An Orthodox LDS Member's Guide to Being a [Completely Unradical] LGBT Ally

One of the hardest things about moving across the country to Illinois has been being away from a trusted network of friends. In-person interactions always feel so much more meaningful to me than far-flung correspondence. Losing those comfortable interactions with old friends has made me realize how essential I find having good strong relationships and friendships. I, like most LGBT people, need allies willing to help me. This is especially true for me as I try and navigate being transgender as an active Mormon.

Often members of my various congregations have had no idea how to interact with, communicate with, or help me as an LGBT member of the Church. I've realized that a big part of the problem is that while there are a lot of great resources available online discussing what it means to be an ally to the LGBT community, Mormons rarely engage with these sources. I know that LDS members often fear that being an “ally” will conflict with their own religious beliefs. 

For LDS members, a single question hangs over this whole topic: Is it possible to be a good LDS member and still be an LGBT ally?

Because of this confusion, I think a lot of LDS members feel like they are making up how to interact with and help LGBT individuals. Many of these LDS allies are trying to balance church commitments and religious beliefs with biological and social understanding of LGBT issues. This can often lead to some confusing, or frustrating interactions. This confusion makes me feel even more isolated and alone.

At the same time, I’ve had so many wonderful people ask how they can help in a meaningful way. Thus, I’ve put together a few ideas. Let’s look at what’s not helpful first.

• The "Let me know how I can help! Okay, bye!" ally: This is in my experience the most common way LDS members try to be an ally. These members of the Church are good, well-intentioned people, but are very uncomfortable about discussing or talking about any kind of LGBT experience. They will happily bake you a plate of cookies or mow your lawn when you are sick, but they just don't know how to engage with a topic that makes them uncomfortable. So they would rather avoid and ignore my experience and how it affects my day-to-day existence. I dearly love these people, but at the same time I can't help feeling like a huge portion of myself is being shoved under the rug. I am transgender. I get that this is uncomfortable for some people. It’s not an experience that most people easily relate with. But, my experiences grappling with being transgender in a Mormon community are a massive part of who I am. If you want to know me, these questions are impossible to ignore.

• The "You're so righteous! Everyone should be like you!" ally - These LDS members think being an ally means cheering for LGBT Mormons as long as they ‘keep the faith.’ I see this kind of ally everytime someone who doesn't even really know me misuses small snippets of my story to defend their own beliefs about the LDS church and transgender issues. I cringe when people say, “Wow, if only so-and-so had done things like Kyle.” I hear this kind of ally when I hear people tell me that they have been waiting their entire lifetime to find an LDS LGBT individual who is truly happy within the Church. This is incredibly destructive, both to me and to whomever I’m being compared to. If I am merely reduced to the portions of my story that someone agrees with, I cease being a person and become instead a political object--a propaganda piece. I hate feeling like I am being reduced into a mascot, or feeling like all my struggles and problems and pain don't matter. These allies, as soon as the going gets tough or any ‘mistakes’ are made disappear saying things like "I'm sorry that you weren't the person I was looking for," or "If you had only tried harder." I don't want to be used. I am tired of seeing my story turned into a blunt instrument to bludgeon other LGBT people into conforming with someone’s ideal of behavior. I want people to engage with me. I want to be helped when I am struggling. I want to be encouraged when I am down. I want to be listened to and understood. I want people to understand that my experience isn't messy or clean or simple and that there aren't any easy answers for me or anyone else in a similar position. I want people willing to get down in the mud with me and lift me up when the life is hard. Most of all, I don't want to fear abandonment if I make a choice you happen to disagree with.

• The "Our differences shouldn't matter!” ally: While the "Let me know how I can help! Okay, bye!" ally effectively ignores the LGBT facet of my identity because they don't know how to deal with it, The "Our differences shouldn't matter!" ally actively works to help me change my perspective into a perspective in which being LGBT simply doesn't matter. Now, I certainly don't want to be reduced into only being that one LGBT member of my church (see the "Can you be my personal project?" ally below), but the opposite extreme where my different perspectives and experiences are smothered by a thick layer of white-washing doesn't help me in any way. Trying to help me ignore what makes me different isn't helpful. There is no way for me to simply stop being transgender. It will always shape the way I act, think, and perceive the world. While being a “child of God” is the single most critical label as human beings, other labels necessarily help us understand our experiences and communicate our needs more effectively. You wouldn’t tell someone who tells you they are a diabetic to stop labeling themselves except as a child of God. Terms like this help us interact with people, and denying a term can’t reverse the experience attached to it. 

• The "You’re my new project!" ally: These LDS allies on some level really try to help. They try to engage with the fact that I am LGBT. But all of their interactions feel superficial to some degree. Often these allies feel an obligation or duty to try and help me, whether because of church callings, or a personal need. They fulfill their desire to serve or to fulfill a duty, and then that can be checked off until they feel compelled to interact with me again. I do appreciate the fact that these individuals are trying, but superficial relationships are easy to spot and hard to rely on. Once again, these allies make me feel like less than a person, I become merely that LGBT member who needs help. I don't want to be a project.  

Each of these kinds of allies reduces my identity. The "Let me know how I can help! Okay, bye!" ally ignores that I am transgender. The "You're so righteous! Everyone should be like you!" ally only pays attention to the portions of my story that they readily can use and agree with. The "Our differences shouldn't matter!" ally actively works to cover over the LGBT facet of me, while the "Can you be my personal project?" ally focuses on only the LGBT part of me. While all of these ‘allies’ are trying, these relationships fail because they haven't really taken the time to get to know me.

Luckily, I have been fortunate to find a handful of people who are willing to be what I call a "True Ally." 

What I am most looking for in an ally is someone who is willing to listen. Someone who tries to understand my situation and realizes that they will never understand it perfectly. I want someone who I am able to talk to, and discuss the questions I wonder about. An ally would be able to trust me and my decisions even if they might personally disagree with them. Being an ally means loving and supporting me no matter what. Being an ally requires developing a real, enduring, and meaningful relationship. An ally gives me an opportunity to be authentic and vulnerable, rather than scared, afraid, and alone.

Now, I understand that this kind of allyship takes time and commitment. I understand that this kind of allyship moves many people outside of their comfortable perception of the world. I understand that this kind of allyship requires ministering to the one. I understand that it takes sacrifice and work. Being an ally is certainly not an easy task. 

At the same time, the greatest thing about being a true ally is that any LDS member could and should be able to do all of these things. The hardest things this allyship might ask of you are: to have a real relationship with someone who you disagree with, to admit that you don’t necessarily understand someone’s choices but still extend them trust, and to continue to love and minister even when you are uncomfortable. I am confident that none of none of these points comes into conflict with Mormon doctrine, and that Christ fully stands behind each of these principles.

I guess I would compare being an ally to one of my favorite analogies examining the differences between heaven and hell. In this Chinese tale, a man visits both the land of bliss and and the land of suffering. In the land of suffering, he sees the poor, starving individuals led to a sumptuous feast. Each guest is then given a pair of three foot long chopsticks. These guest ravenously try to feed themselves. Sadly, the morsels of food constantly fall to the ground just out of reach of their hungry lips. Each guest slowly starves with a wealth of food always just beyond their grasp. 

The man is of course depressed by this pitiable sight and decides to continue on to the land of bliss. When he arrives at the land of bliss, the exact same table is set before him. Each guest is again given a set of chopsticks that is far too long to feed themselves. The man is initially confused; heaven and hell seem to be the same. He watches in amazement as each guest rather than feeding themselves proceeds to feed the person across from them. In the end, everyone in the land of bliss enjoys the feast until they are content.

I very often feel like one of the inhabitants of the land of suffering, unable to feed myself, frustrated, lost, and alone. One of the hardest realizations for me has been that no matter how hard I try, I can't do this alone. I can't feed myself. I can't come close to taking care of my own emotional needs. I am in constant need of support and help.

I need a community of people willing to feed me when I am starving. This isn't a task that can be accomplished by a single individual. It's too much work for one, even if Amy does an incredible job trying. I am so grateful for those friends in Utah who were willing to engage with all of me (a special thanks to Mark, Carli, Merrill, Kobe, Cavan, and Roz). Each of these friends has tried to engage, spent the time to listen, and then asked questions trying to further their own understanding of me and of being transgender. And I’m grateful for my new friends in Illinois. It takes time to build a real, emotionally vulnerable relationship, but I can see the seeds of new friendships starting to flourish.

So, with this Chinese tale in mind, perhaps being a good ally requires being willing to ignore your needs, preconceptions, and personal culture in order to take care of the needs and pains of another. That's probably my favorite definition of allyship. This requires developing a real relationship, which is going to take time and effort, but while you are working on feeding me, I've got a pair of long chopsticks waiting for something to do. I hope you are hungry.

Ky

The Ministry of the Marginalized

The Good Samaritan (see http://www.art4god.com/store/the-good-samaritan for more info on this awesome painting)

It's always weird sitting down to write. I wonder who I am writing to. I wonder why I am writing. I sometimes wonder if anyone is really listening. I guess I find myself called to write because I want to continue to stand as a voice for others who feel outside or different.

Currently, I find myself in kind of a weird place. Moving into a new ward means playing through the same dance, slowly having different people in the congregation find out that I'm trans, and then watching people come to terms with that (or not coming to terms with it) in different ways. For many people, the mere revelation of my differences is enough to make them uncomfortable. My willingness to admit an identity that some see as contrary to God's plan creates some degree of friction.  Frankly, going to church is the hardest thing I do every week. I'm afraid and tired of the inevitable comments condemning LGBT individuals. I'm tired of just feeling different. Too often those comments feel like they strike at me and my feelings. It really is an exhausting experience. 

As I was pondering the reasons for some my current fears and anxieties, I realized that almost all of these uncertainties and tensions revolve around a fear of being different, fear of sticking out, or a fear of being the other. I am still coming to grips with how much trauma not feeling male caused me as an LDS teenager. I tried so hard, for so many years to merely belong and I often feel like I failed at even that. 

I certainly don't claim that a fear of being different is in any way unique to me. In fact, this fear of being different surrounds all of us. These differences can be big or small, but regardless they isolate us and make us feel alone. I remember having one of my brothers tell me about how out of place he and his roommate felt because they didn't want to attend church activities that focused on going boating, or playing basketball. What happens to men not interested in the scouting program, or women who find homemaking activities boring? What happens to all of these people who don't fit into the standard Mormon mold? I think that all too often, they leave. It's hard to stay in a place where you feel like the other and aren't sure you belong.

There are a great many people within the church who feel like the 'other.' Just a quick look through the recent news cycle gives us a glimpse of some of these people. We live in a culture that still seems to privilege white caucasian members (https://medium.com/@VoteDarlene/racism-in-utah-b85710fd00a6). We live in a culture that so strictly enforces gender roles that Mormon women often feel they need to meet crazy ideals (https://www.allure.com/story/why-so-many-beauty-bloggers-are-mormon). We live in a church accused of causing youth LGBT suicide's (https://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/is-the-mormon-church-to-blame-for-utahs-increase-in-lgbtq-youth-suicides_us_59e7ddbbe4b0d3554d20fbdd). I'm guessing if you took a minute to look through those articles, they made you uncomfortable to varying degrees. It's easy to feel defensive when discomfort arises, but I hope we can learn to sit with that discomfort and instead ask ourselves, "There are some members of my church who feel this way. What can I, personally, do to help them feel more welcome?" In the end, this isn't anything profound but rather a simple extension of the questions, "What would Jesus do?"

We, as human beings, are deeply uncomfortable confronting ideas or thoughts that make us shift our paradigms and confront the 'other.' It's a really hard thing, and it's far easier to ignore differences. No matter where I go, I hear the idea expressed that it is better to isolate ourselves and our children from a wicked world. It's a common talking point both online and in Elder's Quorum. For me, statements like these seem to say that protection of our values up to the point of isolation is much important than ministry or reaching out to others.

Yet, ministry is the reason for the church. Reaching out to those different than ourselves is why we have a community, not to bring together like individuals, but to force us to confront people with different lives, experiences, challenges or views than our own. Opening up ourselves to confront and see differences is hard, and causes discomfort. But discomfort has never been a bad thing. Rather, we need to learn to sit with our discomfort.

I see examples all around of people failing to minister. The #metoo campaign which has been going around social media is a perfect example of how this opportunity can be completely missed. I see too many men making it about themselves, saying "I don't do this. Why should I feel guilty?" But that is beside the point. It was never about how you feel, but rather an opportunity to listen to others. We can't minister, we can't befriend, and we can't help individuals whom we refuse to listen to.

I see the exact same response to the LGBT youth suicide debate. It doesn't matter if you think statistics are being misused, or if you think sources blaming the Church for suicides are wrong, or if you think that suicides are only the responsbility of those who commit them. Do some teens feel like they are evil because of feelings they have? Do some LDS families horribly mistreat their LGBT children? Is LGBT youth homelessness a problem in Utah? If you even think the answer might be a yes to any of those questions then all the previous concerns are moot. Instead the only questions that matter are: What am I doing to help these youth? How can I help them feel loved? How can I minister to people different from myself? Answering these questions doesn't require you to change any of your beliefs or views, merely to consider someone else for a moment. And I am certainly not going to tell you how to answer these questions, merely asking you to consider and to find an answer that works for you. 

It's easy to forget that Jesus himself spent his ministry working with samaritans, publicans, prostitutes, and other marginalized populations. I imagine that if Jesus were here on earth today continuing his ministry he would continue this trend. The greatest part of this work is that each of us have our differences our moments of otherness however brief or massive they might be. There is no person on this earth who doesn't need a good Samaritan to come and lift them up when they have been beaten down. 

It's easy to look at our congregations and only see sameness, so in some ways being different has become symbolic for me. By being one of the 'others' I can help stand for all 'others' within and without our community. I've been reading a lot of queer theory lately, and realizing that this 'otherness' I have been so afraid of is not neccessarily a bad thing. Perhaps, feeling marginalized is a calling to this work of lifting others up, since we know what it is like to be passed by on the road. So I am working to claim my own otherness, my own "queerness."

I am the other. And I will own these feelings of ugliness, of not belonging, and of feeling different. Every day I stay is another day of triumph, where I can stand and say, "I am here, I am different, and I belong!" I will constantly strive to remember how alone I felt as a teen, how ostracized I was, thinking that everyone was the same because all too often we pretend to be. I can't let that happen to anyone else. So, as far as I am able, I stand as different. And by standing as different, hopefully many others can find the courage to stand in their own differences as well. We are not a homogenous church, so let's stop pretending that we are.

It's easy to see such a declaration as a shot at the church, or as a way of undermining doctrine or theology that you hold dear. I'm not. I'm not demanding that you suddenly change; I'm not advocating for change. I'm just encouraging you to spend a moment considering something different. All I ask is that you leave a place for me and anyone else who feels like they have been pushed to the furthest most edges of belonging. This for me is how I build Zion, God's kingdom on earth, by holding open the gates for so very many people who at one time or another felt left behind or abandoned.     

Sticks and Stones: Wounds and Tears from the Current Transgender Discourse among Church members

Kudos to the guy that builds these!

I often compare building my place among the membership of the Church to physically constructing a house in Zion. As a transgender member, I often feel like I am building my abode out of toothpicks stacking them one at a time, very slowly. The merest breath of public disapprobation causes some of my carefully placed toothpicks to tumble down; I painstakingly gather up the fallen toothpicks and place them again, and again. I'm constantly starting over as toothpicks fall, I'm never finished, I'm always building.

If public disapproval or lack of understanding is a breeze, condemnation feels like rocks being cast down onto my little house. Lately, I feel like a lot of rocks have been falling on my home hurtling broken toothpicks like shrapnel, leaving giant gaps in my lovingly crafted, yet fragile abode. I start repairing the damage and another rock falls. Sometimes I feel like I can't keep up with the damage. I wonder how anything is left standing at all, only a fragile skeleton of a home remains trembling at the slightest breath of wind.

This latest bout of stones was brought on by the LDS Church's amicus brief regarding the transgender bathroom issue. Now, I should clarify it was not the Church's brief (which was consistent with past policy, and didn't really affect me or change anything... still waiting for further teaching from the brethren here), but rather the response from my fellow Church members.

Let's be clear, in every way I try to be a faithful member of the Church. I attend church regularly. I play organ every Sunday. I teach Sunday School and try to get the kids to love God as much as I do. I fulfill my callings, honor my covenants, heck I even do my home teaching. Those rocks being thrown are aimed at those "other" people, the "rebellious" ones not living "right," the nameless victims of the unending culture war that we are constantly waging. Yet each time those stones are hurled, they land in my house. They break my heart, and they attempt to evict me from my little shack here in Zion.

Let me explain. People say lots of different things about transgender people, but a surprising portion of those critiques are of mental states, of cosmologies, rather than of lifestyle, like you'd expect. Lots of statements such as: "God doesn't make mistakes." "Your feelings are delusions, they aren't real." "Just be like the rest of us." "What is right is right, what is wrong is wrong." -- Black and white. Right and wrong. Get with the program. Your struggles aren't real, your problems are fake or you are simply crazy, stop wasting our time and get a grip.

Some are far more pernicious, attempting to take away my right to be human: "If a person thinks they are dog, it doesn't make it right to urinate in public." Such comparisons to animals, to criminals, and to pedophiles abound.

Lest you doubt me, these are all quotes from Facebook and discussion sections on the Deseret News and Salt Lake Trib, and I can send you links to them if you'd like.

Now, you might say something like, "but Kyle, these quotes obviously aren't talking about you. You aren't one of them," meaning, I presume, that I haven't transitioned to an extent that makes people uncomfortable. I'm following the "right" path. But the difference between me and the people for whom those comments are meant is minor, a difference of degree of expression rather than condition. I understand their desire to transition because I too have felt that desire. I understand their need to fit in because I also want to fit in. In every way, I share in the "delusion" of gender dysphoria, only expressing it differently from some people. I am that trans Other in every way that matters, and thus, those stones hit me too.

Some might say, "But Kyle, Dumbledore says our choices make us who we are, not our characteristics, and your choices are different, so don't take these things to heart." How can I not? I don't feel so very different. My experience is not so very different. The vast majority of these careless remarks focus on the experience of having gender dysphoria, feelings just about every trans person I've ever heard of experiences every day, including me.

I was recently asked by a good friend how they could help, what they could do. All I wish for in this unending war is that we can treat the Other side with a touch of human dignity and compassion. So if you too would like to help, please stand up, remind others that we are human, that harsh words hurt people like me too. Please don't be silent. Share my story. Share the stories of other transgender individuals you know. If you don't know me, please ask me questions, and get to know me. Teach your children that it's okay to disagree, it's okay to not understand, but it's never okay to denigrate a child of God.

As you think about this. I'm busy trying to repair my place in Zion. I'm picking up scattered toothpicks and trying to super glue them back together. I'm carefully returning them to their place. Some of you might still cast stones. Others of you might wonder why I am even here, thinking me insane for building over and over again, but hopefully some of you might come lend a hand. I've come to see that the good Lord has plenty of toothpicks for us all.