by Greta Hyland
Originally published Oct. 31, 2014
I was raised LDS. I know what it is like to be a part of the majority, to be completely unaware of what it is like to be in the non-LDS minority. But after leaving the church, I now know what the other side feels like. In Utah, being LDS makes you feel included, while being non-LDS makes you feel excluded. This great divide is what creates the need for groups like the Relieved Society, a closed group for non-LDS women to meet and socialize. It was not created just for fun, but out of necessity.
This “us and them” mentality is not blatant or intentional discrimination, but it is discrimination and though subtle, it is still divisive. It comes in the form of patronizing smiles when you reveal that you attend a non-denominational Christian church, when you get snide comments about drinking a beer, or when LDS kids won’t play with your kids.
But the most disheartening aspect of being in the minority in an LDS community is that there is no community for you outside of the church either. If you want it, you have to create it. You see, LDS people get their community from church, and so they feel no urgency in creating it in neutral places, such as downtown. Due to this lack of options, one gets the idea that in order to be included here, you must join the church. What St. George lacks in its community downtown is a diverse and thriving town center, filled with neutral places where people can meet informally to mingle, to engage in lively discussion, or to take a load off and have a good time “where everyone knows your name.”
Because we live in Utah, where the predominant attitude toward alcohol is one of derision and self-righteous indignation, this divide is often most visible when the discussion turns to pubs, taverns, and adult beverages. What is most often stated by LDS people is, “Well, if you just want to get drunk…” This narrow and rather ignorant view of people who partake of alcohol is not much better than summing up religious people like this, “Well, if you just want to be blind followers…” Both are grossly inaccurate, disrespectful, and wrong, and while community is not just about drinking alcohol, the subject aptly showcases how the majority here dismisses and ignores the minority. When elected officials and policymakers deprive citizens of establishments that make them feel included in their own town by way of a moral mandate that belongs in church, not in civil society, it blurs the lines between the two and gives birth to a festering animosity.
Due to the exclusivity of the culture here, people tired of feeling left out are creating community on their own. These groups, while largely unknown to the general public, are now popping up all over town. There is nothing inherently novel or wrong with this but it does reveal what is lacking here: Community. One such group is called the St. George Relieved Society. It’s a catchy and humorous pun that hints at the type of people who belong to it. It is an invitation-only group for non-LDS women who want to connect to other like-minded women. It is a fun and supportive group for women who would rather not join the LDS church to find acceptance. Having nothing else but the Mormon church to choose from is akin to hanging out with someone who will only do what they like to do. Sure, you don’t mind scrapbooking with your friend, but you also like book clubs, wine clubs, and discussing politics, and you wish your friend would consider your interests as well, without it being an affront to their religion.
We want a thriving counter-culture. Most towns and cities have them, but it should not be relegated to closed Facebook groups. The most enjoyable places to live in or visit have an element of inclusivity to them–the soul of the place makes everyone feel welcome. And while specialty niches exist everywhere, they should not be the only avenue for minority groups to find community.
In “The Great Good Place,” Ray Oldenburg says, “If we valued fraternity as much as independence, and democracy as much as free enterprise, our zoning codes would not enforce the social isolation that plagues our modern neighborhoods, but would require some form of public gathering place every block or two. There must be neutral ground upon which people may gather.”
Religion, by its very nature, is ironically exclusive. It is a place for members, for people who share religious beliefs, and does not tolerate detractors. This is acceptable for a church, but not for a town. When this mentality is transferred to the public sphere and enforced by public officials, it is a subtle form of discrimination that isolates large portions of the community, whether it is intentional or not.
As Oldenburg went on to say, a neutral place is, by its nature, an inclusive place. Places accessible to the general public that do not have formal criteria of membership and exclusion expand possibilities for individuals who have a tendency to select their associates, friends, and intimates from among those closest to them in social rank. A thriving community counters the tendency to be restrictive in the enjoyment of others by being open to all, and by laying emphasis on qualities not confined to status distinctions current in the society. Within neutral places, the charm and flavor of one’s personality, irrespective of his or her station in life (or religion), is what counts. Ice cream parlors and pizza joints are nice from time to time, but they are not frequented regularly, and they do not foster that community spirit defined above.
Crushing dance halls, discouraging honky-tonks, or denying taverns and brew pubs is more in line with fundamentalist religions than a free civil society. St. George is not a house of worship and should not be run like Sunday school. Not only does it make for a bland and boring community life, it promotes one view over others in a very un-American spirit.
Southern Utah deserves better than this. The LDS community and faith will not be diminished by promoting a vibrant and diverse culture that seeks to include everyone. It’s time for St. George, and the rest of Utah for that matter, to join the grown-ups’ table.
