Last week I was mandated to attend a seminar for the National Panhellenic Conference, as I hold a leadership position in my sorority. The National Panhellenic Conference members told us that this meeting would take place precisely from 7:30-8:30 in an on-campus lecture hall. Great, I thought to myself: an opportunity to speak about the current state of Greek life, a time to unveil and discuss the traumatic uptick in Greek related tragedies.

During this meeting, each of the eight representatives from the National Conference stood up and told her fairytale legend about finding her true sisters, her passion for the chapter, and the wonderful journey she had taken to become a National Panhellenic Chairman. In other words, I was forced to listen to the identical, impassive, ignorant story eight times through, for a full 65 minutes. It was 8:35 by the time they decided to stop talking solely for the purpose of listening to their own vain voices.

The nerves in my legs were fantasizing about standing up once again. My glutes were growing impatient, and my concentration was waning. It was more than evident that each sorority member in the audience was aching to exit the room immediately. Yet, I refused to waste sixty-five beloved minutes in a lecture hall, only to hear a superficial fable of sisterhood. I refused not only because college students simply lack minutes to waste, but I refused because there was an ostensible disconnect from these eight women’s speaking topics and the devastating reality of current events within Greek life that we all so wanted to discuss that evening. The impulse to speak, or rather shout, effervesced within me.

“While it was so nice to hear your interesting stories,” I mockingly remarked, “you must be aware that there are a lot of repugnant things occurring in Greek life presently… can you address for us how the National Panhellenic Conference is working towards making progressive changes?”

As one of my mentors advised me, f**k staying quiet.

The eight polished, poised, pretty women, the elected leaders, stood there dumbstruck, each pair of eyes darting one set toward the other, incapable of articulating a response. Eventually, one woman spoke, and two of the others attempted to buttress her response. Their collaborative answer to my pointed query was illogical and opaque. One woman concluded the dialogue by stating, “while there are ‘mishaps’, we like to focus on the positives that Greek life generates.”

My vision cleared. It all made sense. Their presentation became tragically elucidating. The women at the helm of Greek Life, the women with the maximum amount of autonomy and control over the future of the Greek community, are simply as fake as the diamond sorority broaches mounted on their lavish dresses. These women appear to appreciate idyllic ignorance about the crisis that has engulfed Greek life on many campuses. I proceeded to ask another question, one that I am quite passionate about.

I asked them about the epidemic of campus sexual assault. About the way in which the National Panhellenic Conference proactively works with the fraternities to wrestle the rape culture. About how they are trying to help us, independent young women, simply feel safe. I assumed these eight women, robust with potential influence, would be striving to benefit us.

One of them, with platinum hair, visibly lifeless after being curled and colored so many times, informed me that the National Panhellenic Conference tries to remain a separate entity from the fraternities, as if fraternities and sororities do not interact on a daily basis. I was then informed that, “it is the women that need to take responsibility and empower themselves,” as if rape is not so embedded in the hegemonic culture of male dominance and patriarchy, as if these women believed in the twisted notion that rape is not the fault of the rapist, but the victim. Oh wait. These eight women, these eight leaders, did, indeed, support this twisted notion out loud, in front of a group of fifty already empowered women, all leaders of their organizations.

During this short, yet revealing dialogue, the presenters coined the term “risky behaviors.” However, the issues they were alluding to were not simply, “risky” ones. These issues were the lethal ones. These issues were the instances of young human beings being trampled on the floor after being hazed. The violent cases of sexual assault and rape. They preferred “risky behaviors.” That phrase must have a better ring to it in their oblivious minds.

Risky behaviors? How about actions that exploit a lifetime? Ones that haunt young men and women eternally. Actions that kill. Actions that dehumanize and debase life itself.

Rather than addressing the fatal issues mentioned above, this assembly was a manifestation of pure denial: an utter dismissal of actuality. Sixty-five minutes of sisterhood, of cheerfulness, of idealistic bullshit. Sixty-five minutes of avoiding the grim yet urgent “risky behaviors” that are leaving young men and women abused, vulnerable, or dead.

I understand that these eight women do not actively create these issues. I should not place full blame on their forbidding conscious. However, by dismissing these issues with the veil of ignorance these eight powerful women are nourishing the hungry mouth of trauma. These eight, powerful women mirrored the current status of the Greek community, the community that means so much to so many people, nationally.

In this destabilized and disturbed society that we currently exist in, it is imperative that we acknowledge and tackle the “risky behaviors,” or should I say, petrifying and poisonous realities that members of our community are too often forced to grapple with.