Look around you. Droves of students congregate at parts of the University of the Philippines campus, brandishing flags and placards to call for the end of frat violence. Numerous media outlets report the blow-by-blow of your situation, dragging what must have once been an honorable name through the broken glass court of public outrage. Beset by scandal and disgrace, powerful officials associated with your pig-headed ilk scramble to piece together their official statements. For some reason, these supposedly well-educated men are always baffled that their fraternity, violent and feudal by design, could be capable of spouting such bigoted rhetoric in the isolated chambers of their all-boy chat groups.
And I imagine somewhere, no doubt, is one basement-dwelling neckbeard goblin brod among your ranks, or a whole group chat of them, masturbating to a drive of nudes, illicitly acquired through tactics of either coercion or force.
How does it feel, Upsilon, to be shoved into the light like this?
Poor thing. So sad. Cry a thousand rivers.
In your official statement, you say that these circulating screengrabs haven’t been confirmed to be yours, or even real. You also note that these accusations of bigotry have coincided with your centennial exhibit, guessing like fools that some concerted effort has been made to besmirch the frat’s reputation.
But at this point it doesn’t really matter, does it? Threats of murder and abduction, which you’ve directed at your critics and their loved ones, travel and circulate at terrifying speeds, and deal more irreparable damage to your standing. These scare tactics align with other anecdotes of cowardice masquerading as goon squad stunting, of frat members ganging up many-against-one on whatever non-Upsilonian happens to get on your bad side. You think to yourself, you’ll do whatever you want, you’ll go where you please, “including the insides of women and such.”
How impressive. How worthy of respect. Real men, you all must be.
Do you think this makes you look strong? Do you think this makes you look cool? Do you think the respect you earn through shows of force is real respect?
You end your statement saying that your frat has made active efforts to fight for the rights of the very groups you’ve disparaged. But where is the evidence of these efforts? What good could your frat have possibly done to outweigh the threats you’ve made on students and the violences you’ve committed against so many women? And really, what good can you do that actual credited organizations and activist circles can’t do better? No one needs to be educated on whatever bloated history of accomplishments your centennial exhibit has to offer. The paper protest signs stuck on the entrance (though taken down by security guards on the flimsiest of grounds) speak for themselves, and speak louder than anything you can possibly say.
If you were truly the exemplars of altruism and charity you claim to be, you wouldn’t be sowing an atmosphere of fear and terror in the very university that has systemically pardoned your shows of force.
And speaking of shows of force, who the fuck do you think you are? The mafia? The Freemasons? Some league of dignified gentlemen? Not a single one of you is cool enough to be compared to such archetypes. Upsilon Sigma Phi is more a boys club full of delusional minions who assume their misguided notions of brotherhood afford them any sense of real nobility. Your tradition means nothing. Your pedigree means nothing. Your network is set to collapse under the weight of everything you’ve ever done.
Yesterday, I was feverishly angry — the mere thought of your existence held sleep and clear thinking as hostages from me. Now? Now I’m better. Almost manic in my optimism. A powerful group whose standing has remained uncontested by academia and government alike is now dealing with a leak so fucking bad the ensuing fallout would make Julian Assange shudder. This is the worst PR disaster your stupid-random-Latin-words motley crew of hooligan pissants has ever had the displeasure of troubleshooting, and we have the privilege of being alive to see it happen, to witness the lot of you run around stupefied, trying to snatch at whatever shreds of honor are left to your frat’s name, like a house cat pawing at the light of a laser pointer.
Attempts by various Upsilonians to denounce their fraternity (some via LOA, which I’m not sure is even a thing you can do with frats) have been weak and spineless, but the occurrences are promising. More inspiring are the legion who, despite the risk of harassment and death threats, say that they aren’t afraid of you. And though the court of law has always tended to let the lot of you off the hook for the most heinous of violences, something tells me that this time around, your attempts to get away won’t come as easy.
All the best,
Wouldn’t you like to know. You won’t. I’m not going to let you come after me or my family.
But we’re coming after you. And there is no force on heaven, hell or earth strong enough to impede the droves of people who’d love to see you ended. What you reap is what you sow.