Tag: Mormonism

Mormons, homophobia, needles and Trump: Part One, Meet the Mormons

I’m going to try and draw a comparison which might seem stretched to some, but go with me on this weird little journey and let’s see if I can convince you about my grand theory.

Let’s lay some groundwork. This piece comes with some homework but if you’re at all interested in politics, piety, echo chambers, LGBT rights and community wellbeing, the role of education, the pandemic, and why leadership matters… let’s just say there’s bound to be something for everyone in this, even if I use a couple fairly niche case studies to make my argument.

Any reader who has been around for more than a hot minute knows that I was raised Mormon and while I’m no longer practicing and often highly critical of the organization and community, it’s still MY people in there. I still have emotional investment in the health and happiness of way too many people still in the faith to simply not care about what the community does as a collective. I often include Mormon community updates in links roundups and (occasionally) their own posts when I had strong enough feelings on a given topic.

Well, buckle up.

If you follow me on Instagram or Twitter (which I don’t actually recommend unless you have a high tolerance for memes and hyperbole) you might have seen my reaction to some news in Mormon world this week. Here’s what has been living rent-free in my head for two days straight: “Apostle Jeffrey Holland to BYU: Stop aiming ‘friendly fire’ at LDS teachings.” [text of the speech available here]

And of course, the Mormon and Mormon-adjacent internet spaces LIT UP with reaction. I include myself in that tally. While you may scoff or sneer at the use of social media as some sort of echo chamber (and we will get to echo chambers, just you sit tight!), there’s a reason why it is useful to see how specific incidents and statements are landing in real time to different audiences. I saw a wide range of reactions from rage to visceral pain to hopelessness, and I expressed my own disappointment. But also my bafflement.

Because my professional work and personal interests lie very much in the realm of audience-targeting and practical or cultural creation of those audiences – and let’s be blunt, a specific political edge – a few things struck me all at once.

First, some priors

The Mormon faith is small – it claims about 15m members worldwide according to their own public reporting and regularly advise on their numbers. Growth is important to the church, hence its active and well known missionary force. Demographic analysis done by public researchers (like the Cumorah Project, an ongoing research project by active, faithful members compiling organizational updates as they become available) academic researchers, and journalists do a good job at showing rates of growth and change.

There is a key element of activity within the faith that’s worth highlighting. There might be 15ish million people on the rolls, but the rates of participation in the faith (defined by the church itself through specific activities) is much lower than that. A decent estimate would be about 20% of members are regular worshipers, tithe payers, and so on. An even smaller number are “endowed,” which means participate in regular worship in LDS temples, access to which is tightly controlled.

Put a pin in all of these.

The other thing you need to know is that Brigham Young University (BYU) has been something of the flagship institution of the church in the 20th century. It invests heavily in its funding to make it affordable to students, can boast a library collection worthy of academic envy, and has taken great pains to achieve respect for its research, its law and business schools, and its performing arts.

It is famous/infamous for its Honor Code which in addition to academic expectation also enforces personal activities and behavior to conform with the moral standards of the church. No smoking, drinking, drugs, or sexual activity of any kind outside of heterosexual marriage. Modest dress standards for women and specific grooming standards for men. Notwithstanding its magnificently bearded namesake, whiskers for men were prohibited as a counter-counter-culture measure in the mid-20th century and remain to this day. Yeah, it’s strict.

Alongside the usual courses, students are expected to take religious studies classes which, in terms of course credit, amount to Minor degree’s worth of hours and work. These include classes on Mormon history and scripture, as might be expected, but also the King James Bible and religious literature. At least when I was there, the professors of various religious traditions were highly respected and their classes sought after, and interfaith dialog was active. For instance, due to the lifestyle elements compatible with their own, we had a decent minority of Muslim students as well as other faiths.

And then of course, that necessary thing, college sports! BYU fields 21 teams in NCAA varsity sports, often progresses well in championships, and even boasts a national football championship which looms large in the college lore.

What I’m saying is, the church has poured money and time for over a century to build a religious academic institution that can command respect across a number of fields.

Which is why I found this speech as bonkers as I did.

The Lord’s University”

First of all, this speech was delivered alongside an announcement of the creation of the BYU Office of Belonging (or…BOOB…this could have been thought through better), with a specific mission of combatting prejudice at the university. The juxtaposition is whiplash inducing.

Now, I was not shocked to see an apostle of a church which has spent the last thirty years defining itself in the public eye through primarily gender and sexuality based positions and teachings say something I consider pretty bigoted and homophobic. Dressing it up in the language of love doesn’t make it less morally repugnant, but it’s frankly right in line with the church’s long established stances. Some of its greatest hits include:

  • Objecting to and mobilizing against the ERA, in “defense” of women
  • Opposing LGBT rights generally and mobilizing against gay marriage specifically; Prop 8 and its fallout casts a long shadow
  • Published proclamations supporting “divinely designed” gender roles and functions that – in my opinion – go far beyond anything to be found in the foundational scriptures or teachings of the faith but instead reflect the cultural expectations and norms of the leadership and cultural panics of the time. Said leader is, of course, revered as a prophet with a direct line to the infinite
  • The infamous period of racist doctrine and practice which excluded Black members from full participation in the faith and men from ordination – which while it has been withdrawn, has never been apologized for, denounced, or refuted. Because to do that would expose the leadership who imposed and maintained these doctrines and actions to accusations of being, shall we say, less than prophetic. Which is kind of awkward given the point above
  • Half-hearted attempts at “loving outreach” to the LGBT community including the now defunct “Mormon and Gays” platform which attempted to express the doctrines of the church in a way that made them sound less exclusionary than they are. The fact that these efforts have all be shuttered quietly in recent years is important.

But I WAS shocked to hear this man state it was the duty of the faculty and staff of the university to uphold the doctrines of the church, AND that the institution was prepared to lose “professional association and certifications” if necessary to do so. In other words, that the true role of this ostensibly academic institution is not, in fact, academics or education for academia or a profession, but the enforcement of religious orthodoxy.

Anyone who can’t see the potential risk to the value of a diploma, the attractiveness of grad school candidates, or even workforce implications is fooling themselves or willfully blind. It also seems to me to be fundamentally at odds with the sheer amount of money and work that has gone into building the university’s reputation far outside its own religious community.

When is a cigar just a cigar and when is it an existential call to arms?

There was much chatter about the use of the phrase “musket fire” in the speech. There’s a distinctly American tone to this, which deliberately harkens back to the American Revolution and is a well-used metaphor.

But unless you’ve been living under a rock, a lot of American symbols, metaphors and rhetorical devices have taken on some additional layers of meaning in recent years. Think of the flag being co-opted in the culture wars, from Trump physically embracing it and specifically attempting to flip the discourse about anti-police-brutality protests as “disrespecting flag and/or troops, to the “thin blue line” redesign of police officers and their political supporters. On the other side we have flag burning or rejection by activist groups who claim it doesn’t represent them or other left-wing manipulations.

As the meme goes, “WORDS MEAN THINGS.” So of course do symbols and metaphors. Memes are the language of our world in many ways and serve the useful function of being a way to convey large and even multiple concepts in visual shorthand. They are collectively created, shared, agreed upon, and layered with meaning to the point that large groups of people can see a visual cue and all draw roughly the same conclusion from it: the same punchline to an unspoken joke, a shared experience, or a shared fandom.

Or all of the above.

It’s time to introduce a subculture within a subculture: DezNat. Like so much in our times, this is an online community hoping (and in some cases) acting to bring about their preferred utopia. And they are radical in their beliefs. Not everyone ticks every box, of course,

Some of the symbols or language they have created or co-opted include the Bowie knife (a combined reference to historical figure Porter Rockwell and to the concept preached by Brigham Young of blood atonement – which I’m not even going to attempt to unpack! Just read the links)…and guns, including muskets.

Remember, layers. Musket metaphors are a meme that combines specific interpretations of patriotism, equally specific interpretations of resistance, and yet further equally specific interpretations of rights and values. Free speech, religion, etc.. In this context you also have to appreciate that Mormonism is a millennialist faith – it’s in the name: the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. They believe that the US is a divinely chosen land that enjoys specific freedoms which enabled its revelations to come forth and enjoy certain legal and cultural protections in the “last days” before the judgements of God are poured out on the earth.

The militancy referred to in religious speech is often best understood as symbolic; but not exclusively. This is just as true in Mormonism as it is in Christianity, Islam and other sects. And just like other sects there is almost always a minority who see the holy war in real and stark terms and are prepared to posture…or act…accordingly.

So, who was this speech for?

Setting aside the highly relevant subject of coded language, let’s look once more at the explicit text.

In his speech, Holland cites and quotes a letter that bemoans the apparent secularization the writer perceives happening at the university.

“You should know,” the writer says, “that some people in the extended community are feeling abandoned and betrayed by BYU…”

Who, I can’t help but wonder, are these people who feel that BYU is not religious or orthodox ENOUGH? I’ve already gone into some detail about the behavioral standards and education elements, and plenty more writers who are far more eloquent than me can share even more about the curriculum and culture to make thee point, but let me just state unequivocally that BYU IS NOT A SECULAR ENVIRONMENT. Many classes begin with prayer, a religious and even pro-American-quasi-religious ethos is centered in its coursework (including a required course called American Heritage) to say nothing in the faith itself. Religious observance is required, and even hints of unorthdoxy can get you punished or expelled. Believe me, I know; even if that’s a story for another time.

I’m not saying this speech was for DezNat exactly, though the inclusion of the metaphors and language is already doing the work of making plenty of that community sure think it is. You see what you want to see, and plenty of extremists want to see their leaders endorsing, winking at, or even explicitly embracing what they already believe to be true.

But I absolutely do believe that Holland should know enough about his own flock to anticipate how this rhetoric will be taken and used. Not for the “soft” bigotry and “gentle” exclusion he outright states he and the institution should practice, and damn the consequences, but by the militant minority. The zealots.

Okay but what the hell does Trump have to do with this?

Good question, kittens, and that’s why there’s going to have to be a Part Two.

I’m Not Trying to Convert Anyone Anymore

I’ve been thinking a lot about argument, discussion, debate and discourse lately. For obvious reasons. When I argue these days, it’s to stand up for a point I think is important or advocate for a value I believe in. But I no longer really try to convince other people that they’re wrong and I’m right. In many cases I’ve simply lost faith that it has much of an effect, but at a deeper level this is yet another callback to my Mormon upbringing and worldview.

Mormonism is a missionary faith – as is pretty well known. Most everyone has seen or had an interaction with the official missionaries out and about, or is familiar with them as a concept through pop culture. Missionary service is an expectation of young men, and increasingly encouraged for young women (which didn’t use to be the case compared to encouraging them to prioritize marriage). Not only that, there is a perpetual mission effort within the culture and structure of congregations, supported by messages and guidance encouraging all adherents to proselytize. “Every member a missionary,” as the slogan goes.

This attitude towards conversion comes from a place of genuine love and caring. The underlying premise is that if you have found Truth, you have an obligation to lead others to that truth. If knowledge of this truth is necessary to salvation, you do not have a right to keep it to yourself and deny others the opportunity. If you love something, if you believe it: you share it. Complacency about other people’s understanding is not allowed.

My observation is that this attitude remains intact even if one leaves the faith. I’ve written before how my Mormon-ness doesn’t “wash off,” even if I no longer believe in it. The cultural conditioning and in-built heritage remains. I don’t think I’m alone in this. I’ve noticed that a lot of people who leave the church seem to go through a period where they seem to try to replicate missionary work in reverse – having become convinced of the “truth” (in this case, the falseness of the faith), they want to “open other people’s eyes” to it. Whether knowingly or otherwise, I witness a lot of people try to use the same tools of conversion for deconversion. And for the same reasons! If you care about someone, you want the best for them. Ergo, if you think a belief system is bad, you are unable to be complacent about it and feel a responsibility for their welfare.

Here’s the thing: I don’t think it works.

No one “deconverted” me from my faith. It was the result of over a decade of intense internal debate and inquiry. Topic after topic was picked up, examine, interrogated, debated, researched, and – yes – prayed over. Gradually ideas, realizations, perceptions, and information combined and coalesced into something I could no longer deny: I did not believe the same things that the organization taught. I thought it was wrong, I didn’t trust or believe several of its key truth claims, I could not participate in the community and remain true to the things I did believe, and there was no successful path for a cultural participation in the heritage of the faith without also a full throated and genuine adherence to its beliefs structures.

And every time I have tried to explain this process to a believer – a misguided attempt to do “missionary work” for my experience and perspective – I have failed to do it justice. I have failed to explain it in a way that makes sense to them, or they have failed to listen. We are operating from two fundamentally different perspectives of Capital T Truth.

I was having a vigorous (but respectful) political discussion with a loved one the other day that centered on the protests against police brutality in the States. We do not agree politically, but are able to argue and debate fairly successfully. I love this person, and they love me and while our differences have caused friction, they have not caused rift. In this I am so much more lucky than many people I know and I’m grateful beyond words for it.

The most significant aspect of this conversation for me happened towards the end of the discussion. After debating philosophical differences between sides of the political spectrum, trading thoughts on what the manifestations of those differences are, and talking Big Picture concepts, I referred to my own (admittedly anecdotal) experience of working for a police department myself for five years and what I witnessed there. (For those who don’t know, this police department was affiliated with my alma mater and a religious institution.)

This person’s reaction was along the lines of, “That experience really ruined a lot of things for you.” The implication being, that my political and religious views were fundamentally changed during this period of my life – and not for the better.

My immediate reaction was a flash of white hot anger. It felt really belittling to be told, in effect, “Your reaction to your own personal experience and observations are wrong,” by a person who was not there, was not privy to my thought process, and in spite of these gaps, does not see some of the choices I’ve made as valid or correct.

But after a beat, calm reasserted itself because the truth is, this person is right. Working for a police department for five years did change my view of policing. Which is a perfectly rational progression of events. Most people with opinion on policing have never worked for PD! And working at an institution controlled and managed by a religious organization also informed my view of that organization. Which again, feels like a pretty sensible way to form a point of view. I know a lot of people with views on religion who have never stepped foot in a place of worship. Now, we can debate the rightness or wrongness of my opinions, but at least they are informed by years worth of first hand investigation and inquiry!

This person is at some level unhappy at how I went through certain experiences and I didn’t come away from them with the conclusions (politically or theologically) that I am “supposed to.”

And I was unhappy that my practical and personal experience seem to be so easily dismissed when I feel both have given me specific insights that should carry some weight.

We are operating from totally different perspectives on Capital T Truth. (Seems relevant to the protest situation of people of color and their experiences…and any other number of divides.)

We’re at an impasse of beliefs. I don’t think we’re ever going to get over it. That’s okay.

The best we can do is practice empathy and kindness, and stop trying to change the other person, or hoping they’ll “come around” to a more palatable (to us) way of thinking. I’m not going to convert this person to my way of thinking, they are not going to convert me back to their faith. We have to learn to find other ways forward.

I’m delighted to say that where once a conversation like this may have ended in tears, this one ended in jokes, story swaps, and expressions of love. We’ve had to practice kindness and respect for one another in new ways. We have to learn how to make our case and then move on, not get stuck in arguments as if life were a perpetual YouTube comment section or subreddit – what a ghastly thought!

I’m no longer trying to change minds. I don’t think I can. One has to convert, or deconvert oneself. Missionaries of all stripes may serve as catalysts to change, but all true change comes from within.

I’m not a missionary of any kind anymore, and I’m not really attempting to be. I’m simply doing what I think is right, and standing up for what I believe. I’m doing it with my voice, my vote, my money, my time, my attention, and my platforms. Perhaps it will serve as a catalyst for someone else’s introspection process, but if not, it doesn’t matter. I’ve done the internal work, and I am still doing it, and that is ultimately the only thing I am or can be responsible for. In a weird way, this is also a legacy of my Mormonism because of a bunch of other slogans and messages I picked up. Anyone who grew up in the faith will recognize perhaps the most famous,”Choose the right,” supplemented by a popular hymn called “Do What is Right.

Black lives matter.

Systemic disadvantage exists, as does systemic privilege.

LGBT+ lives matter.

Trans women are women.

Trans men are men.

Nonbinary people are real.

Patriarchy is wrong.

Separate but equal is inherently unequal, no matter how to try and swing it.

Racism, sexism and homophobia are not “mean-ness,’ they are a collective system of traditions and institutions (many of them intentional, many of them not) that cause disproportionate harm and allocate disproportionate privilege.

Kind words and actions are welcome in overcoming overt hostilities, but do not make one any less racist, sexist, or phobic if your actions and beliefs continue uphold systems and structures that continue this disproportionate harm.

And everyone needs to do the work and learn the difference between being “nice” and “good.”

Do what is right, let the consequence follow.

 

Year in Review: The Heavy Stuff

“The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven..”
― John Milton, Paradise Lost

2014 was the year that I officially stepped away from the religious community of my youth. The break really happened long before but a lot of things happened this year to confirm to me that it was the best decision I could have made for me. The reactions to this decision have run the gamut but the only ones that have confused me have been people who felt it necessary to offer their hearty congratulations for my choice.

As if the decision were not the most wrenching and difficult of my life. One that took a solid decade of increasing frustration, heartache, painful doubt, and baffling alienation to accomplish. I was fortunate to actually have a supportive partner along every step of the way for the second half of that decade and I still managed to feel desperately lonely in the crumbling I felt going on internally and externally. There was nothing heroic about my decision to leave my religion. It signified that I had run out of any other options–faithful, emotional, cultural, or otherwise–and to be in that position is the most angry and emotionally exhausted I have ever been in my life.

Think it’s easy to walk away from your religion? Trust me, it is not. In one big go I opted out of a community, a culture, a language, a heritage, and a legacy precious to almost every member of my family and a significant chunk of my friends. I disappointed and confused a lot of people who’s good opinion I value deeply. I put peculiar strains on my friendships and my marriage that took holding on tight and communicating hard to navigate thoughtfully and intelligently. I turned my back on an entire cosmology and worldview without really having much solid in place to replace it with, and now have the task of building a new one after nearly 20 years of certainty and 10 of crippling doubt.

I don’t want to be congratulated. Honestly there are days that, in thinking about it, all I want is a hug!

I’m lucky I came out on the other side of my decision feeling as little damage as I do. I’ve had friends and acquaintances make similar decisions in the same or similar religious communities and pay horrible prices for it. But in spite of that laundry list of angst above this, I am actually in a more calm and steady place than I’ve been in years, emotionally or spiritually speaking. Uncertainty is not nearly has bad as I had been made to feel for most of my life. For years now I’ve felt like I was clinging to a rope desperately in the dark, knowing that the drop would kill me if it happened. The more my grasp tightened in panic, the more numb my fingers got, the more the strength gave out in my arms, the harder and harder I would cling, but still I would slip. Several months ago, the last slip happened and the final strands slid out of my clutch. And it turns out the floor was just inches beneath my feet the whole time.

It’s disorienting, to find your worldview gone but your own feet steady beneath you. It feels oddly like peace.

Writing Hard Things, Part II

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about wanting to write “hard things.

This week I got the chance.

It’s an experience that’s still unfolding, but let me just say that I’m grateful to have the chance to contribute what I hope is something meaningful to the conversation. To be able to do so in the Grey Lady herself is truly a privilege.

Writing hard things.

“The truth is rarely pure and never simple.”
― Oscar Wilde

I’ve been close to radio silent on the blog for the past couple of weeks, it feels like, but there’s been a reason for it. I’ve linked to the story when it broke in the New York Times, but the truth is I’m much more intimately connected to it than that.

I am a Mormon feminist. Or I was one? I’m not sure, it’s been a baffling few weeks on top of an already baffling decade. In one way or another I have been publicly and outspokenly at odds with the religion I was born into for a decade now, beginning when I arrived at university to find local leaders trying to organize volunteers in support of the LDS church’s Prop 8 campaign, which I staunchly refused to do. My personal religious experience has largely gone downhill after that.

I disagree vocally with the faith’s stance on LGBT people and issues, I’m unabashedly supportive for ordaining women to the currently male-only priesthood, I reject the teaching about gender and gender dynamics I was taught as not just often wrong but in some cases dangerously so. But in recent years (topped off by Kate Kelly’s experience, a woman I know, in addition to many other women in Ordain Women), my experiences with the faith and the people in it have gotten increasingly disheartening and even ugly. Things I thought I believed have been tested and found wanting, things I never believed have been proved. It’s been a decade of vertigo and unbalanced experience. I have longed to write about them, but felt utterly unable to express myself except to my husband or a few friends.

I’ve certainly never found a way to write successfully about my religion in this space. Perhaps it is because it’s so personal and I am not brave enough. Perhaps it’s because I didn’t want to reveal how deeply troubled I have been around it for so long – usually that only leads to people offering unsolicited advice one of two ways: to silence my doubts or to just leave. Neither of which are helpful, by the way. Perhaps it’s because I’ve been so conflicted myself and have not been able to settle my own thoughts to my satisfaction and so could not organize them for anyone else. But I think at it’s base, the problem is I don’t know how to write about my Mormonism honestly.

I don’t know how to express what it is to love something and be ashamed of it at the same time. I can’t explain the feeling of wanting to be loyal to something that you feel, deep in your gut, is doing the wrong thing. I cannot describe what it is to belong to a people and a tradition that I disagree with in fundamental ways. I cannot usefully or concisely shrink 200 years of history into a cohesive narrative for the outsider yet. I cannot turn nearly 30 years of lived experience, 10 of it increasingly hard and painful to reconcile, into a blog post. I’m afraid that anything I write will be fundamentally inadequate.

Also, I am a coward. Typing this now, I’m terrified to think what the reaction of a number of people whose good opinion I value might be. Every time I have been open about my struggle with faith and relationship to it, I have paid a price for it. Friends have deserted me, leaders have punished me, and I have even worried about a job because of it. I am frightened to lose more than I have lost by being honest. Not only that, as followers of the news story have seen, there are other prices to be paid. Kate Kelly, a woman more faithful than I probably ever could be, has been cut out of the religion by excommunication. There is a long and troubled history in Mormonism of excommunicating feminists and for a long time I was silent because I feared the same fate, though I fear it substantially less these days.

I am tough but my struggle with disbelief and estrangement from my community over some very big disagreements has left scars. If you were to metaphorically strip me of my coverings, yes you would see a few deep gashes of massive religious doubt. But you would also see a thousand pinpricks of hurtful comments, ugly gossip, insinuation, and spite from members of my own community, for being “other.” You would see the shrapnel wounds from when a friend standing next to me was targeted with death threats for her feminism and I was too close to not feel some of the blast. You’d see friction burns from when people who loved me tried to apply pressure (lovingly, of course) to “fix” or correct my unorthodox opinions. You’d see a brow furrowed by a million doubts and shoulder grown round with the heavy weight of fear pushing down for 10 years. You’d frankly see some marks left from self-harm as I have punished myself for not believing hard enough or hoping strongly enough. I don’t want any more markings on my invisible skin and so I have often tried to cover it up by simply not speaking of it. I’m losing my capacity for silence.

There is so much I want to say about the religion of my youth, most of it good, but I cannot speak about it unless I can say all things, and some of it is bad. Some of it is quite bad. I cannot talk about one half of my spiritual experience without including the other. I want to be able to write why I stayed LDS so long in spite of massive misgivings and conflicts of conscience, and I want to write about how compelling the thought is of completely walking away – without having anyone weigh in on the matter. I want to write about the feeling of being caught in the middle. I’m not sure how to do so, but for the first time I’d at least like to attempt it.

Perhaps finally, I am learning to write hard things. I hope so, because I need to, everyone who writes does. I do not want to do it all the time, I admittedly prefer humor and lightness and think I’m better at those. But I am learning the painful lesson of the value of the hard things and though it’s difficult, I’m glad for it.

Weigh in, writers. What made you able to write about the painful, the rough, the unappealing, the unbelievably personal, and the hard?