The Power of Fraternite
The Power of Fraternite
by Ryan Georgioff
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In the time it will take me to write this piece, it is likely that hundreds, if not thousands of women will be sexually assaulted.
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As an afterthought to my previous piece, “Viva” (which, if you have not read it yet, you should peruse before proceeding any further), I stumbled upon another insightful point regarding the human search for power and its derivatives.
Within the footnotes of “Viva” I noted both the definition and implications of the word “ally.” To save us both time, the essential logic I presented was that if our allies were friends, we would call them friends; considering that human language represents a kind of verbal contract between its users, we necessarily must all agree that “ally” does not equal “friend,” just as “tree” does not equate with “bush,” though some of their fundamental components are related.
Similarly I came to consider the word “fraternity,” and if it would not be too much trouble I encourage you to find its definition now. Its origins are masculine, and this is seen within the modern Greek system at colleges and universities, though the female counterpart of a fraternal twin might feel a bit excluded by these linguistic parameters. Regardless, my interest in this word stems from that same interest in alliance (and concomitantly: gang, band, party, and nation).
Now, each of these words reserves distinctions for itself which the others cannot attain — again, this is self-evident. Likewise, each word — fraternity included — invokes images both various and precise (at least in my schizophrenic mind), hence the need for more than one definition for most words, in most cases. Nation tugs the words “America” and “Islam” into my mind; no, not modern Islam, and that association has nothing to do with terrorists nor religion explicitly. Instead, I think of young Malcolm X — impressionable as I was, and misguided by the misconstruance of just thought with wrong polity. With a pang of guilt (something I cannot shrug off just yet), I recall the words of Alexie, and Urrea, legends on a map torn, burned, and discarded by conquistadores and colonialists alike [1]. And, perhaps most ironically I think of our own “United Nations,” eviscerated and cuffed by the petty squabbles of simple, greedy men. Thus fraternity — alliance, if you prefer — often acts as both enabler and unifyer for both the advantaged and the ambitious.
Again, my point must be received with all its nuance: if I meant to say that the benefits of friendship are the problem, I would have done so. In fact, nothing could be further from the center. Fraternity is only the bastard child (or Cain-like brother, if you will) of friendship, still predicated upon mutual gratification, as opposed to its own beautiful, unifying existence. You may wonder why I wrote “Viva” to the long-dead poet and essayist (among other things), Ralph Waldo Emerson. Rather than reply directly to this question, I would prefer to direct your attention to his published essay, “Friendship.” In it, I believe you will find your answer.
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The relationship between fraternity and power is not difficult to perceive. The three primary tangibles of power are politics, militarism, and religion (at least for the purposes of my own reflections), and within each of these we see demonstrated this bastardization of true friendship. Let us tackle them individually (though, as you will soon see, we probably don’t have to).
Politics, with all its grandeur, is essentially little more than many terrified people turning to each other for solace, and finding it in one or more especially charismatic or seemingly self-adjusted individuals. To support this, I call you to patience while I elaborate on two real-world examples of this concept; the first of which is Capitol Hill.
When I look upon the wizened faces and graying beards of our elected officials, I generally see the gently aged faces of frat boys unmistakably etched upon them; not to be looked upon with undue reverence or regarded with special etiquette, these faces look remarkably similar to mine, my father’s, my mother’s, my grandparents’ and, even more remarkably you might say, yours. These figures offer no better salvation than Jesus, or Mohammad, yet in some strange act of god our politicians are deified and irreversibly mounted on our social pedestals. Consider, for a moment, how it would feel to have the whole world constantly observing and commenting on your littlest actions, and then imagine what it would feel like to be called a failure, or a crook, or to deserve either of those titles. Note that your imagination — shockingly — needs little prompting.
I do not envy the politician, though I do wish I could wield his influence, if only to test my own virtue. He and she are equally human, similarly fallible, and unquestionably biased toward their own desires and needs. Why impose any dual standard, when we would (and do) protest violently if subjugated likewise? Of course, this question does not preclude the necessities of individual responsibility, and I would implore the simple-minded leaders of the world to remember their own.
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Our military is an easy target for this critique of establishment, with its gung-ho outlook and testosterone-bolstered social standards. Like fuel to the fire, our training methods are designed to inhibit the more sensitive and compassionate sensibilities of our intrepid youth, substituting these humanizing faculties with heightened aggression and physical strength — all under the pretense of fraternity. Women find it difficult to mesh within this masculinist world, opting either to adopt more masculine features for themselves, or to sustain abuse and ridicule. In a twisted vein of logic, women are now being allowed into combat zones in Iraq and Afghanistan without being provided the proper training that their male counterparts receive; proponents of the current combat policies prohibiting women from receiving this training seek to convince us — as with medieval chivalry or present-day gender norming — that the delicate nature of the female flower must be protected from violence, in order that it might bloom into a chaste model of woman. Simultaneously, female noncombatants are torn to shreds by roadside bombs, are raped by their own comrades, and here in the states violence against women plagues even our most devoutly patriotic towns and cities.
There must be some kind of fraternity felt in the abuse of women, though even that very thought makes one sick to the stomach. Rape, a particularly intimate iteration and combination of coercion, violence, and power, has been experienced by at least a hypothetical quarter of the women I have met in college, if statistics are to be believed. How can this be? The sheer monstrosity of it overwhelms my ability to type.
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Moving seamlessly on: religion, my sweet vindictive bride; in this conversation I will endeavor to a much more personal level, if you will allow. Though I may observe and speculate upon the bonds of our political and militaristic foes, the religious fraternity I once called my own. The details of my personal history are beside the point, and could serve only as a distraction to this thrilling dialogue (which you have been quite patient with, to your credit). Suffice it to say, after exploring all the annals and experiences which the Christian religion has to offer, I deem it uninspired. However, the base sense of alliance that my church attendence formed around me was an entirely authentic entity in an of itself. Worthy of our attentions, then, the religious fraternity — hardly any more genuine in its relationships than its other socio-political counterparts — strikes a chord deep within my hyperbolic soul.
Allow me to remind you of the example presented earlier: of timid homo sapiens searching for a unified cause, identity, or principle; or, even more base, for comfort. Now contrast this image with another one, the neglected aforementioned example of another Capitol Hill, this one not in Washington D.C., but rather Seattle, Washington. Upon this hill resides not the powerful elite of our nation’s political systems, but a different kind of power. Whereas the former appeals to our righteous indignation and selfishness, my latter companions appeal to reason, love, and other equally simple — and beautiful — words. Many of these residents are gay, though the outlying straight-folk that co-inhabit this ecosystem contribute as much to this occidental syncretism as anyone else [2]. To idolize the virtues of a place, thing, or person is to be mistaken, and in this sense Capitol Hill’s residents are no different than you or I. They have, however, found in their own faculties rare compassion, empathy, and understanding, though they would likely avoid naming these qualities within themselves, if they even knew how — perfecting their prescience with humility.
Which model, to you, is ideal? That domain of underhanded dealings, violent repression, and misrepresentation; or the dominion of the gentle, the compassionate, and the wise? The archetype of the former is our collective vision of El Dorado, a city of splendor and gold, the birth-rite of men brave and worthy enough to attain it. The latter cannot be limited to the vocabulary of our species, its perfect beauty sustained only in its universal appeal to humanity. Why we strive for anything less is a most troubling question; the answer likewise being found in our own natures.
Footnotes
[1] Thanks Doug.
[2] Syncretism has historically been the province of our eastern philosophical peers. Thus, Occidental.
