Title: Chelsea Shields on How I’m Working for Change Inside My Church at TED Talks Conference – Transcript
Speaker: Chelsea Shields [Full bio]
Chelsea Shields – Activist, Anthropologist, Consultant
Religion is more than belief. It’s power, and it’s influence. And that influence affects all of us every day, regardless of your own belief. Despite the enormous influence of religion on the world today, we hold them to a different standard of scrutiny and accountability than any other sector of our society. For example, if there were a multinational organization, government or corporation today that said no female could be on a leadership board, not one woman could have a decision-making authority, not one woman could handle any financial matter, we’d have outrage. There would be sanctions. And yet this is a common practice in almost every world religion today.
We accept things in our religious lives that we do not accept in our secular lives, and I know this because I’ve been doing it for three decades. I was the type of girl that fought every form of gender discrimination growing up. I played pickup basketball games with the boys and inserted myself. I said I was going to be the first female President of the United States. I have been fighting for the Equal Rights Amendment, which has been dead for 40 years. I’m the first woman in both sides of my family to ever work outside the home and ever receive a higher education.
I never accepted being excluded because I was a woman, except in my religion. Throughout all of that time, I was a part of a very patriarchal orthodox Mormon religion. I grew up in an enormously traditional family. I have eight siblings, a stay-at-home mother. My father’s actually a religious leader in the community. And I grew up in a world believing that my worth and my standing was in keeping these rules that I’d known my whole life. You get married a virgin, you never drink alcohol, you don’t smoke, you always do service, you’re a good kid. Some of the rules we had were strict, but you followed the rules because you loved the people and you loved the religion and you believed.
Everything about Mormonism determined what you wore, who you dated, who you married. It determined what underwear we wore. I was the kind of religious where everyone I know donated 10% of everything they earned to the church, including myself. From paper routes and babysitting, I donated 10%. I was the kind of religious where I heard parents tell children when they’re leaving on a two-year proselytizing mission that they would rather have them die than return home without honor, having sinned.
I was the type and the kind of religious where kids kill themselves every single year because they’re terrified of coming out to our community as gay. But I was also the kind of religious where it didn’t matter where in the world I lived, I had friendship, instantaneous mutual aid. This was where I felt safe. This is certainty and clarity about life. I had help raising my little daughter. So that’s why I accepted without question that only men can lead, and I accepted without question that women can’t have the spiritual authority of God on the Earth, which we call the priesthood. And I allowed discrepancies between men and women in operating budgets, disciplinary councils, in decision-making capacities, and I gave my religion a free pass because I loved it.
Until I stopped, and I realized that I had been allowing myself to be treated as the support staff to the real work of men. And I faced this contradiction in myself, and I joined with other activists in my community. We’ve been working very, very, very hard for the last decade and more.
The first thing we did was raise consciousness. You can’t change what you can’t see. We started podcasting, blogging, writing articles. I created lists of hundreds of ways that men and women are unequal in our community.
The next thing we did was build advocacy organizations. We tried to do things that were unignorable, like wearing pants to church and trying to attend all-male meetings. These seem like simple things, but to us, the organizers, they were enormously costly. We lost relationships. We lost jobs. We got hate mail on a daily basis. We were attacked in social media and national press. We received death threats. We lost standing in our community. Some of us got excommunicated. Most of us got put in front of a disciplinary council, and we were rejected from the communities that we loved because we wanted to make them better, because we believed that they could be.
And I began to expect this reaction from my own people. I know what it feels like when you feel like someone’s trying to change you or criticize you. But what utterly shocked me was throughout all of this work I received equal measures of vitriol from the secular left, the same vehemence as the religious right. And what my secular friends didn’t realize was that this religious hostility, these phrases of, “Oh, all religious people are crazy or stupid.” “Don’t pay attention to religion.” “They’re going to be homophobic and sexist.” What they didn’t understand was that that type of hostility did not fight religious extremism, it bred religious extremism. Those arguments don’t work, and I know because I remember someone telling me that I was stupid for being Mormon. And what it caused me to do was defend myself and my people and everything we believe in, because we’re not stupid.