The following story allegedly took place on a public historically
Black college campus in Maryland last year. Because the tradition of
pledging has been officially replaced by the National Pan-Hellenic
Council with a “Membership Intake Process,” all forms of hazing have
prohibited. The author signed a document promising not to be involved
in any pledging activities. To avoid sanctions, he asked that his name
not be given. The author is currently working on a master’s degree.
Although the name Gamma Delta is used, it is not the real of the
fraternity chapter involved.
I swing my paddle a few times, testing the air in this cramped
basement. To the boy bent over in front of me, this place is a dungeon.
I check his position, buttocks out, eyes forward, fist straight,
trembling. Perfect. I ready my swing — up the paddle goes, hovers in
the air, gathering power as it slices down, striking his butt. The air
cracks. A shock passes up my arm and I know I gave a good stroke.
The pledge winces as the pain spreads, needles of pain, nerves
shrieking, raised and trembling, on fire. I send him back to his place
in line, where he stands at attention with his eight brother pledges or
line brothers.
Occasionally a fraternity brother of my chapter calls a boy out,
usually the one who occupies the same place in line he had when he
pledged. I was fifth from the front: Five was my number, so I must
guide the new number Five now. I call him out again, tell him to recite
the information: the history of the fraternity, the founders’ names,
how they lived and died and when, the philosophy of the fraternity —
all the knowledge that I gave him, he must give back to me, quickly,
without a mistake. He does a good job so I toss him back into line.
I walk over to The Dean of Pledges as, frowning, he appraises them. “Do they look neat to you?” he asks.
“Tight enough,” I say. “But what do I know?”
“What do you know?” we ask the pledges.
