Through the Bonds of Alpha

Written By Zeta Sigma Lambda Chapter

By: Bro. Dexter Egleston, Associate Editor to the Sphinx

Being one of the few Black individuals in a classroom, boardroom, or community gathering might make you feel as though you are shouldering more than just your personal objectives. You are also carrying the hidden task of showing you belong in a system not constructed with you in mind, the pressure to succeed, and the weight of history. Although it can be tiring, carrying that burden fosters a significant type of resilience. For many Black men, being a member of Alpha Phi Alpha means more than just joining a fraternity; it's also about belonging. It's like being part of a root system that links you to something deeper: your culture, your past, and a tradition of resistance and optimism. Philosophers like Sylvia Wynter clarify why this link is significant. She questions the Western concept of what it means to be "human," a definition that has frequently excluded Black people. According to Wynter, being human is a praxis, a way of living and doing that springs from our actual experiences, particularly those affected by racism and colonialism, not only a status or a label (Wynter, 2015). Scholar Zakiyyah Iman Jackson concurs and emphasizes that even being labeled "human" does not necessarily shield Black people. Indeed, the label "the human" has frequently excluded or controlled us (Jackson, 2020). The choice by Alpha Phi Alpha to cancel its national conference in Florida, notwithstanding millions of dollars in income lost, was therefore more than political. It was a daring declaration: we would not back sites under assault on Black life and dignity (Essence, 2023). This choice shows Wynter's conviction that we can reframe our definition of humanity by deciding to act with intention and concern for our people rather than simply following the dictates of power. Naturally, Alpha is not flawless. Journalist Ernest Owens has highlighted that providing support, relationships, and leadership enables Black males to thrive in difficult settings (Owens, 2013). Wynter's work is really about this tension: between following the old rules and building something better. Wynter and Jackson fight back even as some theorists, like Calvin Warren, claim Black people are "non-beings" in a society that rejects our worth (Warren, 2021). They demonstrate how Black music, customs, and community caring generate fresh ways of being that don't depend on white ideas of success or humanity. These cultural activities provide what the world usually lacks: affirmation, safety, and belonging (Jackson, 2020; Wynter, 2015). That's also what Alpha provides. It anchors us in history, guides us via mentorship, and enlivens our aspirations. This essay will look at Alpha as a living tree: with roots anchored in African legacy and ancient battle, a trunk constructed on intergenerational strength, air we share for emotional survival, and a canopy that spans the community providing shade, support, and service. This idea of brotherhood is a radical dedication to love, leadership, and Black greatness, not only legacy.

Roots— Cultural Grounding, Lived Transformation, and the Legacy We Tend

The roots of Alpha Phi Alpha reach beyond the ancestral knowledge of a people driven not only to survive but to rise, beyond the ivy-covered corridors of Cornell University. These roots are structural, not metaphorical. Formed from resistance, shaped by change, and fed by every Alpha guy who converted vision into values and values into action, they are The founding brothers realized that Black existence in America was one of exclusion; from that crucible they created not just a fraternity but a force, what Jewel Henry Callis termed "social purpose and social action" (Brown et al., 2005, p. 183). But roots are not just theoretical; they thrive in sacrifice and the hard work of those who came before. Alpha's senior brothers are the soil itself, not just elder statesmen. Their choices formed the framework. Their honesty established the benchmark. Their mentoring created a link between mission and movement. Brother Moore's thoughts provide living proof of this idea. Arriving at Zeta Sigma Lambda in 1969, he discovered a chapter adrift, anchored in social performance but cut off from its fraternal purpose. Instead of condemning, he grew. Grounded on the values he acquired at Fisk University and via his Alpha brotherhood ancestry, he spearheaded a change. He reclaimed the sacred purpose of the chapter by changing its physical and philosophical surroundings: not entertainment but empowerment; not ceremonial but service (Moore, personal communication, 2025). This change rerouted a chapter toward its intended goal rather than just reforming it. Moore's emphasis on deliberate meetings, ethical behavior, and legacy-building served to educate brothers that fraternity is about cultivation, not consumption. He was reflecting the exact spirit of Alpha's formation as he pushed ZSL away from performative brotherhood and toward moral action: the necessity to create institutions where none were provided and to guide communities when society rejected to follow (Brown et al., 2005, pp. 11, 89). Our origins are firmly embedded not only in African soil or diasporic memory but also in the lived experiences of individuals who stressed the necessity for Black brotherhood to be both intellectual and incarnational. From Thurgood Marshall's legal legacy to local heroes like Dr. Jack Kimbrough, whose work grounded Alpha's influence in San Diego, from Du Bois' double awareness to King's moral bravery, we are reminded that these individuals were not outliers. They were seeds, carefully sown, whose harvest we now carry. Being an Alpha Man is to care for more than just your achievement. It is to build a legacy. To stay anchored in both battle and victory. And to see the holy duty of raising others as we ascend.

The Trunk— Intergenerational Strength and Structure

If the roots of Alpha Phi Alpha remember, the trunk holds movement, thick with knowledge, textured by time, and strong enough to carry the weight of generations. The trunk is where tradition becomes transmission: where experienced brothers offer a lifeline, not a lecture or instruction. The trunk, which is the core column of our common existence, is built not of bark but of shared obligation, moral responsibility, and unwritten standards of care. The trunk provides brotherhood engagements such as the one the chapter had at Churchill's in San Marcos, which are not casual places; they are crucibles of transformation. They maintain the holy tension between fellowship and formation. Cigar smoke, warmth, and lively conversation suggest that legacies are actively practiced, not only recalled. They are glad. In those rooms, tales are maps, laughing is therapy, and inquiries are invitations to develop. Brother Moore said, "With their support... they have always pointed me in the correct path... I do need some direction at the moment, and I turn to the brothers for assistance." His remarks underscore the purpose of the trunk, which is to keep knowledge alive and accessible, not to store it, and to rely on it during challenging times. The mentorship he talks about is systemic, not accidental. It is the structure of Alpha's endurance. Senior brothers do not hoard knowledge; they share it. They walk alongside future leaders rather than telling them where to go. Alpha teaches guys to lead families, create communities, and survive institutions meant to undermine their value by means of this silent generosity. In this legacy, Du Bois' "double consciousness" turns into our bark—a signal as well as a defense. It protects us as we navigate harsh environments and reminds us of the twofold effort we bear: to be Black and to be outstanding in a country that sometimes rejects both. In Alpha, this duality is a gift. It is strengthened. Our trunk breathes; it does not harden with age. When brothers lean into it, it bends. When they are shaken, it steadies them. Standing in Alpha means standing with others. To stand alongside others is to recognize that our height results not from personal ascension but from the centuries of those who have raised us. We grow not just because of our identity but also because of who we are rooted in and what we are ready to carry on.

The Air— Brotherhood as Breath and Survival

Breathing freely in a world designed to smother you is more than survival; it is defiance. For Black males in America, the simple task of living with dignity in classrooms, courtrooms, boardrooms, or barbershops can seem like a fight for oxygen. Brotherhood is the breath we exhale together in a world that sometimes presents Blackness as a threat, problem, or excess; a sustaining force that says, "You are not alone." Inside Alpha Phi Alpha, that breath is survival made sacred, not only symbolic. It is sociogenic opposition. Scholar Sylvia Wynter (2022) reminds us that Western notions of "the human" are restrictive and exclusionary, centered around whiteness, rationality, and economic value. Social and political debates often place Black people outside this frame and label them as "less than human" (Wynter, 2022; Cambridge, 2024). Black people, however, have changed what it means to be completely human by means of the community activities of organizing, mentoring, creating, and loving one another openly and publicly. Wynter refers to these activities as "sociogenic praxis," actions that oppose dehumanization by creating purpose, memory, and community by shared battle (Freedom Center, 2023). In Alpha, this practice is in ritual, service, and especially in daily support. In this setting, brotherhood is not only emotional comfort. It is political therapy. In a society that frequently wants to delete, marginalize, or alienate Black males, it is a counter-system of affirmation. Brother Moore reflected on his journey of building a dental profession and starting a family in a new city, saying, "It's simply a lot going on at the same time. Their assistance helped me to get through it.” His evidence shows the capacity of brotherhood to act as emotional oxygen. Where society can provide silence or apathy, Alpha delivers breath, direction, friendship, and the power of shared memories.

From the fraternity's formation, our Jewels recognized that their absence from white organizations was not only a social insult but also an existential danger (Brown et al., 2005, pp. 159–161). They created a system whereby breath could flow freely among brothers, where joy, sorrow, strategy, and survival could be exchanged without justification in reaction. Alpha Phi Alpha, as Jewel Henry Callis once said, was "born in the shadows of slavery, on the lap of disfranchisement," a brotherhood created not only for the elite but also for "those millions outside of the 'talented tenth'" (Brown et al., 2005, p. 183). From this perspective, fraternity is not a luxury but rather a need, a refuge for breath. From Jamaica's Jonkonnu celebrations, where enslaved Africans under colonial control claimed joy, identity, and community, to cultural expressions all across the world, we can see how collective breath has always been a kind of resistance (Black Metamorphosis, 2023). Alpha keeps up that custom. Our common exhale is a statement, whether in a quiet talk or a national protest: we are still here. We are still growing. Brotherhood is, then, not just support but also structure, spirit, and one fight. It is the air passed from elder to initiate, from voice to voice, guaranteeing that no Alpha Man has to breathe his difficulties alone. To breathe together is to live totally, freely, and fiercely—and that is the kind of air Alpha shows us to carry, guard, and hand on.

The Canopy— Collective Uplift and Community Impact

A canopy does more than just cap the tree; it spreads out to provide shade, shelter, and a place for new life to take root. Similarly, Alpha Phi Alpha's impact extends beyond its members, providing protective cover and nourishment to the larger Black community. "Fraternities don't just benefit individual members—they uplift entire communities." This progress is visible in every voter registration drive that strengthens democracy, every public health initiative that raises awareness among our families, and every mentorship program that reaches out to young Black boys before the world tries to break them. From helping high school kids get to college to training brothers for careers in medicine, law, and engineering, Alpha creates pipelines of opportunity that extend far beyond chapter boundaries. Brother's Keeper reminds us that our care extends from cradle to cane; we honor our elders while raising our children, ensuring that no branch is ignored and no leaf is left behind. Our services are not divided into categories: Black male well-being, leadership development, mental health advocacy, and community healing are all intertwined commitments that reflect the entire scope of our canopy. In this world, no one exists alone. Just as branches grow stronger by working together, Alpha's power grows when we align our gifts, labor, and love. Alpha's canopy is formed by many, not a few, and generations have sought sanctuary, direction, and the fortitude to rise within its reach.

Conclusion

Policy cannot change, biases cannot shatter, and respectability cannot cut what we are growing. Rooted in memory, nourished by suffering, and alive with possibilities, we are constructing like the strongest trees. Our roots, strong, worn, and unyielding, are embedded in soil fertilized by visionaries and warriors. Those are the nutrients: every pledge taken beneath flickering lights and watchful eyes, every whisper whispered between brothers who dared to dream, and every gathering conducted in tight church basements. That is the foundation. Our trunk is made up of muscle and memory. It keeps standing despite what we have seen and carries the weight of it. It carries the laughter of cigar lounges as well as the lessons buried in harsh love and forceful handshakes. Though the bark may suffer harm, every scarred spot tells a story of survival. Of direction. Of increasing. What is the nature of the air we breathe in? It's retrieved, not borrowed. We exhale resistance and inhale information. We sing, teach, fight, and build with the breath of those who perished. It is sacred. Usual. Dark Breath is revolutionary. How about the canopy? Let's talk about the canopy. The last thing the world sees is the canopy, but it is where we contribute the most. Our shadow stretches widely, cooling the foreheads of young guys who still don't know they are kings. Our leaves speak tales to the sisters, the mothers, and the elders who have carried us farther than we knew. Our branches offer space for those still climbing and searching. Then we turn to shelter if the sun gets too hot or the earth starts to burn. Structure. Sanctum This haven is more than simply a brotherhood. This forest is a living, thinking, breathing being that remembers, protects, and evolves. So to the brother reading this: know you are not alone. You are part of something sacred. Something strong. Something alive. The world could want to halt our rustling, cut us down, and dehydrate us.

But what about us, then?

We shall keep growing.

We are the remembering origins.

We are the holding trees.

We are the free air.

We are the canopy, shielding the next generation.

References

Zeta Sigma Lambda Chapter
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