What makes the Greek system so fundamentally homophobic? Does the system, at its core, base its existence, its very survival, on the separation of genders, not only in housing, but in soul? Does it depend on two gender camps forever lined up on opposite walls, thinking only of choosing one from the opposing line, and maintaining some mystery or mastery over the other? Good fences make good neighbors? Do I have your attention?

I was a sorority "girl," and I am a lesbian, and, out of that dissonant experience, on which I have reflected now for more than 40 years, I decided to accept the challenge given to me by the editors of this book and write this foreword. The stories in this book differ in detail, but the heightened combination of expectation, pain, and joy are familiar to me; and since I plan, by the end of this opening, to offer some conclusions about the importance of this volume and the meaning of all this, I think the reader has a right to know my own story.

It was 1957, and I was about to enter my freshman (that’s what they still called it then) year at the University of California Los Angeles (UCLA), the first in my family to attend college. I had not belonged to any social clubs in my public high school in Los Angeles, nor did I think I wanted to. But I was 16, a bit younger than most entering college, and I thought belonging to a sorority would help construct an instant body of friends and render the big campus a bit friendlier. I went through rush, pledged Phi Mu, a house filled with the funny, the witty, the plain, the musical and everything but the gorgeous and most popular. Perfect. Of course, since I did not, yet, understand that I was a lesbian, nor in those days did you hear the word in public conversation, I had no way of knowing that backdoor rumors were circulating through the house (mainly untrue) that there were lesbians in the membership.

I loved it: the camaraderie, the sisterhood, the songs, the pledge ditch, the sports, the friendship, the support; it was a place to retreat, a base for my run for freshman vice president. And I had a boyfriend. In my sophomore year I was elected pledge trainer, then to student council. In the summer between my sophomore and junior years, however, it all fell apart. I fell in love with a woman, a student from another college. I met her at Unicamp, UCLA’s camp for "underprivileged" kids, and I fell hard. This was like nothing I had ever known or felt, and it was definitely, for the first time, the real thing.

The summer ended, but we were still very much in love. We went back to our respective cities and wrote each other every single day. I missed her so much, but I could not talk to anyone about it -- not my friends, not my folks, and certainly not my sorority sisters. For the first time, I felt truly outside, scared, and alienated. My sorority sisters were all falling in love and talking their heads off about it. I was silent, dammed up. I carefully saved her letters, stacking them in the bottom of the bottom drawer of my dresser in the sorority house; and when I left the house for the next summer vacation, unbeknownst to me, a few were left behind, having fallen out of the back of the drawer.

The woman who was to be sorority president the next year found the letters and read them. When I returned to the house in the fall, the entire alumnae council was waiting for me in the den. I shall never, never forget it. I walked in the front door, filled with joy to be back, and everyone was solemn and staring. I was ushered to the den with my suitcase in hand, and, there on the table were my letters, spread out. They asked for my pin, and that was it -- no chance to say good-bye to anyone, just out the door. Even now, my eyes fill up to think of it.

In an instant, my world was shattered, I was vulnerable, and I could not even appear to be in turmoil. My friends outside the house thought I was still a member. Every Monday night, when the house had its meetings, I left my parents’ apartment, having moved back in (I no longer wanted to live in the sorority house, I said), and sat for two and a half hours at Ship’s, a coffee shop in Westwood, so I could go home and pretend I had been at the meetings, as always. I "forgot" to tell my dad about father-daughter day, and on and on. It was devastating.

In the ‘60s the sorority failed and closed, like so many others. My star was rising and, with only a tiny bit of hubris, I thought it was poetic justice. Imagine my surprise, then, when I received a formal invitation late in the next decade to be a sponsor of the reopening of the house. Ha! No one could remember that I had been kicked out. I was successful, a public official, an attorney, a perfect alumna. I was tempted, and I had even come out by then, but I declined.

Instead I became a key alumna advisor to the new lesbian sorority at UCLA. A friend who had known of my turmoil as a student was currently the Panhellenic advisor and called me one day. "You are an alum without a sorority," she said, "and I’ve got a sorority without any alums." It was fun, and very gratifying.

Still, time heals all wounds, and I am back in touch with all my sisters, though my life in the California State Assembly has kept me from joining them for the reunions, so far. And, as well, time wounds all heels, as the woman who read my letters and initiated my pain is not part of that reunion group, nor are any of the alumnae who kicked me out.

So, what’s the point?

This volume is important, because it teaches, in the most intimate way, the complex lessons of the embrace and rejection of sisters. Lesbians do not want to be "accepted." We want to be, and to have, sisters. As with all love, the greatest enemy of that goal is fear. Homophobia is so powerful that it creates fear in all but the most mature and secure sisters that they, too, will be thought to be lesbian, and that such a suspicion will cause disapprobation to descend on the house. Many of my straight sisters wanted to be brave. They simply did not know how to talk about it to one another or to me. And they certainly did not know how to stand up to the alumnae.

If sororities are going to thrive and not simply survive, however, they will have to reinvent themselves; and the task must be accomplished by those who are currently members. I saw it happen to the Junior League here in California. They went from evincing an almost constitutional fear of the discussion of anything relevant, to becoming a vibrant, involved, committed organization, working to combat domestic violence, child abuse, and other critical social issues. The structure is the same, but the fear is gone.

The same must become uniformly true of sororities’ treatment of their lesbian sisters. Members who are out are a real credit to their houses--active, involved leaders, campus organizers, women of conscience. They have been fired in a crucible of hate, distrust, and fear, and have come out the other side. Straight sisters who have stood up to the homophobia are, themselves, rendered proud and strong. When this aspect of diversity is seen as a strengthening and not a weakening element, all sororities will benefit.

I saw this happen to major law firms in the late ‘70s and early ‘80s. Early on, they refused to recruit and hire women, convinced their reputation would suffer. Instead these firms learned that, having allowed their competitors to hire the best and the brightest, they were being left behind.

The same is true of a sorority. The vibrancy of the membership is the basis of the reputation of the house. Let us hope sororities learn that valuable lesson before they sacrifice another thousand lives to hatred.

Sheila James Kuehl is now in her third legislative term in the California State Assembly and chairs the Assembly Judiciary Committee. During the 1997-98 legislative session, she was the first woman in California history to be named Speaker pro Tempore of that body. She also is the first openly gay or lesbian person to be elected to the California legislature. Ms. Kuehl graduated from Harvard Law School in 1978 where she was the second woman in the school's history to win the Moot Court competition. She is now a member of the Harvard University Board of Overseers.