On Green Key last year, after another day of dangerous, unplanned, regretful decisions, I told Won sternly: “If your world ends, so does mine.”
The cruel reality is that I was wrong. Only three months later, as I looked up at the fans in Rollins Chapel on the sweltering day of his memorial, they kept spinning. His world had ended, but mine was forced to continue.
Won and I shared almost two years together — from bandmates, to best friends, to more. In that time, I saw how rush and Greek life changed him. As a non-athlete, East Asian immigrant who knew too much about vexillology and not enough about Martha’s Vineyard, Won found it challenging to integrate into his brotherhood. I supported him as his mental health declined in his pledge term and comforted him as he expressed regret about his choices during rush. He talked of de-pledging, then of transferring schools to escape the pressure. I’m sure he’s not the only one who’s felt like he couldn’t be himself in a community that was supposed to be his family.
Come sophomore summer, his priorities shifted as he committed to be an active member of the frat. He lived in the house and took only two courses to maximize his availability, should anyone “need Won” for pong. I watched as he became more self-conscious about his appearance, his mannerisms, and even his walk. He expressed embarrassment that he couldn’t join his brothers as they swam in the river because he didn’t know how, telling me an anecdote about why he was afraid of deep waters. In the end, the desire to conform to the group overpowered this childhood fear. In organizing Won’s memorial, I was often appalled by how little his brothers knew of who he was outside of the basement. I know their friendships meant something to Won, and through our love for him, I have come to regard many of them as friends of my own. Yet, this fact remains true: The Won they knew is not the Won I grieve.
Choosing to join a frat drastically changed the course of Won’s life. In fact, it ended it. Won’s former fraternity, along with Greek life as a whole, represents validation that Won strained to reach for, but which ultimately left him to drown.
Our toxic culture, enabled by the Greek system, draws you in with promises of belonging, then slowly convinces you that it would be impossible to enjoy community without it. It shaves off parts of you that make you remarkable. I remember swapping out crocheted earrings for hoops during rush. I’d get support in the sorority group chat for playing in the band at a fraternity, but none of my sisters would be at my open mics in One Wheelock. Afraid of being excluded, you drink more than you want to and suppress your individuality. Most importantly, you do so without noticing. You forget that you are so much more than what this culture allows for you to be.
Less than a week after Won died, people continued to behave recklessly as a way of returning to normalcy in the face of trauma. Almost a year later, and nothing has changed. If we find ourselves crawling back to Greek life to heal a wound it caused, it doesn’t comfort us. It controls us.
Greek life holds weight in our culture that squashes every other outlet for community. Dance, a cappella and improv groups have almost no choice but to perform in Greek spaces. The band Won and I formed in freshman year struggled to book shows because none of our members were affiliated. Students are less enthusiastic about Collis events than they are about frat parties. With smaller turnout for college-sponsored events, the school is less inclined to put resources into hosting them for larger groups. Club communities are weakened by students who would rather go to tails than a club social. It’s a feedback loop that forces students to either buy into Greek culture or stay isolated from the campus community.
Won’s death made me reflect on my role in fostering this culture. I thought of each time I had innocently called a friend “boring” for refusing to go out. Or any time I felt the slightest sense of pride when a member of an “A-side” fraternity recognized that I was in an “A-side” sorority. I wondered why I was choosing to spend nights walking up and down the stairs of a Greek house, making superficial greetings with people who wouldn’t have acknowledged me in broad, sober daylight. Danger persists in these spaces in overt ways — like sexual harassment or roofied drinks — but the more common danger lies in covert attitudes and norms that we are swept into practicing without truly understanding their consequences.
The community we crave is in the people we value — not the alcohol, traditions or Greek letters. It doesn’t belong in the houses where students continue to be assaulted, drugged and subject to revolting hazing practices. It isn’t found in superficial friends who only know you in the context of an on-night. Such a community failed so catastrophically to protect Won that they unknowingly left him at the bottom of the river. Most regretful is that such a community compelled him to enter those waters willingly. Any member of a group — frat, sorority or other — bonded through drunkenness or humiliation is susceptible to the same fate.
But it doesn't have to be like this. We take power away from the system when we choose to prioritize our individuality over the person the system forces us to become.
In recent months, I've committed myself to seeking out experiences I find fulfilling. My time away from campus this fall gave me a glimpse of how big the world was, and Won’s death proved how little time I have to explore it. While away, I learned to move at my own pace and discovered that the only judge worth pleasing is myself. Back on campus, I flood my calendar with lectures, movie screenings and activities that interest me. I go because I want to and because I know I must be deliberate with my time. It’s not easy — more than once, I have been the only attendee in a room with too much food that is likely to be wasted. Yet, each time I show up, I feel strength in knowing I have claimed agency over my own identity. The friendships I have maintained feel more meaningful and the memories I have made are more salient.
While it seems impossible to tip the scales to balance our culture, small steps can make a world of difference. Start by checking your emails and looking up at flyers — every day, there are events that bring people together through shared passions and hobbies. Send calendar invites to your friends, and don’t be afraid to advocate for events that excite you. When more students show up, offices around campus can learn what we like and cater to our preferences. Consider hosting club gatherings and shows in apartments or common rooms, rather than Greek spaces. These simple choices can gradually shift how we build community. If you spend a night frat hopping, make sure that’s a choice you make and not something you default to for fear of missing out. Your valuable time should be spent connecting with things or people you truly care about, whether that be a hobby, your friends, or yourself.
Choosing to opt out of the social calendar for one night could save your life. Won was on the fence about attending the event that night. If he had decided to watch Fire Island with us instead, he’d still be here.
As the days get warmer, the smell of Hanover air reminds me of that summer. People discuss their plans to “daily dip” and I nod along, forgetting that not everyone is haunted by the river — but feeling like they should be. Friends in the Class of 2027 look forward to living in their Greek houses and taking two-course terms, just as Won did. The basement speakers blast, the trash overflows with beer cans and the fans in Rollins spin, waiting for the next memorial.
Lydia Jin is a member of the Class of 2026. Guest columns represent the views of their author(s), which are not necessarily those of The Dartmouth.
