Conformity or Community?

“He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.” John 8:7

Growing up queer in Northern Utah where LDS (Mormon) culture thrives, I learned what it meant to conform to community ideals while battling my authentic inner world. My childhood was shaped by teachings of unconditional love, acceptance, and unity. Yet, as I grew older, I observed how these ideals – while beautiful in theory, often came at the expense of personal conviction.

I resonated with the general message being taught, but began to question why a system seemingly rooted in love could grow so exclusive in practice. In pondering, I recalled an anchor I had learned as a child, “Doubt your doubts before you doubt your faith.” While this phrase once gave comfort in its reliability, it bodes warning in my adulthood, whispering: you cannot trust yourself, trust us instead.

I noticed the aspects of our tight-knit community: structure, ritual, music, and unity, were not only tools for righteousness, but instruments for control. However, these elements are not exclusive to Mormonism, and are present in religion, cults, politics, and the fabric of American life. I’m then forced to ask: How did we let these foundations take hold, and why have we stopped questioning them?

Our church weeks were tightly structured: Sunday worship, Monday Family Home Evening, Wednesday youth activities. Faith wasn’t just encouraged, but coerced, carrying the weight of my entire family’s salvation linked with my compliance.

This routine began at age eight; I was too young to understand or question it. At this age I was also required, like every other American child, to attend school, where we were taught that education is the foundation of society, including our freedom. While I’d never thought this to be a negative aspect of American culture, I began to question the purpose behind this education, and more importantly, the perspective it was reflecting.

American children are largely taught that Christopher Columbus “discovered” America, in tales riddled with celebration and excitement. Yet a more diverse viewpoint asserts colonization and genocide. In my pursuit of higher education, it became clear what my previous learning was intended for. While pivotal for growth, it was not designed to expand my worldview, but to influence the way I saw our nation’s history. Though both church and education claim to guide and protect, they often limit my ability to think independently and experience the world from a unique lens.

Building upon these realizations, I reflected on rituals in both the LDS faith and America. Each Sunday in Young Women’s class, we recited who the church says we are and our role in society: The Young Women Theme. Similarly, many American children recite the Pledge of Allegiance daily. This is justified as a display of patriotism, without concern for critical thinking skills needed before surrendering allegiance to a country they didn’t choose.

These rituals are ingrained in music as well. In LDS worship, we regularly sang heartfelt songs to reinforce the beliefs. In comparison, Americans belt the “Star Spangled Banner” at public events, in solidarity and respect for our country. Allison Eck writes in Harvard’s Medicine Magazine, “that’s because music’s immediacy — it unfolds in real time and captures our attention in a way that cannot be negotiated — makes it an ideal vehicle for creating specific experiences in the brain.” Eck explains that music is not just uplifting, but strengthens a narrative. While we sing these together not only is it encouraging a narrative, but a semblance of our unity.

Looking at our current state in America, it becomes challenging to ignore the deep patterns we’ve fallen into of compulsory patriotism, group thinking, and fear of dissent. As I’ve seen parallels between America and orthodox systems, I believed our democratic system would prevent us from slipping too far in one direction. Landmark cases, such as Virginia State Board of Education v. Barnette reassured this belief in asserting our right to refuse participation in these rituals.

Today, our patriotism defines itself as blind deference to power, rather than a celebration of liberty. Under Trump’s influence, our political ideology often seems like a moral litmus test, leaving little space to discuss our differences and work toward genuine resolution. We’ve strayed from the original intent of a two-party system: to represent a broader range of voices and ideas. We now treat political opposition as a threat to democracy. The deterioration of dialogue and collaboration between two parties is not just dangerous, but anti-American.

Still, my intention isn’t to shame faith or patriotism. These establishments offer something we all seek: community. Our mistake in community arises when belonging requires a surrender of autonomy. A study from the National Library of Medicine found weaker community ties correlate with poorer overall and mental health; illustrating how essential community is for our well-being.

Moving forward, we must become intentional about how we show up for one another: befriending our neighbors, volunteering, and creating spaces we build together. Begin questioning institutions promoting unified thinking, and seek out answers through study and diligent research.

Genuine community has never been rooted in blind adherence to a singular point of view, but in active connection and participation. We must commit to affirming critical thinking and education, holding multiple complex, diverse points of view at the same time. In doing so, we begin to build harmony rooted not in fear or control, but in compassion, mutual respect, and shared humanity. This is what I remember as the original intention of both the LDS church and in America: creating real community, not through conformity but through valiant love.