support each other, shouldn't we first consider how that "support" is earned -- and whether it needs to be?
