There are conversations I’ve had throughout my career that feel familiar before they even begin.
A chapter president wants to talk about how this year’s new members will revolutionize the chapter. A leadership team is divided between factions. A member has violated a policy and the chapter needs to determine what accountability should look like. An advisor is frustrated with a decision, or the lack of one.
These are situations we expect to encounter regularly. But increasingly, I find myself sitting across from students carrying something bigger into those conversations.
They are worried about money. They are thinking about political polarization. They are questioning what their citizenship, identity, or place in their community means. Some are dealing with the consequences of policy decisions or political rhetoric. Others are simply exhausted by the feeling that the world is constantly asking them to take a position.
Higher education has never existed in a vacuum. We know students bring their lives with them when they walk into our classrooms, offices, chapter houses, and programs. But today, we seem to feel that reality more acutely. And our instinct is to help.
We see a student struggling and immediately start looking for the solution. But, especially in times of instability, we must remember “human first, member second”. Before a student is a member, an officer, or a participant in one of our programs, they are a person.
Maybe the first thing a student needs isn’t a solution, but someone willing to sit with them in uncertainty for a moment. Care is not separate from leadership. In fact, sometimes care is the clearest example of leadership we can show to students.
Give students somewhere to stand.
Uncertainty can make us feel powerless. Students cannot control national politics, the economy, disruptive storms, or what others post online. But they can check on a roommate. Show up for chapter dinner. Help a member whose housing was affected by a storm. Organize a service project. Sit down with someone who is having a difficult week. All of which embody the commitment they made to their chapter.
Fraternity and sorority life is built around routines and rituals—weekly meetings, shared meals, service, traditions, and simply showing up for one another—which are easily taken for granted because they are so ordinary.
And when the world feels chaotic, ordinary things become extraordinary sources of stability. We do not always need to give students something new to hold onto. Sometimes we need to remind them what they already have.
Teach students how to live with difference.
In a world that increasingly rewards certainty and division, teaching students how to remain in relationship with someone they disagree with may be one of the most valuable forms of education we can provide.
Our organizations bring together people who may not share the same beliefs, identities, experiences, or perspectives. That can be uncomfortable. But discomfort does not necessarily mean something is wrong. It may simply be a student’s first encounter with the kind of difference they will encounter throughout their lives.
We cannot make disagreement disappear, but we can help students disagree without dehumanizing one another. We can teach them that debate asks them to defend a position, while dialogue asks them to understand a person.
If students leave a difficult conversation having learned to listen a little better, ask a better question, or recognize that someone else’s experience is different from their own, then something important has happened—even if nobody changed their mind.
And perhaps most importantly, we can help students decide who they want to be, rather than simply which side they want to be on.
Policies provide necessary boundaries, but values help students navigate the spaces where no policy can tell them exactly what to do. And even in disagreement, different sides may find shared values. What does respect look like? What does accountability require? How do we treat one another with dignity? What does it mean to care for our community?
These questions prepare students for lives beyond our campuses, where they will encounter people who disagree with them and situations without clear answers.
The lesson we want them to learn is: Leadership is not the absence of uncertainty. It is deciding how you will behave in the presence of it.
And then there is us.
We are not immune to the uncertainty we are asking students to navigate. We have limits, too. We are not immigration attorneys, financial aid officers, mental health clinicians, or experts on every social issue affecting our students.
But we can be a bridge.
We can normalize asking for help. We can know which campus offices exist. We can help a chapter leader make a referral that doesn’t communicate, “I’m passing your problem off,” but instead, “You don’t have to figure this out alone.”
We cannot prevent policy changes, difficult conversations, or painful experiences.
But every time we help the student sitting across from us feel a little less alone, help a chapter find its footing after a difficult conversation, or remind a group of students that they still have one another, we are living up to our role.
When we create a place where someone can walk through the door and feel known, we are living our values and upholding the commitment we made.
When the world feels unsteady, belonging becomes more than a nice feature of the college experience. It becomes an anchor.
Fraternity and sorority life is that anchor: A place where they are known, where they can be supported across differences, where they can practice living with people who do not always see the world as they do, and where they can be reminded that community still matters.
And when everything else feels unsteady, that is enough.
About the Author
Jacob Tidwell is the senior director of fraternity services at Beta Theta Pi Fraternity.