Reluctant trailblazers: Defying a legacy of homophobia

It's a chilly spring night, and Em shivers on a yellow school bus, parked at the entrance of a coffee shop. This is it. Others are getting down, chatting, and leaving him in his seat. His heart thuds against his ribcage. Em’s mind is full of terrors from his previous visits. Would they stare? Would they whisper? Would they post about him on YikYak?

He clears his throat, smoothing down the sweater he specifically picked for today. He joins the flock of people pouring from the exit, his steps too quick for hesitation.

The next thing he knows, he is high-fiving a line of men. He scans around, waiting for the half-assed daps, the confused looks and the side-glances. But rather, something completely different happens – they don’t seem to care. Rather, they took him in with firm palms and easy grins.

"With other fraternities, they didn't do that so much," Em recalls, his voice unwinding as he thinks back to that moment. The tension in his posture eases slightly at the recollection, the way acceptance can melt fear like spring sun on winter frost.

Em's story, though, is only one of many in the complex, serpentine terrain of Greek Life at Augustana College, where he and other queer students are increasingly being forced to find – and sometimes fight for – their place in a system long organized around strict gender dichotomies.

The Exclusive Clubs

Ash came out at 12. Back then, he was sure of who he was; the only person unsure was the rest of the world. Ash never imagined he would be rushing for fraternities in college, just a semester after leaving his hometown. Ash prefers to think of his identity as a secret he’s not afraid to reveal, but he waits for the right people at the right moment to come find out.

To him, rush week was an entirely different experience. The frat houses, Greek letters on the front and walls with composites of previous brothers, held out the promise of brotherhood. He enters the same long line Em did, bracing for impact.

To his despair but not surprise, Ash and his fellow trans friend got singled out right away. Nobody came near him. Glances were shot in their direction, then away. The space became full of implied judgment that seemed to shove against them like a wall. Looking down at his clothes, touching up and down his short hair, Ash wondered what went wrong.

"Everybody says you have to go in with this super open mind. And I did attempt to," Ash reflects, his words spill like marbles on the concrete. "But once that first round of rushing had happened, it was clear they don't wish to be associated with us, and I don't wish to associate with them either."

He studies his fingertips, smoothing the nail beds slowly as he talks. The rejection still stings, months later, even as an active member of the fraternity that opened its arms and welcomed him home.

In another corner of campus, Amy's experience went differently. A trans woman who transitioned socially in high school and could easily pass as cisgender, Amy saw Rush as her opportunity to find sisterhood at Augustana.

"More than I ever did, I almost became a caricature of myself, really letting the best of me shine and dropping the worst of me," she admits, describing the sort of pressure all women experience in recruitment – pressure maybe magnified for her as she navigated this highly gendered space. I must agree with her, don’t we all want to show up in our best selves to strangers who might one day become our closest friends?

Even with the performativity, though, Amy found moments of validation. Her eyes sparkle when recalling being completely accepted by her sisters. Amy has found her sanctuary.

"I just felt like one of them – like I felt like one of the girls," Amy recounts, clasping her hands together slowly. When I reminded her, "You are one of the girls," Amy flashed me a smile. "Yeah, that's what I'm saying, and it was really helpful for me. Those little things make me feel very good about who I am."

The Vibe I Bring

The Wednesday morning we met, Fynn sat in their room looking out the window. They listened closely to the sounds of their roommate leaving for class and apologized to me for the noise. With brown spiky hair and a nose ring, Fynn's appearance resists easy description, rightly termed the "non-binary" look. But beyond that, Fynn appears gentle, smart and soulful.

"Because I'm generally seen as a more masculine person, I thought my only option was frats, which frankly wasn't appealing to me," they explain, emphasizing the word "seen." Their fingers tap a nervous rhythm on their chin as they speak.

For Fynn, Greek life initially was out of the question, a structure too rigid to accommodate their can’t-be-put-in-a-box identity. Despite having close friends in Greek Life urging, it was not until they noticed other non-binary students participating did Fynn consider it for themselves.

Like many other queer individuals who go through rush, Fynn was mixed with emotions. They know they stand out, and they also know there is nothing wrong with it. But the rush process defied what Fynn thought about being in a sorority. Someone opened a conversation about their identity, which Fynn calls “the elephant in the room,” and Fynn learned to appreciate the honesty.

Eventually, this is where Fynn calls their home. The sorority has recently embraced more accepting language and practice. The warmth in Fynn's voice is unmistakable as they refer to their sisters, now called siblings, and the acceptance they've found here.

"I just feel like the members of my group know I'm Fynn and that they like me as a person," they go on, their rhythm of speech picking up pace in excitement. "It doesn't really matter how I identify or that I can be different from most of the group. They like the energy that I bring."

However, there are moments of disconnection, small flashbacks of being other. Fynn discusses being cautious in those spaces where people aren't quite sure how to handle being around someone who isn't of the binary.

"The biggest challenge is just to be okay with being awkward sometimes," they say with a nervous laugh that doesn't quite reach their eyes, "having difficult conversations about it, and just trying to find a sense of belonging."

The Pendulum Of Acceptance

To these students, life in Greek organizations is a seesaw of profound belonging and aching othering, sometimes within a span of a single day.

Em sits at a table in the Brew; we are surrounded by conversations and the late afternoon sunlight streaming through high windows. The boy with a bright smile and sparkling eyes speaks quietly of how the brotherhood language affirms his gender identity in ways he had not anticipated.

"I didn't want anyone to refer to me as anything but that, not a sister, not a sibling, but a brother," he states, his voice getting stronger with each sentence. "I found it to be very validating."

But the warmth of his smile dissolves as he speaks of moments when that approval is withdrawn. "Yesterday, a guy made a comment on a girl I liked, saying, 'Is she gay? Does she like girls?' because they think I'm a girl," Em says, his speech for an instant losing its rhythm, words spoken staccato and harsh.

Amy, although much spared overt transphobia from her sorority, was disturbed by the university-wide aggressiveness on YikYak, a social media platform on which people's worst thoughts find expression without retaliation. One posting one saw during rush week read, "Why are all these trans men rushing and pledging fraternities?"

"That's the plan – they don't want us to be present in public life at all," Amy says, her soft voice hardening with resolve. She sets her shoulders, chin a fraction higher and her eyes pierce into mine. "By having these moments when we do exist and we claim our identities, that's really powerful."

The Facilitators Of It All

Taking a quick break between her three jobs to talk to me, Kenia sits behind her wheel, hands clutching her bag and a coffee cup. Her hair carefully curled, her lips glistening with pink gloss, Kenia beams with warmth when she tells me she accepted an internship in Vegas. As the Greek Council's Diversity Chair, she has taken on the monumental task of reshaping a centuries-old institution from within.

Kenia has headed some projects this year, like mandatory training sessions for all the members before rush time and themed events for LGBTQ+ students before winter break. Her latest victory was putting together care packages for queer students who might be returning to unsafe and unaccepting home environments.

"I wanted everyone to feel special and cared for and loved. So I went out and bought around 500 bags. And I did face masks, lip balms, tea tree oils, sweets, snacks and self-esteem notes, just so they could stay positive," she describes, the enthusiasm evident as she speaks of the project.

Kenia’s sorority just made the dramatic switch from using "sisters" to "siblings" to refer to members – a change that confused alumni but represents significant strides to existing members. They are not the only one who recently decided to do this. Kenia recognizes the challenge but considers it to be necessary growing pains.

"It's not the same, though, but if you want to be the one to change something, you have to do the work," she says, leaning forward with a look of determination. "You have to have these difficult conversations."

The light of the midday streams in through the window, casting striped shadows on her face. "So sometimes you have to be the one to make it happen, because everyone wants to sit back and wait for someone else to do it."

At the other end of campus, Rey Benschop's office is the setting for the story of his experience with Greek Life. Photos of his fraternity days rest alongside more recent images of Augustana's Greek family on the same walls. As Director of Student Activities in the Office of Student Life and Leadership, he keeps Greek Life in view by a mix of administrative responsibility and personal interest.

Rey works hand in hand with Kenia and the rest of the student leaders to implement changes like the BEST (Bias, Equity, Sexual misconduct, and Title IX) reporting forms during rush. While handling most of the heavyweight work in this position, Rey unfortunately doesn’t know all of what has been going on.

He is not aware of the discrimination people experience during the rush process but once he learned of it, he was “sorry to hear that there are students who felt some of our groups weren't as accepting as others.” However, he cares more about whether they find somewhere they belong. If these young people can find a place where they can escape to, find a family in, and enjoy their college years, he is happy.

"When I was initiated into my fraternity in 2007, this wasn't even a discussion that was taking place," Rey reflects, leaning back in his chair. His voice is weighted with someone who has seen a paradigm shift within a culture. "To come back here to Augustana close to 20 years later and discover that not only are you having the conversation, but multiple chapters have enacted inclusive practices and are doing fantastic work in the space – and have been for years – that's meaningful progress."

Outside his office hangs a pinboard of events and their posters. When I told him about my involvement in the poster for this year’s Night of Noise Drag Show, Rey ducked his head back in amazement. “I think it's important that I'm present in these spaces,” he says, talking about the show. “I want students to see that I'm interested in events like that and in being in those spaces, continuing to learn as an individual.” That Friday night, Augie students saw him standing in the back, watching queer joy radiate in Lindberg.

The Weight Of Progress

As we wrapped up the conversation, Ash held me back. "You have to be the change to see the change, you must hold your siblings accountable when they do the wrong things," he says bluntly, the words hanging in the air.

These students are aware that they are pioneers, writing new definitions of brotherhood, sisterhood, and siblinghood with every passing day in their organizations. They challenge tradition, create uncomfortable conversations, and ultimately enrich the Greek experience for everyone involved. But when will the weight of bringing change stop resting on their shoulders?

Fynn worries that some attempts at inclusion sound hollow – "opening doors for people just to be doing it because that's what everyone else is doing" – and not being genuinely grateful for diversity. Amy knows change will take time, but the people must be patient and trust it will come. As diversity chair, Kenia knows it will never stay the same – people need to grow with society and others, as well as the policies. 

But they are optimistic about where things are going. At last, they’re young, and the years ahead of them promise ample opportunities for change and acceptance.

For Em, as midnight approaches, sprawls in his fraternity house living room, where brothers study and play video games. The activity is ordinary, homey – just what he'd wanted when he decided to rush. Even though he continues to have bouts of alienation, the friends he's forged transcend the unease.

Em laughs at something one of his brothers said, and warmth fills the room. For this instant, he doesn't care, or he has already forgotten, about being a trans man in Greek Life – he's Em, a college student, and a brother to his brothers.

After all, as these tales illustrate, the heart of Greek Life is not about conformity of gender – it's about finding community, support, and a sense of belonging that everyone should have. And in the quiet moments between recruitment and chapter meetings, these students are redefining that belonging for future generations.

Disclaimer: Linh is a member of the Augustana College’s Delta Omega Nu fraternity. Some names have been changed due to anonymity requests.