Sometimes you come across a great piece of writing and you have to share it. This is one of those.
Why Hazing Is Good For You
It’s time for some serious clarification on a matter that so many people in mainstream society tend to only hear one (heavily biased) side of. I’m tired of the unopposed reports and constant circle-jerks going on about an issue that they know next to nothing about.
Greek life has not been the only thing heavily under fire over the last decade. Ever since our country has begun making the slow move toward becoming a vagina of social justice, ancient traditions of masculinity have begun to catch more and more heat. While it may be in the low T liberal dudes’ and feminist carbon copies’ best interest that these types of traditions be extinguished, as they pose a strong threat to their set of beliefs, it is up to us as men to maintain them.
Since the beginning of time, like-minded men have come together to form groups in which they can practice and discuss their interests. There has never been a culture in the world at any period in time in which such societies did not exist. While men may require food, shelter, and sex as part of their fundamental needs for life, male camaraderie is an often overlooked and very underrated aspect of male growth.
These traditions continue today, albeit much more low key since they function under the microscope of the ever vigilant media. They range from ultra prestigious groups, such as the Skull and Bones society, all the way down to rogue biker gangs. On campus, they take the form of fraternities, which consists of young men who come together to further their general life interests in college and beyond.
With any group of men, joining must be considered a process.
You can’t just let any old schlep don your letters as soon as he gets handed his bid card. Those who join must be put through a standard set of tasks, events, and discipline-instilling exercises to truly appreciate what it means to be a part of that organization. This is what is referred to in modern day terms as — you guessed it — hazing.
I really don’t care if it somehow makes me a psychopath in the eyes of society because there are large amounts of men today who agree with this precedent, but I’m going to say it. HAZING IS IMPORTANT.
Now, I’m not talking about the homoerotic stuff you hear rumors about or placing a pledge’s cock into critical danger like they did in Old School.
I’m also not talking about those kids who decided to go rogue and murder entire handles of vodka by themselves before passing out and eventually dying in a pool of their own vomit. Yes, that death at Northern Illinois was tragic, and my full condolences are with the deceased’s friends and family, but this was a tragic accident and it is in no way a regular part of any standard hazing process.
I’m talking about a dark, smoky room full of blindfolded pledges doing wall sits while reciting the fraternity’s creed in unison over and over again like Hari Krishna.
I’m talking about a basement full of actives ripping cigs and drinking beer while screaming about how those particular pledges are, indeed, the worst pledges ever. I’m talking about push-ups, sit-ups, minutes upon minutes of planks, and wall sits that never seem to end. I’m talking about showering a tightly huddled group of terrified pledges with beer when they are given the surprise announcement that hell week is over, and that they are all officially proud members of the house.
Hazing has existed since the dawn of man. Back in the early days when we were still cavemen doing tribal shit, young men were often sent out on their own to go kill a lion, or forced to be bitten by bugs, or to fight one another until incapacitation. They were rituals given to the young men as a rite of passage, and once they completed the task, they were heralded and celebrated, welcomed into the tribe as respected men and viewed as people one could rely on.
Nowadays in our society, there is no need for us young men to prove ourselves out on the plains by hunting animals because it’s not a vital part of our survival anymore. Thus, there is a severe lack of any type of male initiation in our current American culture, and I absolutely believe this is a contributing factor in turning the next generation of boys into a group of limp-wristed Instagram and Twitter addicted vaginas with testosterone levels lower than Liberace on an all soy diet.
As a man, you have a natural drive to achieve. Have you ever set a hard goal for yourself and after many months of hard work and perseverance achieved that goal? It’s the best damn feeling in the world. It’s a feeling no drug could compare to, and it’s a completely natural and healthy biological reaction. After you finish celebrating that achievement, you want to feel that feeling again. Thus, the cycle restarts. Appealing to your biological makeup is the ultimate way to achieve happiness in life.
This brings me back to hazing. Through talks with many friends in other fraternities and experiences with the various other houses on campus, I have noticed a distinct lack of passion and true, internalized spirit coming from the houses that refuse to haze their pledges. Why? Because they never had to earn it. They simply got their card, and before they knew it, they were in the thick of it all, having the full fraternity experience without having to have earned it. Sure, it may have seemed nice in the beginning, but eventually the truth starts to seep in that you never really earned your place, and thus it has no real value to you.
You will eventually begin to feel hopeless. You work your ass off all semester cleaning the beer-soaked floors after parties, fishing beer cans and used tampons out of the toilet, and working out like Muhammad Ali in the dark, dingy basement of the house. Sometimes you question why you are doing this, why you would possibly subject yourself to this kind of discipline and torment. You may even suffer a brief period of depression. Almost every pledge has this period of doubt sometime during his pledgeship.
But you know what happens? That last day of hell week comes. You’re standing huddled together in a group in complete darkness in the basement on orders of the actives, terrified of what awaits you next. Next thing you know, the lights come on. You see forty girls in tight, sexy dresses all around you and they start cheering. Then you hear the roar of the actives as they spray beer all over your shirtless, sleep-deprived body. Congratulations, son. You’ve made it.
It’s one of the best feelings in the whole world. At that moment, nothing else matters. You’re done. It’s finished. The whole semester spent disciplining yourself into becoming a tougher man is complete, and now it’s time to celebrate. As you jump around with your arms around your pledge brothers slopping beer all over the floors you slaved over all semester, you feel it: shining glory. The feeling that men live for. The feeling that is achieved when a goal has been successfully reached.
And that party will be among the best nights of your life. You will drink copious amounts of beer, be surrounded by more beautiful women than you can count, and do it all while surrounded by your new brothers.
Hazing is good for you, when it is done correctly (which it almost always is). It taught me discipline, it taught me strength, and it helped me check my vastly over-inflated freshman ego.