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What happened when I told my fraternity brothers I’m gay
By Jake Halbert
Nov. 26, 2018
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Photo by Chase Reavis / Illustration by Raleigh Anderson
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The stage was set, and the timing almost too perfect. I didn’t realize I was making my way toward the center of the dimly lit room until it was too late. My stomach began to shrink as 50 of my Lambda Chi Alpha pledge brothers examined every step I made toward the only vacant seat in the middle of a wide circle of chairs.
I could barely make out their faces in the candlelight. The exercise was simple, but the silence was deafening and complicated. If there was anything on our chests, we were supposed to put it out there in that moment. Any grudge, secret or shame was open for discussion. Brotherhood means complete honesty, after all.
My courage was melting away like ice under a heat lamp. This was it. If I prolonged the confession any further, I wouldn’t have the strength to tell my brothers the truth about my sexuality. Twenty long, slow seconds crept by as I fidgeted around in the chair. I took a deep breath and whispered a silent prayer. Then I said it:
“If you really knew me, you would know that I’m gay.”
UNWELCOME
I’m not quite sure why I felt so strongly about joining an organization that had a reputation of rejecting people like me. Maybe it was because I felt like I had something to prove, that I was different from the stereotypical gay guy and just wanted to be normal. Or perhaps if I could just get a bid, I could be more like my brother Tripp Halbert, who always made fitting in seem so effortless.
My father was a Phi Delta Theta, my mother a Zeta Tau Alpha, my sister Emily a Kappa Kappa Gamma and Tripp a Sigma Chi – all at the University of Arkansas. Everyone had a place to belong once they got to college, and I wanted one too. I had little idea of what to actually expect from rushing a fraternity. I’d heard things from people in my hometown – that it was fun, a good way to meet people and make friends, that it was a way of establishing oneself socially. But I was unaware of just how emotionally difficult it could be.
Helena, my hometown in southeast Arkansas, is in a region that the University of Arkansas’ Sigma Chi fraternity chapter, Omega Omega, typically recruits from, so that’s the fraternity I decided I should join my freshman year. I’d known most of the active members since high school. Tripp was an involved member and former recruitment officer. Everyone loved him, and because he was a senior when I was an incoming freshman, everyone there knew of me by association.
But as rush began to wind down, Tripp called me over to his girlfriend Lauren’s house late one night to double check that I was sure about going through with my decision to pledge Sigma Chi. He was more concerned about it than I was, which at the time frustrated me. I still listened to him as he told me with his arms crossed, leaning back into an old and creaky wicker porch chair, that there needed to be an official announcement of my sexuality in front of the entire chapter. He said that this was the only way for me to be accepted for who I was.
It was the first time my confidence waned. As much as I wanted to believe it didn’t matter, I knew he was right. I’d hoped that people could look beyond my sexuality, but Tripp knew everyone better than I did. If he was worried, maybe I was betting on the wrong horse. I agreed and suggested that he mention it at the next chapter meeting. He slowly and solemnly nodded. “Okay,” he said, as if he were bracing himself for the worst.
Tripp delivered the news to the chapter with a heartfelt speech just before I was set to sign my preference card. He then stepped out of the room so that others could speak freely. Some members joined my brother in support, but just as many opposed.
“In my four years, that was the most heated I had ever seen the chapter room,” said Jason Shelley, Tripp’s roommate and senior member at the time. “That night still comes up occasionally among our friend group and how we won’t ever be able to look at some people the same way.”
After much deliberation, a quick show of hands decided my fate – the fate my whole family had feared. A gay man had no place in Sigma Chi.
Tripp was quick to call my Rho Chi, the facilitator of my rush group, who pulled me away from a line of more than 300 rushees at the Arkansas Union to tell me that I would not be accepted, that I’d be wasting my time if I signed on with Sigma Chi. He said I should sign on with my second choice, Lambda Chi Alpha, and hope for the best. They didn’t know I was gay, and considering what had just happened, I intended to keep it that way.
Depressing thoughts coalesced inside me as the line slowly crept down to the last of the rushees. I couldn’t say a word as those around me were laughing and giving hypotheticals about their future memberships. I thought it was over.
None of my efforts mattered, and there would be no appeal, because I’m gay. That’s all anyone could see. I blinked away my tears, and before I knew it, the hum of the room gave way to silence. I was alone, and the proctors were urging me to make a decision. I numbly signed my bid card, “LAMBDA CHI ALPHA,” in all capital letters.
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Lambda Chi Alpha members gather on the balcony of the fraternity house Sept. 29, 2017, in celebration of their annual Watermelon Bust philanthropy event. Photo by Jake Halbert
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The next morning, I felt a mix of anger, sadness and fear. But despite this, somewhere deep down, there was hope. My Rho Chi handed me a small envelope. My bid card was inside, stamped with a congratulatory note. I was chosen to be an associate member of the Gamma Chi chapter of Lambda Chi Alpha.
COMING OUT
There’s no way of knowing how many people knew about my sexuality prior to the night I confessed, but to my knowledge, only two people in my pledge class were aware. That night there was no conversation. We were all tired from our initiation activities, and I assumed that made people less willing to express their thoughts about it. A few of the guys would approach me over time and say that they were happy for my decision to come out, but an overwhelming majority never mentioned anything about it.
Even before then, my peer mentor within Lambda Chi, Connor Flocks, said that some older members knew early in my pledgeship but didn’t know how to address the conversation because it was so foreign to them.
Two weeks after I’d received my bid, Michael Fogleman, the president of Sigma Chi at the time, contacted Luke Crenshaw, president of Lambda Chi, to check on how I was doing and explain what had occurred. At the time, only one of my pledge brothers knew I was gay. I asked Luke recently if prior knowledge of my sexuality would have impacted my chances of getting a bid. He said there’s no way to know for sure.
THE LADIES’ MAN
Not a single house cut me from their list of prospects during rush. I’d say that made me a very eligible candidate. I grew up acting as boyish and nonchalant as possible in order to diverge from the stereotype most people have about gay men. Nobody suspects me to be gay, and nobody asks. Straightness is always assumed. If I do mention something about it, I’m most often met with an awkward contortion of the face followed by a wide-eyed, “What? No way!”
Although deceiving people was not my goal, it was interesting to see how my potential to attract women was at the forefront of many fraternities’ concerns. “We have the finest bitches and the best parties!” was commonly boasted by some drunken keynote speaker at every fraternity house I visited. Members asked me if I had hit it off with any girls yet and knew what they were like. Sometimes it felt more like I was auditioning for a role on “The Bachelor” than applying for brotherhood.
Members gauge the success of a fraternity by their social standing. It’s measured by how many girls attend our parties and drink our cheap mixed drinks. We were explicitly told that male guests were not welcome because nobody wants to hook up with them. Members were expected to only bring women to the house, and in my case, people counted on it. Everyone thought I was some huge player and had discovered a secret technique for attracting women. Ironically, the women I brought knew I was gay. Parties are all about hooking up. I’ve been groped, kissed and even stripped on one occasion when a girl followed me into a bathroom and pulled my shorts down.
As macho as the fraternity system may seem from the outside, homosexuality is alluded to or referenced frequently. On many occasions guys joke about being gay and exaggerate stereotypes within conversations. It’s almost like people think reinforcing how straight they are makes them more masculine. If you look at Fayetteville’s Grindr feed, an app used by gay men to hook up, it will show there are many homosexuals within fraternities who mask themselves with anonymity.
“Fraternities are one of the biggest closets,” said Ben Flowers, a 2014 Sigma Alpha Epsilon alumnus. “When I joined, I thought it was my last shot at being straight.” He said that introverted homophobia, or the denial of one’s own homosexuality, was the most common reason gay men didn’t speak out in fraternities while he was a student, and I believe that’s still prominent.
According to University of Arkansas enrollment and Greek Life reports for spring 2018, approximately 24 percent of undergraduate men on campus are affiliated with a fraternity. As of 2017, about 8 percent of millenials identify as LGBT, according to a recent Gallup report. If applied to fraternities on campus, that would mean about 190 men in these communities identify as LGBT. Personally, I don’t think that number is very far off.
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Jake Halbert and Spencer George, openly gay members of Lambda Chi Alpha, pose for a picture at an event with Zeta Tau Alpha sorority at Starlight Skatium in February 2017. Photo courtesy of Jake Halbert
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UNDERGROUND COMMUNITY
Unfortunately, many gay men in fraternities have no desire to come out in college, and I don’t blame them. Those I’ve spoken with across multiple fraternities have similar responses as to why they don’t: “I’m worried for my safety,” or “My fraternity would abandon me.” Years of commitment and establishing relationships could evaporate into nothing. That’s terrifying. Every day they’re subjected to homophobic slurs and crude jokes that dehumanize them from the same people they call brothers. They deal with it because they still see virtue in these people – the same virtue I see in my own brothers.
I’ll finish my college career as a Lambda Chi. There were instances where I thought it would be appropriate for me to abandon the fraternity because I obviously did not belong. But after four years and much consideration, I felt that it was important not to give up. There is a lack of diversity within our fraternities, and to abandon Lambda Chi feels like abandoning those who are too afraid to speak up for themselves.
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Art by Raleigh Anderson
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My fraternity experience was not perfect. I was denied the right to bring a boyfriend to summer formal my sophomore year. When I chime in to correct people from using offensive words like faggot or queer, they usually laugh. However, there are moments when being a Lambda Chi makes sense to me. Many older members looked out for me, making sure I was doing well in school and encouraging me to pursue my passion of photography. I was often allowed to photograph parties, and anytime I ever needed anything, my pledge brothers never hesitate to help. I met hundreds of people, some of which are friends who made my college experience worthwhile.
I don’t think anything said was ever intended to be offensive. Many guys in fraternities just seem ignorant about diversity and don’t understand the gravity of what they imply with their words. The majority of them don’t worry about LGBTQ struggles. Most University of Arkansas fraternities are groups made up mostly of straight, white men who surround themselves with straight, white men.
My brothers who really know me know that I’m gay, but they also understand I am much more than that. I’m adventurous, spiritual and compassionate. I like traveling and meeting strangers. Like many others, I have fears and doubts, but I’m capable of overcoming them. We are all complex and beautiful in our own ways. Instead of emphasizing our differences, perhaps we should instead focus on the one thing that binds us all: our humanity.
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