The Inquisitions: "Racism, Sexism, and Patriarchy--- Stories from The Mission Field"

I was one of the lucky ones who genuinely loved her LDS mission. While initially I balked at my assignment (NY Rochester and the Church Historic Sites)---I had imagined something more glamourous like Moscow or at least more adventurous like Alaska or Thailand---the personal growth that occurred during my assignment has been invaluable to my life; I constantly see blessings and opportunities that are a direct result from my 18 months in the mission field.

That said, it would also be incomplete to not also explain that my mission was, for me, a catalyst to my faith journey in that it provided numerous lived-experiences for me to see some of the deep-seeded problems our church structure had and has, as well as the reality that addressing those problems head-on didn’t seem to be something appreciated by leadership.

Recently, I find myself reflecting quite a bit about my time in Western New York. Maybe it’s the frequency that I see the young Elders and Sisters in my neighborhood, or the Facebook memories that pop up, or the numerous friends whose children are getting mission calls---I’m not sure. Despite my current state of what I consider “loyal opposition” to so much of church culture and what I see as theological mess, the 18 months spent in the mission field were instrumental in me becoming who I am today, and, to who I think God is guiding me to become.

Its funny how trauma can stick with you until you either let it destroy you or you stand up to it, stare it in the face, and see exactly what it was that scared you or wounded you in the first place, and then you heal from it, little by little, owning those life-lessons that were once traumas; as the scriptures teach---beauty from ashes (Isaiah 61:3).

I initially rejected the idea that I had any mission trauma at all. Each year that passes since my return, I realize that I am just now recognizing the traumas that I experienced, and as I confront them, I’m better able to deconstruct the elements of church culture that led to those traumas occurring in the first place.

Most recently, three specific experiences have been on my mind that I would like to address and deconstruct, with the hope that anyone reading can also assess their own trauma and perhaps better advocate for those within their stewardship who may be in a similar situation.

First story. While serving, it was typical for my companion and myself to serve a full day (9:00am to 6:00pm) at a specific church historic site, greeting visitors and giving tours of the grounds. It was a beautiful, crisp fall day and my companionship was assigned to the Joseph Smith farm. This was always one of my favorite locations to work, due to the several replica buildings and, of course, the Sacred Grove. Tours usually lasted at least 45 minutes, giving us the chance to really know and minister to our visitors.

Families were, of course, always our favorite tours. Sitting in the office, I remember seeing a car pull into the parking lot and watching a beautiful, mixed-race couple get out and walk towards the visitor’s center. The husband was black, the mother white, with three beautiful children. We greeted the family, learning that the man had been a student athlete at BYU, which is where he met his wife. The Senior Sister serving with us took over, giving the introduction speech and explaining the grounds while we went back to the office to prepare to take the tour outside.

My companion and I gushed about how beautiful the family was (both she and I had previously had non-white boyfriends and imagined ourselves with bi-racial children). Apparently seeing us “fan girl” over the beautiful family, the senior Elder on site sternly turned to us and hissed the word, “selfish!”, the hate and aggression in his voice immediately penetrating my tender spirit. Stunned and confused, my companion and I stared in shock at the Elder as he continued on, “that marriage is a selfish marriage. What do they expect their kids to do when someone asks them ‘what are you?’ I’ve seen how these marriages end and its always in heartache. The prophets teach against interracial marriage and it angers me to see these young kids act like everything is ‘all great’ (his fingers pantomimed quotations as he spoke.) This marriage is a tragedy!” he barked. Red faced, the Elder opened the door, shutting it behind him and leaving us in stunned silence. “Wow…” my companion mouthed to me as we gathered our scriptures and followed him into the lobby to take over the tour. In the lobby, I immediately noticed the senior Elder’s tone had completely changed, oozing with false friendliness and charm as he engaged the couple, telling them about his time as a BYU faculty and making random connections before passing the tour onto us.

I don’t remember much about the tour---my heart was still pounding and I was a bit dazed by the time we bid them goodbye and went back into the visitor’s center office to wait for our next group. In the office, the Senior Elder was spewing angry tirades to his wife who sat dutifully quiet, arms folded in front of her chest. For the sake of anonymity, lets call this man Elder Rathburn. This particular man had various books published by Deseret Book, was adjunct faculty for BYU’s Religious Education department, had served as a mission president various times, etc. His wife had been in a general auxiliary presidency and also rubbed shoulders with church VIP’s. This couple was one of my favorites. They were everyone’s favorites---and hearing this Elder’s diatribe on interracial marriage crushed and disillusioned me.

Seeing I was visibly upset, the Senior Sister enquired if everything was okay and my companion boldly spoke up, saying, “her sister’s husband is Tongan and they are expecting their first baby. Elder Rathburn’s words about interracial marriage were really upsetting…” I then chimed in, “and not what the gospel teaches, Sister Rathburn! Years ago the church counseled against interracial marriage but they don’t talk like that anymore. There’s nothing ‘wrong’ with their marriage---to see Elder Rathburn’s response to this couple and then his 180 when he interacted with them is disappointing.”

Eyes raised, Sister Rathburn calmly but boldly said, “just because a prophet isn’t talking about something anymore doesn’t mean that the former prophet’s words about a certain subject are wrong or void,” nodding her head in my direction for emphasis. This if course collided with what I had always been taught, “we follow a living prophet. If certain counsel hasn’t been given in your time, you aren’t obligated to follow something said 50 years ago.” My mind whirled with all the advice, statements, commands, etc. given by former prophets. Were we really expected to remember and abide by all of those statements? It began to be alarmingly clear to me that my church had some systemic theology yet to be done, and my naïve enthusiasm towards jumping onto that train and perhaps influencing progress is one that I remember with a bittersweet tender fondness for my eager, younger self.

This was, of course, years before the 2013 essay on Race and the Priesthood. I wasn’t sure which upset me more---the blatant racism and justification of the racism, or the fake charm oozing out of the senior Elder as he magically worked his infamous charm with this unassuming couple. I’ve often thought what they would have felt had they known what was being said about them behind closed doors?

This wasn’t to be my only experience with dogmatic reinforcement of outdated policy or direction. Most sisters serve their mission during their most formative years---a bit older than the elders, some work or college experience behind them, with their minds on their futures. Serving at the sites gave us a chance to mingle with other women from all over the world who came from various backgrounds, had various careers, family situations, etc. It was always inspiring to hear their stories and possibly imagine a future like theirs for ourselves.

One Summer’s evening, my companion’s brother and sister in-law visited the sites, coming down from New York City. She (my companion) was so excited to see them, and her excitement was in turn my excitement, and we relished in their short visit. At the time, they were living in the big city while my companion’s sister in-law broke into the opera scene, taking on big roles as her career had exploded through hard work and talent. All the sisters of course looked at this couple with starry eyes---my companion’s brother, tall and handsome, progressively supporting his wife in her opera career. They were young, beautiful, and inspiring.

After this couple left, my companion and I happily chatting in the corner with the other sisters, we were suddenly approached by the Site Director and his wife, faces stern and worried. “Sisters,” the Elder began, “its important for you to understand that the couple you just engaged with is not an example to you of what young newlyweds should be doing.” Nodding her head in approval, the Elder’s wife continued, “girls, you DON’T wait to have children. Schooling, careers, finances---these are not reasons to postpone children. The prophets have been clear about this.”

Watching our faces for a response, they quietly stood, letting their words sink in, our faces no doubt registering the shock of this very-much out of the blue sermon on correct early marital behavior. Her face reddening, my very obedient and non-trouble causing companion quietly spoke, keeping her eyes cast down, “I think what my brother is doing is admirable. He’s supporting his wife in her passions. They got married in the Temple and aren’t doing anything wrong…” I quickly piped in, the feminist fires in my heart stoked, “doesn’t the Bishop’s handbook state that how many children, and when, is between the husband, the wife, and God?”

Of course, I knew this because my Bishop father and I had discussed this many times during our many conversations where I expressed frustration over what I felt God was urging me to do with my life verses what I heard the church telling me to do with my life. Ignoring my comment, the Elder once again reinforced, “you don’t put off having a family, sisters. That isn’t God’s plan.” It should be noted that this man had also served in various “VIP” capacities within the church---how many other young women had heard the same lecture?

The last memory I want to share happened toward the end of my mission. Emotions were high as we were in peak summer-season, with thousands of guests streaming in each day, and our hours adjusted to 8am-9pm. Towards the end of the day, we had two different tours circulating through the visitor’s center at one time, and so we would rotate in and out of the rooms as one tour exited, bringing another in behind it. Somehow the schedule had gone awry, and we took our group into the theatre room, started a movie for them without checking the written schedule. However, at the time, the written schedule had been discontinued due to the high-volume of guests and the frequency of unannounced tours, so my companion and I weren’t in the habit of double-checking it.

15 minutes into the film, the lights come on in the previously darkened room, stunning our guests and leaving us all staring at each other in confusion. Storming in, the Senior Elder stands in front of the room, telling our guests they have to leave because the room had been previously scheduled. “We have about 15 more minutes Elder Palocci,” I explained, “can we finish and then bring in the next tour?” “No!” the Elder curtly responded, opening the exit door. “Please vacate the room. I’m sorry.” Apologizing to our group, we helped them out into the next space while the Elder’s tour came into the theatre room, taking the seats our group were just in.

About 20 minutes later, after both tours were wandering in the display area, Elder Palocci stormed into the Christus room, shutting the door behind him, marching up toward me and my companion. His face was red with anger, eyes bulging as he lifted his hand and stuck his index finger right into our faces---“I am the Senior Elder in charge of this site for today” he exploded, physically trembling with rage. Eyebrow arched, he continued, “You sisters do NOTHING without getting my approval first, do you understand? I am the Priesthood authority here. When I say jump, you say, how high?!”

Shocked that this was actually happening, my companion and I quickly mumbled an apology, eager to leave the room. “Good” he concluded, a plastered smile spreading across his face, “I’m glad you understand.” Smile still in place, he turned and left the room. Stunned, my companion and I looked at each other, immediately bursting into tears. A few quiet sobs, a few deep breaths while asking each other if we were alright, we ended our shift and hurried to the car.

Once in the car, the sobs continued while I angrily phoned our Site Director, my companion quietly gripping the steering while tears streamed down her cheeks. Gasping with continued sobs, I rambled to the Site Director about what had happened. In a fatherly and paternal tone, he apologized for what had happened and invited us into a meeting the next day where we could discuss what had happened. Much to our disappointment, the meeting ended up being one where more apologies were offered but no correction was made, nor was the Senior Elder confronted. Rather, excuses for the Senior Elder’s behavior were offered, suggesting that he wasn’t “feeling his best” and we were then assured it most likely wouldn’t happen again.

At the time, I just moved on. I never felt comfortable around that specific Elder again, but I never actually grasped what an inappropriate interaction that was. My companion and I weren’t little girls, we were 23-year-old women. Yet, the system in place was one of submission and deference. I now see that the response of our Director was one of well-intended benevolent patriarchy---letting us cry, patting us on the heads so to speak, and then sending us on our way. The way a father would treat his upset little girl, and an inappropriate method for the mission field among adult volunteers.

Each of these three scenarios reinforced the authority of the hierarchical patriarchal system, rather than validating our concerns as sisters who, ironically, were PAYING our own way to serve as volunteers in that capacity. I shake my head at the reality of the “tow the line or get out” mentality that was enforced when the truth of it all is that we were ALL volunteers, paying our way, while reinforcing a system that was using this opportunity to do just that, reinforce the system.

While of course not ALL my interactions with church structure reflect the prevalence of PRS (Patriarchy, Racism, and Sexism), sadly, a majority of my post-mission experience HAS in fact reflected this reality.

It is my sincere hope that our young Elders and Sisters are being shown a better example by those in stewardship over them. “Well intended” abuse of power is still abuse of power, theological error is still theological error, and misogyny is still misogyny. We must do better!