I’m writing this to you, one of the aw-shucks, I-didn’t-ask-to-be-in-charge, thoughtful (by Mormon standards), white (probably), males that shoulder the majority of the responsibility for the day-to-day, face-to-face administration of the LDS church.
You may be an elders quorum president, the high priests group leader, in the bishopric, or hold any of the other “standard” church callings that clean-cut, married Mormon men hold in their local congregations. That’s not the point. The point is that you hold the priesthood.
You’re not one of those blind-faith, exact-obedience, march-in-line kind of guys. You’ve thought about things. You’ve reflected. There have been times when how women are treated in the church has made you uncomfortable. “Sometimes the way things are implemented isn’t fair,” you acknowledge to yourself. “But things are getting better,” you tell yourself. Somewhere, in the back of your head, you think you’re helping to move things in the right direction. Change from the inside. A little at a time.
Remember that comedy bit by Bill Engvall? The one with the tag line “Here’s your sign?” Well, here’s yours: “Progressive Mormon Male.” And let me state this clearly. When it comes to sexism in the church, despite what you may believe, you-yes, you-are the problem.
This is not a you’re-not-doing-enough guilt trip or a you-could-change-things-quicker-if-you-really-tried pep talk. There is no nuance here. It’s not that you aren’t aware of the problem, or that you’re not fixing the problem fast enough, or that you are inadvertently contributing to the problem. Stated as bluntly as the broad side of a barn, you ARE the problem (or least a disproportionate share of it).
You’re a good guy. People like you. You do your home teaching. People ask you for advice. And when there’s a group of people milling around wondering who’s going to ask someone to say the prayer so that everyone can eat, sometimes the group defers to you. And why shouldn’t they? Maybe you’re a counselor in the bishopric and the bishop isn’t there. Maybe it’s a family gathering. It doesn’t matter that there are women there that are older (and, no doubt, wiser) than you. Or that the Relief Society president is there with her counselors. Or that the women that planned the activity and cooked the food are there. In the unwritten hierarchy of those in the room, you seem to be at the top, so you ask someone to pray. And you don’t even think about it.
You’re the guy that stands up at the start of an activity and says something like this: “I really shouldn’t be one up here kicking this off. It was Sister So-and-so that did all the work. If you get a chance before you leave, make a point to stop and thank her for all her hard work.” Or something like this: “This wouldn’t have been possible without Sister X and Sister Y; I couldn’t have done this without them.” And you think you’re being ingratiatingly honest. Humble even. After all, it’s just the time-honored tradition of “leadership” standing up and giving their papal blessing to an activity because, well, someone has to be in charge, and that’s just the way it is. And you don’t even think about it.
You’re the guy that advocates for women in meetings with other men. “That calling doesn’t require the priesthood, so why can’t we call a sister?” you might ask, or you might say, “I think it’s important that the young women get as much in their budget as the young men.” After you say something like this, you feel good about yourself. It doesn’t occur to you that the real problem-the bigger problem, the systemic problem-is that a woman isn’t sitting in your seat. You think that advocating for women is somehow noble, or brave, or righteous, when what the situation demands is your absence (not your advocacy). You think that the solution is to do a better job of being fair, of listening. In short, you think the solution is to do a better job of taking care of women. You don’t see that your solution is actually the problem.
When you hear other men talking about how it’s their divine role to preside in the home, you cringe a little. You probably say something like this: “If you think I preside, then you don’t know my wife.” And you might laugh. Or you might say something like this: “Well, we’ve discovered that a partnership works best.” Saying this makes you feel good about yourself. It doesn’t bother you that your wife doesn’t have as much education as you do, or that her skills aren’t as marketable as yours. You tell yourself that you wouldn’t mind if she worked, if that’s what she wanted, without stopping to think that the trajectory of your lives has made that impractical, if not impossible. You bring home the paycheck. Her life is built around yours. And you don’t even think about it.
You assume that your experiences are generalizable and that your opinion is valuable. Why wouldn’t you? You’re a reasonable guy. You think you’re capable of seeing both sides of this issue. Your position is measured and thoughtful, you tell yourself.
Do this. Find a quiet room and dim the lights. Starting with a knock on your front door, imagine a visit from your stake president and one of his counselors. After some small talk, they tell your wife that they want her to be the new bishop of your ward. Think about how that would change the shape your lives.
Or imagine that the Relief Society president in your ward is now your stake president. You’re sitting in her office and she’s explaining the importance of moral cleanliness and virtue. She asks if you if you’ve ever looked at porn? She asks you if you have a masturbation “problem.”
Can you imagine these scenarios? Of course you can. Out in the real world, you work with women. You work for women. If a woman can run GM, then a woman could run your ward or your stake. It’s not that much of a stretch, you tell yourself. You’re flexible. If God wanted his church run this way, you could adapt. Congratulations. Want a cookie?
Imagining situations like these is easy. The hard part is confronting the mundane, everyday, taken-for-granted reality of patriarchy. Imagine being at a family gathering and feeling the weight of expectation shift to your sister, because there aren’t any older women there, to call on someone to give the prayer. Imagine doing all the work for an activity, and then waiting for the relief society president to stand up and give it her blessing before it begins. Imagine women advocating for you in meetings in which your absence isn’t noticed-where your absence, in fact, is expected. Imagine the trajectory of your life-all the insignificant but cumulative decisions about what to focus on, what to spend time and money on, what to worry about-slowing taking you to a place where the only thing that makes sense is for you stay home and take care of the kids while your wife brings home the paycheck.
Here’s the reason you’re the problem: You benefit from all the perks of patriarchy, but you won’t own it in a way that motivates others to change it. You want to smooth out its rough edges, polish it up a bit, so you’re not embarrassed by it. You’ve convinced yourself that you’re making a contribution.
You’re not.
It’s camouflage. By making patriarchy palatable, you preserve it. Most feminist have already figured that out. Maybe it’s time you admitted that to yourself?