Discomfort zone: Breaking out of one's circle is key to bridging

While religion is included in the list of topics many Americans say they avoid in polite conversation, issues involving faith are paramount for discussion in Utah's LDS-dominated culture.

Yet it is the timing, tone and temerity of the discussions -- and the range of participants involved -- that perpetuate a chasm; most believe only Utahns can truly understand.

For the most part, members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter- day Saints talk about religion with one another, in the safe zone that encompasses their neighborhoods and meetinghouses. Wary that they might create offense, many restrict their deep discussions of faith to those who believe as they do -- both religiously and politically -- despite urging by top leaders to share their beliefs. Some believe Utah would be a better place if those who believe otherwise would just "get on board."

Leaders of other faiths acknowledge their members tend to do some of the same. They feel safe discussing their faith and and politics with each other, but because many feel marginalized politically and socially within their own neighborhoods, their discussions sometimes focus on being among "the minority." Joking about and even jabbing LDS culture is a common way of dealing with what for some has become a deep distrust for "the Mormons" and the state's conservative culture and politics.

Despite recent efforts by religious leaders, the Alliance for Unity and organizers of the Winter Olympics to bridge the ongoing divide, it persists for many in ways that have a dramatic effect on daily life.

So members of a task force formed by the Utah Psychological Association have made it their mission to not only tackle the divide among themselves but to form a nonprofit group dedicated to the premise that ordinary Utahns need to move outside their own comfort zones and learn to talk to each other.

Because they aren't willing to give a prescription they won't take themselves, several local psychologists who form the Utah Psychological Association's task force on Utah's religious divide gathered last week at Fort Douglas with a cross-section of other professionals, trying to create a safe space for dialogue.

Facilitated by the Utah chapter of the National Conference for Community and Justice, the daylong workshop's theme was "Facing Fear of the Other: Maintaining Respect and Understanding in the Context of Diversity." NCCJ executive director Kilo Zamora moderated the sessions with Joan Smith, former NCCJ director.

The first task of the day: to set ground rules for the discussion. At the top of the list was an agreement that while they could discuss what transpired at a later time, they could not attach names or identifying information to any of the approximately two dozen participants.

Such is the nature of Utah's religious and cultural divide -- a subject so highly charged and deeply ingrained that few feel free to speak candidly outside their own circles unless they can remain anonymous.

The discussion begins with Zamora asking the group to move beyond "tolerance" in their view of others and strive for acceptance, noting no one wants to simply be tolerated by another.

Prejudice, stereotyping and discrimination are also addressed and defined through discussion, and participants acknowledge they each have their own set of prejudices, though they may not realize the depth or breadth of their perceptions. Sitting around the perimeter of the room, participants are asked questions and asked to move to different chairs depending on their answers to help define their own fears.

By the time lunch is served, most are learning the names of other participants, but several are discouraged that no substantive discussion about religious differences has occurred. One identified it early on as the "elephant in the room" that no one wants to talk about. Even with a desire to discuss the topic, participants have spent five hours in the same room talking and still haven't addressed it.

Trying to peel off the layers of conditioned response and the niceties Utahns have insulated their real feelings with is excruciating, emotional work. Some are tired and want to leave, but everyone committed to stay until the end. So they stick with it.

With less than an hour before the workshop ends, Zamora breaks things open by saying he believes religion and sexuality -- specifically homosexuality -- are the two topics which generate the greatest prejudice and stereotyping for Utahns.

Then he asks participants to consider the following question: Given the choice, which would you least like to see your child do: 1. marry someone of a different faith 2. marry someone of a different race, 3. marry someone out of guilt or under duress, or 3. "marry" someone of the same sex.

The answers made it clear that few could actually predict how their fellow participants would answer, despite the fact that the faith, family dynamic, profession and sexual orientation of several of the participants had come to the fore during previous discussions.

The result: a surprising candor during the last half-hour of discussion.

"It's now or never," said one, like a kid in the pool who had been contemplating the high dive and was now standing at the edge of the board. The comment played out an observation made earlier by another: "It's not courage if you don't feel the fear."

"I don't want my daughter to marry a Mormon," says one man, fearful that if she does "I won't get to go to the wedding, she'll be taken into that group and she'll change cultures." He said he would be "uncomfortable at family gatherings where people don't really talk to each other and I would have to hide the beer when my grandkids come over."

Of all the options offered, he feared marriage to a Latter-day Saint because it posed the greatest threat to "losing access to my daughter and my grandchildren," he said.

Another man agrees, saying a person's religious belief is "most central to who you are. I would struggle with it. I definitely wouldn't like it."

A woman acknowledges her "prejudice against my child marrying a Mormon. What would happen if I didn't get to go to the wedding?" She wasn't sure she would lose contact with her child, but the scenario posed more of a risk to her than the others, she said.

Faith issues have already hampered another man's relationship with his son, who married a spouse who adheres to "an orthodox religion. I told him he's welcome to visit," but he leaves his wife at home. "I'm happy he's happy, but it's really a pain in the butt for us."

The choice to avoid marrying a Mormon was simple for another man, who drew a laugh from others when he said he is already "married to someone of the same sex, a different race and a different faith."

In fact, marriage to someone of a different race didn't elicit even one response.

One woman who identified herself from the outset as a Latter-day Saint surprised some participants when she said she would be most opposed to having her child marry under duress. "Necessity would take all beauty out of it. I just think it's paramount that you get to marry who you really want to."

Another said she has raised nine children and has "a deep respect for allowing the process" of dating and marriage to unfold without pressure. "I have a deep religious belief against coercion. If you've ever experienced deeply loving someone, I wouldn't want to deny someone else the opportunity to do that."

Having his child marry someone of the same sex would be most difficult for a therapist who said he hasn't "completely sorted that issue out" in his own mind. "I'd be anxious about how society would react to those choices, and it would be a struggle for them." He also worried he would be "left out or excluded" from the relationship.

One of his colleagues agreed, saying he would struggle with how the child came to desire a same-sex relationship in the first place.

The issue came down to a matter of legality for one woman, who said marrying someone of the same sex "is more than just (a personal) opinion. The law is the law."

In facilitating the discussion, Smith said she doesn't understand the mind-set of those who "believe in civil rights but not in civil unions. If I don't believe in the same rights for everybody then I don't believe in civil rights."

"So you're saying it's discrimination if I believe my God is the highest value for me" in disapproving same-sex marriage? asked one.

"And in that case, would it be discrimination to say my 10-year- old daughter can't marry her 8-year-old brother, even if they really love each other and want to marry?" asked another. The questions hung in the air, without answers, like so much of the day's dialogue.

Smith pointed out that many in Utah tend to cast the debate over same-sex marriage as one that pits the LDS Church against all others, "but that's simply not the case" because most major faiths also oppose it.

As the discussion winds toward a close, some believe the issue of power -- political, economic, cultural and social -- is at the core of Utah's "great divide." Discussing that power without the hard- wired political correctness most Utah adults have carefully crafted for themselves may be the biggest challenge of all.

"There wouldn't be a divide if it wasn't for power, and my initial reaction to that is anger if I feel like (those in the majority) start pushing me around. There is a place and a time to sit down and talk about it and not be nice," said one man, who knows that "confrontation and activism doesn't always help but sometimes it does, so it's confusing" to know how to approach Utah's power structure when you disagree with the majority.

"Whether our truth statements about God are the same or different, we can still choose to listen to each other," says another man, who admits frustration over how you "respectfully agree to disagree" on pivotal moral issues mixed with faith "because it would be me rejecting my God . . . So what you are asking me to do at the outset is not OK. If I believe I have absolute truth and you are asking me to disclaim it, that's not respectful."

One woman, who tells the group she's in a 29-year relationship with another woman, says at times she wants to say "get your laws off my body. Your laws are not fair."

"I want to say some kinds of belief systems are wrong. But I know people who sit on the other side of it believe that, too."

Because it is only a little theology, and much more social policy, that is discussed in Utah's public forums, the battle lines are drawn despite the fact that many residents don't really understand the religious beliefs of those who don't share their own faith, posits one man who has switched faiths at least twice.

"Tolerating the discomfort" of not only listening to, but being with, those who don't share your faith or world view is central to bridging the divide, says one man who has longed to see people discuss it openly. "It's so easy to just want to hang out with people who are like us. I think it's in that space where we tolerate the discomfort where we grow. That's why forgiveness is so difficult" when hanging onto stereotypes or injustice seems justified.

Zamora suggests that instead of "attacking the people" wielding power, the frustration should be focused on the institutions that perpetuate the division. "For me that causes a lot of the divide. We begin to attack members of the church rather than standing up against policies of the church."

"But the institution is made up of people," one man reminds him, "and it's difficult for me to separate that out. Say I'm a liberal Democrat and I want to change something." When others oppose him, in part based on his political party, "I don't experience that as an institution. I experience it as a personal attack."

Several participants leave wondering when to take the armor off, when to leave it on and how to know the difference. Like many Utahns who have grappled with the cultural divide, they wonder if it's ever safe to speak freely outside your own circle, whether they and others who are tired of the chasm will ever find a "free space" in the state's continuing game of Monopoly.

But they have hope. Before the workshop began, the Utah Psychological Association announced its decision to form the new nonprofit group, dedicated to fostering a dialogue between Utahns of all faiths, ethnicities, sexual orientations and socio-economic groups.

UPA president Mark Owens said the task force his association formed to examine the issues has determined that in itself, the group was "really not sufficient to contain all the interest coming from the community, so we needed to make a separate group that's more representative" of the community at large.

Dubbed "Chamade," a French word for "a drumbeat calling people to a party," the new agency is an outgrowth of discussions the UPA task force initiated last fall among a variety of Utah clergy, educators, business people, government representatives and therapists concerned about the impact of the state's continuing religious divide.

Also announced was a lecture series endowed by one of the group's organizers, Paula Swaner.

The series, with the theme "Origins of Prejudice," will be organized in collaboration with the College of Humanities at the University of Utah, and with Pacifica University, the only school in the country accredited in "mythological studies." Though no speakers list has been confirmed, the series is expected to run through 2006.

Their efforts are among several currently under way in Utah to bring ordinary people of all faiths and lifestyles together. "If we can't learn to talk about this, we can't conquer it," Owens said.

E-mail: carrie@desnews.com

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