MEXICAN MORMON MASCULINITIES: Navigating Religious and Gender Normativities and Identities in Mexico City

MEXICAN MORMON MASCULINITIES: navigating religious and gender normativities and identities in Mexico City.

A thesis submitted to The University of Manchester for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in the Faculty of Humanities

2018

ISAAC A SILES-BÁRCENAS

SCHOOL OF SOCIAL SCIENCES

CONTENTS

LIST OF IMAGES, TABLES AND FIGURES 4

ABSTRACT 5

DECLARATION 6

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS 7

CHAPTER 1: INTRODUCTION 8

‘WHY MEN, WHY MORMONS?’ 8 OBJECTIVE AND SCOPE OF THE RESEARCH 13 THE STRUCTURE OF THE THESIS 14

CHAPTER 2: RELIGIOUS MASCULINITIES BEYOND TRADITION-LATE MODERN DICHOTOMIES 20

INTRODUCTION 20 THE SECULARIZATION THESIS: DEVELOPMENT AND CRITIQUE 23 THE ‘NEW’ RELIGIOSITY 28 BELIEVING, EMOTION AND AFFECT 30 TRADITIONAL AND NEW HEGEMONIC MASCULINITIES? 33 (HEGEMONIC) MASCULINITY FROM A GENDER PERSPECTIVE 38 DOUBLE THINKING AND SOCIAL EMBODIMENT IN THE CONFIGURATION OF RELIGIOUS MASCULINITIES 44 CONCLUSION 51

CHAPTER 3: A METHODOLOGY FIT FOR MEXICAN MORMON MASCULINITIES 53

INTRODUCTION 53 LOOKING AT MORMON MASCULINITIES FROM A QUALITATIVE PERSPECTIVE 54 THE METHODS 56 READING: ‘SEARCHING’ MORMON SCRIPTURE AND DOCUMENTS 57 OBSERVING: AN ETHNOGRAPHIC APPROACH 61 Afirmación México 68 INTERVIEWING: DIALOGUES ON MORMON MASCULINITIES 72 ANALYSING THE DATA 80

2 CHAPTER 4: MORMON MASCULINITIES ON DISPLAY 84

INTRODUCTION 84 MASCULINITIES ON DISPLAY AT THE MORMON CAPILLA 86 DISPLAYING MASCULINITIES THROUGH AUTHORITY AND SPIRITUALITY 90 ‘AND, BEHOLD, AND LO, THIS IS AN ENSAMPLE UNTO ALL…’ GENERAL AUTHORITY MASCULINITY 96 MORMON MASCULINITIES IN PREDOMINANTLY NON-MORMON SPACES 103 IN THE WORLD BUT NOT OF IT: MORMON MASCULINITIES AT SCHOOL AND/OR WORK. 104 LGBT MORMON MASCULINITIES: HYBRIDISATION AND TENSIONS BETWEEN ‘SPIRITUALITY’ AND ‘LIBERATION’ 109 CONCLUSION 114

5 - ‘THE PRIESTHOOD’ AS A LINCHPIN OF MORMON MASCULINITIES 117

INTRODUCTION 117 ‘A CHOSEN GENERATION, A ROYAL PRIESTHOOD’ 119 ‘THE (MALE) PRIVILEGE OF HOLDING THE PRIESTHOOD’ 125 ‘KIND OF LIKE THAT BIT IN SPIDERMAN’ PRIESTHOOD: POWER AND RESPONSIBILITY 132 ‘CALLED TO SERVE’ 135 (NOT ALWAYS) THE BEST TWO YEARS OF A MAN’S LIFE 139 CONCLUSION 143

6 – ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIPS, MARRIAGE, AND FAMILY IN THE PRODUCTION AND EXPERIENCE OF MORMON MASCULINITIES 146

INTRODUCTION 146 ‘THE PROCLAMATION OF THE FAMILY’ 148 ‘THOU SHALT LIVE TOGETHER IN LOVE’: MORMON MASCULINITIES AT PLAY IN ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIPS 152 ‘IT IS NOT GOOD THAT MAN SHALL BE ALONE’: ROMANCE, COMPANIONSHIP AND PLEASURE IN MORMON MEN’S RELATIONSHIPS 153 The love that dared not speak its name at Church 158 IN SEARCH OF ‘AN HELP MEET’: RELATIONSHIPS FRAMED BY THE PROSPECT OF MARRIAGE 162 ‘THE NEW AND EVERLASTING COVENANT’: MARRIAGE AND MASCULINITIES 165 ‘FAMILY MATTERS’: FAMILIES AND THE PRODUCTION OF MASCULINITIES 171 FAMILIES OF ORIGIN 171 CURRENT FAMILIES 176 CONCLUSION 180

7 - BECOMING MORMON / MEN 182

INTRODUCTION 182 POSITIONING MEN VERSUS ‘THE STRAIT AND NARROW PATH’ 184 ‘TALKING THE WALK’: NARRATIVES OF STAYING ON THE ‘STRAIT AND NARROW PATH’ 191

3 ‘BORN IN THE COVENANT’ 191 HAVING ‘ENTERED IN BY THE GATE’ 195 EBBING AND FLOWING 198 MEN COMING IN/OUT OF MORMONISM 204 CONCLUSION 209

CHAPTER 8: CONCLUSION, PRODUCING AND EXPERIENCING MORMON MASCULINITIES 211

RESEARCHING MASCULINITIES IN PARTICULAR EMPIRICAL CONTEXTS 211 BEYOND NORMATIVE MASCULINITY 214 ‘SEEING/THINKING DOUBLE’ 217

REFERENCES 221

APPENDICES 239

1. INFORMATION SHEET AND INFORMED CONSENT FORM FOR PARTICIPANTS 239 2. OUTLINE FOR INTERVIEW 242 3. PARTICIPANTS’ PEN PORTRAITS/VIGNETTES (EXCERPTS) 246

LIST OF IMAGES, TABLES AND FIGURES

Image 1. Mormon meeting houses in Mexico City ______87 Image 2. The Mormon temple in Mexico City ______89 Image 3. The Fist Presidency of the LDS Church ______97 Image 4. Laying on of hands on an LDS boy ______122

Table 1. Activities attended with the group Afirmación ______70 Table 2. List of participants ______79

Figure 1. Composition of the sample by level of engagement with Mormonism by participants and length as LDS Church members. ______78

4 ABSTRACT

This thesis explores the production and experience of masculinities among Mormon men (and women) in the contemporary context of Mexico City. It draws on a qualitative methodology, based on the analysis of texts and documents that make up the institutional normativity and discourse of Mormonism; ethnographic observations of two traditional Mormon congregations and the collective of self-identified LGBT Mormons Afirmación; and individual in-depth interviews with 25 Mormon men and 5 Mormon women. Drawing on the debates on secularisation and detraditionalisation, the thesis argues that contemporary Mormon masculinities in Mexico are neither merely current manifestations of ‘traditional’ forms of religious masculinity, nor the product of the ever increasing ‘modernisation’ and secularisation of Mexican society. Rather, they consist of nuanced and fluid processes that simultaneously display elements of long standing religious and gendered belief and practice, as well as ways of being in the world and interacting in it influenced by what can be seen as modern and post-modern discourses.

Such processes are traced in four dimensions throughout the thesis, namely, the display of masculinities in different spaces configured either by Mormonism’s gender regime or other such regime(s), the particular positions assigned to masculinities in those regimes through the notion of priesthood authority, the gender relationships that such structure produces, fosters and/or hinders, and the biographical accounts that participants articulated of their becoming ‘Mormon men’. Throughout this exploration, the thesis addresses the issue of how useful or illuminating the concept of hegemonic masculinity can be in understanding religious masculinities in general and Mormon masculinities more specifically. It also seeks to illustrate the interaction between long standing forms of being and doing religious masculinities, and others sometimes characterised as ‘post-traditional’ or even ‘post-modern’.

5 DECLARATION

No portion of the work referred to in the thesis has been submitted in support of an application for another degree or qualification of this or any other university or other institute of learning.

i. The author of this thesis (including any appendices and/or schedules to this thesis) owns certain copyright or related rights in it (the “Copyright”) and s/he has given The University of Manchester certain rights to use such Copyright, including for administrative purposes. ii. Copies of this thesis, either in full or in extracts and whether in hard or electronic copy, may be made only in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 (as amended) and regulations issued under it or, where appropriate, in accordance with licensing agreements which the University has from time to time. This page must form part of any such copies made. iii. The ownership of certain Copyright, patents, designs, trademarks and other intellectual property (the “Intellectual Property”) and any reproductions of copyright works in the thesis, for example graphs and tables (“Reproductions”), which may be described in this thesis, may not be owned by the author and may be owned by third parties. Such Intellectual Property and Reproductions cannot and must not be made available for use without the prior written permission of the owner(s) of the relevant Intellectual Property and/or Reproductions. iv. Further information on the conditions under which disclosure, publication and commercialisation of this thesis, the Copyright and any Intellectual Property and/or Reproductions described in it may take place is available in the University IP Policy (see http://documents.manchester.ac.uk/DocuInfo.aspx?DocID=24420), in any relevant Thesis restriction declarations deposited in the University Library, The University Library’s regulations (see http://www.library.manchester.ac.uk/about/regulations/) and in The University’s policy on Presentation of Theses

6 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to recognise the Mormon men and women who welcomed me in their wards, as well as the wonderful people of Afirmación: Mormones LGBT, Familias y Amigos, who took me into their safe space. I am deeply thankful for your kindness and confidence, for sharing your stories with me, and being willing to talk about very personal and meaningful experiences.

I wish to express my appreciation to Professors Brian Heaphy and Bridget Byrne for their guidance in the process of this research. I am especially grateful for their support and understanding in the hardest moments of the research process, and want to thank them for reading my work, for pointing me in the right direction, for sharing their comments, knowledge, and insight, and for their encouragement and reassurance to develop my own research skills. Their help has been fundamental for the realisation of this thesis.

I would also like to acknowledge my dear late father and my wonderful mother for sending me to school since I was a kid, and always encouraging me to learn and get the best grades I could, as well as my beautiful sisters for all their loving care and support ¡Gracias! Also big thanks to the friends that now I call family, too, especially Itza, Elizabeth and Rodrigo.

I want to thank the great colleagues and friends I was able to meet along this academic journey, especially Isabelle, Martino, Chiara, Denisse, Karis, Tugba, Seb, Rohini, Johnathan, Neta, Charlotte, Jess, Jingran, Ulli, Fran and Alejandro. Having you people around made it all the more enjoyable! A especially big thank you to Susan for all her help reading my work and commenting on it, but mostly for putting the s in support. Last but not least, huge thanks to Thalia for all of her patience, understanding, encouragement and affection. This experience would simply not have been the same without it.

Finally, I wish to acknowledge the National Council of Science and Technology of Mexico (CONACYT) for funding this research and supporting me.

7 CHAPTER 1: INTRODUCTION

‘Why men, why Mormons?’

And now that my soul might have joy in you, and that my heart might leave this world with gladness because of you, that I might not be brought down with grief and sorrow to the grave, arise from the dust, my sons, and be men…

The Book of Mormon, 2 Nephi 1:21-22

The quote above comes from the story that sets up the Book of Mormon1. In it, Lehi, a man who lived in Jerusalem around 600 BC, is warned by God in a dream of the city’s imminent destruction. Having fled to the desert, he and his family wander for some time until they reach the sea, build a boat and embark in a long journey that will take them to a ‘land of promise’ on what is known today as the American continent. Lehi has four sons. Nephi, the youngest of them and the narrator of the story, describes his brother Sam and himself as humble, obedient and faithful. On the other hand, Laman and Lemuel, the two eldest, are portrayed in Nephi’s account as prideful, rebellious, and unbelieving. Thus, as he draws nearer to his impending death, Lehi appeals to the masculinity of his older sons in one last plea for them to conform to Nephi’s authority (whom God has called to preside over the incipient new tribe when Lehi is dead). Unless they do so, a curse will come over them and their posterity, which shall grow large in the new land they have inherited.

But Laman and Lemuel do not listen to their dying father. Their animosity against their younger brother keeps growing, and eventually they divide into ‘two nations’: the Nephites and the Lamanites. As prophesised by their father, these two nations grow and populate the land; for centuries they war against each other until the latter finally

1 In Mormonism, this book is a text of scripture that shares canonical status with the Bible. Joseph Smith, the founder of Mormonism, claimed to have received a set of engraved golden plates from an angel, which he was commanded to translate ‘by the power of God’ and then publish under the name ‘The Book of Mormon’. Smith explained that the book was named after Mormon, a character in the story who would have compiled the writings of several narrators and integrated them into the single volume that was given to him. In Chapter 3, I further discuss the composition and importance of the Mormon scripture canon, under the subheading on documentary data.

8 prevails over the former. Mormon lore thus conceives of Native American peoples as descending from the Lamanites.2 Even though they experience periods of piety and righteousness along the narrative in the Book of Mormon, the Lamanites are generally painted in a very negative light. They are characterised as ruthless, savage and violent; ‘a dark, and loathsome, and a filthy people, full of idleness and all manner of abominations’ (1 Nephi 12: 23). By the end of the chronicle, when they finally exterminate the Nephites, the Lamanites have reached the peak of their iniquity, which causes the true Christian religion to be taken from them. 3 Laman and Lemuel’s unmanly ‘stiffneckedness’ (i.e. their disobedience and rebelliousness) has thus condemned a whole nation to spiritual destruction and, eventually, great earthly suffering.4

This and other stories in the Book of Mormon construct ideas of ‘being a man’ that are tightly linked to conforming to God’s ‘commandments’, a set of normative principles of divine origin that regulate men’s conduct. Moreover, they support the existence of a hierarchy among men, established on the basis of the observance to such normative principles. In the book, not much is said about women and femininity. Only three women are mentioned by name in the whole volume of 500 plus pages, and all the attributed authors, also characters in the story, are male. But when it does feature, femininity is clearly characterised as something complementary to masculinity and subordinated to it: the few ‘feminine’ characters that appear in the stories do so in roles as ‘mothers’, ‘wives’, or ‘harlots’. Attributes like humbleness and obedience to the ‘divinely instituted’ authority are extolled as masculine, while rebelliousness and non- conformity to it are cast as inappropriate in that same sense. These notions are but a

2 The introduction to the Book of Mormon published in the 2013 edition nuanced this belief by stating that the Lamanites ‘are among the ancestors of the American Indians’ (LDS Church, 2013a, emphasis added). However, the introduction to previous versions asserted that the Lamanites were ‘the principal ancestors’ of American groups and this has been a prevalent conviction and an important identity aspect for many Mormons in Latin America. 3 The Book of Mormon also narrates that Jesus of Nazareth appeared to the Nephites in the Americas after his resurrection and ascension to heaven, and ministered among them, in a similar way to what is narrated by the biblical gospels. 4 This is part of the Mormon rationalisation for the violent colonisation of the Americas by Christian European nations that started toward the end of the fifteenth century. From a Mormon perspective, this can be seen as part of a series of events that were necessary as preparation for ‘the restoration’ of true Christianity on American soil in modern times. These include the Protestant Reformation, Columbus’ trips to the Americas, the American Declaration of Independence and the promulgation of the United States Constitution. Such events are believed to be ‘inspired by God’ as taught by various Mormon leaders (see Doctrine and Covenants, 101; McConkie, 1966; Benson, 1979; Maxwell, 2009).

9 few examples of the clearly androcentric ‘gender regime’ (Connell 1987; Connell and Pearse, 2015) upon which the Mormon5 Church —officially the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (LDS Church)— emerged in the decade of the 1820s, in the USA, and consolidated over the rest of the nineteenth century.

This gender regime operated fully in the LDS Church when it started its incursion in Mexican territory during the first half of the twentieth century. At the time, such a regime was mostly consistent with the gender order prevalent south of the Rio Grande. The first Mormon ‘branches’ comprised entirely of Mexican Mormons6 were formed in the centre states of the country, and finally in the capital, Mexico City, during those decades (Tullis, 1997). Mormonism started to establish itself as a viable religious practice in Mexico, in an otherwise Catholic culture, towards the decade of the 1950s (Lozano, 1984), and over the second half of the twentieth century, the LDS Church experienced exponential growth (Searle, 2004; Odekirk, 2014) in the country. Thousands of Mexican people joined the LDS Church during those years, and Mormon meeting houses started to spring all over the country, well away from the ‘colonies’ that early Mormon settlers (mostly polygamists) had established in the northern state of Chihuahua towards the end of the nineteenth century.

Over that same period, from 1950 onwards, a number of political, economic and sociodemographic processes in the country, and especially in Mexico City, started to reshape that prevailing gender order. Women were given the right to vote and their

5 It is appropriate to clarify here some of the terms in this regard, as used all throughout this thesis. The term Mormon(s) was first used to identify followers of Smith’s movement, on account of their belief in the divine origin and advent of the Book of Mormon. It also gave way to the term Mormonism to refer to the movement itself. It has since been commonly used both to identify a member of the LDS Church, or as an adjective to qualify something related to it or the doctrines and practices taught by Smith (sometimes also called ‘the restoration movement’). Another common term to refer to a member of the LDS Church or something related to it is the acronym LDS, which stands for Latter-day Saint(s). Smith himself and other prominent Church leaders have used this expression to refer to the movements adherents. In recent years, the dispute over who can use the term Mormon as a self- identifier became part of a debate, particularly in the USA, as other strands of Mormonism that do not associate themselves with the LDS Church have come forth and joined the discussion. The current president of the LDS Church has recently asked the membership to stop using the term or any other nickname, and refer to the Church by its complete and official name. As LDS Church’s public presence in Mexico is substantially larger to that of other faiths reclaiming a Mormon identity, it seems to have the monopoly of the term in the context of Mexico City. Thus, being mormón is virtually a synonym of being a member of the LDS Church in Mexico. Mexican Mormons sometimes use the Spanish acronym SUD (equivalent to LDS) to identify themselves, and as an adjective equivalent to Mormon. 6 The first Mormon congregations in the country were formed by American families that had moved to Mexico in the late nineteenth century in an effort to circumvent US legislation being created to ban polygamy.

10 political participation widened (Peschard, 2003). The presence of women in the educational system and the labour market increased substantially, especially in the last three decades of the twentieth century (Blanco, 2001; García, 2001). During those same decades, the number of children born per household fell, leading to a reconfiguration of family formations and organisation (Ordorica-Mellado, 2014). These processes have tended to be seen as part of a large encompassing process broadly defined as the ‘modernisation’ of Latin America, and specifically of Mexican society (Larraín, 2000). Later, a series of cultural processes, such as hybridisation and globalisation, had an impact in the construction of gender relationships, especially toward the last quarter of the twentieth century (Nehring, 2005).

Having been part of the Mormon community in Mexico City in my childhood and adolescence, I was a first-hand witness of the fast growth that the LDS Church experienced in the country over the decades of the 1980s and the 1990s. Simultaneously, I witnessed the interactions between Mormonism and the changes in the gender order that were taking place in Mexican society at large. Mormonism is a very comprehensive religious practice that proposes a vision of gender relationships that can be perceived and understood as ‘traditional’ in many ways. Yet, it had also developed to embody a ‘new’ way of believing —and indeed, living— for Mexican men, families, and communities.

So how can one make sense of the growth and expansion of this sort of ‘new religious tradition’ over the last six decades, in a context of rapid ‘(late) modernisation’? What is it that Mexican Mormon men and women have found so appealing about such a configuration of gender relationships and identities? What was the role of the ‘modern’ character tied to the entrepreneurship, prosperity and wealth, commonly associated with American/transnational culture, represented by the Mormon imagery of modern and crisp buildings, white American missionaries, and the middleclass respectability of the ideal Mormon family? And what about Mormonism’s important claims to ‘tradition’, through the idea of the ‘restoration’ of true Christianity; and the implicit and explicit appeals to ethnicity through the evocation of a glorious ‘Lamanite’ past and promise?

I became particularly interested in interrogating these ideas from an academic perspective when I came across the term ‘new masculinities’ at the start of my Masters

11 degree. The idea of ‘new’ suggested a progressive change over time, of linear processes of development (as highlighted by Nehring, 2005: 227) taking us from old to new forms of understanding and experiencing masculinity; new ways of ‘being a man’. This proposition intersected with ideas about the role of religious experience in life trajectories and the configuration of gender identities. The case of Mormonism seemed counter intuitive to this linear narrative, and thus worthy of further exploration. My initial enquiry resulted in a short research project that looked at the intersection of religion and the experience of fatherhood among Mexican Mormon men/fathers.7 But it also opened up a whole set of questions regarding Mormonism and masculinity that have informed the conception and development of the present thesis. Pursuing such a project seemed even more appropriate considering the state of the relevant research in Mexico. Gender studies in the country continue to thrive. However, the study of masculinities is still diminished compared to the important corpus of research undertaken on other dimensions of gender experience, structures and relations. In a similar way, there is a renewed interest in the study of religious ways of understanding the world and interacting in it, in the Mexican context. Nevertheless, Mormonism is a religious form that has been less explored in that context, in spite of its growing public presence in Mexican society.

Gender identities and subjectivities are multiple and complex, and Mexico is a particularly illustrative example of this (Gutmann, 1996: 9). Many social, cultural and biographical factors converge in the formulation of masculinities, and religion can certainly be a major influence in its configuration. Ever since the Spanish empire colonized the territory that is now known as Mexico and established Catholicism as the official religion of the land, it has played a central part in the configuration of Mexican culture and its gender order (Seidler, 2006). Even though cultural theorists have been looking at gendered (and racialized) cultures for some time now, issues of religion and race have often been absent in these explorations, perhaps as they have been rendered invisible by being taken for granted (Seidler, 2006: 47). But if we understand masculinities (and femininities) as historically and culturally contingent, then religious history, affiliation, orientation and practice can and ought to feature centrally in their study in order to obtain a more encompassing understanding of them.

7 The product of such project was a dissertation (Siles, 2012a) to obtain a MSc in Social Sciences.

12 This thesis contributes to the illumination of the current multiplicity and complexity of Mexican gender identities, especially of masculinities. It establishes links between religious beliefs and practices and the production and reproduction of such identities and subjectivities, by looking at the peculiar case of Mormonism. It argues that understanding masculinities, and especially religious/Mormon masculinities, entails thinking of them in double ways. In the remainder of this introductory Chapter, I outline the objective of the study and the research questions that have guided its realisation, as well as the structure and contents of the thesis.

Objective and scope of the research

Based on the previous considerations, the main objective of this thesis is to explore the ways in which Mexican Mormon men and women produce and experience masculinities in the context of contemporary Mexico City.

In order to achieve this objective, the following questions guided the research underpinning the study:

1. What diverse meanings and practices do Mormon men associate with masculinit(ies) and femininit(ies)? What do these imply in terms of their ‘bodily experience’ and their ‘identities’ (Connell and Pearse, 2015)?

2. How are these meanings and practices they associate with masculinities (and femininities as their ‘others’) shaped in contemporary contexts? In what ways does their religious affiliation shape these?

3. Are Mormon men engaging in dialogue with diverse discourses about gender identities and gender relations?

4. If so, are their masculinities and practices being reconfigured through this process? How does this differ between more ‘faithful/believing’ (normative) Mormon men, and those who have questioned or challenged Mormon normativities to different degrees (specifically self-identified LGBTQ Mormons)?

13 5. How is the current debate, within and around Mormonism, regarding gender normativity and gender practices impacting, if at all, on collective representations of ‘traditional’ and/or ‘new’ Mormon masculinities (and femininities)?

The structure of the thesis

Drawing on the debates on secularisation and detraditionalisation, as well as those about social construction of gender and gender identities, and more post-structural perspectives on them, the thesis argues that contemporary Mormon masculinities in Mexico are neither merely current manifestations of ‘traditional’ forms of religious masculinity, nor the product of the ever increasing ‘modernisation’ and secularisation of Mexican society. Rather, they consist of nuanced and fluid processes that simultaneously display elements of long standing religious and gendered belief and practice, as well as ‘new’ ways of being in the world and interacting within it that are influenced by late modern and post-modern discourses on gender, belief, and so on.

In Chapter 2, I consider some of the main themes in the literature of sociology of religion in recent decades. This inevitably leads to theories of secularisation and its various revisions, and the ways in which the debates for and against secularisation mirror those about ‘tradition and detraditionalisation’. I look at the new religiosity approach and explain why I find the notion of New Religious Movements (NRMs) limited for the study of Mormon masculinities. The chapter then moves on to a discussion of the study of masculinities from a gender perspective, in which I especially consider Raewyn Connell’s (1987; 2005; Connell and Messerschmidt, 2005) category of ‘hegemonic masculinity’ that I seek to interrogate throughout the thesis. I argue in favour of an understanding of masculinities as fluid processes, that can be simultaneously seen as ‘traditional’ and ‘new’, through the observation of actual life trajectories of experiencing masculinities.

I also argue that both religion and masculinity have congealed in clearly observable institutions, and that those institutions can be transformed and adapted by the everyday workings of the people who make them up, giving way to religious masculinities that are at times contradictory. These, I argue, are better understood if observed with a

14 ‘double-edged’ approach (Butler, 2002) that can account for their configuration through multiple processes occurring simultaneously. The analytical framework I derive from these considerations helps bring to light how Mormonism’s gender regime can potentially be reconstituted, and the implications for masculinities that this has. It conceives of Mormon men as agents and subjects in the production and reproduction of masculinities, while acknowledging both their fluid and their structural nature.

The broadly ethnographic research at the heart of the thesis was realised using the qualitative methodology I present in Chapter 3. I argue that a qualitative approach is relevant to the study on account of the ontological and epistemological view of religious masculinities as the result of social relations and interactions in which sexed bodies participate. I describe the different methods I drew on, in the form of what can be defined as a ‘facet’ methodology (Mason, 2011). These include an analysis of various texts that are part of the LDS literature, which provides insight into the official doctrine and normativity of Mormonism. I also followed a series of online debates and conversations around faith, gender and identities stemming from that intersection. This helped me locate both the more orthodox believing Mormon congregations in Mexico City, as well as the group Afirmación: Mormones LGBT, Familias y Amigos (Affirmation: LGBT Mormons, Families and Friends), in which I conducted ethnographic observations. In that same chapter, I elaborate on the characteristics and context of these groups.

I also discuss the interviews through which I generated the largest amount of data for the analysis. I give a brief description of the recruiting of participants, the experience of conducting the interviews and the ‘texture’ and ‘feel’ of them. I emphasise how participants’ narratives of their becoming and being Mexican Mormon men were treated ethically and safeguarding their confidentiality. Throughout the chapter, I reflect on my role as a researcher and the double positions as both an insider and an outsider in the different situations in which the research took place. My personal experience provided me with important ways of understanding the topic and, at the same time, called for constant vigilance and appraisal of the overly subjective view that could constitute.

The following four chapters are dedicated to the analysis of data. The first one, Chapter 4, discusses the display of masculinities by Mormon men in different spaces. These

15 spaces include those configured by Mormonism’s gender regime, such as the LDS Meeting houses during Sunday services and other activities. But also, those spaces where participants are part of larger, mostly or entirely, ‘non-Mormon’ groups, like in the case of school or the workplace. Likewise, I discuss sites configured by the convergence of more than one gender regime, by looking at the case of the group Afirmación: Mormones LGBT. The space generated by the gatherings and activities of this group incorporates elements of Mormon and non-Mormon gender regimes and interaction between them.

The main argument presented in the chapter is that the different performances through which masculinity is displayed in these varied settings draw on long standing forms of religious masculine practice that can be seen as ‘traditional’, as well as on modern/late- modern forms of religious masculinity. Thus, the gender regimes shaping interactions therein are produced and reproduced through the constant interaction and integration of ‘tradition’ and modernity, materialising in gendered codes and forms of conduct, dress, and/or speech. They can, therefore, be better understood thinking of their production and existence as simultaneously ‘traditional’ and modern/late-modern. This is also contextualised as occurring within the larger space of Mexico City, a space where such interaction and integration of ‘tradition’ and late modernity is an important part of the city’s dynamics.

Chapter 5 explores how the doctrines and practices encompassed in the Mormon notion of ‘the priesthood’ work to articulate Mormonism’s ‘official’ gender regime, and how it works to influence everyday interactions. I argue that the notion of priesthood helps support gender relations based on distinctions between men and women’s ‘nature’ and functions, and provides a hierarchical framework within which distinction and subordination between men are maintained. Patriarchy —as institutionalised male power (Pease, 2000: 13)— is presented as an appropriate analytical frame through which to look at the structural dimension of priesthood. Simultaneously, such analysis can provide this category with further empirical content. I analyse how participant’s conceive and experience priesthood, and the impact it has in their performance of masculinity. The notion of ‘tradition’ as a source of authority, especially as it incorporates rational (modern) ways of organization, is also explored.

16 In this chapter, I provide a description of what the Mormon priesthood —which includes most Mormon men older than 12— is, how it is organised as a hierarchy, and I highlight its symbolic aspects, particularly its link to the Mormon belief that gender identity is ‘eternal’ and prior to mortal existence. I argue that priesthood works to sustain male privilege, but also generates tensions and resistances to it. Priesthood is described as central to Mormon hegemonic masculinity in as much as it helps to sustain and guarantee the dominant position of men within Mormonism. Moreover, I explore the critical phase of ‘the mission’, a period of two years in which Mormon men are expected to serve full-time when they reach the age of 18, as well as further church service after that, and the relationship between those, as emblematic examples of the way in which priesthood related activity within the LDS Church generates distinctions among men and masculinities, too. Lastly, I analyse some ambivalent and ‘negative’ aspects of these instances of service as well as participants’ ambivalent or critical attitudes towards the heteronormative model of masculinity prevailing in Mormonism. Overall, the Chapter illustrates how hegemonic Mormon masculinity fosters specific gender relations of dominance and subordination between women and men, and among men and other men.

Chapter 6 analyses participants’ narratives of the personal relationships they have established with reference to the model of (heteronormative) family relations that Mormonism provides. The objective of this analysis is to explore how masculinities are produced, reproduced, and experienced, both within and through those relationships. With this in mind, I outline the tenets of Mormonism in regard to family, and the implications these have for relationships, as reflected by documents published by the LDS Church. I discuss the role of family in Mexican Mormonism’s gender regime, its reinforcing relationship of the gender order prevalent in Mexico more generally.

In this chapter, I explore the notions of masculinity at play in the participant’s narratives of the ‘romantic’ and ‘intimate’ relationships they have established. I show how those notions have influenced the form and trajectories of their relationships, and the production and experience of masculinities in them. I identify narratives of relationships motivated by romance and/or sexuality (both heterosexual and non- heterosexual); relationships established with the aim of getting married and forming families; and those that had already resulted in marriage. Likewise, I analyse the experience of masculinities in the context of their existent families. This analysis looks

17 at narratives of families of origin, and the ways in which masculinities and femininities of the different members of the families are portrayed. It also looks at accounts of families that participants currently live with. The focus is on familial masculinities as they are lived in the everyday.

The last of these four chapters devoted to data analysis, Chapter 7, traces three main routes that participants have followed with respect to developing their Mormon masculinities. Prior to that, I locate participants in terms of their biographical connection to Mormonism and their investment in it. I describe the idealised trajectory that Mormonism prescribes for men, which I call the ‘strait and narrow path’, and establish a connection between it and a distinctive Mormon form of hegemonic masculinity. Said ‘path’ is gendered through Mormonism’s established mandates and expectations in terms of power, responsibility, and prestige for men and (women).

I then analyse the three types of narratives identified. The first type is articulated by a relationship of adoption of the model tied to an effort to conform and adjust to it. This results in narratives of inheriting the path and the reaffirmation to follow it, or its adoption later in life, in the case of converts. The second type refers to narratives marked by a relationship of constant negotiation with the ideal, tied to key moments in the lives of the participants. These accounts speak of a certain ebbing and flowing that has drawn men close to and away from Mormonism depending on specific circumstances, interests and contexts along their lives. The third and last type of narratives is one of a relation of contradiction between the ideal trajectory to Mormon masculinity and men’s lived experience. Those accounts describe outward trajectories taking men away from the Mormon ideal, and putting them on the course to (re)signify their conceptions of what being a man is.

I close the thesis with a reflection of the main findings and arguments made throughout. In Chapter 8, I particularly reflect on how the study illustrates the argument that religious masculinities in general, and Mormon masculinities in particular, are better understood when thought of not from a dichotomous perspective as ‘traditional’ or ‘new’, but as both simultaneously. I argue that the interactions between long standing forms of being and doing religious masculinities, and others sometimes characterised as ‘post-traditional’ or even ‘post-modern’ can be better accessed using ‘double thinking’ (Heaphy, 2018), as this approach sheds light on the double experience of

18 masculinities. Additionally, I address the reach and limitations of the concept of hegemonic masculinity in understanding religious masculinities in general, and Mormon masculinities more specifically, especially in the ways in which it can account for their specificities, such as scale, context, and so on.

19 CHAPTER 2: RELIGIOUS MASCULINITIES BEYOND TRADITION-LATE MODERN DICHOTOMIES

Introduction

Researching religion and masculinity, and more specifically the intersection of both, in a contemporary context, begs attention to the idea that late modern society is becoming increasingly detraditionalised. Such a notion refers to a process through which the prevalence of once solid references (such as religion, the state, the family, and other institutions) is —at a minimum— fading away, if not lost already. Even though it cannot be denied that such a process seems to have actually taken place in various dimensions of social life, it is also possible to argue that claims that we are inextricably ‘lurching into a post-traditional age’ are highly contestable (Heelas, 1996a: 1). The issue of whether late modernity can be conceived of as such a ‘post-traditional age’ has been approached from two main theoretical stances that I briefly outline below.

The first of these two positions can be identified as a ‘radical’ thesis. The main argument from this standpoint is that a process of detraditionalisation has effectively taken place. By virtue of this process, authority has been shifting from structures and forces external to the individual towards ‘within’ individuals themselves. The detraditionalisation process should thus play a major role in any effort to analyse and understand social phenomena today. A second option can be characterised as a thesis of ‘coexistence’. This view recognises the possibility that detraditionalisation might in fact be occurring, but not in a way that will lead to the complete disappearance of what we could think of as traditions, but rather as ‘competing, interpenetrating or interplaying’ with processes related to maintenance and rejuvenation of such ‘traditions’ and even the construction of new ones (Heelas, 1996a).

Works ascribed to the so-called radical thesis (e.g. Bellah et al., 1985; Inglehart, 1990, Giddens, 1990; 1991; Piccone, 1993) display a highly dichotomous way of thinking, by constantly contrasting ‘the traditional and the modern/post-modern’ in terms of closeness vs openness, destiny vs choice, certainty vs uncertainty, and so on (Heelas, 1996a: 3-7). Thus, the past is seen as comprehensively dominated by collectiveness and ‘tradition’, while the present (and the future) is conceived of as bound to individuality and ‘post-tradition’, which accounts for this perspective’s attention

20 primarily to the processes conducive to detraditionalisation. On the other hand, work founded upon the coexistence thesis (e.g. Taylor, 1989; Mafessoli, 1994; Luke, 1996; Adam, 1996) is critical of notions of the pre-modern as completely dominated by ‘tradition’. These theorisations suggest that the past may have not been governed by said ‘tradition’ in the straight-forwardly stringent way that is usually assumed. Thus, they call into question the validity of the claim of a radical and progressive trend towards detraditionalisation itself. Adherents to the coexistence thesis also hold that modernity (and late-modernity) is not as devoid of ‘tradition’ as those on the radical perspective may presume. They would argue that people have, in fact, been subject to the demands imposed by collectivities as much as they are to their own individual aspirations, at all times. Therefore, detraditionalising processes can be observed in pre- modern settings (mostly through individualisation), as much as retraditionalisating ones can be found in our days (Heelas, 1996a: 7-11).

Long standing conventions —what might be seen and thought of as traditions— are often the foundation of practices and/or ways of seeing and understanding the world in late modernity usually characterised as ‘innovative’ by adherents of the radical thesis (Adam, 1996). The repercussions of the projections of the future on our present are rooted in the past in such a way that they tend to make us look back into it with renewed interest. At the same time, ‘reflexivity is ontological to all of humanity’, which affords the possibility to always ‘redefine situations and act in the light of experience and new knowledge’ (Adam, 1996: 138-139). Moreover, regardless of how ‘traditional’ the configuration of a given human collective is deemed, such configuration is always constructed, and thus susceptible to modification. Therefore, long standing conventions regarded as ‘traditions’ are social and cultural constructs that continue to be recovered, reformulated, and adapted, as attested by the yearning for ‘the stability of tradition’ as a constant in ‘the age of contingency, uncertainty and flux’ (Adam, 1996: 139-140).

In light of these considerations, this thesis leans mostly towards the second of the two theoretical-analytical perspectives that I have described above, namely, that of coexistence. However, I will focus less on a critique of how the past may have been less ‘tradition-dominated’, and how reflexive or late modernity is ‘more traditional’ than it is usually given credit for (Luke, 1996; Campbell, 1996), as this may lead only to a larger yet still dichotomous perspective. Instead, I argue in favour of double thinking, as described by Brian Heaphy (2018: 173-174), which conceives of what can

21 be seen as traditional and/or post-traditional as not only co-existing, nor competing with each other, but as actually interacting and mutually influencing each other. In order to do so, this chapter embeds the discussion about religion and masculinity within this larger framework of the debates around ‘tradition’, ‘detraditionalisation’, and the ways in which they interact with each other.

In the first section, I review the main lines of research in sociology of religion in recent decades. This entails paying attention to the emergence of a theory of secularisation, its rise to paradigmatic status, and the critiques and revisions to which it has been subjected. Such debates and discussions are, in many ways, parallel to those on ‘tradition and detraditionalisation’, whether modernity —especially in its latter stage— can be thought of as a period of ‘post-tradition’ (or at least of a marked trend towards it), or whether long standing social conventions and new forms of social organisation and interaction are both constitutive elements of current forms of living in the world and engaging with it. This discussion is provided in the first part of the section. The second part discusses new religiosity in terms of the New Religious Movements (NRMs) approach. I reflect on this perspective as a theoretical alternative for the study of religion in modernity, and the limited viability of its use for the present project. The last part of the section deals with the emotional or affective dimension of the debate, and establishes the importance of acknowledging emotion in the coexistence of long standing and ‘new’ or emergent views and practices in the experience of masculinity.

Section two of the chapter discusses the study of masculinity within a sociology of gender perspective. I establish a link between the discussions around masculinity and the broader dualistic framework that constantly encourages thinking in terms of ‘tradition and post-tradition, institutions and post-institutions’, and so on. I pay particular attention to the notion of hegemonic masculinity as conceived of by Raewyn Connell (1987; 1995; 2005), and widely employed in empirical work by various authors. Drawing on Connell’s ideas, I argue that masculinities can be best understood in terms of fluid processes, rather than from a dichotomous perspective that casts them as either ‘traditional’ or ‘new’. Simultaneously, I reflect on the usefulness of the ‘hegemonic’ component of het theory of masculinity, and its potential to explain localised masculinities in general, and religious/Mormon masculinities in particular.

22 The third section is concerned with the idea of double thinking as applied to the processes involved in shaping social structures and institutions, and the implications of the considerations laid out in the first two sections for such an approach. I point out how both religion and masculinity continue to display clearly institutionalised dimensions, which have been able to transform and adapt, in as much as those institutions are made up of people, and that those gendered bodies making up the institutions effect the changes, both at institutional levels as well as at an everyday life level. I argue that what appear to be inexplicably contradictory developments about religious masculinities are only so when thought of and approached with the dichotomous ways of thinking I outline in the previous sections. In order to avoid engaging the issue of religious masculinities in such a way, following Heaphy (2018), I turn to Butler’s (2002) idea of a double-sided approach. Instead of thinking of these religious masculinities in a dichotomous way, I set out to think of them in double ways that account for the multiple processes occurring simultaneously in their configuration.

The secularization thesis: development and critique

Many authors have been concerned with the issue of tradition/pre-modernity vis-à-vis post-tradition/modernity (post-modernity, included) particularly as it is expressed in the realm of the religious. More specifically, in the field of sociology of religion, this discussion has taken the form of a long standing debate around what was called the secularization thesis, and the revisions and criticisms to which it has been subjected for the last forty years (Swatos and Christiano, 1999; Blancarte, 2012).

The origins of this secularization thesis are usually traced back to the proposals of Thomas Luckmann and Peter Berger. Both authors developed the idea that a series of processes were eroding traditional religion in (Western) societies, in serious and arguably irreversible ways. Luckmann (1967) proposed a chronological vision of societies, the course of which has viewed them through different stages of religiosity. What lies beneath these transitions is a process of differentiation through which the homogeneity of a predominant (religious) world view has broken down into different realms. Religion, thus, has become only one more of these coexisting realms, which started developing autonomously as a consequence of their intellectual separation. In this way, the religious domain has started to increasingly lose its dominance over others

23 domains of social life. Moreover, Luckman highlights the importance of the emergence of competing configurations within the religious domain itself. The coexistence of competing and contradicting religious worldviews that address questions regarding human existence and meaning renders the idea of religion as a unique and ultimate source for answers to such questions implausible and unsustainable (Tschannen, 1991: 398). The need to constantly move between those differentiated social spheres that are no longer defined by the same worldview, forces individuals to choose from the different views available and construct their own private conception and understanding of the world. This becomes a fundamentally individual process that Luckmann sees as taking place predominantly in what he calls the ‘private sphere’ (1967: 86). Even if these new private configurations acquire some degree of collective status, they can only be seen as a sort of socially ‘invisible religion’. This new form of invisible religion is irremediably more and more concerned with the practicalities of everyday life, thus becoming worldlier, and ultimately secularised (Luckmann, 1987). By losing its transcendence of the realm of individuality, this invisible religiosity loses the very essence of what makes up religion.

Similarly, Berger (1969 [1967]) proposes that secularization has come, in a first moment, as the result of the various spheres of social life becoming increasingly autonomous. However, this autonomy is understood as the product of rationalisation. Rationalisation is a distinctive characteristic of modern societies driven by industrialisation (Tschannen, 1991: 398). Berger suggests that this rationalisation has fostered the dissociation of social life from religious control. Furthermore, rationalisation in the West, he argues, had been taking place within the realm of the religious itself (ever since the days of ancient Judaism) when it reached a point of no return with the advent of Protestantism (Berger 1969 [1967]: 119-132). In a similar way to what has happened in the economic realm, the religious sphere has become increasingly pluralised. Since no single religious view can impose itself anymore, the various alternatives need to enter into a marketing logic, trying to prevail by ‘selling’ their means to salvation. This causes not only individuals to become more occupied with secular or objective matters, but also the plurality of religious views themselves. They have to become secular by structuring themselves institutionally and bureaucratically —much in the same way as the modern corporation— in order to better face the challenges of a market economy (Berger, 1979).

24 Along with Luckmann and Berger’s ideas in the late 1960s, an even more ambitious attempt to theorise secularization was set forth by Brian Wilson (1966). Wilson aimed at a general theory of secularisation that could account for the phenomenon in (almost) any context. Specifically for the case of Western societies, Wilson ‘frames the discussion in the context of ‘the global transition from “community” to “society” (in the sense first proposed by Tönnies)’ (Tschannen, 1991: 399). Wilson also highlights the role played by rationalisation in the process of secularisation. Rationalisation is the force driving the process and, at the same time, a result of it. Its most important impact in secularisation can be observed in the fact that the basis for social and political interactions shifts from morality to technology. Along with the emergence of scientific knowledge as a major source to explain the world, ‘the decline in religious practice and affiliation, and the rise of unbelief and atheism at the individual level’ become inevitable epiphenomena of rationalisation (Tschannen, 1991: 399).

The secularization thesis gained centre stage as a theoretical perspective of sociology of religion, and it remained barely disputed in the 1970s. However, it failed to explain what was happening in many places around the world (most notably, the global South) where a religious revival seemed to be presenting itself. Moreover, it did not account well enough for the ‘admitted exception’ of the densely religious context of the United States, which even the most fervent proposers of the thesis had acknowledged almost since the earliest formulations of the secularisation paradigm (Blancarte 2012: 66).

It is appropriate to pause here with the intention of locating Mormonism precisely within that ‘exceptional’ case of the religious configuration of the United States, where it emerged. Mormonism came about in the early nineteenth century. The historical and geographical context in which it emerged, which historians have identified as the Burned-over8 District of New York (Cross, 2015 [1950]; Pritchard, 1984), would fit a number of the criteria that the previous definitions of the secularisation process lay out, especially the way in which it led to the consolidation of a vast new ‘religious market’ in the then nascent nation of North America. Likewise, an argument can be made that Christianity, as most of the public life, was undergoing a process of bureaucratisation (and, to that extent, rationalisation) in the form of increasingly differentiated —

8 A term used to highlight the large amount of spiritual revivals and the proliferation of accounts of spiritual manifestations and visions dated in the early nineteenth century, drawing on the Christian metaphor of the spirit of God as a ‘fire’, sweeping over the area.

25 ecclesiastical and otherwise— institutions (Wellman, 2000). However, at the same time, folk magic and spirituality still played a major role in everyday life in the northern rural territories of the former British Colonies (Quinn, 1998). Thus, Mormonism in many ways originated in line with both this rationalisation of religion and the reinforcement of magical thought and belief. These two main referents have coexisted and interacted in Mormonism since its origins, giving it a double character from the beginning.

In spite of the prevalence of the secularisation thesis, and beyond different efforts to deepen and amplify it (Dobbelaere, 1981; Tschannen, 1991; Bruce, 2002; 2013), the notion of secularisation has undergone vast theoretical revision since at least the decade of the 1980s. Jeffrey Hadden (1989), for instance, points out that the secularisation thesis had been assigned a ‘sacred’ mantle that caused it to operate by the faith that many scholars had in it. Roland Inglehart (1997), on the other hand, recovered Berger’s ideas but suggested that the results of the process of competitiveness experienced in the religious sphere, far from being conducive to secularisation, had strengthened the religious market (as I suggest above for the case of the United States). His contention is that the consolidation of economically affluent societies in the West would have had the effect of enabling various groups to spend more time enquiring about the meaning of human existence and possible transcendence.

Apart from neglecting other contexts outside Western Europe, one of the main limitations of the original secularisation thesis had been its underlying dichotomous conception of the phenomenon. It inescapably cast religion as tradition —in the sense of being pre-modern— and presented it as antagonistic to modern rationality (Blancarte, 2012: 68). French sociologist Danièle Hervieu-Léger (1986, 1999) questioned this founding principle of the thesis. She suggested that what had been described as secularisation was more a series of effects of modernity on the traditional relation between religion and the other (purportedly autonomous) spheres of social life. For Hervieu-Léger, religion is not simply disappearing, giving way to rational modernity. Rather, traditional forms of religiosity are showing the impacts of the incorporation of rationalism and empiricism, and engaging in a process that discards a certain number of their aspects. But that, most notably, modifies others, and even generates new forms of believing. Thus, the apparent paradox that ‘modernity continually undermines the structural plausibility of all religious systems while simultaneously motivating new forms of religious believing’ (Hervieu-Léger, 1999: 77).

26 For Hervieu-Léger, this notion of ‘believing’ is where the key to the continuity of religiosity in modernity can be found. Believing is a wider concept than belief, as it incorporates different dimensions, among which practical beliefs that give direction and purpose to everyday mundane acts can be accounted for, as much as those that provide people with security and certainty about the meanings and purpose of existence itself. The object of study for sociology of religion could thus be ‘the axes of transformation around which the object reconstruct itself’, rather than the realm of the religious, conceived as such by a secularisation perspective. Furthermore, rather than on the contents of belief, the focus of Hervieu-Léger’s analysis would be ‘the mutating structures of believing’ (1999: 84).

Hervieu-Léger’s theoretical arguments shed light on the ways in which these ‘new’ forms of believing are emerging and being configured, both at individual and collective levels. At the same time, there is a vast array of empirical work on religion and religiosity (e.g. Yip, 1997; Runkel, 1998; Voyé, 1999; Houtman and Mascini, 2002; Barker, 2003; 2013; Norris and Inglehart, 2004; Ammerman, 2007; Houtman and Aupers, 2007; Morin, 2013; Burke and Hudec, 2015; Page and Yip, 2017) that constitutes a solid basis upon which to argue that, in modernity —and especially in what has been characterised as its late or reflexive stage, traditional religion and religious belief are far from dead, or even en route to being so. Thus, it seems more appropriate to say that religion, religious believing, and its associated institutions are constantly being adapted, modified, re-made.

Thus far, I have outlined the main tenets of the secularisation thesis from a more radical perspective in very general terms: the contraction of the religious realm and its withdrawal from the public and collective toward the private and individual. Likewise, I have gone over some of the main revisions and adaptations that the thesis has undergone, which have acknowledged that, rather than religion and religiosity experiencing an all-encompassing process defined by secularisation, we should perceive them as going through various processes towards rationalisation, bureaucratisation, resignification and extended pluralism, and less towards disappearing or weakening.

Religion is present today in various robust forms, even if such forms are not necessarily seen as entire continuations of ‘traditional’ forms. This may account for the emergence

27 and consolidation of the study of the so-called New Religious Movements (NRMs), which I discuss in more detail in the following subsection. However, I argue that the NRM approach is limited for the analysis of Mormonism, on account of its double character, which manifests in various dimensions. That is, Mormonism establishes itself as founded on millenary religious ‘tradition’ almost as much as it relies on the constant reconfigurations of said tradition, mostly within a rigid institutional framework.

The ‘new’ religiosity

The British sociologist Eileen Barker (1999), who has devoted a great deal of attention to ‘new’ or alternative forms of religiosity in late modernity, defines NRMs as those groups that can be seen as religious in as much as they address and offer answers to the ultimate questions that ‘traditional’ religions have addressed (namely, those related to the nature, origin, purpose and/or meaning of human existence, transcendence and life after death, the existence of a life essence beyond physical bodies, the existence of a God or higher power, and so on), and whose existence in their present form is visible in the West since the Second World War (Barker, 1999: 15-16). Elsewhere, Barker suggests that a NRM is one which consists predominately of a first generation membership (Barker, 2018). But perhaps most importantly, she notes that, in many cases, the novelty of such movements rests greatly upon the particular interpretation they make of the beliefs of historically dominant religions seen as traditional (like Christianity, Islam or Buddhism), and the differences in ‘the structure and culture to be found in the organization of such groups’ in relation to those ‘traditional’ religions (Barker, 1998: 15).

Many of what have been described as NRMs (Barker, 1989; 1999; 2018; Clarke, 1997; Robbins, 1998; Wilson and Cresswell, 1999; Arweck, 2004) can be seen as examples of what we might characterise as traditional religion being reformulated today, both in content and structure. Examples of these are wide ranging: from the ‘New Age’ movement (Hellas, 1996b) or the various reformulations of Asian religious traditions, such as Buddhism and Hinduism, in America and Europe (Barker, 1982), to the (neo Christian) Evangelical movements (Perrin et al., 1997). In the particular context of Mexico, examples of NRMs are just as varied, ranging from the Universal Church,

28 commonly known as the Pare de sufrir (Stop suffering) Church (Reyna, 2008), or the Mexicanismo, a nativist ‘neo-traditionalist’ movement that aspires to vindicate ‘the pre- colonial Mexican cultures’, and specially their religious and other knowledges (de la Peña, 2001).

A good number of religious movements considered ‘new’ can be seen as heirs of tradition as ‘a heritage of belief’ that allows for the act of believing to perpetuate into (late) modernity, as proposed by Hervieu-Léger (1999), and take on ‘new’ forms and expressions. However, in this thesis, I take a different approach to that of the NRMs. I am concerned with forms of religion that promote highly conformist ways of acting and conducting oneself in the world —which could be described in some respects as highly traditional— to continue to operate, be reasserted and strengthened, while simultaneously fostering manners of understanding and relating to the world and interacting in it that are distinctively modern. Furthermore, I am concerned with how these forms can be perceived by their followers as quite novel in terms of their (re)interpretations of traditional beliefs, organizations and culture, who at the same time regard themselves as the legitimate keepers or restorers of their inherited tradition. And I contend that Mormonism is a particularly illustrative example of these forms of religion.

In this sense, the NRMs approach does not constitute the best way of tackling an enquiry on Mormonism, even if this group would fit a good deal of the criteria for its definition as a NRM, particularly in its Mexican version. In an overwhelmingly Catholic context such as that of Mexico City, Mormonism is perceived and sees itself as ‘other’. As I pointed out in Chapter 1, even though it emerged in the second decade of the nineteenth century in the USA, it was not until the first half of the twentieth century that it made any meaningful incursion in the Mexican religious milieu. Mormonism presents itself as a ‘restored’ version of ‘true’ Christianity, offering ‘the fullness of the Gospel of Jesus Christ’, which includes the ‘true’ answers to the ‘ultimate questions’ to which Barker refers. This includes an emphasis in material, or ‘temporal’, well-being and prosperity: Mormons are imbued with an urge to succeed in the world, to be self-sustaining, live frugally, and prosper to the best of their abilities (LDS Church, 2014; 2017b). The Mormon way of believing is regarded as more complete, authentic, and even superior to the ‘traditional’ (Catholic) way that most of the believing population of Mexico have, which is seen as lenient, deceitful and overall

29 pernicious. Yet Mormons are taught to be inclusive, loving of all people and tolerant of all forms of belief and worship (LDS Church, 2018c).

On the other hand, a case can be made for Mormonism as a simultaneously traditional form of religion. It has a clearly institutional dimension in the LDS Church, a hierarchical structure, where (hetero-patriarchal) authority is concentrated in a few male figures. Activity in the Church is governed and managed in much centralised ‘correlated’ ways, and this form of action extends into many different aspects of the everyday lives of its members, structuring those lives in similar ways. Mormonism has, for instance, built a solid image as a guardian of the ‘traditional’ heteronormative family 9 which makes it hostile to gender or sexually diverse identities, forms of organization and interactions. Thus, Mormonism represents a very clear example of how ‘tradition’ can be found in the midst of otherwise modern religious configurations, in such a way that it is hard to think of them as purely ‘new’ or post-traditional, as much as it is to view them as exclusively ‘traditional’. As I set out to show in this thesis, it makes more sense to think of Mormonism and the experiences and identities produced by it (including gendered ones) in terms of its doubles. I know turn to a brief discussion of the part played by emotion and affect in late modern religion, and particularly in the case of Mormonism.

Believing, emotion and affect

Religions, regardless of their characterisation as ‘traditional’ or ‘new’, concern themselves with questions such as ‘Who am I? What is the purpose to life? Is there a life after death? Is there any meaning to my life? Am I more than my body? Is there a God?’ (Barker, 1998: 16). These questions are closely interlinked to what Anthony Giddens (1990) calls ‘ontological security’. Giddens talks of these ‘feelings of security’ as the confidence most human beings place in their continuity as personal selves and the permanence of the social and material environments in which they exist and (inter)act (1990: 92). He argues that rather than cognitive, ontological security is an ‘emotional’ phenomenon rooted in the ‘unconscious’. Giddens develops a psychological argument as to how most people acquire this trust early on in life and are able to devote themselves to such existential issues later in more cognitive ways only

9 Especially after the practice of plural marriage, which was once distinctive of the Mormon way of living and believing, was officially discontinued and banned by the LDS Church authority at the end of the nineteenth century.

30 later as, for instance, is the case of philosophers. However, what I am interested in highlighting here is the observation of the emotionality that is implicit in such existential issues.

Giddens argues that the issue of self-identity in what he calls ‘high modernity’ is closely linked to processes of modern globalization. Identity dispositions in individuals are shaped by such processes. At the same time, individuals influence and modify the shape of modern institutions. This mutual influence is an ongoing process through which Giddens (1991) highlights the ‘reflexive’ nature of self-identity in late or ‘high’ modernity. He places a great deal of attention on family and interpersonal relationships as a site in which the emotional implications on these self-identity processes can be observed, especially in Western developed societies. However, he fails to address the role of religion and religious institutions in this reflexive identity processes in two major ways. First, he mainly assumes the thesis of secularisation as individualisation. This means that he sees a clear distinction between an individual realm and a collective one, and implicitly confines religion and religiosity to the former. The ‘radicalisation’ of modernity’s trends (towards rationalisation, individualisation and the abandonment of tradition) renders religion mostly a private individual matter. And second, his analysis corresponds to Western developed societies and seems to overlook the role religion and religiosity play —precisely as a source of self-identity and ontological security— in other contexts, particularly in the developing world.

A somewhat alternative idea is developed by Zygmunt Bauman (1998) as he questions the notion of ‘postmodern religion’. He proposes an ‘existential anxiety’ (Bauman, 1998: 58) as the flip side of Giddens’ ontological security. Rather than a psychological basis, Bauman gives this ontological security a material foundation, suggesting that the engagement of humans in everyday life routines leaves little room for existential enquiry. The purported existential anxiety is thus less natural than we are led to believe. Moreover, he suggests, with modern medical advances that have provided plausible rational explanations for the cause(s) of death, stripping such event much of its mythical component, the eschatological anxiety as to why human existence must end continues to recede, and preoccupations as to why it is so weigh on people’s daily existence much less than they used to in the pre-modern world.

Thus, the anxiety comes afloat not by means of questioning existence itself or its transcendent purpose. Rather, it is the whys and hows of everyday life, and the excess

31 of choices and possibilities that become available to give humans confidence in the continuity of their individual selves, that induce this anxiety in them. The responsibility to make sense of their everyday lives in Postmodernity falls on individuals, and the anxiety comes from the need to resolve the ongoing problem of the fluidity of individual identity. Bauman suggests that postmodern ‘expert’ knowledge on ‘identity problems’ has taken on the mantle as the bearer of the formula to turn the anxiety back into self-assurance (1998: 68), and a multitude of new identity experts offer this ‘healing’.

From this it follows that ‘tradition’ is now only one (perceived radical) choice among the many possibilities available and enshrined by the cultural imperative of embracing diversity. The adoption of orthodox religious practices and identities would be examples of the turning to, reaffirming or reformulating of traditions in postmodernity, as a means to neutralize the anxiety that the possibility of a pick-and-mix approach itself has generated. In what seems a nod to ideas of secularisation and rationalisation, Bauman suggests that modern churches have taken on them to amplify and sharpen this existential anxiety, as a means of ‘producing’ their own market and audience.

The perspective of the so-called ‘affective turn’ in the social sciences (Clough and Halley, 2007) can be seen as a counter argument to these notions of emotion and individuality. Affect theory has turned ‘away from the individual as the bearer of emotion to the social lives that emerge between bodies and things’ (Supp- Montgomerie, 2015: 335). Emotions can thus be seen not as individually generated but as the product of collective, even power, dynamics. As proposed by Sara Ahmed (2004), emotions are articulated socially, formed by culture and simultaneously giving form to culture. Examples of this can be what she calls ‘affect economies’ of fear, hate (2004) or happiness (2010).

Such emotions are constructed as things that come from the outside, and can reside within us once we acquire them, by establishing contact with emotional objects. Happiness, for instance, can be attained through coming in contact with ‘happy objects’, such as marriage or family, that become the evidence of a reasonable, happy existence (2010: 21-49). This perspective makes it possible to understand affect not only as psychic, individual emotion, but as part of a system (an ‘economy’, as Ahmed terms it) of relations that divide people beyond those saved and those doomed, the ontologically secure or the existentially anxious; but even between those deserving of

32 being hated or feared, and those who are not; or those fit and capable of being happy, and the undeserving ones.

The adoption of ‘traditional’ Mormon identities could be seen partially as a means to ontological certainty in the sense of the concept advanced by Giddens. It could also be understood in part as one of a multiple-choice scheme, susceptible of being operated in pick-and-mix fashion, which allows space for negotiating ways of coping with the anxiety suggested by Bauman. But most notably, I argue that it can work as a way of coping with the fear of the destabilising of ‘traditions’, and positioning before the cultural imperative of happiness, as described by Ahmed. An investment in ‘traditional’ ways of understanding the world and being in it suggests the assumption that they can protect the self from the perils of the disruption brought about by radical modernisation, and foster the achievement of happiness within it. But those ‘traditional’ ways can also be perceived as a hindrance to the attainment of happiness and the provision of material safety, at different moments and in accordance with specific situations, for example those which promote acquiescing in passive religiosity, economic hardship, low educational levels, and so on. This leads to the coexistence of forms of belief and action that can be regarded as ‘highly traditional’ with others that would be considered as breaking away with tradition. A similar claim can be made about notions of gender and, specifically, forms of masculinity that are informed by and/or shaped within such a religious configuration. Thus far I have framed the topic of religious masculinities within the overarching debates in the study of religion. In the next section, I lay out a series of concepts around gender and masculinities that I consider useful for addressing the issue of Mormon masculinities. These offer broader frameworks than the dualistic based views of tradition versus post-tradition, institutions versus post-institutions, and so on

Traditional and new hegemonic masculinities?

Timothy Luke (1996: 116) asserts that traditions are ‘no more than traces of practices, signs of belief, and images of continuity revealed in human thought and action’. In that sense, gender(ed) beliefs and practices that have been regarded as ‘traditional’ are not gone or ‘overcome’, but they seem to be alive and well, albeit in forms that we do not immediately recognise as ‘tradition’. What could be considered as traditional

33 configurations of masculinity are present in gender structures and everyday practices, just as ‘new masculinities’ are constantly being pushed for or being performed.

Research generated from a socio-psychological standpoint (Pleck, et al., 1993; O’neil, 2008; Wade, 2009), for instance, has spoken about traditional masculinity in terms of an ‘ideology’, or a series of ‘beliefs’ about the importance for men to adhere to culturally defined standards for ‘male behaviour’. Traditional masculinity would, thus, be seen as having a notably restrictive dimension that prevents men from exhibiting signs of behaviour historically associated with femininity, and causes them to have ‘a restricted emotionality’, and ‘restricted affectionate behaviour between men’ (O’Neil, 2008). Additionally, it would have a normative dimension, which promotes certain attitudes such as homophobia, competitiveness, or physical and sexual violence (Wade, 2009: 165). This notion of traditional masculinity, with its pernicious effects (such as its implications in terms of gender inequality, for example), was the main subject of study of the initial attempts to explore, understand, and theorise masculinity (Minello, 2002b). Thus, various theoretical-political analyses that were carried out mostly by feminist scholars established a clear close link between masculinity and the notion of patriarchy. These began to appear in feminist literature during the period identified as ‘the second wave of feminism’, between the decades of the 1960s and the 1980s, and have featured greatly in feminist theory ever since (Cranny-Francis et al., 2003).

Although some feminist scholars identify patriarchy’s roots even long before the Christian era,10 the term patriarchy is linked to the political order in ancient Greece and Rome, by which male heads of households had complete legal and economic control over women and children in their families. Feminist historian Gerda Lerner (1986) asserts that, in its broader sense, patriarchy can be understood as ‘the manifestation and institutionalization of male dominance over women and children in the family and the extension of male dominance over women in society in general’ (p. 239). This implies that all important power institutions are ultimately controlled by men, but not necessarily that women are absolutely powerless or have no rights, influence or resources. A more refined definition of patriarchy would view it as a whole social system in which ‘structural differences in privilege, power and authority are invested

10 Lerner (1986), for instance, traces patriarchy’s origins as far back as the third millennium BC. She argues that the constitution of patriarchy is the product of a process which took nearly 2500 years to its completion.

34 in masculinity and the cultural, economic and/or social positions of men’ (Cranny- Francis et al., 2003: 15). The structural character of the concept is particularly important, as scholars sought to highlight precisely the institutional dimension of gender as a basis for oppression, as opposed to it relying merely on individual prejudice, as the idea of ‘sexism’ had implied (Edley and Wetherel, 1995).

The notion of patriarchy became central to a materialist or social-constructivist perspective on gender (Delphy, 1980; Hennessy, 1993; Hennessy and Ingraham, 1997). From this perspective, gender is seen as an objective structure of hierarchical relations between men and women, with a solid material basis, particularly stemming from work and production arrangements. Nonetheless, these arrangements go beyond the work and production sphere and have implications for what had been understood as the ‘private’ dimension of life or, as put by Stevi Jackson (2001) ‘everyday social life’.11 In this sense, patriarchy can be viewed as the frame in which traditional forms of masculinity have been produced (and reproduced) socially, historically, and politically.

The so-called cultural turn in the social sciences opened a flank for a feminist debate of the ideas established from a structural material perspective. French post- structuralism (especially the work of Lacan, Derrida, and Foucault) became a major theoretical source for feminist thought and gender studies (Weedon, 1987; Alcoff, 1988). The work of authors such as Hélène Cixous (1976), Luce Irigaray (1977), or Julia Kristeva (1981), which focussed on cultural aspects to interrogate, question and try to subvert the structures of gender oppression, became highly influential over the decade of the 1980s.

The main criticisms of the materialist perspective had to do with its monolithic conception of the category ‘women’ (Riley, 1988) —and, consequently, that of men— that neglected many aspects of differentiation and gender subordination, such as race or ethnicity (Carby, 1982; hooks, 1982; Parmar, 1982). Likewise, it was considered to overlook a series of other complex cultural dynamics fundamental for the configuration of gender (Sargent, 1981; Spivak, 1987; Fraser and Nicholson, 1988; Barrett and Phillips, 1992). Judith Butler’s (1990) seminal work Gender Trouble drew on post-structural thought to produce a broadly influential critique of feminist theory,

11 Jackson locates her enquiry of sexuality in this domain. For a complete development of this issue see Jackson, 1995; 1999.

35 which —she argued— had not engaged critically with the category of women, thus supporting its reification. One of the most important points advanced by Butler in her volume is that the notion of gender built upon the basis of biological sex –taken to be somehow more real on account of its biological (thus material) nature– needed to be profoundly revised. She argues that both gender and sex are social and cultural constructs that function as regulating categories, which in effect create gender subjects by means of the power they exert on them. In that sense, rather than categories to be, woman and man (as well as any other subjects placed outside them) can be understood as categories to perform (Cranny-Francis, 2003:19). Arguably her most significant theoretical contribution (Brady and Schirato, 2011: 3), this model of performativity informed a great array of academic and political endeavours, such as those grouped under the umbrella terms of Queer theory and Queer politics (Crany-Francis, et al., 2003).

In response, materialist feminists such as Sylvia Walby (1992) have argued that the way those criticisms were embraced, and implemented theoretically, undermined one of the most important insights of feminist theory historically, and particularly in its materialist version. In discussing the need to reaffirm the material basis of gender, Stevi Jackson asserted that the shifting of focus towards the cultural ‘effectively sidelined this materialist analysis and emptied the concept of gender of its social import’ (2001: 285). She argued that, even if post-structuralist critiques acknowledged the constructed nature of gender, the emphasis they had put on its fluidity had diffused attention to its socially constructed origin.

Butler addressed these kind of criticisms to her work by linking the model of performativity she had devised to ‘the materiality of the body’ (1993: 1). She expounded the idea that sexed bodies are also the product of performativity through a process that she describes as a materialisation of both sex and gender. This makes it possible to think of gender as a fluid structure, a process of materialisation, constantly taking form in intersected spaces. I elaborate on the concept of performativity in the next section of the chapter. For now, I am interested in highlighting that, in spite of its arguable limitations, a major virtue of this approach has been the possibility of thinking of gender configurations, identities, manifestations, and so on, in plural, acknowledging their heterogeneity.

36 In regard to the study of men and the masculine, this approach has afforded the possibility of thinking in terms of ‘masculinities’. This vision implies the possibility for a transition from traditional masculinities to what has been called ‘new masculinities’ (Carabí, 2000; Gard, 2008), even if such transition does not necessarily mean entirely overcoming the negative effects associated with traditional configurations. 12 Nelson Minello (2002a) points out that, since their inception, theoretical endeavours in the field of masculinity have followed a similar course to gender theory, and have in fact, been linked to them ‘almost naturally’ in many ways. However, as Cranny-Francis et al. (2003:15-16) rightly assert, many scholars of masculinity have kept a mostly structural approach to ‘the question of men’, incorporating detailed considerations of the relations between patriarchy (an unfashionable term in current feminist studies) and capitalism or ‘male hegemony’

In this sense, Chris Beasley (2005) also highlights that scholars of masculinity have elaborated consistent justifications for a more structural analysis, as much as for the recovery of ‘women’ and ‘men’ as central identity categories. The author acknowledges that this can be seen as part of a political focus on oppression materialised in men’s dominance over women, and a deliberate effort by these authors to distance themselves from what she identifies as ‘much masculinity politics refusing to acknowledge or ignoring or embracing men’s differential advantages vis-à-vis women’ (Beasley, 2005: 191).13 However, the cultural and symbolic dimensions of masculinity have great potential for enquiring about the ways in which that dominance takes place.

Thus far I have briefly described the feminist conceptions of patriarchy and gender as material structures for male domination, as well as the post-structural theorisations that locate the production and reproduction of gender in cultural processes. The empirical study of men and masculinities from a gender perspective has grappled with the debates sparked by theorisations and been produced in the light of them. Raewyn Connell’s

12 As can be argued from the work of Simon Winlow on the connection of new masculinities to violence and/or crime (See Winlow, 2001 and Winlow and Hall, 2006). 13 Beasley points out, however, that the relation between masculinity studies and feminism at large is far from just harmonious. Although authors on masculinity tend to ‘question’ gender arrangements favourable to them, and in general paint a negative picture of male privileges, she asserts that masculinity scholars seem to retain ‘certain investments in masculinity’, hindering the development of a de-gendering agenda more in tune with the historical feminist academic and political endeavours (Beasley, 2005: 192).

37 concept of hegemonic masculinity is a notable example of an attempt to theorise masculinities in ways that incorporate the fruits of those discussions on the production of gender. I now turn to a more detailed discussion of Connell’s proposal in the next subsection.

(Hegemonic) masculinity from a gender perspective

Although the idea of hegemonic masculinity has been widely used14 in a variety of ways, thus drawing important scrutiny and criticism, I contend that it can be particularly useful to think of masculinities that are thought of as ‘traditional’, and that at the same time allow or promote forms of interaction regarded as ‘new’. Conversely, the concept can illuminate forms of masculinity that seem to challenge ‘tradition’, while reproducing and perpetuating, at the same time, the very traditions they purport to subvert. Connell defines hegemonic masculinity as ‘the configuration of gender practice which embodies the currently accepted answer to the problem of legitimacy of patriarchy, which guarantees (or is taken to guarantee) the dominant position of men and the subordination of women’ (Connell, 2005: 77). Thus, she links her concept with the notion of patriarchy and what this implies in terms of subordination and male dominance. Simultaneously, she tries to make the category account for the relations among men, in terms of the relation of various coexisting masculinities that are organised hierarchically.

Connell has developed this notion of hegemonic masculinity within her own particular conception of gender, which tries to expand a material/social-constructivist approach by incorporating the cultural, contextual and —later— environmental aspects highlighted through a cultural/post-structural perspective. Thus, it seems appropriate to review her understanding of gender in order to understand how the idea of hegemonic masculinity is derived from that model and fits into it. Connell starts from a fairly dichotomous idea of gender: on the one hand, she addresses the material conditions forming a basis for gender, and on the other one, it gives room for the analysis of the subjective dimension of its configuration and reconfiguration processes. She understands gender as a structure of social relations that provides a framework for

14 Perhaps even abused, as suggested by Connell and Messerschmidt, 2005.

38 action, a pattern in our social arrangements that has the peculiarity of involving a specific relationship with bodies (Connell, 2005: 35).

This preliminary description may lead us to easily fall back to the material-cultural dichotomy. That is to say, to the idea that gender is merely a cultural expression of biological difference. Nevertheless, as Connell points out, biological difference is not the crystal clear divide between two great portions of humanity that socio-biological approaches tend to portray; nor are socio-cultural patterns a simple expression of such difference. Rather, gender as structuration of social practice may at times magnify, deny, mythologize or complicate the difference between male and female bodies (Connell and Pearse, 2015:11). Taking this into account is central to Connell’s conception of gender as a much more dynamic and fluid structure. She poses the notion of a ‘reproductive arena’, the social space in which the bodily difference based on reproductive functions is constantly formulated. This is the actual basis for gender, rather than a pre-given biological (static) foundation. Thus, she defines gender as ‘the structure of social relations that centres on the reproductive arena, and the set of practices that bring reproductive distinctions between bodies into social processes’ (Connell and Pearse, 2015:11).

There are two important elements in Connell’s definition that can be informative for a twofold theoretical approach to religious masculinities that I propose here. First, the idea that, despite its admitted instability and fluidity, gender is a structure of social relations. This structure, much as religiosity and the different practices of believing, has displayed historical endurance and permanence through its constant reproduction, in which those who act within it are actively involved. And second, the emphasis on the fact that the participants in said relations are bodies, fundamentally differentiated solely on the basis of the reproductive functions assigned to them. This confers particular importance to the categories of ‘masculinity’ and ‘femininity’, as formative and informative of what that distinction entails in terms of bodily practices.

Masculinity can then be thought of as a particular position in a set of gender relations, which is central to Connell’s proposal, and the structural dimension of the concept. In this sense, she speaks of ‘gender regimes’ defined as patterns of gender arrangements within particular institutions, and a ‘gender order’ which is, in turn, a wider pattern of those arrangements that has persisted over a sustained period of time in a given society.

39 What these gender regimes and orders consist of are a host of relations established among men, between men and women, and also among individuals and groups of individuals within both groups. They may involve direct interaction or can be mediated by institutions such as the market or the State (Connell and Pearse, 2015: 72-73).

Connell asserts that, although these structures do not determine individual or collective action, they do determine practice to a certain extent. This occurs as they define possibilities and consequences for action. At the same time, practice is the vehicle through which relations have come into being and are in constant process of (re)creation. We do make our own gender but we are not free to make it however we want. This explains the persistence of gender structures over time and at the same time opens the possibility for their modification by human action. Transformation of these structures has proved to be slow and difficult precisely because of the limitations they themselves impose. Yet, as they are constructs of human action, they are susceptible of modification by the same via. Thus, the author concludes, ‘structure and change are not opposed: they are indeed part of the same dynamic of social life’ (Connell 2009: 74). This is an important touching point of Connell’s elaboration on gender and masculinity, and the idea of performativity put forth by Judith Butler, which also refers to the limits to the agency of bodies that compels them to (re)produce gender within what she calls the heterosexual matrix (Butler, 1990: 7-12). I discuss this further in the following section.

Up to this point, the model for gender analysis put forth by Connell accommodates the notion of patriarchy as a category based on inequality and difference. However, it is here that she opens the concept in an attempt to expand its explanatory capacities. The author does this by incorporating what she proposes as other dimensions of gender, additional to power relations, the core element of the different elaborations of the notion of patriarchy. Her concept of hegemonic masculinity (Connell, 2005: 77-78), is undoubtedly freighted with deference to power as a central axis articulating gender relations. Connell tries to safeguard her proposal from relocating power from material structures to cultural processes. Power is indeed expressed and exercised through discourse, she admits, but also in very direct and harsh manners. At the same time, power is contested and therefore must be seen not only as means of dominance and subordination, but also of resistance, and even of equality (Connell and Pearse, 2015: 78).

40 A second dimension of gender relations would be that related to the production, consumption, and what Connell calls the process of ‘gender accumulation’. This entails what has long been known as the sexual division of labour but is also linked to a broader division between paid labour, or what is commonly known as the work sphere, and the unpaid labour that takes place in the domestic sphere. Connell argues that the former is conceived as a men’s world while the latter is regarded as a women’s world, at least in contemporary Western societies, making up their characteristic gender order. Additionally, she argues, the process of capitalist accumulation is highly gendered by means of different positions occupied by men and women in the economic system and industrial production in the global economy.

Emotional relations are a third dimension of gender in Connell’s model. This involves mostly the realm of sexuality, which the author points ‘is often organized on the basis of gender’. However, there are other relations that bear an emotional freight implicated in the gender order. These include romantic love as a principle for the establishing of households, as well as the regulating of child-parent relationships.15 They may also manifest themselves in negative forms as in the case of prejudice and hostility toward specific groups also linked to gendered notions, which can be exemplified by behaviours such as misogyny or homophobia. In this regard, it is particularly important to consider the view of emotions as socially constructed and experienced (Ahmed, 2004; 2010; Berlant and Greenwald, 2012; Supp-Montgomerie, 2015) as I discussed in the previous section.

Concluding with Connell’s four-dimensional scheme for the analysis of gender, a final aspect she incorporates is that of relations established through the realm of the symbolic. In this way, Connell tries to incorporate many of the concerns about culture that have dominated the field of gender studies over the last three decades. Particularly important in this regard is her assertion that at the same time that social practice is in many ways a process of interpreting the world around us, there is a social origin to the meanings that result from our interpreting. As the author puts it ‘(c)ultural systems reflect particular social interests, and grow out of historically specific ways of life. Symbolic

15 It is worth noting that, just as it happens with the production-consumption leg of Connells’s scheme, such a vision of emotionality describes mostly Western and modern social configurations. Such incorporation of emotionality would thus be less universal than, for example, the structural power dimension to which she refers to, regarding the ways in which it can be observed.

41 gender relations can be expressed through language, but through many other forms of culture such as clothing, gesture, art and artistic production, and even impersonal forms such as built space (Connell and Pearse, 2015: 82-84).

Connell’s conception of gender relies heavily on this grid of relations. Therefore, the contents of the multiple gender orders and regimes are relational in their production and reproduction. The concept of hegemony (that Connell borrows from Antonio Gramsci) applied to the study of masculinities displays this relational nature, as it entails a number of different ‘versions’ of masculinity (and femininity) that define and constitute themselves in relation to each other. Moreover, they are ordered hierarchically. Hegemonic masculinity is, thus, ‘constructed in relation to various subordinated masculinities as well as in relation to women’ (Connell, 1987: 183). What makes a particular masculinity hegemonic is the possibility of its proponent group being able to claim and sustain the leading position in the definition of the most accepted and revered form of being a man. The notion of hegemonic masculinity incorporates a historically and culturally contingent dimension. What is at some point in history (and, one could argue, in particular spaces and at different scales) ‘the most honored way of being a man’ (Connell and Messerschmidt, 2005: 832), may be different at another point. Thus, hegemonic does not necessarily mean traditional, nor does it imply novelty. Rather it may change along with the contestations and modifications to gender orders and regimes.

As I mentioned earlier in the section, Connell’s concept of hegemonic masculinity, embedded in her vision of gender, has been extensively critiqued and contested. Many of these critiques are not without merit. It is true, for example, that the concept has led to ambiguous applications (Martin, 1998), partly because it does not include a clear description of the actual practices in which it materialises (Wetherell and Edley, 1999) and the fact that it brings confusion as to who actually can be seen as hegemonically masculine men (Whitehead, 1998, 2002). While she concedes that the analytic model of hegemonic masculinity should not be used as fixed and transhistorical, Connell rightly points out that the ambiguity in gender processes may be important to recognise as a mechanism of hegemony. Hegemonic masculinities thus do not correspond exactly to how the lives of any actual men are indeed constructed. But these models do express ideals, fantasies, and desires; provide models and solutions to problems of gender relations; and articulate with the practical constitution of masculinities as ways of living

42 in everyday local circumstances. ‘To the extent they do this, they contribute to hegemony in the society-wide gender order as a whole. It is not surprising that men who function as exemplars at the regional level (…) exhibit contradictions’ (Connell and Messerschmidt, 2005: 838-839).

In this sense, we can interrogate Mormon masculinities in order to elucidate whether a hegemonic Mormon masculinity is in existence and/or viable. This is closely linked to one of the main enquiries I set out to address in this thesis (see Chapter 1), namely, what diverse meanings and practices Mormon men associate with gender identities and masculinities, and what they imply in terms of what Connell calls their ‘bodily experience’ and their ‘personalities’. At the same time, I explore the ways in which the meanings and practices Mexican Mormon men associate with masculinities (and femininities) are shaped in contemporary contexts and how their religious affiliation shape this. This relates to the issues of which elements in the configuration of a potentially hegemonic configuration of Mormon masculinity can be seen as ‘traditional’ or novel, and how these interact with and influence each other.

Additionally, the idea of hegemonic masculinity may aid the discussion of the evident contradictions in the various masculinities articulated through the participants’ narratives of their experience as Mormon men. It can help to illuminate whether and how Mormon men are engaging in dialogue with diverse discourses about gender identities and gender relations, and whether and how their masculinities and practices are being reconfigured through such a process. Finally, it provides an opportunity to see how Mormon masculinities relate to a Mexican hegemonic masculinity. This leads to an interrogation of the concept in terms of its malleability: how many forms of ‘hegemonic masculinities’ can there be and what kind of scale is necessary for them to be considered significant? In this sense, the idea of gender regimes becomes relevant, as expressions of hegemonic masculinity may differ from one regime to another. Thus, it makes sense to question whether it is possible to speak of a Mormon expression of Mexican hegemonic masculinity or whether Mormon masculinity can be seen as counter- or non-hegemonic.

Through the analysis of the empirical materials I undertake in chapters 4 to 7 of the thesis, I attempt to provide answers to these inquiries. In the following and last section of the chapter, I elaborate on the need to approach said analysis with the double thinking

43 perspective I have described. I pay particular attention to the idea of ‘social embodiment’ and how this may cast light on the changing nature of gender and masculinity arrangements.

Double thinking and social embodiment in the configuration of religious masculinities

In this chapter I have tried to argue that it is not the case that religion has become wholly deinstitutionalised or that masculinity is no longer socially structured.16 Both religion and masculinity display a clearly institutionalised dimension. The same is true for what we could identify as their intersection: religious masculinities. However, their structural and institutional dimensions have changed. They must change in as much as the circumstances of the people interacting within them change. At the same time, as those norms and conventions emerge through interactions in everyday lives, they also become institutionalised, and so on. But the process is less ordered than the idea of traditions being supplanted by new forms of being in the world and acting in/on it as a linear conception of succession might suggest. The reflexive nature of this process leads to contradictions, as I point out above in the context of the discussion of the ambiguities caused by trying to pin down hegemonic and non (or counter) hegemonic versions of masculinity. However, these contradictions need not necessarily be perceived as problematic, especially if we think of them and approach their analysis outside the dichotomous way of thinking I delineated in the previous sections.

How, then, could one avoid falling into either side of the dichotomies delineated thus far (tradition-(late)modernity, structure-culture, institutionalisation- deinstitutionalisation, and so on) when looking at a phenomenon such as religious masculinity in which those dichotomous debates clearly converge? The possibility I explore in this thesis is that of maintaining a double thinking about the issue at hand throughout. Discussing the debates around same-sex marriage and kinship, Judith Butler (2002) proposes this precisely. The author argues that both the reflection and critique of the adoption of forms of relation and kinship characterised as outdated and/or obsolete in the pursuit of legitimation, and the activist dimension that the

16 Or ‘organized’, as proposed by Connell (2005: 67-88), for example.

44 political claims to such forms display, are insufficient to account fully for the issue. As Heaphy et al. (2013) put it, Butler describes same-sex marriage as ‘both important and risky as a political strategy’ (p. 45). She does this through maintaining what she calls a ‘double edge’ (Butler, 2002: 28) in her analysis and theorisation of the phenomenon of the legitimation of same-sex relations and its relation to the production of kinship. Regarding this analytical position, Butler asserts: ‘there are at least two sides to this coin, and I do not mean to resolve this dilemma in favour of one or the other, but to develop a critical practice that is mindful of both’. (2002: 28, italics added). This implies opening up the analysis in whatever directions one needs to pursue it effectively.

Heaphy further develops this idea of double thinking. Drawing on the work of Beck (2000) about the ways in which social phenomena in late modernity are constantly developing in one way and another, and Lash’s (1994) idea of the ‘doubles’ (social to cultural) of reflexivity, Heaphy suggests that ‘double thinking implies that the post- traditional does not merely co-exist with the traditional but also incorporates it’ (2018: 174). In a similar way, in this thesis I am not making the case for a trend towards secularisation of religious masculinity, the end or radical reformulation of its institution(s), or the triumphant re-emergence of hegemonic (or what can be seen as traditional) versions of it.

I am dealing with both the elements of tradition and detraditionalisation, institutionalisation and deinstitutionalisation, secularisation and the ‘re-enchantment of the world’ (Landy and Saler, 2009) that the configurations of Mexican Mormon masculinities display. As will be shown throughout Chapters 4 to 7, the personal narratives that my empirical research generated suggest a series of flows, adjustments, and adaptations that resonate with the ideas of secularisation and individualisation, and of the structural dimensions of gender, as much as with the cultural elements of its production and reproduction, and the notion of diversification of the practice of believing and a spiritual revival.

As the possible transformations in religion started to be problematized, they were conceived as mainly motivated by external pressures that were pushing the religious into the realm of the ‘private’ and individual. Similarly, possible mutations in gender arrangements tended to be viewed as the product of forces external to individuals influencing such arrangements. In this regard, Connell calls attention to the (internal)

45 ‘tendencies towards change’ that characterise gender relations (Connell and Pearse, 2015). Gender is historical, so those pressures perceived as external are gestated within the gender order itself. This idea shows some resemblance to those regarding traditional religion and its continuity into modernity (and late modernity) that I discussed in the first section of the chapter. Hervieu-Léger’s idea of religion as memory (1999) precisely sees the act of religious believing as a practice that can be passed down as heritage, but also reformulated as it is (re)performed. Thus, I argue that an insightful way to exploring religious masculinities in general, and Mexican Mormon masculinities in particular, is to bear in mind how they incorporate elements of tradition into their perceived or actual novelty.

Connell (Connell and Pearse, 2015) outlines three possible dynamics of change in gender regimes and orders, First, she acknowledges the instability of gender categories, a notion greatly elaborated by post-structural feminism, and Judith Butler (1990, 1993) particularly. Connell agrees that, as they are articulated through discourse, gender categories are inherently unstable –and meanings in discourse are not fixed, nor is there a fixed connection between these discursively produced identities and the bodies they are meant to define. This resonates with Butler’s assertion that performativity should not be understood as a singular act ‘but rather a reiteration’ of the norms that govern the sexes divide and mobilise the actions that produce the perceived sex difference. Insofar as performativity appears to be an act, she clarifies, it will conceal the conventions that are being repeated through that very process’ (Butler, 1993: 12). In other words, the performances of gender ‘produce the effects they seem to describe’ (Brady and Schirato, 2011). Thus, this performativity is the vehicle for the materialization firstly of sex and eventually of gender, for what it is to be understood in Butler’s terms as their construction, ‘a process of materialization that stabilizes over time to produce the effect of boundary, fixity, and surface we call matter’ (Butler, 1993: 9, emphasis added).

The biggest problem with assimilating change into unstable gender categories alone, Connell argues, would be the failure to explain the different paces and intensities at which changes take place, as well as their differentiated manifestations across diverse geographical and historical contexts. A somewhat more dialectically informed analysis of those changing dynamics would be that of ‘crisis tendencies’; internal contradictions in the gender structure. This approach reincorporates materiality in and attempt to shed

46 light upon the areas that can be obscured by the notion of generalized instability —for instance, the issue of why changes occur in some places and at specific moments and not at others. These contradictions can arise across all four dimensions (power, production-consumption, emotion, and symbolic) of the gender relations structure she proposes. In other words, change in gender structures should also be seen as multidimensional.

Connell also discusses the processes through which a given gender order suffers a sudden interruption by means of force and violence. The process of imperial conquest and colonization that took place over centuries in many territories, and whose effects have been decisive in the configuration of what is usually identified as post-colonial societies, is a good example. The colonising exercise of power constitutes a particular dynamic for gender change in its own right, as is neoliberal globalisation, which not only restructures local gender orders, but is itself ‘a deeply gendered process’ (Connell and Pearse, 2015: 88). These considerations regarding the relational dimension of gender (and, therefore, of masculinities) serve to analyse how a certain number of what I —following Connell— call gender regimes, are able to endure over time, while mutating, changing, and accommodating different versions of masculinities and femininities.

An illustrative example in this sense can be observed in the reconfiguration of gender relations and expectations of masculinity that took place within Mormonism with the transition from polygamy to monogamy. The doctrinal and practical centrality of plural marriages was radically altered with the adoption of monogamy as the standard for Mormon marriages. The institutional decision to change was met with resistance from different groups but eventually settled and became ‘the new normal’. The emphasis on men as mainly responsible for the material provision of the households, and the rise of the image of the healthy and tempered man as an ideal for Mormon men to which to aspire can be directly linked to these processes of transformation of the religious and familial institutions of Mormonism that came as a result (Hoyt and Patterson, 2011).

Another point of Connell’s definition of gender I highlighted earlier in the chapter is the focus on bodies in the constitution of gender in her idea of ‘social embodiment’ (Connell and Pearse, 2015: 47-51). This is also worth considering as part of an analysis of religious masculinities, since bodies are one of the main sites where gender and its

47 associated categories (such as masculine or feminine) materialise. Connell rejects the notion that social gender differences are the natural result of bodily difference that can be readily observed in character differences. This can only be avoided if biological and social analyses are understood as intertwined and not susceptible of being separated or reduced one into the other. Thus, one needs to consider bodies as agents who generate gender differences, and who are socially constructed at the same time. That is to say, bodies are both the objects of social practice and agents in it. This forms a circuit through which bodies are constantly being determined into social practices and, at the same time, are feeding back into the social structure through their social practice. Once again, Connell’s idea chimes with the concept of gender performativity proposed by Butler, which goes beyond simple possibility to enact a given gender, or specific masculinities or femininities. As stated above, Butler’s performativity alludes to the process through which the norms governing the sexes divide and mobilise the actions that produce the perceived sex difference. Connell refers to this process as ‘social embodiment’, and it can occur at various scales and levels of aggregation in society, from individuals to large groups or complex institutions. I would argue that this category can work as a focal point in making gender relations and processes the object of sociological analysis, as it seems to be conducive to the double thinking I have discussed earlier.

For Connell, gender constitutes a particular form of social embodiment that relates directly to the bodily structures and processes of human reproduction. The social practices linked to those functions include the processes of sexual interaction, human gestation, birth, child rearing and care. The bodily capacities to engage in these practices, as well as the practices themselves are part, of the ‘reproductive arena’ (Connell and Pearse, 2015: 48-49). Connell argues that this is a more complex account of what has been seen as a ‘biological base’ for gender. It is the main point of reference in gender processes, even if it does not contain the whole spectrum of the social life implicated in gender. She calls this last space the ‘gender domain’. It also bears relation with the notion that sexed bodies are constructions themselves (Butler, 1990, 1993). What is important to remember here is that the embodiment of such reproductive functions is part of a construction that attributes specific functions to bodies of particular genitality as part of the processes that take place within this ‘gender domain’.

48 I see in this gender domain an area of clear intersection with religious believing, in as much as the latter is concerned with the nature and purpose of existence and, particularly from a Judaeo-Christian perspective, with notions and practices regarding the (sexual) procreation of life, the nurturing and indoctrination of younger generations, and the organization of (heteronormative) ‘family life’, all linked to this gender domain. Regarding the gender domain in the Mexican context, the configuration of the current gender order features strong and clearly visible links between the construction of sexed bodies and their role in reproductive processes (Lerner, 1998; Lagarde, 2005; Figueroa et al., 2006). Although those links are slowly being challenged from different fronts and through different channels, the prevailing heteronormative gender regimes of Mormonism seem to be in harmony with such configuration and act as reinforcements of them.

These notions and practices are also implicated in the view of patriarchy (discussed in the previous section) or, in other words, of a patriarchal gender order and/or patriarchal gender regimes. As I have mentioned, even though the concept of patriarchy has been extensively questioned on account of ‘its monolithic construction of men and masculinity as the enemy and the oppressor; for its lack of precision and its inability to account for complex social processes and cultural dynamics’ (Cranny-Francis et al., 2003:15), I would argue that it is useful in connection with the idea of hegemonic masculinity, as the latter intrinsically refers to an exercise of power and relations of subordination. As I pointed out earlier, following Edley and Wetherell (1995), describing an organization as patriarchal puts an emphasis on the structural nature of gender oppression, rather than locating its origin in individualized prejudice. In the particular case of Mormonism, the configuration of gendered relations within it justifies the utilisation of the term. Mormon doctrine is thoroughly androcentric, and the LDS Church is a highly hierarchical institution, tightly governed and run by an almost entirely male leadership. The women who participate in the administration and operation of the church act under male direction and their roles and functions seem to be designed to uphold and sustain the general operation of the system.

It is true that the term patriarchy can lead to simplification or overgeneralization, thus obscuring more locally situated, but crucially important, social and cultural factors that shape gender relations, practices and identities. However, I think it is possible to make use of it, so long as one bears in mind its limitations in order to avoid the

49 aforementioned pitfalls, and at the same time, take advantage of the insight it can provide. Looking at gender phenomena from a structural perspective does not necessarily exclude an analysis of culture. Patriarchal structures, institutions, relations and practices are to be thought of as material, just as we would conceive of structures, institutions, practices and relations derived from capitalism, colonialism, and imperialism, and/or established upon the basis of class and race. Moreover, as Stevi Jackson points out, all of these ‘intersect and interact, often in unpredictable and contradictory ways, so that the social order is not some seamless monolithic entity’ (Jackson, 2001: 284). The structural element of the idea that masculinities can be patriarchal or hegemonic also works as a constant check and balance to the emphasis on the fluctuating or ‘unstable’ characteristic of masculinities and femininities (Connell, 2015: 86), and their character as ‘identities’ (Jackson, 2001: 285).

Along with its materiality, the symbolic dimension of the production of masculinity through performativity is especially relevant to the issue at hand, since Mormonism, as discourse, covers all dimensions of the life of its adherents. In this way, the interactions in which Mormons engage at macro, intermediate and micro levels, reproduce aspects of the structure (such as male precedence in various dimensions of their everyday lives), and at the same time have the potential to expand it, negotiate with it, subvert it and try to transform it.

Of particular importance in this sense is the clarification made by Butler that although gender (and even sex) is the product of a construction process in which subjects are actively engaged, this does not necessarily mean that they are free to engage in it knowingly and willingly. She highlights that it is a process that is temporal in nature, bound to the effects of reiteration. The sediments of this reiteration cause sex, for instance, to acquire its perceived natural origin, and therefore give room to the idea of a pre-existent material basis. And at the same time, she asserts, this reiteration may give way to ‘gaps and fissures’ to open, which constitute evidence of its instability. Here, she would argue, is where the subversive potential of the subject may or may not be made present (Butler, 1993: 4-12). Such a conception resonates with Connell’s vision, specifically in regard to the relation between structure and change that I have expounded above: sexed bodies are the product of social practice as much as they are agents in it. They are constantly being constrained into gendered social practices as well as feeding back into the social structure that limits their gender practice.

Conclusion

Through the discussion of the concepts and categories presented in this chapter, I have located the topic of religious masculinities within the debates on ‘tradition’, modernity and ‘post-tradition’. This constitutes a framework to explore the ways in which Mexican Mormons are producing and experiencing masculinities in the rapidly changing context of the Mexican capital. This framework allows me to explore the meanings and practices they attribute to the idea of ‘the masculine’, and the notion of social embodiment provides a base upon which to approach the ways in which these meanings and practices come to play into their everyday lives.

The framework I have developed is also conducive to a double thinking approach to the study of contemporary Mormon masculinities, as it can help illuminate the processes through which change may take place within the gender structures of Mormonism, doing so in a way that goes beyond the view of a transition from tradition to post-tradition, and from institutions to individualisation. As Connell puts it ‘Gender as a system of relations is constituted in this historical process, and accordingly it can never be fixed, nor exactly reproduced. The strategic question is not ‘Can gender change?’ but ‘In what direction is gender changing?’ Any situation admits of a range of possible responses’ (Connell and Pearse, 2015: 51, italics added).

This model for understanding the way in which gender regimes within Mormonism are being reconstituted, with the implications this reconstitution has for masculinities, emphasises its fluid nature without necessarily forsaking its structural nature. It also allows us to see Mormon men as agents participating in those gender regimes through their practices, which are in turn essential to the maintenance and potential modification of such regimes

52 CHAPTER 3: A METHODOLOGY FIT FOR MEXICAN MORMON MASCULINITIES

Introduction

This chapter discusses the methodology for designing and carrying out the research, and its appropriateness for looking at religious masculinities in the particular context of the intersection of Mormonism and Mexico City. I used a combination of methods for exploring my research questions and sampling, a multi-faceted approach that draws on the notion of what has been called ‘facet methodology’ (Mason, 2011). I elaborate on this methodological design and decisions in the first section of the chapter. In the second section, I present a description of the specific methods used and the way in which they contributed to the generation of data for the analysis.

I divide the description of my methods using three subheadings, each expounding on one of them. First, I discuss the importance of texts and the written word for the study of Mormon masculinities and establish the role they played in the research. I also discuss the tracking of debates around Mormonism and masculinities that I undertook online, mostly through web logs (blogs), podcasting and other social media platforms. Then, I move on to elaborate on the use of ethnographic observation of different moments and different situations in which Mormon masculinities are displayed and enacted. These include two Mormon congregations, named wards, of which I discuss their main characteristics in the subsection. It also included a group of self-identified LGBT Mormons called Afirmación. I dedicate a small part toward the end of my discussion of observation to make a brief description of the origin and purpose of this group. Finally, I discuss the realisation of interviews and how these came to provide the bulk of the data for the analysis. I close the chapter with a final reflection on the analysis of the data and the reporting of it.

Throughout the chapter, I discuss and reflect on some ethical issues about the protection of the participants’ confidentiality, particularly in the context in which they live and interact. I discuss my role as a researcher, as observer and participant, as well as being simultaneously an insider and an outsider in the different groups with whom I worked.

53 Looking at Mormon Masculinities from a qualitative perspective

In the still budding field of the study of masculinities in Mexico, there is already a consolidated trend towards qualitative research. A large portion of the studies that form the corpus of this field of inquiry (Careaga and Cruz, 2006; Figueroa et al., 2006; Amuchástegui and Szasz, 2007) are built from a methodologically ‘constructivist’ view (Moses and Knutsen, 2007: 10), a perspective that can be defined as ‘broadly ‘interpretivist’ (…) concerned with how the social world is interpreted, understood, experienced, produced or constituted’ (Mason 2002: 3). As noted by Jennifer Mason (2002), feminist thinking is one of the main domains that has challenged the conventional scientific discourse, and has laid out a series of topics, questions, and intellectual puzzles that can be better approached, analysed, and understood from a qualitative methodological perspective. The study of the construction and experience of masculinities has undoubtedly been one of such topics.

In the particular case of the study of Mormon masculinities, the intersection of religion and masculinity may well epitomise the ‘ontological diversity and complexity’ (Moses and Knutsen, 2007: 11) of the social world as seen through the lens of qualitative methodology. As I elaborate in the previous chapter, I view religious masculinities as contingent on geographical, temporal and cultural contexts. At the same time, I conceive of them as produced (and reproduced) by bodies as social agents who engage in gendered religious believing and practice. My main focus in this thesis is on how Mexican Mormon men (and women) produce and experience masculinities in the contemporary context of Mexico City. Following from this, I enquire about the meanings that Mormon groups and individuals attribute to the notions of masculinity and ‘being a man’, as well as the bodily practices that such meanings entail. As a reminder, my research questions concerned 1) the meanings and practices that Mormon men associate with masculinities and femininities; 2) the ways in which these meanings and practices are shaped in contemporary contexts and/or by religious affiliation; 3) whether Mormon men were engaging in dialogue with diverse discourses about gender identities and relations, and masculinities being reconfigured as a result; and 4) the ways in which the current debate, regarding gender normativities and practices, within and around Mormonism, was impacting collective representations of traditional Mormon men (and women).

54 The nature of my enquiries made it possible to anticipate dense descriptions and multidimensional explanations (rather than quantifications or numerical trends) as possible answers to them. Thus, a qualitative approach seemed the natural course of action for the design and implementation of the research project. A qualitative approach afforded an appropriate degree of flexibility to the process of the thesis. Qualitative research can be described as ‘flexible’ on account of the fluid character that it has throughout the process of the study, including not only its design, but the the stages of data collection and analysis as well (Robson 2011: 130-134). Such flexibility also entails the possibility to use various methods for the generation of data. As noted by Mason (2002: 59-61), this is not to say that several methods could be deployed arbitrarily or without correspondence among themselves. Rather, this meant that different methods were used to cast light over different dimensions of the processes of construction and experience of masculinity by Mexican Mormon men. This was done on the premise that a qualitative research endeavour should be conducive to the production of ‘rounded and contextual understandings on the basis of rich, nuanced, and detailed data’ (Mason, 2002: 3).

The incorporation of more than one method provided me with various sources of data from which to produce such an understanding of Mormon masculinities in Mexico City. Making a case for what she calls a ‘facet methodology’, Mason proposes the notion of ‘insight’, which can be understood as ‘knowledge that is ‘telling’ in relation to the substantive questions and puzzles under investigation’ (Mason, 2011: 80), as opposed to absolute explanations and/or total answers to them. Even though I do not attempt to present my research strategy as a facet methodology through and through, I do consider this notion of ‘insight production’ useful to approach the task of data generation in the face of the different dimensions of Mexican Mormon masculinities I explore in this thesis. Thus, rather than trying to generate ‘comprehensive all-round descriptive knowledge’ (Mason, 2011: 80) on Mormon masculinities, an emphasis on gaining insights about how they are constructed and experienced by Mexican Mormon men (and women) was particularly enlightening about how normative masculinities are deployed and upheld, and how masculinities casted out of the normativity are also ‘telling’ of it.

Finally, I subscribe to the perspective that one’s research practice is formed by ‘the complex interplay between our personal biographies and position in the social world,

55 our resources as researchers, our disciplinary knowledge and space within the research hierarchy and the specific nature of the research site we intervene in’ (Dean, 2017: 30). Following Bourdieu, Jon Dean discusses the relevance of a reflexive approach to research that considers all these variables in the realisation of a project, in order to produce ‘if not objective, then honest and open research’ (Dean 2017: 33). Having this caveat present, from the formulation of the project, to the actual analysis of the data and the discussion of its findings, I have made an effort to keep in close sight my position regarding a topic that is so closely linked with my own lived experience.

I was raised as a Mormon since age seven and remained a practicing member of the LDS Church through all my adolescence. I lived all those years in Mexico City where I was born. This has given me privileged background knowledge of Mexican Mormonism, its development, and many of its associated practices. And at the same time, even though I have not been a believing practicing Mormon for nearly 20 years, nor do I identify as such, my lived experience means that many of the dimensions of Mormons’ masculinity ‘feel’ almost natural to me, to a point where they can become ‘invisible’ to a critical-analytical gaze, and/or determine my behaviour in ways I may not realise. Along the rest of the chapter, I offer some reflections on this issue and the efforts I made to keep it in check during the development of the research.

The methods

The intention to generate data on Masculinities that was ‘rich, nuanced and detailed’ prompted me to use a set of methods that addressed my research questions in a rounded, multidimensional way. For this, I considered a series of characteristics of the topic that located it spatially, temporally, and culturally. The research was geographically situated within the particularly dynamic setting of Mexico City and its surrounding metropolitan area. This region has experienced intensive growth over the last decades (INEGI, 2018), as well as rapid and constant transformations in several different aspects, including both the domains of masculinity (Gutmann, 1993; 1996) and religion (Blancarte, 2001: 2010). In this sense, I attempted to capture this movement and change by eliciting narratives that moved along in time.

56 Additionally, Mexican Mormonism is tightly linked to a governing and administrative institution: the LDS Church. This religious institution has been broadly characterised as conservative, hierarchical, and patriarchal (Toscano, 1985; 2004; Finnegan and Ross, 2013; Chen, 2014; Sumerau and Cragun, 2014). This is of particular interest in the face of the important social and cultural changes regarding gender and gender identities taking place in Mexican society at large. In order to gain ‘insight’ into the ways in which the institution and its participants were interacting with this broader context, I set out to observe the settings, relations and interactions in which Mormon masculinities are put on display in Mexican congregations and other groups constituted mostly or exclusively by Mormons.

In terms of the more ideological and symbolical elements involved, this thesis looks at Mormonism as a mostly conservative religious discourse on gender, and the ways in which its adherents have incorporated it. But it also seeks to cast light on the ways in which said discourse can be experienced problematically, ambiguously, or even be contested. This twofold approach calls for an observation of this discourse, and of the ways in which it is disseminated, through texts that are revered, produced and distributed by the LDS Church in its position as the main holder of ‘revealed truth’. At the same time, it begs attention to the religious and gender practices and interactions that are part of the subjects’ everyday lives within the contexts of mostly Mormon environments, and also to the interactions they engage in with other communities of which they are part and are constructed through various other discourses. Below, I discuss in more detail the methods employed for addressing these different dimensions, the specifics of the deployment of such methods, and the main outcomes of their utilisation.

Reading: ‘searching’ Mormon scripture and documents

Mormonism can be seen as directly descending from the Judaeo-Christian religious strand. This entails, among other things, that sacred texts play a major role in its configuration. Mormonism claims to uphold doctrines and values taken from the Bible. Its doctrinal corpus is also informed by the Book of Mormon, another volume published by the founder of Mormonism, Joseph Smith, which shares the same doctrinal and sacred status as the Christian Bible. Two other volumes, also produced by Smith

57 (named Doctrine and Covenants and The Pearl of Great Price) complete the Mormon canon that members and leadership often refer to as ‘the scriptures’. This is illustrative of the emphasis that Mormonism places on the preservation and study of the written word, and it is worth noting how the LDS Church relies heavily on the monopoly of the interpretation and revision of this canon in its attempt to support doctrinal claims.

Other texts and documents are also a fundamental part in the setting of the LDS Church’s policy, and play a central role in its government and administration. The Handbook of Instructions, for instance, is a text that has established the precepts and regulations for the operation of the LDS Church all along the twentieth century, but especially form the decade of the sixties, when the Church’s ‘correlation’ program became more ambitious and largely consolidated (Prince and Wright, 2005). The most recent version of the text was released in 2010, when it was divided into two volumes called Handbook 1: Stake presidents and bishops (LDS Church, 2015a), and Handbook 2: Administering the Church (LDS Church, 2010b). Prior to that time, the Handbook was only available to leaders in Church government positions. The Church has made public Handbook 2, which can be accessed through their official website, but has kept the access policy for Handbook 1.

Before those changes were in place, the Handbook and its instructions were kept from large sections of the lay membership, most notably women and youth, many of whom were not aware of its existence and the pre-eminence it had in many of the decisions made in the quotidian operation of the Church. On the other hand, the Handbook would be discussed with notable familiarity among ward priesthood leaders (all men) during the years I participated in the Mormon community. In light of this, I thought it was important to incorporate it to my consultations for this study. Furthermore, this text touches directly on subjects such as same sex relationships, family life and other everyday life issues of Church members. A notable example was the amendment of the text regarding same-sex couples, marriages and families which were introduced in 2015.17 Those changes were widely debated on social media and within the community

17 The changes were broadly interpreted as a response from the Church to the US Supreme Court ruling on same-sex marriage that made legal in all the country. On the one hand, they had to do with the cases in which priesthood leaders must enforce discipline on members through a disciplinary council that can result in excommunication. The Handbook provides a list of the cases in which such a measure must be taken, which includes: murder, incest, child abuse, and apostasy. The definition of apostasy was broadened to include members of the LDS Church who ‘are in a same-gender marriage’.

58 of people discussing Mormon related topics online. In those discussions, they were broadly deemed detrimental for the well-being of those Mormons affected by them by many of the participants in the debates (Dehlin, 2016).

The confidentiality of the document made me reflect on the difficulty of accessing and reading it, as well as on the ethical issues implicated in such a decision. I decided to go ahead and look at Handbook 1 when I learned that it had been made public by anonymous sources and it was now accessible online. The LDS Church leadership has not made any comment regarding the authenticity of the document available. Moreover, it has not denied any of the assertions on its contents brought forth in the many criticisms it has arisen, particularly the 2015 amendments mentioned above. In fact, in this regard, The Church offered some information on the rationale behind the changes18, which were extensively reported on by local media in Utah and the western United States, thus confirming their authenticity. In light of all this, I consider that my review of the Handbook does not breach its confidentiality anymore.

Another notably important document is a manifesto called The family: a proclamation to the world, released by the First Presidency of the LDS Church (1995) in the mid- nineties. In it, the Mormon leadership in the voice of its president made public its official standpoint on the concept of family. Through the reaffirmation of its heteronormative standpoint in the document, the LDS Church implicitly addressed issues such as same sex marriages, abortion and other issues directly linked with gender identities and masculinities, such as paternity and sexuality.

These documents, along with several other talks and communications by Church officials, have occupied a focal point in the debates taking place within Mormonism, and have been widely discussed and critiqued, particularly by dissident groups, as is the case in other Christian or otherwise religious configurations (Yip, 2005). Thus, I considered them a major source of knowledge about the role that Mormonism (in its

Furthermore, it instructed leaders not to allow for children of parents in same-gender cohabiting or marriages to be baptised into the Church, be ordained to priesthood (in the case of boys), or serve as full-time missionaries, unless they are of legal age, do not live with the parent in said relationship, disavow the practice of same-gender cohabitation and marriage, and are interviewed by a priesthood leader higher above in the Church leadership structure. These changes were leaked and published online and are available at: https://es.scribd.com/doc/288685756/Changes-to-LDS-Handbook-1- Document-2-Revised-11-3-15-28003-29 18 See Weaver, 2015.

59 dimension as doctrine and normativity) plays in the configuration of the gender notions, and the references it provides Mormon men (and women) with, in terms of gender, sexuality, authority, and everyday practice of them. The large majority of them are officially public and accessible through the Church’s official website.19

Even though the main focus of this thesis is not on the discourse on gender contained in these texts, I consider them a fundamental source of data for it, and critical to inform the analysis of data generated otherwise. Having attended Mormon Church services throughout my childhood and adolescence, I became very well acquainted with the Mormon canon of scripture. It was also constantly referred to at Church activities, conversations with participants, and other interactions I had during fieldwork. Many of these references are found throughout the thesis, especially in the chapters devoted to the analysis of the data. The latter is also true regarding other documents produced and distributed by the LDS Church. The family manifesto I have mentioned, for instance, came up in virtually every interview I conducted, in many other conversations, and in quite a few lessons and talks delivered at Mormon meeting houses. The ‘searching’ of this written body or works was thus deemed critical as a method of data generation.

Lastly, I have tracked some topics related to Mormonism being debated online. Over the last fifteen years, the World Wide Web has witnessed the emergence of hundreds of blogs, where LDS people have started long conversations on various topics in relation to Mormonism. Furthermore, some of them have actually sprung larger groups and organisations, which take participation beyond blogging and have started putting together an agenda for the incorporation of their views in the main Mormon discourse. Many of these blogs by LDS people discuss a series of doctrinal and other ecclesiastical issues, and can be located at different positions along an orthodox-unorthodox Mormonism spectrum. It was possible to identify some particular topics working as axes around which these bloggers and their counterparts engage in conversation. Discussions on race, ethnicity and colonialism have all been ongoing within the significant portion of the so-called blogosphere devoted to LDS related discussions,

19 The only exception being Handbook 1, which, as I explained before, has been made public anonymously without the explicit approval of the Church authorities, although they have acknowledged its existence.

60 what some LDS bloggers have called the Bloggernacle.20 Gender equality and sexual diversity are definitely among the main topics in these discussions, and have even motivated further organisation and action both on social media and outside of it (Finnigan and Ross, 2013). It was within this cyber spaces that I became aware of Afirmación, the group of self-identified LGBT Mormons among whom I worked during my research. In the following subsection, I expound on my ethnographic observation, and pause particularly to discuss a little more of the nature of Afirmación.

Observing: an ethnographic approach

As a Mexico City native, I felt that I had a good knowledge of many of its dynamics. Likewise, as I have mentioned, I was raised within an active Mormon community in the city. This, coupled with my membership in the Church, positioned me as an insider in the field in many ways. On the other hand, I abandoned Mormon practice from between my early and mid-twenties, and since then I have adopted an increasingly critical stance towards it. This has been positive in that it has informed my academic interest in Mormonism in connection to the gender and sexual orders and identities with which I have coexisted in that urban context. And it simultaneously put me in the position of an outsider from the perspective of most participants, who are faithful active members of the LDS Church, and even from my own perspective.

In several moments of ethnographic observation during the research, this status as both an insider and outsider became evident, especially as these observations were ‘participant’ in nature (Evans, 2012: 2-3), meaning they implied placing myself in situations that participants routinely engage in, and doing many of the things they usually do as part of them. For instance, I found myself present many times during the passing of the Sacrament (see Chapter 4) feeling the need to abstain from taking it as a non-practicing individual, and at the same time, feeling that it was expected of me as a church member (in name). In general, the ethnographic approach I took entailed

20 The term is a reference to the Mormon Tabernacle in Temple Square, Salt Lake City, Utah. The building dates from the early years of Mormon settlement in the Salt Lake Valley and it was home to the General Conference of the Church for over a hundred years, until the sessions were moved to the LDS Conference Centre to accommodate a larger amount of attendants. The website ‘Mormon Archipelago’ provides a very comprehensive classification of these blogs as well as links to many of them. It is available at: http://www.ldsblogs.org/

61 ‘observing, participating, interrogating, listening, communicating, as well as a range of other forms of being, doing and thinking’ (Mason, 2002: 63), with the intention of gaining insight into the production and experience of diverse Mormon masculinities and their associated practices.

The intention to address a variety of experiences of Mormon masculinities, reflected in my research objective and questions, prompted me to look for more than one site to observe these masculinities at work. Thus, my observations took place in three particular settings: 1) LDS Church Sunday services, meant to provide a mostly ‘spiritual’ and instructive atmosphere, as well as some other mostly religious gatherings on different days; 2) more leisurely oriented activities organised by the wards’ leadership and hosted completely or partially at the meeting houses; and 3) the various activities of the Afirmación group, which are a mixture of spiritual, instructive and leisurely activities, and where the boundaries between such moments are a little less sharply defined. In each of these three settings, I either introduced myself or was introduced as a member (in name) of the LDS Church. Later, in individual conversations, many of the participants asked me whether I was an active/believing Mormon, had been to the temple or completed missionary service. In every one of these occasions, I took the opportunity to reiterate my insider/outsider status as I have described it above. From this vantage point I observed the ways in which men presented and conducted themselves and some of the interactions with other men and women in which they engaged.

Planning the observation required paying attention to the structural organisation of the LDS Church as it was the main site for participation and observations to take place. The church is organized geographically, with wards being the most basic unit of this organization. Wards are formed by families and individuals living within a given geographical area. It is the members of a given ward who occupy the positions in its leadership structure. Most of the positions are to be occupied by men who rotate periodically, so that one particular member can occupy different positions in their time. A married man from the ward is appointed as ‘Bishop’, and he will act as the head of the ward for a number of years until the leadership above him in the structure appoint a new one. Members meet every Sunday in a Church owned building21, commonly

21 Some smaller units known as ‘branches’ can meet in a house or other local rented for the same purposes as a Church building.

62 known as capilla (chapel), to hold religious services and teaching. They also meet at the chapel or other spots for activities that can have a ‘spiritual’ aim or more social or ludic purposes. I describe the configuration of Mormon capillas or LDS Church meeting houses, and the dynamics of the services and activities that take place in them, in more detail in different moments throughout the thesis.

Membership in the LDS Church is obtained by ‘being baptised’ into it.22 The LDS Church keeps a record of all people who are baptised, which is also organised geographically. A person’s address at the time of baptism determines the ward in which their membership record is kept. Having been baptised at age eight according to Mormon custom, there is still a record of my membership. If the person moves to a different address outside the boundaries of that ward, the leaders of the new ward into which they move usually ask for their record to be relocated as well, so as to keep the records as up to date as possible, both in the LDS Church’s central office, as well as those in the local units. This is closely linked to the Church’s policy of tightly administrating human and financial resources. Wards are allocated various resources (from access to a building and teaching materials, to proselyting missionaries and budget for activities) by the central offices of the Church, precisely on the basis of well- kept baptismal and attendance records.

When I moved back to Mexico City for the fieldwork, I administratively became a ‘less active’ member of the ward I in that area, to which I gave the Roman numeral I. Being able to claim membership in the ward conferred me an insider status, which meant ward leaders had to honour my desire to attend services. Moreover, it meant I became a potential new ‘tithe payer’23 and contributor to ward’s activities in time and work. This could make my presence there welcome. At the same time, my ethical responsibility to let the ward leadership know that I was there as a researcher (with a potentially critical perspective on Mormonism), rather than as a follower, could cause them to see me also as an outsider.

22 Children of active LDS members can be registered to the membership records of their parents wards if they are given a name and a blessing in the Church in their infancy (I elaborate on the purpose and work of these blessings in chapter 7), until they are baptised at age eight. 23 The LDS Church teaches the doctrine of tithing by virtue of which Mormons are expected to ‘(donate) one-tenth of one’s income to God’s Church.’ (LDS Church, 2018) This is done through the wards’ leadership who receive members’ donations –usually fortnightly or monthly- and report and hand them over to the central office of the Church every week.

63 Having settled into the accommodation I had rented, I located the LDS Church meeting house in the ward and attended services the following Sunday. I started attending services at ward I on Sunday 28th February 2016. On that day, I introduced myself to the ward’s bishop and set an appointment with him for the following Friday. At the interview I told him about my research project and my intentions to attend ward meetings as an observer and interview some of the members, to which he expressed no reservations. Perhaps this was so on account of my status as a Church member in name, and could have been different had I introduced myself as a non-Mormon and complete outsider. I also asked him to introduce me to the congregation in that capacity, as I had been acknowledged at the main Sunday meeting the previous Sunday only as a new member who had just moved into the ward. He agreed and invited me to come to a ward council meeting that was to be held the following Sunday before the services. I attended the meeting where I was introduced to the rest of the bishopric24, and some of the leaders of the ward in attendance. I explained briefly what my project was about and once again expressed my intention to observe the services and interview some members.

I attended a total of twelve Sunday services at Ward I, between 28th February and 29th May 2016. Although I observed interactions in general every time, I attempted to focus on particular aspects for different sessions, considering the different time spaces generated by the outline of the services. Thus, at Sacrament meetings (I detail more what these are later on in Chapter 4) I considered the seating arrangements, the attendants’ body presentation and attire, topics being discussed in talks, and other forms of interaction that were not part of the formal program. For the rest of the three-hour block of LDS Sunday services, I divided my attendance of Sunday school lessons (the second hour after Sacrament meeting) between the single and married adults groups, aiming to have a broader picture of the above mentioned aspects, and compare between them. As for Priesthood meetings, (the closing meeting in the block) I attended the openings and elders quorum25 lessons only. This was in observance of the custom, considering my position as a recently arrived male adult member.

24 In the LDS Church, a bishopric is the presiding body of a ward comprised by the bishop and two other men appointed as counsellors. 25 The ‘elders quorum’ is the group of men in every ward, who are 18 or older and have been ordained to the priesthood precisely with the office of ‘elder’. I talk in more detail about the leadership structure

64 I also attended the broadcast of two sessions of the Annual General Conference of the LDS Church, which included an all-male Priesthood session. The conference is held in Salt Lake City, Utah, every April and is broadcasted live via satellite to Church meeting houses around the world. Members are encouraged to attend church that weekend to see the broadcast at their corresponding building, although it can also be streamed live on the internet. I was also able to attend a baptismal service for the 8-year old daughter of a family in the ward. One of the members of the ward conducted a support group for people with addiction problems, as he himself described it to me. I was invited to attend the group sessions which took place weekly. I was able to attend four of those sessions. In terms of more social activities, I participated at a basketball night organised by the elders quorum president, a Noche de barrio or Family Ward Evening organised by the bishopric, a multi-stake Young Single Adults activity that involved a race around the city, a lunch gathering held after ward conference (a special Sunday service held annually), and an activity for cleaning and tidying the building. Even though these had a more social and informal imprint, some form of religious worshiping was always present (such as opening and/or closing prayers, for example).

At the ward council meeting I mentioned above, I met the president of the ward’s elders quorum. That Sunday while he opened the meeting of the group, he asked me to introduce myself to the men present. I took the opportunity to tell them about the purpose of my attendance, and also asked for volunteers to participate in my study giving me the chance to interview them. Many of them expressed their willingness and a good number of them did participate. I discuss those experiences more in detail under the next subheading. A few other men of the ward were less interested and some even seemed to avoid talking to me. This may have been related to their distrust or discomfort with me observing them from the perspective I did. As an example, one of the members of the bishopric approached me the first Sunday I was there before the meeting started, as he recognised me as a new comer. He asked my name and whether I was a member of the Church. His intention was to welcome me publically during the main meeting of the service that he was conducting that day, as it is the custom with newly come members or visitors. He showed himself very enthusiastic when I informed him that I was indeed a registered member of the LDS Church who had recently moved

of the wards and the Church in general in Chapter 5, wherein I analyse the Mormon priesthood authority and hierarchy.

65 to the area. However, in subsequent meetings, after I had introduced myself as a researcher, he almost did not speak to me at all. One Sunday, I approached him as a meeting was finishing. While I walked by his side down the hall, I asked him whether he would be willing to speak to me in an interview. I did not get a direct response from him; he just asked me to excuse him as he had to talk to someone else about an issue that had arisen unexpectedly and walked away.

Ward I is located on what used to be the outskirts of the city, and urban growth has caused the area to be fully integrated with it now. The vast majority of the membership concentrates in one big colonia (neighbourhood) established mostly by low income families. It is still a neighbourhood of predominantly working class families and has a reputation for a certain degree of violence and insecurity. Like many colonias in the city, this one is adjacent to other, more affluent neighbourhoods that are also part of the ward. The population there consists mainly of middle and upper class households, but very few members of the ward come from this particular section. There are also a few patches of lower-middle class and working class housing scattered over the ward’s area, and some of the rest of the members live in those small enclaves. The older generations of ward members consisted mostly of housewives, and workers or freelance employed men, with only a few professionals and a few retired people. The younger population of the ward were mostly students and/or early career professionals.

The first weekend of June, I changed residence to a different neighbourhood with the intention to find a ward with a slightly different composition. This placed me within the boundaries of Ward II. This is a more inner city ward, nearer the city centre. The largest portion of the ward is within an area identified historically with a conservative catholic middle class population. The church house building is located in what would be known in Mexico as a colonia popular, a traditional village turned into an urban neighbourhood that still houses many working class families, trades people, shops, and a central market. Some members of the ward live in this area. Next to this neighbourhood, there is another one that can be located on the higher end of the spectrum of colonias populares. A good number of individual members and families live there. Property prices are rising rapidly in the neighbourhood due to gentrification and its proximity to a highly populated area of the city with intense commercial, financial and entertainment activity. A few families and members of the ward, but not

66 many, come from this area, which seems to have a strong conservative Catholic presence, as I previously mentioned.

I started attending services at the ward on Sunday 12th June, and continued to do so up until 28th August. I took a similar approach in this ward, introducing myself to the bishop and requesting to meet with him to talk about my project in more detail. Just like the bishop in the previous ward, he asked for my approval to request that the LDS Church administrative headquarters reassigned my membership records to the ward, to which I agreed. I completed 12 observational visits to Sunday services, the same amount I had done in ward I, focusing my attention in a similar fashion. There seemed to be fewer activities out of the regular Sunday schedule in this particular ward. I was only able to attend an informal, scarcely attended gathering that Young Single Adults put together to play basketball, volleyball and ping pong, and a baptismal service for a woman who had decided to join the church.

As I had done in the first ward, I asked the adult members from the ward’s priesthood groups for volunteers to be interviewed. In addition to there being fewer prospective interviewees (attendance to services was slightly lower in ward II, about 50 to 60 people, compared to the approximately 70-80 members at ward I), also a smaller proportion of them expressed interest at first. This made it a little more challenging to recruit participants in ward II; I had to approach many of the men individually to different degrees of success. Besides the formal interviews I conducted and that I mention under the next subheading, I engaged in several informal chats and discussions with people of both wards. Notes from those conversations were also taken during fieldwork and became part of the data generated.

Through my participation in these wards I was able to observe how masculinities were being produced and experienced in Mormon environments and among mostly believing men and women who, for the most part, conformed to Mormonism’s gender normativity. It also allowed me to identify potential interviewees and invite them to participate. As mentioned above, a few men did come forward and volunteered to participate. Later, I had to follow a strategy of purposive sampling (Robson, 2011: 275), asking men directly until I felt that I had interviewed a good number of them in relation to the time I had been there.

67 My research set out to go further than the immediate context of the wards. This made it necessary to attempt to explore the performance of masculinities tied to Mormonism in spaces and situations that challenged or resisted its authoritative and institutional dimension as expressed by the LDS Church. Thus, I decided to get in contact with the group Afirmación, the Mexican chapter of Affirmation: LGBT Mormons, families and friends. I think it is important to talk briefly about the group’s aims and characteristics before moving on to my description of the observations in it.

Afirmación México

The group was started by a few Mormon students of the LDS Church owned and run university in Utah (BYU) who identified as gay, towards the end of the decade of the seventies. One of the oldest and best positioned actors in the discussion regarding sexual diversity and Mormonism, Affirmation sees itself as ‘an inclusive LGBTQ/SSA 26 Mormon organization serving tens of 1000s of LGBTQ/SSA Mormons, their families, and friends worldwide (…) reaching out to non-LGBTQ Mormons and assisting them in supporting their family and friends who identify themselves as LGBTQ/SSA (and) helping LGBTQ/SSA Mormons to be comfortable attending their regular Church meetings as singles and couples (Affirmation, 2015). It is integrated and run independently form the LDS Church, who do not endorse any of the group’s activities.

Afirmación México came about in the early two thousands. It had a period of growth and activity to which Nacho, a member from the time jokingly referred to as the group’s ‘first season’. However, he recalled, when the former chairman stepped down and members continued to ‘grow older’ group activity declined considerably. A ‘second season’ of sorts started toward 2010, when members of the Affirmation international board visited Mexico and relaunched the group. This second period has strengthened the group’s structure and presence, and they now have a fairly steady operation. The Mexican chapter has its own president and leadership team. They hold monthly devotionals27 in Mexico City, and they have had an annual national conference since

26 Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Questioning their sexuality/Same Sex Attracted. 27 Devotionals are small spiritual gatherings very common in Mormonism. They are composed by people singing one or various religious hymns, an opening and closing prayer, a ‘spiritual message’ shared by one of the participants, and it may or may not include the Mormon practice of ‘testimony bearing’ through which participants take turns to speak and share their spiritual feelings and experiences.

68 2012. These conferences include messages from members of the organization, and other guest speakers with some Mormon background. They also include social and cultural activities, and largely seem as an attempt to replicate annual Affirmation conferences that take place in the US.

Rather than a politically active organization, Afirmación seems to draw on the notion of collectiveness that is central to Mormonism. LDS within the church are organized into age and common interest groups for children, teenagers, young adults, women, and so on. These groups meet often outside the regular Sunday services to have social, cultural and spiritual activities. All these are held in compliance with LDS Church policy and doctrine, so they are impregnated of the general heteronormative tone of Mormonism, making them potentially hostile spaces toward sexual diversity. The idea behind Afirmación gatherings seems to be to provide similar spaces, with a Mormon- like atmosphere, which are open to sexually diverse discussions and interactions.

In a radio interview in January 2015, a spokesperson from Afirmación stressed that the aim of the organization was not to form a separate religious entity from the LDS Church, but rather to ‘cater spiritually to LGBTQ/SSA people, fostering an environment in which one can develop their spirituality without denying their sexuality’28. He also emphasized the non-activist character of the organization; they are not pushing publically for a modification in the Mormon policies that could, for instance, result in Mormon marriages for same-sex couples. Afirmación leaders seemed to take a less confrontational approach, and to employ a narrative of inclusion, based on ‘love, compassion, and understanding’, which they perceive to be basic Christian notions.

I made contact with Afirmación through a previous acquaintance, a woman who is a member of a Mormon feminist group which also takes part in online debates. She gave me the contact details of another woman who was a member of Afirmación’s chairing board. This was the only woman in the group that I met. She invited me to come to the activity they had for the month of February, which consisted of a social gathering at the apartment of one other member of the committee. I attended and there I was informed that the board tried to hold activities once a month, but that there would be

28 The interview with Afirmación’s spokesman César Carreón took place on the radio program “Aleatorio”, on 18 January 2015, in Mexico City. The quote as most the other in the thesis is my own translation. The audio of the interview is available at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hjlq5G_LxHs

69 months with more than one gathering and others with none. Table 1 (below) lists the activities of the group I attended. It gives a brief description of each of them and an estimate of the number of people in attendance.

Table 1. Activities attended with the group Afirmación

Activity Attendance Month Venue Description name estimate February Valentine’s 20 Committee This was a social reunion for leisure gathering member’s with Karaoke and music for apartment dancing.

March Afirmación 14 A country house Spiritual/recreational weekend Encounter in Oaxtepec, retreat. There were group Morelos (small integration dynamics, spiritual town about 60 messages, and physical education km from Mexico activities (A fee was charged for City) attending this activity).

April Devotional 16 Casa de los Religious tone meeting where amigos people take times speaking and community sharing their experiences in a format centre known to Mormons as the “bearing of Testimony”.

May Popcorn time 12 Casa de los Screening of the film “Prayers for amigos Bobby”, which tells the true story of community an American gay teen who commits centre suicide, and his orthodox Christian mother who becomes a gay rights advocate after his death. There was a group discussion after the film.

June LGBT Pride 15 ‘clerks’ Stand on The newly elected national Stand rotating during Reforma avenue, committee of Afirmación set up a the day. stand at the start of the traditional Dozens of route of the pride parade in order to passers-by. find people identified as LGBTQI and Mormon, and invite them to come to group activities. They also tried to establish and strengthen links with similar groups.

Afirmación’s 18 Casa de los An evening to present the group to open house amigos new comers and visitors. The newly community elected committee introduced centre themselves and called for a sharing time that involved everyone present.

The different activities in the group varied in tone, but in general they resembled activities I observed within official LDS Church settings. They tended to be opened and closed with prayers, hymns are sung and ‘spiritual thoughts’ and messages shared. Even in those more informal social gatherings LDS Church conduct norms seem to be

70 in place; drinking and smoking are not allowed, no coffee or tea served, and ‘bad’ language is kept at a minimum. The major channel of communication for Afirmación is the internet, particularly the social platform Facebook (FB), on which they form different groups. There is an ‘in Spanish’ FB group, for a Spanish speaking audience all over Latin America, a group for Mexico, and one specifically for what they call the Centre Region. Typically, potential new members will come in contact with board members who will give them details of the group and invite them to upcoming activities. There is also a semi-official chat group on the mobile application WhatsApp but I was not offered to participate in those conversations. The FB groups also allow members to post content they consider relevant to the group and are encouraged to foster respectful discussion. I was granted access to the groups which are ‘secret’ according to the platform nomenclature (i.e. no one who is not a member in them can look them up on FB, see, post, or comment on content, or see who members of the group are), mainly as an attempt to protect the privacy of the participants who have not come out to family, church leaders and so on. During the fieldwork period I monitored activity in the Mexico group, and then also in the Centre Region group which was created toward the end of July.

My insider/outsider status took different meanings in my interactions with Afirmación. When I attended my first activity, most members of the group did not have a chance to hear what my aim in participating in the group was so they just assumed I was a new member, as some of them would later let me know. And even those whom I spoke to about my research objective seemed to have assumed that I was gay. As an example, I met a man who was a member of the leadership board of the group, and in charge of liaison and communications. I met with him a couple of days later, after a brief exchange over text messages, with the intention to discuss my project and ask for their approval to attend subsequent activities, similarly to what I had done with the bishops at the two wards. We met at a café and he started our conversation by asking me to tell him ‘my story’. Attempting to be polite, I briefly told him what my relationship with Mormonism was, and how I had decided to undertake this research (see Chapter 1). He then asked about my family: ‘do you have any siblings? Are they Mormon? Do they know?’ It took me a moment to realise that what he meant with this last question, but then it became apparent that he was asking whether my family knew I was gay. Even though I did not mind in the slightest that he had assumed I was gay, from a research

71 ethics perspective, I felt it was important to clarify that this was not the case. I was also wary of coming across as offended (even homophobic) so I took a minute to think about the best way of making such a clarification. It was not necessary as he seemed to have realised that his assumption was mistaken and quickly asked me whether I was married or had a girlfriend.

The members of the group come from different locations all over Mexico City, and the neighbouring states of Mexico, Puebla, Morelos, Hidalgo and Queretaro. The membership in attendance to the activities rotated quite drastically (even leaders in charge would not be present for every activity), so I had to briefly explain my project and purpose in attending almost at every activity. Also in every activity, I found a way of making evident that I was not a new member of the group looking for a space to be safely gay and Mormon. I did this as an ethical decision, but also partly in attention to the joking advice that a member of the group gave me after he found out I was in fact not gay: ‘well if you’re a buga (Mexico City slang for straight) you should say so in any and every opportunity you have, otherwise, there’ll always be one of these jóvenes virtuosas29 trying to pick you up, I assure you’.

Due to the rotating dynamic in the group’s population I decided to follow a combination of purposive and snowball sampling (Robson, 2011: 274-276) for interviews with members of Afirmación, but mostly had to resort to informal conversations with people at the group activities or the times around them. Observations provided me with a very rich array of data as well as several moments for reflection. However, the main sources of ‘insight’ for this research were informal chats and formal interviews I realised. In the following section I describe the experience and realisation of these in more detail.

Interviewing: dialogues on Mormon masculinities

One to one interviews are a common practice in the LDS Church. They vary in tone and purpose but are an integral part of the dynamics of the religious practice, and of

29 This expression translates as ‘virtuous women’ and it refers to the Young Women’s program of the LDS Church called Personal Progress. The program is meant to give women aged 12-17 a set of goals and tasks related to skills and attitudes characteristic of a virtuous woman. When the young women reach age 18 and provided they have achieved all their goals and completed their tasks, they receive the Young Womanhood recognition, in Spanish called reconocimento a la joven virtuosa (Virtuous young woman recognition).

72 the administration and management of the Church. Interviews with priesthood leaders such as a ward’s bishop can have a ‘spiritual’ end, akin to the sacrament of Penance in Roman Catholicism, when they form part of a person’s process of ‘repentance’ (LDS Church, 2009) and the seeking of forgiveness. A person’s ‘dignity’ or worthiness’, as well as their suitability, to be ordained to priesthood or be appointed to a particular leadership position within the structure of the Church, is also assessed in interviews by priesthood leaders. Thus, one to one interviews in Mormonism are associated greatly with a judgement of the interviewer over the interviewee. 30 This might help to understand why some of the people I asked to interview would have been wary and avoided participating. They might have thought I was going to question their ideas, opinions or actions, and felt that, not being their ecclesiastic leader, I was in no position to do so.

On the other hand, there was the issue of the high degree of self-awareness that Mormonism fosters through the dynamics of the close-knit communities that wards are. I talk some more about the idea of the labelling that occurs within these communities in Chapter 5, but for now I would just like to point out how Mormons seem to be very aware of the ways in which they are perceived in their religious communities. Being interviewed by me -an outsider in principle but who can also be seen as an insider- might make them feel exposed and vulnerable. There were many times during the interviews when participants acknowledged this double status of mine and referred to it in order not to go into further detail on some topics, as an appeal to empathy or sympathy on my part, or as a means to ‘defend’ themselves form potential criticism. They said things like ‘well, you know what it’s like (being rejected) in the mission’, ‘you know very well what are beliefs (around sexuality) are’ or ‘you know that (the rituals that take place inside Mormon temples) are sacred and not to be discussed outside of it’.31

Reticence was more readily manifested when I asked women to participate as interviewees. Even though no one (man or woman) openly declined my request, the women I approached showed more resistance to have a private conversation with a man

30 Even though they are also a common format for pastoral communication among Mormon leaders and members. 31 I discuss the more sacred and mystical character of the Mormon temple as opposed to the regular meeting houses in more detail in Chapter 4.

73 they did not know, and who held the double character of outsider/insider. They would say yes, and ask me to wait for them to contact me which did not occur in many occasions. When I saw them later on and they did not mention anything about my request, I took that to mean they were not willing to be interviewed and I did not ask again. I did this mostly as I was very concerned about offending any of them or being seen to cross any boundaries that may or may not have been there. But I was just grateful to have been welcomed in the congregations and did not want to cause any stir, minor or major.

Although less common, this was also the case with some of the men. This leads me to believe gender was definitely at play in people’s decision to accept or politely deny my request. Among men, issues of trust and perhaps hierarchy seemed to be operating somewhat more clearly. The case of a man in ward II stood out particularly to me. He approached me after the ward’s bishop had introduced me to the congregation as a fellow member who happened to be researching Mormonism for his PhD. The man seemed very interested in knowing what I was doing and my positionality -was I a member of the LDS Church or not? active or less-active? believing or doubting?. I expressed my interest in interviewing him almost immediately, and he agreed. He gave me some days and times that would suit him best and we set a tentative appointment. I texted him shortly after in order to confirm our appointment, but I did not get a reply. When I asked him about it next time I saw him, he told me that there must had been ‘a mix up’ but refused to agree on a specific day or time to talk. The interview never came to pass as I did not want to push too hard and did not ask him again. However, he would talk to me a couple more times over the weeks and share with me a couple of ‘notable notions and precepts’ as he called them. I felt as if he was willing to talk with the intention to have an impact in my work, but on his very own terms, as if he wanted to be the one who set the topics to be discussed, and to have as much control of the situation as possible.

I designed an interview script to discuss how these Mexican Mormons had constructed and experienced masculinities through a discussion of their life course, as well as of their everyday lives, relations and interactions. The narratives presented by participants in the interviews are seen as only ‘one possible version of the social world’ rather than as an account of factual reality that can be measured by how much it diverts or not from it (Byrne, 2004: 211). Thus, the narrative exercises in which —upon my invitation—

74 these Mormon men engaged are regarded as events through which they reflected on their experience of masculinity throughout their lives, their day-to-day, and how the referents that their faith provides them with are incorporated in their own understandings and views of themselves in the world. In this sense, I see these interviews as ‘topics’ susceptible to analysis in their own right (Plummer, 1995: 8-12) as in the case of their narratives of have they have become Mormon men (see Chapter 7). At the same time, I employed the conversational exercise as a ‘source’ (Byrne, 2004: 2010) for facts about the ways in which these men display masculinities in different contexts, and the consistency, ambiguities and contradictions that exist in their experience as men, and the relations and interactions in which they engage (see Chapters 4 and 6 particularly).

The interviews I conducted had a format commonly known as ‘semi-structured’ or ‘depth interviews’ (Robson, 2011: 280). They consisted of 30 individual conversations formally arranged for the specific purpose of discussing themes such as their experience growing up at home, at school, at church, and/or at work; their experience of romantic, familial and friendship relationships; and their interactions in those domains on a day-to-day basis. These were all recorded and later transcribed. They took place at LDS Church meeting houses, other public spaces such as cafes and restaurants, and a few of them at the participant’s home. I elicited the conversation by asking participants to talk about their experience of being a man (or in a few cases a woman) within a Mormon context. This gave them the possibility to reflect broadly on the subject and propose a narrative line for their accounts. I asked them to detail what their answers implied in terms of their life and everyday experiences, around subjects such as the experience of power and authority, affect, sexuality, friendship and family life. I also enquired about the participants’ knowledge of discourses that are perceived as critical or contesting of the LDS Church official teachings, policy and practises related to gender, trying to keep the discussion within the context of the construction and experience of masculinity.32

As I explained in the previous section, most of my fieldwork time and effort focused on the wards. Therefore, the bulk of the interviews (a total of 19) were conducted with men whom I met while attending church at those two wards. These men adhered to

32 See appendix 2 for the script used as a guide for interviews, which contains a list of questions and prompts that were used in them.

75 Mormonism and saw themselves as observing a generally conventional Mormon religious practice. This means that they were baptised members of the LDS Church, considered their status as ‘active’ members, attended Church meetings regularly, and in many cases held positions in the administrative structure of their wards. Out of those men, 13 had been Mormons for most or all of their lives, while six of them had converted to Mormonism within the last five to ten years. Eight men were members of ward I and the remaining eleven of Ward II.

There were a few moments of tension during the interviews especially with those men who identified as faithful believing members of the LDS Church. Some of them were reluctant to speak openly about issues such as sexual activity before or outside marriage, for instance. I tried to probe them in those cases, while also trying to respect their decision. As an example, a participant who was a Mormon since birth told me: ‘entonces, me di vuelo’ (which roughly translates as ‘I went wild, then’) referring to a period before he got married. When I asked questions trying to clarify if he meant this in a sexual way, he hemmed and hawed in what appeared a conscious effort to avoid naming sex or sexual intercourse, or clearly admitting to have engaged in it. However, he hinted at it to a point that I could assume that this had been the case. I phrased many of my further questions reflecting my assumption that he had been sexually active before marriage, which he did not deny. Though he was adamant not to admit this explicitly himself, he seemed to be okay with me saying it.

Other men, especially those who had converted to Mormonism later in life were more open in discussing their sexuality, but expressed some reservations about other not heteronormative sexualities.33 A married man in his fifties, for instance, was telling me how he found ‘very absurd’ that a Mormon friend of his would let his sexual orientation define him, and that he had told him so in more than one occasion. ‘How poor, to define yourself by where you like to stick it in, how small!’ He told me. He went on to say that he was ‘very much attracted’ to women (which defined him as straight) and paradoxically, being a Mormon he had ‘no access to them’; thus his being Mormon defined him more than his sexual orientation. When I asked if letting one’s religion ‘define you’ was not as poor as letting sexual attraction do it, he replied: ‘Well that’s

33 However, this is not to say that long-life Mormons were necessarily more open to non- heteronormative sexualities, as most of the participants saw them as incompatible with the worldview and normativity of Mormonsim.

76 more personal, even a bit aggressive (of you), wouldn’t you say…?’ I apologised for sounding aggressive but assured him I was merely trying to make sure I understood his point. He then replied: ‘You might have a point, but I think saying you’re defined by a belief (rather than one’s sexual attraction) is a position closer to the truth. In any case, Mormonism as such is not what defines me, my relationship with God does.’

During the meetings and activities of the group Afirmación I attended, I was also able to invite other Mormon men and women who identified as LGBT to participate. Six more men from the Afirmación group accepted the invitation and became part of the sample. Three of these men identified themselves as Mormon for most or all of their lives, while only one of them was within the range of those who converted to Mormonism in the last five to ten years. Those interviews were key in order to gain insight into the experience of men whose experience and identity made it very difficult to conform to an ideal model of Mormon masculinity.

As I mentioned before I found it particularly difficult to establish contacts and conduct interviews with women, either because of the dynamics in the wards I described earlier, or simply because their presence was scarce, as in the case of the group Afirmación. Nevertheless, I was able to interview five women. Three of them were active LDS Church members in Ward I, and one from Ward II. The last one was a woman who was a member of a group of self-identified Feminist Mormon Women, with a discrete presence on the social platform Facebook. Although my discussions did not provide me with a large amount of material, I incorporated some of the insight they contributed during my analysis in the following chapters.

Figure 1 (next page) shows the number of participants distributed in four quadrants formed by the intersection between their level of engagement in Mormonism and the LDS Church (x) and the length of their identification as Mormons and/or members of the LDS Church (y).

Figure 1. Composition of the sample by level of engagement with Mormonism by participants and length as LDS Church members.

In this sense, the majority of the participants (17) were located in the upper right quadrant as acting believing lifelong Mormons, nine in the lower right quadrant as acting believing Mormons who had converted recently, three in the upper left quadrant as inactive or disaffected lifelong Mormons, and only one inactive or disaffected member of the LDS Church who was a recent convert, in the lower left quadrant. Table 2 (next page) shows a summary of the participants with some basic information about them, in order to provide a general picture of the composition of the sample.

78 Table 2. List of participants

Age Priesthood Occupation Education Marital Spouse Children office Status works 1 Claudio 28 Priest Undergrad student / employee 12th grade Single NA 0 2 Damián 32 Elder Shop keeper 12th grade Single NA 1 3 Daniel 32 Elder Counsellor Bachelor Single NA 0 4 Alberto 28 Elder Marketing specialist Bachelor Married YES 0 5 Aldo 26 Elder School teacher Bachelor Single NA 0 6 Antonio 26 Elder Undergrad student 12th grade Single NA 0 7 Benito 39 HP Employed accountant Bachelor Married NO 2 8 Camilo 20 Elder Undergrad student 12th grade Single NA 0 9 Edgar 27 Elder Undergrad student / employee 12th grade Single NA 0 10 Ernesto 41 Elder Accountant / entrepreneur Bachelor Married YES 1 11 Felipe 25 HP Student / employed 12th grade Married YES 0 12 Fernando 48 HP Driver Bachelor Married NO 1 13 Gabriel 51 HP Contractor 9th grade Married NO 3 14 Héctor 30 Elder Driver 12th grade Married NO 1 15 Irwin 35 Elder Self-employed 12th grade Single NA 0 16 Jaime 35 HP Engineer Bachelor Married YES 0 17 Mauricio 25 Elder Financial advisor Bachelor Single NA 0 18 Noel 39 HP Business owner 11th grade Married NO 1 19 Adriana 28 NA Communications specialist Bachelor Single NA 0 20 Abril 41 NA Accountant Bachelor Married YES 1 21 Domingo 31 Elder Graduate student Masters Married NO 2 22 Juan Carlos 33 Elder IT specialist Masters Married YES 1 23 Leonardo 28 Elder Marketing specialist Bachelor Single NA 0 24 Oscar 28 Elder Student / teacher Bachelor Single NA 0 25 Ramón 55 HP Administrative employee 9th grade Married NO 1 26 Raúl 52 Elder Administrative employee 11th grade Married NO 2 27 Rubén 44 Elder Self-employed 12th grade Married YES 1 28 Florencia 37 NA Music teacher Bachelor Married YES 2 29 Blanca 49 NA Software developer Bachelor Single NA 2 30 Alejandra 34 NA Civil servant Masters Single NA 0

Inactive/Disaffected - Lifelong Lifelong - Active/Believing Active/Believing - Recent convert Recent Convert - Inactive/Disaffected

I let all participants know what the research I was conducting was about, and that I was doing it with the objective to produce a PhD thesis. This gave me the certainty that the individuals who participated did it freely and in an informed way. Some of the interviews touched on more or less sensitive subjects, which was anticipated. I attempted to be sensitive and express sympathy by not asking for further details or information other than that the participants volunteered. This was especially the case when they were evidently affected speaking of experiences such as losing loved ones in particularly hard and painful ways, episodes of sexual abuse, abandonment and other forms of violence during childhood, and so on. In the case of participants leaning towards the disaffected side of the spectrum of engagement with Mormonism, I also readily expected to encounter narratives of feeling mistreated and perhaps abused by their Mormon communities, which were also present. In these stances, I tried to exercise sensibility, and make sure to assure participants that they did not have to discuss anything they did not feel comfortable talking about, and that they could end

79 the conversation whenever they wished to do so. This was done orally as well as in written through the distribution of a research information sheet to participants and the signing of an informed consent form (See appendix 1).

Lastly, many of the participants expressed having enjoyed the possibility to discuss some of the topics in a reflexive way. This was notably the case of participants that were more actively engaged in the LDS Church. In spite of participating in a lot of interviews a s part of their religious practice, they said they did not get to talk about their experiences and in connection to the topics discussed in a critical reflexive manner, as this exercise had allowed them to do. The data generated through these interviews and the other methods described, was then analysed and formed the basis for the rest of the thesis. Before getting into this, I would like to close with a few more reflections about the analysis.

Analysing the data

The 30 interviews I conducted where transcribed verbatim, partially by me and with the help of a paid transcribing service. This was all done in Spanish, the original language in which they had been conducted. With the aim of sharing this information with my thesis supervisors, and upon their suggestion, I elaborated a series of ‘pen portraits’ of some participants in English. This gave them a general idea and feel of who the participants were and the narratives they had produced through the interviewing exercise. These ten pen portraits were also useful in identifying common narrative structures, as I continued elaborating on them and turned them into brief ethnographic-style vignettes. These vignettes provided a structure of themes for the empirical analysis and the confection of the chapters based on such analysis.

The elaboration of these vignettes bore in mind Ken Plummer’s (1995) formulation of ‘personal narratives that are socially embedded in the daily practices and strategies of everyday life’. Following Plummer, I looked at the ‘stories’ of how the participants have experienced their becoming and being Mormon men in Mexico City, which ‘overlaps with, but is not quite the same as, a life story, a biography, a self story’ (Plummer, 1995: 15). They are stories with their own particular structure, which serve specific functions, such as the reaffirmation or reformulation of their Mormonism and

80 their masculinities. I regarded the narratives identified in the interviews, some of them turned pen portraits, and later vignettes, as ‘socially produced in social contexts by embodied concrete people experiencing the thoughts and feelings of everyday life’ (Plummer, 1995: 16, italics in original).

As I mentioned in the previous section, I also engaged in different observational exercises of which I kept several notes. These notes were later transcribed in brief documents as entries into a field diary. These observations shed light on the spatial and social configuration of the context in which the study is situated. At the same time, the participants’ accounts are regarded as narrative truth, and thus, taken as accounts of everyday practice and experience of masculinity as participants themselves make sense of them. Regarding the use of texts sanctioned by the LDS Church as data, the focus of the study is not on an in-depth analysis of the discourse constructed through them. However, they become unescapable references as they are intertwined in the narratives articulated by the participants; in the spatial, social and affective contexts in which they (re)produce and display their masculinities; and in that sense orienting their actions. They are taken as symbolic referents on which the participants show different degrees of investment, impacting their day-to-day interactions. Moreover, they appear as central part of their elaborations of the need to reinforce specific gender practices, or attempts to ‘queer’ them (Yip, 2005) through renewed interpretations of them. In that sense, the different texts and documents inform and reinforce the analysis done throughout the chapters.

A fundamental principle in the interviews in which Mormon men participate as part of their religious practice is confidentiality. Thus, in the interviews and even in informal conversations I had with participants, there was an implicit expectation for confidentiality already, even before an explicit agreement that the contents of the conversation would be treated confidentially and intimacy would be respected was in place. The issue of confidentiality is central to conducting research that is ethically sound. However, the way research practice has crystallised in ethical guidelines and legal requirements may be experienced by respondents in different ways to what the researcher may anticipate (Grinyer, 2002), which proved to be the case in my research. Some participants expressed no reservations at first about the use of their names and other identifiers in the eventual reporting of the findings of the thesis, and later made comments suggesting that specific parts of their narratives were only being revealed in

81 consideration of the assured confidentiality. None of them made an explicit request that their real names were used if quoted, expressing direct concern for the ‘ownership’ of their story (Grinyer, 2002). But a few did indicate that they would not mind being identified. In those cases, the information provided about them is somewhat more specific but still under a pseudonym.

As I mentioned earlier, participants are part of close-knit communities where they can be easily identified. The image they cultivate in those communities is important in relation to the emotional and otherwise important investments they have in them. This has proved a difficult line to walk in deciding which pieces of the information are included for the sake of a richer fuller analysis, and which are left out in observance of the confidentiality pledge. Safeguarding confidentiality has meant, first and foremost, giving participants pseudonyms and assigning random names to the wards I attended during fieldwork. But I have also avoided giving information about the particular circumstances of the life and other stories told by participants that might make them immediately identifiable.

Likewise, even though some of the participants could find my analysis too critical of their belief system –perhaps even ‘aggressive’, if my exchange with one of them that I referred to in the previous section is any indication- I have tried to show respect for it, and to honour the treatment they strive to give to it. As an example, some participants talked about aspects of the rituals that take place inside the Mormon temple, and stated that they were doing so only because they knew I had been to the temple myself. This was direct appeal to my knowledge as an insider of the sacredness of those aspects, and to treat them accordingly not discussing them publically with a largely non-Mormon audience.

Lastly, navigating between the insider and outsider ends of the spectrum has undoubtedly had an impact in the collection and generation of the data, and especially on my analysis of it. I have recognised my own experience in the different narratives of producing and enacting masculinities within, vis-à-vis, and/or against Mexican Mormonism articulated by participants, as well as in the diverse grids of relations described by them, or unearthed by my own analytical efforts, at different moments and in various circumstances. This has given a very personal imprint to this work that can at times have raised the risk of being overly subjective on my part. I feel that

82 acknowledging this is important, and to assert that I have strived to remain rigorous and systematic in the design of the research, the generation of data and the subsequent analysis of it, as I move on to the analytical discussion I present in the following chapters.

83 CHAPTER 4: MORMON MASCULINITIES ON DISPLAY

Introduction

Mormons in Mexico City form a close community with different tiers such as wards, stakes, and regions, and ultimately the worldwide LDS Church. They participate in a number of relationships and engage in numerous interactions within this community. At the same time, they live within the context of a city that is predominantly non- Mormon. Most Mexican people identify as Catholic, but the city is becoming increasingly plural in terms of religion (Blancarte, 2010). Thus, Mormon men inhabit both Mormon and non-Mormon spaces, move between them, and engage in interactions within them. This means that Mormon masculinities are displayed in various settings, performed in different ‘social situations’, and in front of ‘audiences’ (Goffman, 1956, Smith 2006) that consist of only (or mostly) Mormons, and audiences of non-Mormons.

This chapter explores the different ways in which masculinities are shaped and displayed in some of the different spaces –and their corresponding ‘gender regimes’ (Connell and Pearse, 2015)– that participants inhabit. Based on the premise that ‘there is ‘a modernity’ to tradition and ‘a tradition’ of modernity’ (Luke, 1996: 116), I argue that these different performances are informed as much by long standing forms of religious masculinity as they are by emerging (whether modern or late-modern) ones. This means that the gender regimes within which they occur are produced and reproduced through codes and forms of conduct, dress, and/or speech that show signs of the constant interaction and integration of ‘tradition’ and modernity. This makes them simultaneously ‘traditional’ and modern/late-modern in origin and form. Such interaction and integration are also part of the dynamics that take place in the particular context of Mexico City (García et al., 2013) in which these Mormon masculinities are produced and displayed.

The first part of the chapter analyses the performance of masculinities within the context of all/mostly Mormon spaces, as constituted by LDS Church activities. Drawing on observations of the configuration of the spaces and the interactions that take place therein, I describe how masculinities are displayed in the distinctively Mormon space of la capilla, the term Mexican Mormons use to refer to the LDS

84 meeting house where worshiping services take place every Sunday. Apart from the interviews I conducted, these Sunday services constitute the main space in which I observed Mormon masculinities being displayed. I also participated in other gatherings held in the same physical space outside the regular Sunday services. Thus, the bulk of my observations took place in these social situations staged in la capilla. This first part contains two subheadings. Under the first one, I explore how the notions of authority and spirituality act as important referents for the display of masculinities in the Mormon meeting house. Likewise, I look at how the enactment of masculinities (and femininities) is framed within the display of the heteronormative model of family prevailing in Mormonism. The second subsection focuses on the centrality of the figure of the LDS General Authorities for the display of masculinities at Sunday meetings and other predominantly Mormon spaces. I explore two dimensions of such image: the symbolic elements of their bodily appearance and the prevalence of their voice in Mormon speech. I argue that the professional-like image -incarnated in these suited men- produces a hegemonic kind of Mormon masculinity against which all Mormon men are ultimately positioned. In terms of the speech, I describe how it is gendered and clearly masculine, both in origin as well as all throughout its process of delivery. This can be observed in the fact that, even though different men and women from the ward participate in the (re)production of the speech giving talks and lessons, the voice that is ultimately heard is that of the LDS Church (male) General Authorities.

In the second part of the chapter, I look at the display of Mormon masculinities in predominantly non-Mormon spaces. Under the first subheading of this second part, I analyse participants’ narratives of the display of masculinities in contexts such as school or the workplace. In those contexts, men’s interactions with friends, peers and co-workers are not solely subject to Mormon belief or practice, but can also be shaped and measured by other (hegemonic or counter-hegemonic) models of masculinity. There is a strong sense of difference that participants seem to perceive between the masculinities they display and those of their non-Mormon counterparts. The reading that they make of this difference is mostly advantageous, and it suggests a condescending view of the models perceived as inadequate as judged by the hegemonic Mormon model for masculinity. However, moments of tension and conflict also arise as part of those narratives.

85 The final subsection explores the display of masculinities within a sui generis space, the gatherings and activities of the collective Afirmación: mormones LGBT, familia y amigos, which groups a number of self-identified LGBT Mormon men (and women). These situations resemble institutional Mormon ‘spiritual’ and other social activities in many ways. Moreover, they can, and often do, take the form of support groups and playful social gatherings. The display of masculinities here is informed by elements from the interactions in which these men (and women) engage when they find themselves in what they described as ‘freer spaces’. The fact that this situation materialized outside of the physical spaces of the religious institution gave men the opportunity to negotiate their performances, incorporating into their interactions some elements that would be subversive of the ‘heterosexual panorama’ (Blasius, 1994) that is maintained at Church. Additionally, notions of spirituality and (notably) authority also seemed to be present in these situations. The physical embodiment of masculine authority in the figure of the Afirmación ‘leader’ seemed to operate in similar ways as that of the ward leader.

Through this analysis, the chapter argues that Mormonism has various implications for the participants’ performance of masculinities that are contingent on the specific spaces in which it is displayed. This is especially true within the broader context of Mexico City in light of Nestor Garcia’s idea of ‘hybridization’ (2005) by which the combination of previously existent socio-cultural structures (such as Catholicism or Mormonism), and their associated ‘traditional’ masculine practices (such as different forms of machismo), has led to the emergence of new structures, practices and objects, in Mexico and the rest of Latin America.

Masculinities on display at the Mormon capilla

LDS meeting houses in Mexico City (and, indeed, the rest of Latin America) have a fairly standard design. They are all centrally planned, designed, and built by the administrative office of the Mormon Church in the country. This is done in line with master plans laid out by church headquarters in Salt Lake City (SLC), Utah, in the United States (de Jong, 2009). Discussing the process for the construction of these buildings, a planning manager for the LDS Church in Mexico said that ‘they ought to look nicer than their surroundings without being ostentatious’ (cited in de Jong, 2009).

86 As a result of this central planning, Mormon churches are very similar in style among themselves. In spite of their effort to not be ‘ostentatious’, they are usually quite different from the areas where they are regularly found: mostly working class or low- income neighbourhoods. They are all fairly recent buildings, no more than a couple decades old. One of the main differentiators from other properties around them is their scale. They tend to be among the biggest lots in their neighbourhoods, only outsized by those holding facilities such as schools, clinics, supermarkets and so on. They are also generally well furnished, painted, lit, and maintained, which has fuelled the common belief in the city that Mormons ‘must be rich’.34 Moreover, this scheme for the planning, construction, and operation of LDS Church buildings also sheds light on the fact that Mormonism is a religious practice that can be conducive (and even encouraging) of modern capitalist forms of organisation.

Image 1. Mormon meeting houses in Mexico City

In line with the standardized process for their planning and construction, the meeting houses of the two wards where I attended services as part of my fieldwork observations looked very much alike (see image 1, above), and at the same time they stood out in their respective streets. Inside a fenced ground, there is a large high ceiling hall with a

34 This may also be encouraged by media reports on the wealth of the LDS Church. In November 2014, for instance, Mexican media reported that the Utah based church’s assets in Mexico accounted for over 11 000 million MXN (about 800 million USD at the exchange rate at the moment). This wealth volume compares to that of large Mexican companies in the food or travel industries, for example (See Proceso, 2014). However, the membership in the two wards I attended (and that of most wards I have known over the years, being close to the Mexican Mormon community) is mostly made up of working class to middle class families and individuals.

87 spire at one end, painted in beige and white. This hall is connected to another long and narrow building by a very short hallway made of aluminium and frost glass. Although capilla translates as chapel, Mormons in Mexico refer to the entirety of the Church premises in a given ward when they use the word. Like most of the one thousand plus capillas all over Mexico, these two have some green areas, parking spaces and an outdoor basketball court. José, a man in his sixties who has been a Mormon for over 20 years, told me that before he converted to Mormonism and started attending services there he thought the place was in fact a kindergarten, rather than a religious building. Perhaps the versatile nature of the buildings, which house social gatherings and sports activities as well as worship services, is partly responsible for this misconception, in a city where Catholic churches, quite different in form and use, are seen as the traditional sites of worship. Many of these Catholic churches date from colonial times (attesting to their historical heritage), and tend to be quiet spaces that hold events deemed as culturally ‘traditional’, such as baptisms, marriages, and funerals.

The relation between ‘tradition’ and modernity in Mexican Mormonism is expressed in different forms. Complementarity is one such form that can be seen in the very physical manifestation of the space in which its more habitual religious practices occur. The Mormon meeting house is a centre for worship that is quite modern in its conception, construction and operation. At the same time, it houses some rituals that make important claims to long standing religious and cultural practices, in an attempt to link them back to early-days Christianity. One example of these ritualistic practices is the Sacrament meeting in Sunday services. This meeting takes place in the large spired hall I have mentioned in my description of Mormon capillas. This hall is the actual chapel, although it is usually referred to as el sacramental (the sacrament hall in Spanish) by ward members. This physical space itself is somewhat ambivalent. El sacramental hall is seen as a shelter for the worshiping community but not regarded as infused with the divinity, similarly to protestant Christian traditions, (Kilde, 2008). As Julio, a former bishop and member of one of the wards I attended, explained to me, reverence is to be maintained in el sacramental out of respect to what transpires within it, but it should not be seen as a ‘centre of energy’ or any other ideas closer to ‘superstition’, rather than ‘holiness’.

88 This is in contrast with the case of Mormon temples, of which there is only one in Mexico City (see image 2, below) and a dozen others around the country. 35 The fact that the number of temples is significantly lower than that of regular meeting houses, that only vetted members of the LDS Church can enter them, and that the ceremonies which take place in them are not discussed outside these buildings36 give the Mormon temple a strong feel of mysticism. Moreover, as Julio put it, the temple is regarded as ‘literally the house of the Lord’, a ‘permanently holy place’ where the presence of the divinity can be regarded as literal and especial ceremonies called ‘ordinances’ take place.

Image 2. The Mormon temple in Mexico City

Source: https://www.saladeprensamormona.org.mx/articulo/templo-ciudad-mexico-abre-al-publico

This is much more similar to long standing religious notions of holy places within the so called traditional faiths such as Catholicism. The temple ‘ordinances’ have a much more ritualistic imprint, closer in form to rituals in traditional faiths and churches. They include marriages ‘for eternity’ (or ‘sealings’, as referred to in Mormon parlance) and other initiating and instructing ceremonies. Julio shared the LDS Church’s position that while anyone is welcome to the meeting house, the vetting helps ‘maintain the holiness of the (Mormon) temple’. At the same time, he pointed out; leaders can be more lenient concerning the types of activities that take place in the meeting houses. We had this conversation while at a social gathering that involved informal chatting, eating and playing ping pong in the sacramental, without considering this to be inappropriate or disrespectful. Such activities would ‘never take place in the temple’, said Julio. An

35 Up to 1999 the temple in Mexico City was the only one in the whole country. 36 Only members of the LDS Church who have obtained a ‘temple recommend’ through a process of vetting by their priesthood leaders can enter Mormon temples, and participate in the ceremonies or ‘ordinances’ that take place in them.

89 example would be that of Roman Catholicism and the doctrinal principle by which the presence of Christ is understood to be literal during the Eucharist (Kilde, 2008).

Along with the religious meanings that take place every Sunday during the meeting, this chapel is a gendered space. Connell’s notion of gender regime, understood as ‘a pattern in gender arrangements’ in a particular organization (Connell and Pearse, 2015: 72), is useful to explore Mormonism’s gender relations that come into play in the context of this Sacrament meeting. Priesthood37 as (masculine) authority is one of the founding pillars of the gender regime in the meeting house. So is the idea of spirituality, the ability to stay ‘in tune’ with this God-given power and being able to exercise it as participant in the rituals and/or occupying leadership positions, by adjusting one’s behaviour to Mormon precepts of conduct. In the following sub section, I look at how these two notions are displayed as part of the performance by men in the situation of the Sacrament meeting. I discuss how the interactions between ‘tradition’ and modernity to which I have referred manifest in this performance as complementary, but also the moments in which they may give rise to tensions.

Displaying masculinities through authority and spirituality

El sacramental is a space in which (masculine) authority is clearly asserted. Max Weber’s (1978) classic typology helps illustrate how this particular form of authority is produced in this space though the conflation of modern rationality, religious ‘tradition’, and ultimately a mystic or ‘spiritual’ power. There is a pulpit at the front of the room, from where a member of the bishopric, the bishop and his two counsellors (all three of them men), conducts the meeting every Sunday. Although, as I have mentioned, it does not have any explicit ‘spiritual’ significance (it is not an altar), this slightly elevated platform is reserved for authority figures; in Mormon terms, the priesthood leaders of the ward. Authority here displays a highly rational component (Weber, 1978). These men, chosen from the ward membership by other men higher in the hierarchical structure of the LDS Church (see Chapter 5 on Priesthood), sit at the front of the room facing the congregation and preside over the meeting. It is also a visual assertion of their presiding position over the ward membership, and over other

37 I expound on the topic of Priesthood in chapter 5, where I discuss its role as a linchpin for the production of masculinities.

90 men and women who also occupy positions in the governing and administrative structure of the church at that level. They are part of a clearly outlined bureaucratic hierarchy that governs and manages the church through a top-down scheme. Women do not preside over these meetings, and are relegated to very supplementary roles, such as conducting or playing music for the hymns that are sung, or giving talks as I will elaborate later.

The focus of the meeting stays on the wooden pulpit at the front of the chapel for most of the meeting. The focus is shifted only for the time of the ‘blessing and passing of the Sacrament’, the most ‘spiritually’ significant ritual in the whole service, which Mormons share with many Christian churches and denominations, and gives the meeting its name. The atmosphere during this ceremony tends to be the most reverent time throughout the meeting, when the chapel is mostly quiet and the only thing that breaks the silence is the occasional noise by children playing, talking or crying. Masculinities also have centre stage in the Sacrament ceremony through the men who perform it and are the main characters in it. Two men, usually teenage boys, sit on the right-hand side of the stand, behind a table where bread and water lay under a white cloth. The table is set in that way before the meeting starts, also by men, using regular store-bought sliced bread that a member of the bishopric buys and takes to the meeting, and tap water. When the congregation starts singing the second hymn of the meeting, the two boys stand up, uncover the trays carrying the sliced bread and start breaking it. Once the congregation has finished singing, the first boy kneels down and says the bread blessing prayer. Three or four other men seating opposite the table, in the regular chairs will then stand up. They pass the trays around the chapel for members to take a small piece of bread and eat it. Once everyone has had a chance to take a piece of bread, these men return to the front of the chapel to exchange trays. The second man says the blessing prayer for the water, and they proceed to pass the trays around again, this time letting everyone take a small plastic cup, drink the water, and place the cup back in the tray to be disposed of later.

Masculine authority here appeals to tradition -also in the Weberian sense- in addition to its claim to rationality. The prayers for the blessing and passing of the sacrament are scripted and have to be pronounced verbatim. Once the man in charge is through saying the blessing of the bread, he turns to the bishop looking for his approval. The bishop will nod if the prayer was recited correctly, or ask the man to repeat it if he has made

91 any mistake while reading it. Then the bishop, in his capacity as the presiding authority, will be the first to eat a piece of bread. Only then can the other men start passing it to the other members. The same procedure is followed for the blessing and passing of the water. Although the bishop oversees the realization of the ritual, it is regular ward members who execute it. Since the person saying the blessing only needs to read it, it feels as though any ward member, irrespective of gender, could do it. However, the key to officiating in this ritual, however, is priesthood authority: in order to prepare, bless and/or pass the sacrament, these ward members must have been ordained to priesthood. And exclusively men can be ordained to priesthood. During interviews, I showed participants a picture of a young teenage girl passing the Sacrament (see interview guide in Appendix 2) to prompt them to talk about potential women ordination to priesthood. The majority of men, and women I interviewed smiled at the prospect and said they found it ‘improbable’, ‘far-fetched’, and even ‘disrespectful’. When pressed about the issue of why it is men who hold the priesthood and not women, participants’ responses ranged from essentialist, somewhat contradictory explanations of how women ‘just don’t need it’38 to the reasoning that ‘it’s been done like that as norm for generations, and it’s surely based on experience, I mean, it’s human experience that tells us: women are not religious leaders!’ (Gabriel, 51).

Moreover, in order to be able to exercise this authority as priesthood holder, the Mormon discourse constantly emphasises that men must be ‘worthy’ of doing so. Worthiness is attained and maintained by living in accordance with the principles for behaviour taught by Mormonism, which implies the assessment by leaders of members’ worthiness. This assessment takes place more or less frequently; for instance, when men are interviewed by their leaders in order to obtain a ‘recommend’ to enter the temple. But worthiness can be expressed routinely through the notion of ‘spirituality’. A spiritual way of acting and conducting oneself is the result of living righteously. The priesthood is meant to increase men’s spirituality, as it is described by some participants as a sort of metaphysic power that manifests itself in the rituals or ‘ordinances’ and increases the spirituality of those who participate in them. In this sense, based on the exceptionality of the fact that only ‘worthy’ men ordained to priesthood

38 I provide examples and discuss this further along the rest of the thesis.

92 can summon its power, masculine authority in the sacramental also shows elements of the Weberian pure type of charismatic identity (Weber, 1978).

Thus, the situation defined by the administering of the Sacrament reinforces the link between masculinity and ritual activity articulated by Mormon discourse and practices. El sacramental constitutes a social situation in which the hegemonic model of Mormon masculinity is thus performed in line with these two main guiding notions: authority and spirituality. These two are closely linked, as authority is seen as emanating not only from being a priesthood holder, but also from the level of spirituality with which priesthood is ‘exercised’, rather than simply held. Being a priesthood leader or a participant in the ceremony of the Sacrament is a direct outcome of this performance of spirituality. It demands a certain bodily presentation: leaders tend to wear suits (I explore the suit as a marker of masculinity further in the following subsection) while the men who carry out the blessing and passing of the sacrament are usually held to the unwritten rule that anyone participating in the ceremony ‘must wear a tie’ as I heard Bishop Méndez instructing the man who was overseeing the realisation of the ceremony on a particular Sunday.

Not all men get to be ward leaders all the time. But at the capilla, as it is still the case in ample segments of Mexican society, being masculine is also closely tied to embodying ‘force (and) competence’ (Connell, 1983: 27). Addressing ‘the priesthood of the ward’ after the Sacrament meeting, during the men-only lesson for priesthood holders, Bishop Martínez reprimanded the men in the meeting for not getting to church before the start of Sacrament meeting and help set up the chairs for it: ‘sisters have had to help me, and they can do it, of course, they’ve the strength to do it, but it should be us (men) doing it. Think about it this way: what have you done during the week to exercise your priesthood? In this you have a golden opportunity, not to mention a responsibility’. On another occasion, a young man speaking at the Sacrament meeting ‘testified of’ the importance of looking after the families of the wards, ‘especially of those families and sisters who have no priesthood at home; ‘cause sometimes they need things done around the house that are men’s work, like fixing something or lifting

93 heavy stuff, or someone to give them a blessing39’. The Mexican heteronormative gender order40 has a somewhat radical version in Mexican Mormonism, where a house without a ‘priesthood holder’, a man, is regarded as profoundly disadvantaged, almost at peril, in spite of this being a configuration of Mexican households that is increasingly common. The physical presence of Mormon men in the different spaces that LDS inhabit becomes crucial and referential, as Mormon masculinities embody both physical strength, as suggested by Connell, and also priesthood authority.

Mormon masculinities are linked to the ability of Mormon men to control themselves emotionally and —most notably— sexually, as a way ‘to signify Godly masculine selves’ (Sumerau et al. 2017: 220). However, at the capilla and other particular Mormon spaces, masculinities are also linked to spiritual sensitivity that occurs beyond priesthood ordinances or rituals. On the first Sunday of each month, a good amount of time of the Sacrament meeting is devoted for men, women, and children of the ward to go up to the pulpit and speak to the congregation voluntarily and spontaneously. They are encouraged to share their positive feelings about Mormonism, their conviction of its authenticity, and their uplifting experiences with it. This is known as ‘bearing one’s testimony’. In a Sacrament meeting devoted to testimony bearing that I attended, an older man took to the pulpit shortly after the death of his wife. He talked about the difficulty of the changes in his life and routine that he had been going through since his lifelong companion died only a few weeks back. He expressed gratitude to God for having blessed him with ‘a beautiful woman and wonderful children’. At one point he broke to tears.

For the wider Mexican context, it is still uncommon to see men crying in public, particularly those in positions of authority or otherwise prominent. One exception could be that of professional football players and —most notably— supporters, who are sometimes shown on TV choking with emotion and in tears after losing an important match. These displays of emotion, documented for example, in the context of college football in the US (Wong et al. 2011), are usually characterised as linked to episodes of high satisfaction, anger and frustration, or sadness to a lesser extent. Thus,

39 A blessing is a special ‘ordinance’ in which a priesthood holding man puts his hands on the head of another person and pronounces a prayer that is meant to heal the person physically or console them spiritually. 40 Though prevalent, it is increasingly being contested.

94 they are not necessarily seen as motivated by positive conditions. However, weeping in Mormonism has a perceived sacred element to it, making it not only okay for a man to cry in public, but even desirable. Emotionality and sensitivity are characteristics of the Christian deity as conceived of by Mormonism (Givens and Givens, 2012) and, thus, emphasised and encouraged among the general membership.

It is not uncommon to see speakers at LDS Church meetings ‘tearing up’. Remarkably, General Authorities -the men highest up in the LDS Church’s hierarchy- can often be seen speaking with a very emotional tone and even weeping when they deliver talks at general conferences and regional meetings. Moreover, weeping is perceived as a manifestation of ‘the spirit’ that moves people, and works as ‘a witness’ that the words being said come from a divine source. The older widower could express his emotions and admit that he was moved because this was taking place in a context of mutual spiritual uplifting. The positive connotation of his weeping is what makes it appropriate. As he pointed out while excusing himself for being emotional, he felt ‘deeply moved, but not sad’ as he recalled his late wife. He assured the membership that despite his family’s loss his overall state was of calm and ease, as he knew he would see his wife again and live together with his family in the afterlife ‘thanks to this wonderful gospel’. His ‘spiritual knowledge’ of the fact that he had been ‘sealed’ to his family by the due authority, he elaborated, is what granted him this reassurance.

This particular display of spirituality is an example of the plasticity that the space of the capilla presents. The stand that usually holds (male) authority only is open for the members of the ward, giving place to the display of other masculinities as described above, heavily leaning on the display of spirituality rather than on the authority element. Furthermore, it is representative of the conflation of what has been described as ‘traditional’ masculinities (O’Neal, 2008; Wade, 2008) and those characterised as ‘emerging’ or ‘new’ (Bonino, 2000; Carabí, 2000; Montesinos, 2005) . While the former are linked to the display of assertiveness, restricted emotionality, violence or right out homophobia, the former are supposed to subvert such characteristics, and promote an increasing display of emotion and affectionate behaviour by and among men, as well as more egalitarian gender relationships. The performance of this elderly man involves the display of loving heteronormative companionship and fatherhood, membership in a fraternal community, and deep connection with his emotionality. At the same time, it is sharply defined by distinctively hetero-patriarchal notions of

95 masculinity and femininity, particularly in relation to the family ideal that is central to Mormonism (which I discuss in depth in Chapter 6), and that is also at play during the sacramental.

The model of family upheld by contemporary Mormon authorities and ample segments of the membership is composed of a mother, a father, and their children. Images depicting this type of nuclear families feature extensively in Church handbooks, magazines and publications, as well as on the LDS internet and social media spaces. Furthermore, ‘family ties’ with other second and third-degree relatives (i.e. grandparents, grandchildren, aunts and uncles, and so on) are also regarded as important, particularly in the light of the doctrine of ‘eternal families’ and the perceived responsibility in the ‘salvation’ of past generations. This highly heteronormative model of family, which has historically become an ideal for Mormons, operates as a framework for the display of appropriate familial masculinities and femininities at church. I explore this familial dimension of masculinities in more depth in Chapter 6. But for now, I just want to highlight the fact that the performance of heteronormative family in the context of the Sunday meetings is also a site of hybridisation of some outdated forms of familial masculinities and femininities, some long standing, and some more recent.

‘And, behold, and lo, this is an ensample unto all…’ General Authority masculinity

Hanging from the walls of the hall that connects the chapel to the rest of the building, there was an image of Jesus Christ knocking on the door of a windowless house. It was one of the few framed images scattered across the various halls and rooms of the capilla, in one of the wards I attended services at. This is a familiar feature of LDS meetinghouses in Mexico City, and indeed around the world. Most of these images consist of depictions of Christ, Bible and Book of Mormon passages, key events in LDS Church history, and the portrait of the saint-like figure of Joseph Smith Jr, the founder of the Mormon faith. The worshiping of images is not a practice observed in Mormonism. In fact, living in an overwhelmingly Catholic context, it is a practice usually frowned upon by Mexican Mormons. Thus, rather than as sacred objects, ward members view these images as sober and tasteful decoration for the buildings, creating an atmosphere of reverence and spirituality.

96 Image 3. The Fist Presidency of the LDS Church

Source: https://www.mormonnewsroom.org/topic/first-presidency

As part of the standard design of the interior of these buildings, there is a peculiar image inside the bishop’s office (see image 3, above).41 The photograph of three Caucasian elderly men wearing suits and ties is the only image that is not the reproduction of a painting. The man sitting down is Russell M. Nelson, whom Mormons held as ‘prophet, seer and revelator’ and current President of the LDS Church. The other two men are his counsellors in the First Presidency of the Church. They are part of the group of one hundred plus men known in institutional Mormonism as General Authorities. Although LDS Church leaders and members continuously reiterate that Jesus Christ is the central figure in Mormonism, the commonly known Christ image does not seem to be a referent for the bodily appearance of Mormon men. It is much more common, however, to see Mormon men aiming to resemble the image of these general authorities: dressed in dark suits, white shirts, and ties, much like politicians or high executives in private firms.

Extensive work has been done on the symbolic functions of the suit in processes of construction and reproduction of masculine identities (Rifkin, 2002; Thompson, 2013), and its specific links to professional and dominant masculinities (Hollander, 1994;

41 The president of the Church at the moment of my fieldwork was a man named Thomas S. Monson. However, he died soon after I had completed it, and was replaced by Nelson. One of his counselors was released from his ‘calling’ and also replaced. The picture shown here is the updated image of the First Presidency which occupies the described spaces in LDS meeting houses at the moment of writing this thesis. But rather than their actual identities, it is their position and what it represents that is considered in the analysis.

97 Thompson, 2015). But it is worth analysing how this markedly modern form of dress, described by Halberstam as ‘the most conventional of masculine facades’ (1998:40), has become almost inseparable from notions such as reverence, spirituality and divine authority, so central to worship and ritual in Mormonism. For women, modesty is the first of the requisites in dress, and it is much more emphasised for them than it is for men. They are counselled not to go for a ‘classy or professional look’. The spirit of reverence in female attire is promoted by the wearing of dresses42 (LDS Church, 2008).

This is closely related with its function in the production of the figure of the LDS General Authority. Out of these General Authorities, the fifteen men who form the groups called the First Presidency and the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles are the predominant figures, as it is them who in effect govern and lead the LDS Church.

These men, commonly referred to as ‘the brethren’ in the English speaking Church, embody that which a faithful believing Mormon man should aspire to. All fifteen men currently in these positions can be considered to have had a ‘successful’ professional career when they retired to serve as full-time leaders in the LDS Church; eight had formal education and/or work experience in Business Administration, three in Law, and two in Medicine. They had also held several unpaid positons in the Church’s leadership structure, and they are all married, fathers and grandfathers. They incarnate secular success linked to discipline, hard work, and rationality, attributes commonly associated with the wearing of suits (Barry, 2008). Simultaneously, these men have ‘progressed’ spiritually (i.e. ecclesiastically) to the highest earthly levels. These suited men simultaneously perform a secularly successful masculinity, as well as a spiritual and sensitive one. Given that the importance and meanings of the suit depend largely on its interaction with the bodies that wear it and their demeanours whilst wearing it (Edwards, 2011), LDS General Authorities’ behaviour in public -usually affable, congenial, and even emotional- imbues the authoritative suit with the spiritual warmth that authority is supposed to have according to Mormon doctrines (Doctrine and Covenants, section 121:41)

Thus, I argue that the masculinity embodied by these General Authorities constitutes a hegemonic model within Mormonism. To conceive of masculinity as hegemonic is not

42 A note on the LDS magazine New Era emphasises that dresses ‘are generally reserved for special occasions. Modest, simple dresses show respect and invite the Spirit by how they affect our attitudes.’ (LDS Church, 2008)

98 to assume it as normal in the statistical sense, but rather to consider it normative, representing ‘the currently most honoured way of being a man’, which causes all other men to position themselves in relation to it (Connell and Messerschmidt, 2005: 832). The image of the General Authorities is a major aspirational model for a Mormon’s man life trajectory, an issue I discuss further in Chapter 7. But in the context of everyday religious practice it is a referent for the way in which Mexican Mormon men present themselves during the Sacrament meeting, and most other Church meetings that have ‘spiritual’ significance.43

The way General Authorities dress, talk, and interact with congregations heavily influences the common practice of local LDS leaders. The discourse the former produce is transmitted by the latter, as well as by other men (and women), speaking at the sacramental. After the sacrament has been passed, the remainder of the meeting is dedicated to the speakers. These are usually members of the ward, both men and women, who have been assigned to speak from the pulpit. They prepare messages that are 15 to 20 minutes long, on a topic given to them by the bishopric. The men of the bishopric have, in turn, received the topics assigned for every Sunday from the leaders at the stake level, and so on, up until the central office of the church in the US, where General Authorities are in charge of the work. In many cases, the topics assigned are directly linked to a talk from the Church’s General Conference, or an article published in a Church magazine, delivered or signed, respectively, by a General Authority.

During the Sacrament meeting, the member of the bishopric in charge on a particular Sunday has the conducting voice. ‘Ordinary’ men and women from the ward also get to speak under the direction of the authority. However, the voice that is ultimately being heard is that of the General Authorities, in a sort of multilevel act of ventriloquism. At a Sacrament meeting in one of the wards, for example, the bishop announced the topic of the day: priesthood, and the people who will be talking. The first speaker was an older woman, who began by talking about how she felt a little inadequate when she was first given the assignment to speak about the topic. ‘What can I (a woman) say about the priesthood?’ she said she had asked herself at the time. She then went on to

43 Such physical appearance is even more prevalent in the case of the Mormon missionaries who are required to present themselves in a similar fashion every day. The young male Mormon missionary has become the most immediately recognizable image of Mormonism to most of the population of the city, especially since it has been depicted in numerous media products, mostly coming from the United States.

99 narrate the process of her ‘conversion’ to the principle of priesthood authority. The woman confessed that when she first joined the church in her adulthood as a mother and wife, she had reservations about the fact that it was led and managed almost exclusively by men, and the ‘apparent superiority’ attributed to men, not only in the church but also at home. But over the years, she said she has learned this is God’s will ‘revealed to his servants’. She cited the ‘teachings’ of a former Church president and a current General Authority of the church regarding the importance of supporting and sustaining (male) authorities. She then proceeded to explain how, by ‘being humble’ and striving to be ‘constantly in tune with the spirit’, she had ‘gained a testimony’ of (male) priesthood ordination and ‘learned to support the ‘brethren’. The testimony of a woman regarding male dominated leadership in the church is a powerful example of the masculine imprint of the discourse that is constantly reproduced in these meetings.

‘As priesthood holders we are… you brethren are…’ she corrected herself at some other point during her talk. This was one of many examples of the way in which even speech was highly gendered during Sacrament meetings (and in Mormonism in general). In Spanish, most nouns have male and female forms, the same as articles, adjectives and other elements of speech. Traditionally, in most Spanish speaking countries, male forms have been used as the standard to refer to both male and female individuals of a given identification. Thus, as an example, the voice ciudadano (male citizen) has historically been used to refer to both ciudadanos and ciudadanas (female citizens). These speech practices have been part of a debate about language and gender (Cameron, 1998; Coates, 2011) and what has been called androcentric linguistics (Bodie, 1998; Lomas, 1999). In Mexico, such practices have been modifying over the last decades, driven mostly by actions from different segments of the civil society, and eventually the government. However, they seem to remain in place strongly within Mormon speech, as when speakers at the meeting tend to address the whole congregation by the term hermanos instead of hermanos y hermanas. Another notable example came when a sister missionary was speaking from the pulpit on the importance of missionary work. She used the expression “nosotros como misioneros” (which roughly translates as ‘we as missionary men’) repeatedly to refer to her and her sister missionary companion, as well as to the whole of Mormon missionaries (men and women) around the world. The fact that she did not use the feminised terms, nosotras or misioneras, despite the fact that the number of women who go on missions has

100 increased considerably over the last years according to what many members told me, is indicative of how the missionary figure, one of the most respected within Mormonism, is still predominantly masculine in Mormon discourse and imaginary.

In what seems like an attempt to include women in the performance of priesthood, the older woman speaking remarked how women are seen as instrumental in keeping men righteous and worthy of being priesthood holders. ‘The moral influence of women – she said– complements the power of the priesthood’, an idea that has been historically observed and discussed broadly within different domains (Stopper and Johnson, 1977; Lagarde, 1993; 2005). In Mormon speech specifically, morality is usually linked to sexual behaviour; a search for the term morality in the LDS Guide to the Scriptures does not provide a definition for the term, instead a small note under the heading refers the searcher to the headings ‘Adultery, Chastity, Fornication, and Sexual Immorality’. This is another important component of the heteronormativity informing the configuration of Mormon masculinities and femininities, and I address it in Chapter 6 on Mormon gendered relations. In this context, to be righteous is, to a great extent, to be moral. And to be moral is to act (and think) within heteronormative frames of sexuality that give men and women differentiated responsibilities in keeping to that standard. This is a tenet still present in much of the broader Mexican society, although it has also been challenged prominently in the urban context of Mexico City. As the woman speaking suggested in her talk, men and women are ultimately meant to become ‘husbands and wives’, and their position as such entails being particularly vigilant of ‘moral behaviour’. Since men are responsible mostly (if not entirely) for government and administrative tasks in the Church and their families, the heavier portion of the moral vigilance is placed on women. By contributing to husbands keeping this moral standard, and therefore able to deploy their ‘priesthood authority’, women can be considered instrumental to priesthood.

These principles are taught at different points in official Mormon literature, and as part of church classes and activities. Through the constant assertion of this rhetoric via the multi-level ventriloquist act mentioned above, they are reinforced as key elements of Mormon hegemonic masculinity, ‘the configuration of gender practice which embodies the currently accepted answer to the problem of the legitimacy of patriarchy, which guarantees (…) the dominant position of men’ (Connell, 2005: 77) within Mormonism. The fact that they are held as true by the vast majority of members in the wards speaks

101 to their symbolic ascendancy achieved through culture, institutions, and persuasion (Connell and Messerschmidt, 2005: 832). This stems largely from the doctrinal stance that asserts that the LDS Church, as the restored church of Christ, is the only institution on earth that holds the power and authority to speak in God’s name, and that such power and authority have been given to men by the divinity itself, not to do their own will but to act in its name.

The figure of Joseph Smith, the founding prophet of Mormonism, has been established as a symbolic referent of this ‘model of communication’ between ‘God and His people’. Smith wrote a text that today is part of the Mormon cannon of scripture, called Doctrine and Covenants, which is said to contain ‘a collection of divine revelations and inspired declarations´’ (LDS Church, 2013b: v). The book is written mostly in the first person as if ‘the Lord’ himself were the one speaking; it is the voice of the (masculine) divinity being spoken through his servant below him. The writing style utilised by Smith in the book epitomizes the ventriloquist act that underpins the resonance of masculine voices in Mormon speech up to this day. The incumbent members of the First Presidency and Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, the ruling bodies of the LDS Church, are regarded as prophets with the same power and authority that Smith received, and that has been passed down to them. They are perceived as having a much wider audience to speak to than Smith did, and so the model for communication is then replicated at the next level in a downward direction. Their voice is spoken through the people at the different levels of the structure, until it finally gets to the last one of them: the lay members. Thus, when women and other men in the lower levels address the rest of the membership, they are ultimately transmitting the voice of those men at the higher positions.

There are of course moments and spaces were this can be and is disrupted. An example could be the ‘testimony meeting’ that takes place on the first Sunday of every month. Instead of assigning specific members to speak at the Sacrament meeting, the man conducting the meeting takes a few minutes after the passing of the sacrament to ‘bear his testimony’. That is, he declares ‘to know’ that the founding principles of Mormonism are true. After he is done, he invites members of the ward to come to the pulpit and do the same. In many cases, people stick to the scripted discourses. However, this exercise opens up a tribune for people to speak spontaneously, so on many occasions people take the opportunity to talk about personal experiences in their everyday lives and sometimes re-signify the messages being taught regularly from that

102 position. It is in this situation that the recently widowed man’s intervention that I described above took place. Even though his participation was a little disruptive in that he talked about his personal experience rather than abstract principles prescribed in a centrally designed lesson plan, it also showed an effort by the man to conform to the norm that ‘the gospel’, as predicated to members by LDS General Authorities, is the word that ought to be spoken from the pulpit.

Up to this point, I have analysed some of the axes articulating the display of masculinities in what we could think of as their most conducive environment, namely, the LDS Church gatherings and spaces. In the second part of the chapter, I focus on the display of masculinities in spaces not defined by Mormon discourse and practices, or at least not by its mainstream version, like in the case of non-heterosexual Mormon spaces.

Mormon masculinities in predominantly non-Mormon spaces

Edgar (27), a single man whom I interviewed in one of the wards, told me that many people perceived him as a bit of an orthodox when it came to church related issues, sometimes even called him ‘square’. But he said this has to do with being sensitive to the environments he finds himself in, and also acting with sensibility. ‘I have a fun side, too’ –he told me– ‘I just feel there’s a time and a place for everything: when I'm playing basketball I act like a person that’s playing basketball, and when I'm at church, I act like a religious person that’s at church. Same in school, same at work. I adapt, right?’ Edgar’s statement illustrates his awareness of the fact that his life occurs in different places and moments that call for particular behaviours and, that as a Mormon man, those are in many ways determined by the condition of them being mostly ‘Church’ or ‘world’ environments. Many other participants seemed to share this awareness. In this second part of the chapter, I analyse the participants’ narratives of their performances of masculinity during school, work and other social situations constituted mostly or entirely by non-Mormon actors and norms. I also look at the ‘hybrid’ (Garcia, 2005) space of the Mormon-LGBT collective Afirmacion and explore the ways in which different non-heterosexual masculinities are produced and enacted in the intersection of religion and sexuality.

103

In the world but not of it: Mormon masculinities at school and/or work.

There seemed to be a consensus among participants that there are a set of core values which a Mormon man must always carry with him. As long as these are not compromised, he can adapt to the circumstances he encounters ‘outside of the Church’ or ‘in the world’; that is, in their non-Mormon public life and interactions. This calls for a balanced display of congeniality, affability, dignity, ‘righteousness and worthiness’, and self-control. Consider what Jaime (35) said in this regard about attending non-Mormon schools all his life:

(T)he last year of college I already knew most people and started to go to parties and things. And I had a very good relationship with my teachers, precisely because they knew I was a member of the [Mormon] church, so that made them trust me a lot. I was able to generate very close relationships with them, because they always looked at me like: ‘aw, little Jaime, he’s such a good boy (…) Being a member of the church has helped me a lot in my relationships. Because I think part of being able to go out with my female friends was that they noticed something different about me, they knew, for example, that I wasn't gonna play with them, that if we went out it was because I had a real interest in them, or because we were actually friends, you know? They knew that my norms were different, and that kind of earned me points.

The display of attributes that are highly regarded in Mormonism, such as obedience or trust-worthiness, gave Jaime the reassurance that these were particularly appreciated in non-Mormon environments. This was especially the case in the regimes governing interactions with authority figures (as in the case of the teachers) or the gender regime that scripted social and affective interactions between men and women. When Jaime spoke about his non-Mormon acquaintances knowing he was ‘a member of the Church’ or that his ‘norms were different’, he referred to the fact that his performance before these people constituted an effort to openly display an alignment with the principles that govern Mormon men’s conduct. More specifically those banning the consumption of alcohol, tobacco or other drugs, sexual activity before or outside marriage, the use of language considered obscene, as well as those which heavily emphasise obedience to authority and compliance with rules in general. A similar formulation was present in various other participants’ accounts that seemed to rest upon the self-image of Mormon men as ‘different’ to the majority of Mexican men as a result of the ‘high standards’ to which they are held. In other words, participants felt that their Mormon experience has helped them accrue a sort of heteronormative ‘moral capital’ (Valverde, 2014),

104 ‘gaining points’ as Jaime put it, that is useful in navigating institutional authority or heterosexual relationships.

At the same time, trying to hold on to this capital may be a potential source of conflict. This was the case of Héctor (30), who had a job as a driver for a freight company, soon after he had returned from a full-time proselyting mission for the LDS Church. This job meant he could not establish interactions within predominantly Mormon spaces over sustained periods of time, as he found himself constantly on the road. In addition to that, he described the work environment as not very conducive for a display of fully compliant Mormon masculinity:

Being a driver is really tough, you live with lots of non-members [of the LDS Church] so there are all kinds of trials, because they don't have the same principles. I mean, there’s drugs, and hooking up with women here and there. All my mates, well, co- workers really, were always like: ‘let’s go somewhere to have fun, there’s women and drugs and booze’. So whenever we came close to those spots I’d never stop, I kept on driving. And I usually rode alone. The company would give me a (riding) partner and I’d always reject that; I’d go: ‘I work alone, you know why? Because I don't drink, don't do drugs, don't hook up with women. I only focus on my job and don't want anybody to be telling me to go someplace where other drivers are hanging out.’ And they’d actually say: ‘yeah, we know you work well, in fact, don't you have other [Mormon] friends who’d like to work with us?’ And I never invited any other members to work there because I thought it was too risky for them, that they could go astray. I mean it was really hard for me to resist the peer pressure.

Héctor’s narrative is particularly illuminating of the sort of regimes in which many of the participants carry out their professional activities. The sort of practices that he describes from many of his co-workers reflect a hegemonic model of masculinity that has been extensively documented in the Mexican context (De Keijzer, 1997; 2003; Rivas, 2004; Fleiz et al., 2008; Vázquez and Castro, 2009) which results in men constantly engaging in risky activities (such as driving under the influence of alcohol and drugs, speeding, and unsafe sexual practices) in pursuit of the model. There is a tension between the hegemonic masculine model in those spaces, and the one in place in solely Mormon contexts. Héctor describes the tension as a difficulty, having to make a constant effort to ‘resist the pressure’ to adjust to the model at work. This pressure comes in the form of constant questioning of his masculinity by his peers, via his sexuality (with his co-workers suggesting he may be gay) or his lack of courage (not wanting to drink or use drugs while on the road). He also displays an ethics of care when he talks about his concern for the wellbeing of other Mormon men, and not

105 wanting to introduce them to a space that he was experiencing as very conflicting himself.

Some participants also seemed to perceive that the scope for the display of masculinity –and the benefits that may stem from it–, can also be limited outside the realm of Mormonism by adhering to the hegemonic model of Mormon masculinity. By conforming only or mostly to the model of masculinity that Mormonism offers them, their display may contradict the prevalent model in non-Mormon spaces. Noé (39), for instance, spoke of how some men he was doing business with seemed to be thriving by (and in spite of) acting in ways that are commonly thought of as masculine from a non- Mormon perspective, such as being astute and opportunistic in business, or displaying sexual prowess:

I saw a lot of friends, if I could call them that, according to the norms or rules and commandments we have in the [Mormon] church, the laws we have to obey, they didn't obey any of them! And I wondered: why are these guys doing so well [financially] if they have no fear of God at all, and they do whatever they please? I mean, they lie, and steal, and are dishonest in business. And they’re always looking for women and getting involved with them. I mean, they weren’t junkies or alcoholics, but that was about the only thing they were missing. So I often thought about that. But I feel that the Lord later showed that there are consequences, because in their life… well, first, they lost everything, because of bad management, I think one of them had to spend some years in jail. Another partner moved to a different state, and he did very well (businesswise), but things happened… I mean his father just died and stuff like that. So I started connecting things that happened in their lives as consequences of their choices, that didn't come immediately, but did have an effect in the long run. So that led me to make my choice, and think: ‘what do you want? You wanna follow that path? You can do it, or you can just stop postponing it and do what you know you have to do, in this case going [on a mission for the LDS Church].

Noé’s rationalisation for the performance of a masculinity that conforms to the norms of the Mormon model is also telling of the investment that he has in Mormonism as a way to protect himself against life’s difficulties. He characterised the misfortunes of his former business partners as unavoidable consequences of their wrong decisions, even if they do not come in the form of financial hardship, as in the case of his partner whose father had recently died. At the same time, Noé implied that he had kept safe from such negative consequences by choosing to perform the right kind of masculinity. This is closely linked to the idea of hegemonic Mormon masculinity as a righteous path that I discuss in Chapter 7 (on becoming Mormon men) and the sort of protection a man receives from striving to stay on it. But it is also telling of Mormonism’s

106 incorporation of the notions of spiritual, physical and financial mastery that are encompassed in the ‘prosperity gospel’ (Bowler, 2013). Thus, the deep investment in Mormonism and its associated form of hegemonic masculinity displayed by these participants can partly be attributed to the possibility to prosper in their earthly existence rather than only reap the benefits in the hereafter.

In line with what has been shown in the literature on masculinities (see, for example, Frosh et al. 2002), this narrative of displaying moral capital also exhibits a condescending tone towards the display of non-Mormon or heterodox Mormon masculinities, as they are deemed not only risky but unwise, crude or unsophisticated. A few other participants’ accounts of the display of masculinities (and femininities) by their non-Mormon peers and acquaintances are illustrative of this condescendence. An example of this is Mauricio’s (25) description of his experience socializing in university or with co-workers:

At first they’d offer me alcohol and I’d tell them I didn't drink, and they’d be like: oh ‘c’mon, cut the act’, and I had to be very firm and say I didn't drink because it was part of my principles. And I’d even explain to them a little about the [Mormon] church. And at first the pressure was tough, but it stopped being hard because later they even saw me as an example. And it’s funny ‘cause they recognise that drinking is bad, that they have a problem, and that even if they do it that doesn't necessarily mean it’s ok, but a lot of people are alcoholic, and smoke and are addicted, if not to tobacco maybe even drugs, and they recognise that it’s a very good think what I’m doing [abstaining] but they don't accept it for themselves. They go: ‘oh, that’s wicked, good on you, I respect that!’

Mauricio characterises his performance of masculinity in those non-Mormon environments as a display of resolve to do what he considers to be ‘the right thing’. This demands a display of conviction and steadfastness. It is also implicitly portrayed as more intelligent –almost superior– than that of his non-Mormon counterparts who make unintelligent choices in the face of evident truths (i.e. the consumption of alcohol or other substances is harmful, or active female sexuality is morally censorable).

Thus, non-Mormon displays of masculinity are produced as clumsy or absurd. A similar case is that of Camilo (20) when he pondered on the reasons why most of his closest friends are women, as well as on the elements that constitute a ‘real’ friendship that have led to him having only one or two ‘true (male) friends:

…with them [his male friends from school] it’s always a bit different because topics are like: ‘have you seen that bird, she’s so fit!’ or ‘where we gonna get pissed on

107 Friday?’ I mean, I can understand that maybe they can’t leave that aside, but when that's the main issue around which their conversation revolves, and it's a daily thing, I honestly thing that’s something quite irrelevant and really not worth my time… I find most men silly. And I'm not saying there aren’t silly women, right? But for me it’s been easier to find female friendships that are worth it, more than male, ‘cos for example, male friends, real friends, I only have like two. And female friends I can tell you that I have a few more. I'm not saying all men are idiots, I mean, I've met many I like or who make me laugh, and I can hang out with them, but I can’t honestly say they are my friends.

In his narrative and production of Mormon masculinity, Camilo combined the elements of productivity and profitability with those of intelligence and sophistication. He highlighted them with the use of expressions like ‘quite irrelevant (talk)’ or ‘not really worth my time’. This speaks to the ascendency that these notions of productivity and profitability have in Mormonism. The great emphasis that Mormon doctrine places on the future and the need to plan and construct it, along with the overarching principles of a prosperity gospel, feed into a type of entrepreneurial masculinity that is present in the narratives produced by both Camilo and Mauricio:

My best friend didn't want to go to uni now because he’s opened a restaurant and he has a textile factory, and he spends most of his time working… he’s an entrepreneur. And I didn't know he was like that when we started being friends in seventh grade, but now I see him and say that his friendship is really worth having because he’s someone who wants to better himself, he’s someone who maybe has the same ambitions that I do, and that in both the social and labour aspect we can still have a friendship later on (Camilo, 20).

[My manager] does have experience and has had good results in the past. In fact, I’ve cracked it, too: by working with small companies. He offers the companies’ employees workshops [on personal finances] and that’s a good vehicle to attract clients [to invest in the company he works for]. So I’ve tried to that, too. ‘Cos, after all, the reason I’m there is I wanna make money and grow (Mauricio, 25).

Mormonism shapes the display of masculinities by the participants in non-Mormon contexts to a good extent. It can be a way of accumulating a form of (heteronormative) moral capital that can be advantageous in specific social situations, such as dating, socializing or working. Their interactions in such spaces provide them with opportunities to engage with the display of non-Mormon hegemonic masculinities that include characteristics such as financial prosperity, entrepreneurship, or the accumulation of wealth (Hechavarria and Ingram, 2016; Giazitzoglu and Down, 2017), and connect to them as they are also favoured by the hegemonic model of Mormon masculinity. Concurrently, they can lead to moments of tension and stress for the

108 participants, when the display of hegemonic Mormon masculinity contrasts with other non-Mormon hegemonic forms. This can be dealt with through formulations of moral superiority and condescendence, or the recognition of material and/or other types of rewards observable in their life experience.

LGBT Mormon masculinities: hybridisation and tensions between ‘spirituality’ and ‘liberation’

Afirmación: Mormones LGBT, familias y amigos is a collective that groups Mexican Mormon men and women who identify as LGBTIQ/SSA. It is a chapter of the group Affirmation: LGBT Mormons, families and friends (founded in the USA), and their existence and activities are not officially endorsed or supported by the LDS Church. The Mexican branch of Afirmación, as its Mexican members usually refer to it, came about in the early two thousands and it had a period of growth and activity for a few years. However, when the former chairman stepped down and members continued to ‘grow older’ group activity declined considerably, according to what Marco –a single man in his 40s and one of the oldest members active in the group– told me. A second period of activity started toward 2010, when members of the Affirmation international board visited Mexico and relaunched the group. This second period has strengthened the group’s structure and presence, and they now have a fairly steady operation.

The spaces generated by Afirmación are particularly illustrative examples of the several processes of cultural hybridisation occurring in Mexico City. These processes draw on long standing forms of viewing the world and interacting with it, as well as on distinct forms newly arrived or adopted in the geographic context, resulting in new forms for conducing oneself in it. This can be observed in many social situations, mostly linked to cultural and other forms of consumption, mobility and so on (García, 2005, García et al., 2013). Thus, Afirmación draws on the notion of collectiveness that has long characterised Mexican Mormonism, as well as on that of the ‘liberation’ of homosexual individuals from oppressive systems, which has been enunciated as a constitutive principle of the lesbian-gay political movement in Mexico since its inception (Diez, 2011). As I have mentioned, within LDS congregations or wards, members are organized into age and common interest groups for children, teenagers, young adults, women, and so on. Those groups meet also outside the regular Sunday services to have

109 social, cultural and ‘spiritual’ activities. All these are held in compliance with LDS Church policy, even when they take place outside LDS Church buildings, so they are impregnated of the general heteronormative tone of Mormonism, making them potentially hostile spaces toward sexual diversity. Afirmación’s gatherings provide similar spaces and situations, with a Mormon-like atmosphere, which are open to gender and sexually diverse interactions linked to notions of respect, inclusion, and embrace of diversity from a (Western) modern perspective. But it is important to say, that although the group is committed to diversity in principle, it is mostly gay men who constitute it and participate in it.

The different activities of the group vary in tone, but in general they resemble activities observed within regular LDS Church settings. They tend to be opened and closed with prayers, hymns are sung, and ‘spiritual’ thoughts and messages shared. Even in those more informal social gatherings LDS Church conduct norms seem to be in place: drinking and smoking are not allowed, no coffee or tea served, and language considered ‘inappropriate’ is to be avoided or kept at a minimum. The most common of these activities is their monthly ‘devotional’, a meeting that takes place on a Sunday afternoon, and that is reminiscent of a regular LDS testimony meeting. There is a hymn and a prayer at the beginning and also one to close the meeting. Messages are shared and/or ‘testimony’ borne. However, there is no passing of the Sacrament administered there. When I asked Leonardo, one of the leaders of the group, about this he emphasised that the group’s intention is not to replace regular Mormon worship services but to provide LGBT Mormons with a ‘safe and friendly space’ to meet with other LGBT people who ‘share the same principles’. Although many of the male members of Afirmación are priesthood holders and could potentially perform this and other ‘ordinances’, he explained, they do not do it also in part as a token of ‘respect for the (LDS) ecclesiastical institution’.44

These ‘spiritual’ meetings do not display the formality and rigidity of a Sacramental. However, deference toward priesthood (male) authority and institutions is quite evident in them, and visible even in more leisurely activities. I attended a weekend retreat that the leadership had advertised simply as ‘Encuentro’ (a Spanish term used to describe a

44 This is also related to the strategic position of the group which tries to avoid confrontation with the LDS Church authorities and not to be perceived as a potential ‘competitor’ who wants to bring members out of it and recruit them into their ranks, Leonardo elaborated.

110 conference or meeting, as well as an encounter), without giving much information of its content. The retreat took place in a country house hired for the occasion, in a small town about 60 miles south of Mexico City. It started on a Friday night with the remarks by Alejandro, the president of the group at the time. The originally playful atmosphere during the opening session soon turned serious as Alejandro –a civil servant in his 30s– spoke about ‘the opportunity to encounter God, yourself, or anything you feel that you are in need of this weekend’. He announced a detailed program of activities and asked everyone to turn in their mobile phones. The session turned into an improvised sharing circle where people could speak freely about their motivations to be there and their expectations of the activity. No one said anything against the proposed schedule or the request to hand in the mobiles (a couple of people simply did not do it), even though everyone had taken a turn to speak and had been encouraged to speak candidly. After the session, however, there were various expressions of discomfort by some of the 13 people present (11 men and 2 women) at the time. During an informal conversation some of us had before bed time, for example, Damián (32) described the president’s attitude as ‘misleading and bossy’, typical of the Mormon leaders ‘he constantly criticises and claims to be different (from)’. The few other men present agreed.

The figure of the (male) authority was not challenged openly. Any criticism occurred ‘behind the scenes’, in a space that was deemed as safer. This speaks of the verticality in the exercise of authority within the group, resembling that of the institutional LDS Church. Even though the group attempts to make its leadership more diverse than in the institutional church, most of the members of the leadership committees I met were men, reinforcing the link between masculinity and authority. Lucy –one of the only two women present at the retreat and a member of the leadership team– was confronted openly a couple of times over the weekend by some of the participants, which resulted in her modifying the proposed instructions or dynamic. This happened in clear contrast to the case of Alejandro’s leadership who hardly ever had to argue in favour of his instructions.

In spite of the strong presence of authority, there are still moments for resistance that come mostly in the form of apathetic attitudes towards it. The following day, the end of the activities –which included yoga and mediation sessions, a couple of ‘team building’ and ‘trust developing’ dynamics, and some free time to get in the pool– was marked by a bonfire and a talk by Alejandro. The moment took the form of a lesson

111 very similar to the ones delivered weekly at LDS meeting houses. The leader asked most of us to participate by sharing experiences or answering questions. Many of the 16 people present by then (some more men had arrived during the morning) declined or simply remained silent when invited to participate. One of the men even said he did not ‘feel comfortable just giving a scripted answer as expected’ and excused himself from participating. These actions disrupted the intended dynamic, similar to that of a Sunday school lesson at the LDS Church.

Sebastián (32) told me afterwards that this sort of resistance happened fairly often at some ‘spiritual’ activities, and that a few of ‘the boys’ he had met since joining Afirmación had simply stopped attending the group’s activities because they had differences with Alejandro’s decisions and ‘way of doing things’ in general. After the activities had finished on Saturday night, Alejandro excused himself and said he had to go back to the city. A couple of people asked whether they could ride along with him in his car (most of us had reached the site by coach) but he politely asked everyone to remain in the activity and try not to generate a massive desertion. During dinner, one of the men asked Leonardo why the president had left, to which another one replied in a soft voice: ‘I bet he had a hot date to get to’. At least four of the men from the group that I spoke to implied that the leadership usually used their position to ‘pick up’ boys, and said this was out of place. Male authority in the group is under scrutiny but remains mostly uncontested, thus displaying a continuity of the way it is exercised and perceived in the LDS Church.

The last activity contemplated in the program involved finding the closest LDS meeting house and attending Sacrament meeting as a group. Over dinner on Saturday evening, once the main authority (namely, the group’s president) was gone, some men started to float the idea that the group should skip the activity and just head back to the city after breakfast. Some of the arguments that were given ranged from the possibility of this to be taken as a confrontation by the members of the local ward, to the fact that most of the men did not have ‘Sunday clothes’ with them. The man in charge tried to persuade people to stick to the program but quickly got on board with the proposal. A consensus was easily reached and it was decided that the group would not go church the following day. The atmosphere during that evening was a lot more playful than it had been, as if after the group’s president had left and the prospect of going to church was out of the picture, there was now more room for the men to be ‘themselves’. Most men stayed up

112 later than the previous night chatting, listening and singing along to music, and telling jokes. ‘Swear words’ started to flow with a lot more ease and gossip about sexual experiences, which had been mostly absent before, became the predominant topic. In ‘gay friendly’ environments, which have increased significantly in the last 15 years in Mexico City, it is common that groups of gay men use the feminine form of words in Spanish to refer to each other. I had not heard anyone in Afirmación using this way of speaking until that night, when it was evident that everyone present felt a lot more relaxed and comfortable doing it. At a given point, Mauro (24) was asked by another man to share a sexual encounter he had narrated to him before. Mauro laughed, somewhat embarrassed, and replied ‘no! What’s he (meaning me) gonna say?’ Damián (32) responded saying: ‘he’ll love it, he’s finally getting to see what you girls really are like! Come on, ladies, is time for liberation!’ Salvador, in turn (41) offered: ‘Yeah, I mean, Afirmación needs more of this, less singing [hymns] and praying, and more of this [type of interaction]’.

There is a tension in the interactions of these men that take place in the space of the group, between the intention to remain as ‘spiritual’ (in a Mormon sense) as possible, and at the same time, displaying a particular kind of gay masculinity, through a performance that some of the men described as ‘jotear’ (which roughly translates as acting queer or camp). According to Damián, jotear is a way of talking and displaying a bodily presence that is, ‘playful and raucous’ by definition and, therefore ‘not inviting of the spirit’. The fact that Afirmación’s activities take place in spaces that are recognised as non-Mormon contributes to this tension as many participants see this as a ‘liberating’ element. As put by Salvador: ‘that’s why I don’t go to Church. There they can be upset if I sound too joto (camp) but what’s wrong with that here [in Afirmación]?’

But space is also constructed through language, naming some things produces them just as omitting naming others may render them inexistent (Austin, 1962). As Leonardo pointed out, ‘it is not possible to jotear when spiritual things are being discussed’. ‘Spiritual’ talk does not discuss homosexuality or employ the joto jargon and ways of speaking. This suggests that male authority in the group at times enforces the ‘heterosexual panorama’ -the belief that non-heterosexuality does not exist, or if it does, it is only in ‘negative, stereotypical ways’ (Blasius, 1994: 117-118)- that is predominant in LDS environments. By de facto suppressing the obscene way of

113 speaking that is usually linked to jotear, the presence of authority causes ‘flamboyant’ non-heterosexuality to disappear from the midst of the group. The fact that the activity’s atmosphere became more ‘lively’ only once the main figure of authority was gone seems to so suggest it.

Conclusion

Throughout this chapter I have shown different implications that Mormonism has on participants’ performances of masculinities within and, to a certain extent, also outside of the LDS Church. Those performances are shaped largely by the dynamics of the specific spaces in which they take place, and the gender regime(s) that structure relations and interactions in those spaces. The configuration of such regimes is, in turn, linked to audiences formed by only/mostly Mormons or predominantly non-Mormons. Thus, the display of Mormon masculinities can be perceived and valued differently by different audiences, in different gender regimes, or in different moments, regardless of their consistency or endurance through space. Moreover, the displays associated with the Mormon way of believing are informed by elements of perceived ‘traditional’ masculinities as well as by clearly modern/late-modern notions of masculinity. Therefore, the double way for which I argue in Chapter 2 is most useful to look at the complexity of the different displays of Mormon masculinities in different situations and spaces.

I discussed in more depth the ways in which masculinities are displayed in the Mormon space of Sunday worship services. I contend that there is a hegemonic Mormon masculinity, as defined by Connell and Messerschmidt (2005), that serves as the main referent for the performance of masculinities in LDS Church meetings and environments. This hegemonic masculinity conflates the principles of male authority and spirituality, and it is present in the organisation of the space and the activities conducted in the Mormon meeting house. It can also be observed in the almost ubiquitous presence of the image and speech of the LDS General Authorities, the closest embodiment of hegemonic Mormon masculinity. The physical presentation of these General Authorities, older suited men soberly groomed, as well as the tone and expression they employ in their speech have come to epitomise what a successful, worthy, experienced Mormon man looks and sounds like. Moreover, as the guardians

114 of doctrine and truth, the message that these men produce and reproduce is disseminated though the leadership structure of the LDS Church, until it reaches every member, involving a great amount of members (mostly men but also women) as spokespersons of this message, contributing to the (re)production of this hegemony.

Mormon normativity and symbolic references seemed to pervade participants’ displays of masculinities in predominantly non-Mormon spaces also. Their performance of masculinity in situations such as those defined by the school or the work contexts are impregnated with the notion as different from their peers by virtue of their being Mormon. Their membership in the LDS Church and their incorporation of its normativity give these men a feeling of differentiation (at times bordering moral superiority) that helps them advance in ‘the world’. This is particularly highlighted in interactions within heteronormative frameworks of reference, where they can wield this kind of heteronormative moral capital as aid in establishing interpersonal relationships. It is also particularly conducive of corporate capitalist forms of production and organisation as it emphasises conformity to rules and authority, and an admiration of notions of entrepreneurship. On the other hand, the points of connection with hegemonic models of masculinity prevalent in the broader Mexican contest -such as androcentric forms of organisation of authority and organisation of collective life, and their resulting inequalities- tended to be minimised, nuanced, or presented as evidence of the natural origin of the ‘traditional’ gender order.

Finally, an assumption that non-heterosexual behaviours and ways of living do not exist, or if they do it is only as negative aspects of collective life, a ‘heterosexual panorama’ (Blasius, 1994), is still prevalent among Mexican Mormonism, and is enforced in its institutional spaces. As a result, Mormon gay masculinities are rendered problematic, or invisible. Groups of non-heterosexual Mormons, such as Afirmación, have constructed spaces in which masculinities can be displayed publicly as Mormon and as homosexual, through the performance of activities that foster a ‘spiritual’ and communal atmosphere similar to that of the institutional Mormon Church, but where sexual and/ or gender identity are not constrained by ‘compulsory heterosexuality’ (Rich, 1992; Jackson and Scott, 2010). The possibility to negotiate these mandates of masculinity is associated directly with the space in which the displays take place. And furthermore, it is also related to the degree of transposition of the model of authority of the LDS Church to that of the LGBTQ group. In various instances of observation, the

115 latter showed important continuities from the former. The connection between power, hierarchical authority, and masculinity that I have touched upon in this chapter is pivotal to a wide understanding of the production and experience of Mormon masculinities. In Mormonism, this connection is structured and organised around the notion of priesthood. In the following chapter I discuss this basic principle of the Mormon faith and practice, and argue on the centrality of priesthood in the experience of Mexican Mormon men and masculinities.

116 5 - ‘THE PRIESTHOOD’ AS A LINCHPIN OF MORMON MASCULINITIES

Introduction

As I described in the previous chapter, Mormonism has a distinctive pattern of gender arrangements that regulate who does what at the Mormon Church (and households), the ‘social divisions’ that exist within it, and the emotionality involved in the interactions taking place among the members. This pattern constitutes what I refer to as Mexican Mormonism’s ‘gender regime’ (Connell and Pearse, 2015). In this chapter, I argue that ‘the priesthood’ is one of the main forces through which such gender regime is articulated, as it is helps support a set of gender relations on the basis of a distinction between two big groups, namely, men (current and potential priesthood holders) and women. Furthermore, this priesthood provides participants with a very clear hierarchical framework within the men’s group —whose organising principle is also distinction among men in terms of age and experience— in which participants can easily place themselves and produce a narrative. This also reveals a structural dimension of the priesthood that fosters subordination through its rigidity. I argue that the analysis of this structural dimension can be appropriately carried out through the notion of patriarchy, understood broadly as institutionalised male power (Pease, 2000:13), and that, at the same time, this analysis can provide it with empirical content.

Throughout the chapter, I analyse how priesthood is conceived of and experienced by the Mexican Mormon men I interviewed, and the impact it has in their view and performance of masculinity. I also highlight the ways in which participants’ understanding and practice of priesthood is informed and shaped by notions of ‘tradition’ as a source of authority, but reformulated (or ‘restored’) in modernity, and incorporating increasingly rational ways of organization and operation over time. I begin with a description of what the Mormon notion of priesthood consists of and how it is hierarchically organised. I highlight the fact that being a ‘priesthood holder’ is an intrinsic part of Mormon masculinities’ world view as, sooner rather than later in his Mormon experience, every man who is born into or later joins the LDS Church becomes a member of this fellowship of priesthood holders. I especially reflect on the symbolic aspect of priesthood through a discussion of the doctrine that underpins its existence and operation, which includes the notion that the characteristic of being male or female predates earthly existence.

117 The second section of the chapter discusses how priesthood works as a means to sustain male privilege, producing a clear distinction between Mormon men and women, and establishing relations of subordination between them. These relations are clearly not free of tension as resistance to it is presented at different times; I also discuss such instances in this section. I argue that priesthood is central to a Mormon hegemonic masculinity as the embodiment of ‘the currently accepted answer to the problem of the legitimacy of patriarchy’ (Connell, 2005: 77) and helps as a guarantor for the dominant position of men within Mormonism. The defensive stance assumed by some of the participants when discussing these issues suggested a deep emotional investment on their part in a narrative of humbleness. This is a narrative that these men ‘live by’ (Gillis, 1997), which supports and sustains not only the current state of affairs in the Mexican Mormon context and the privileged status it confers to men/priesthood holders within it, but ultimately the highly androcentric gender order still prevailing in Mexico City. The reproduction of this narrative is constitutive of the participants’ masculine practice and, in that sense, of their being Mexican Mormon men.

Under another subheading, I also address the issue of responsibility that is attached to priesthood holding in this section. This is portrayed by participants as a burdensome side of their privilege, to different degrees of acknowledgment. This evidences a tension and a contradiction between the gratifying experience of prominence and dominance afforded by priesthood holding and the Mormon imperative of humbleness for ecclesiastical service. This rationalisation, along with the assertions by some of the participants about men being ‘more imperfect’ and in more need for ‘heavenly help’ via holding the priesthood, is part of a constant effort that participants seemed to make to display (at least discursively) the humility that legitimises the exercise of priesthood, which is constantly asserted in Mormon discourse. At the same time, their accounts convey a feeling of gratification from recognising themselves (and being recognised by others) as priesthood holders, and from occupying or having occupied positions in the leadership structure. This speaks of a certain duality in the participants’ production and experience of priesthood.

The third section of the text analyses priesthood put into practice in the context of Church service. I explore the critical phase of ‘the mission’ as an emblematic example of the way in which priesthood related activity within the church serves to generate distinctions between men and women, but mostly among men and masculinities. Most

118 participants have taken part in the ‘missionary’ endeavour of the LDS Church. In light of the importance of this period in their lives, a good portion of their narratives of being Mormon was devoted to the missionary experience. I discuss their accounts around the motivations they had to become missionaries, the benefits they perceived as having obtained from it, the expectations they had from the mission as a life defining experience, and the ways in which it is constructed as a rite of passage (van Gennep, 2004 [1960]). In the last subheading, I focus on some of the ambivalences and the most negative aspects of missionary service and church service in general, that are closely linked to its hierarchic character, as well as to the heteronormative model of masculinity that is dominant in Mormonism. All this is indicative of the way in which a hegemonic Mormon masculinity fosters ‘specific gender relations of dominance and subordination between groups of men’ (Connell, 2005: 78).

‘A chosen generation, a royal priesthood’

The priesthood (in Spanish, el sacerdocio) is defined by the LDS Church’s Guide to the Scriptures as ‘the authority and power that God gives to man to act in all things for the salvation of man’ (LDS Church, 2013c, emphasis added). The text goes on to say that ‘male members of the Church who hold the priesthood are organized into quorums and are authorized to perform ordinances and certain administrative functions in the Church’ (LDS Church, 2013c, emphasis added). This definition is an example of how the priesthood is produced through language as a fundamentally masculine thing. The Mormon doctrine plainly teaches that this priesthood is a power to be obtained and wielded:

Not only is the priesthood the power by which the heavens and the earth were created, but it is also the power the Savior used in His mortal ministry to perform miracles, to bless and heal the sick, to bring the dead to life, and, as our Father’s Only Begotten Son, to endure the unbearable pain of Gethsemane and Calvary—thus fulfilling the laws of justice with mercy and providing an infinite Atonement and overcoming physical death through the Resurrection (Ballard, 2013:18)

Although LDS General Authorities have emphasised that men ‘are not the priesthood’, the constant reiteration that it is men who have ‘the unique responsibility’ to administer it (Ballard, 2013) implicitly conflates masculinity with an exercise of power.

119 Priesthood ordination and holding have long been forms of distinction within Mormonism, not only between men and women but also among men. In the early days of the movement in the United States, for example, a handful of black men joined it and were actually ordained to priesthood but were subsequently denied major involvement in the Church on the basis of the priesthood ‘office’ (i.e. the degree of authority) they held (Bringhurst, 1981). Soon, the concerns of early Mormon leaders about taking slaves into the movement and fraternising with them materialised in the banning of men of African descent from being ordained to priesthood and, consequently, of African-American people from accessing the Mormon temple rituals through which marriages and families are ‘sealed’ for eternity, when those were later instituted. This restriction was in place up until the late 1970s, when the then president of the Church claimed to have had a divine ‘revelation’ by which ‘the long-promised day has come when every faithful, worthy man in the Church may receive the holy priesthood, with power to exercise its divine authority, and enjoy with his loved ones every blessing that flows therefrom, including the blessings of the temple’ (Kimball cited in Tanner, 1978), and lifted the ban.

It is currently the policy of the LDS Church to ordain every one of its male members to priesthood as early as age 12. Thus, to be a Mormon man is virtually synonymous with being a priesthood holder, which is still a form of distinction between Mormon and non-Mormon men. Furthermore, being ordained to priesthood, and advancing through its different tiers and sub-tiers, is part of the ideal journey for a man that I discuss in Chapter 7 and that I designate the ‘strait and narrow path’. This is connected to another important aspect of the Mormon doctrine (and policy) of priesthood. As put by Spencer Kimball (1976), a former president of the LDS Church: ‘the Lord has given to all of us, as holders of the priesthood, certain of his authority, but we can only tap the powers of heaven on the basis of our personal righteousness’. Being what participants referred to as a ‘righteous’ or ‘worthy’ holder of the priesthood means that a man is abiding by the norms and practices that keep them in such path. That is to say, a ‘worthy’ priesthood holder is one who embraces the Mormon symbolic and practical normativity and strives to live it to its fullness. Thus priesthood also divides men between those considered worthy to exercise it, acting in leadership positions or performing ‘ordinances’, and those who are not.

120 The priesthood is divided into two main levels called the Aaronic priesthood (the lower level) and the Melchizedek priesthood (the higher one). When a Mormon boy turns 12, he is interviewed by the bishop of his ward, the presiding authority in his religious congregation, in order to confirm his ‘worthiness’ to receive the Aaronic priesthood. This is determined based on the observance by the boy of the codes of conduct established by the LDS Church for its members. Men must show a reasonable conviction of the ‘truthfulness’ of the church, and a general acceptance of the doctrine principles and beliefs it upholds. They should also observe various norms of conduct (LDS Church, 2010a). During adolescence, the focus tends to be on the norms that prohibit the consumption of alcohol, tobacco, and ‘any drink, drug, chemical, or dangerous practice that is used to produce a “high” or other artificial effect’, pornography, and pre-marital sexual activity. Also notably important is the principle of ‘repentance’, which entails resigning any misconduct in this sense ‘turning away from sin and turning to God for forgiveness’ (LDS Church, 2001).

There are three sublevels in this Aaronic priesthood, called ‘offices’. At age 12, the boy is ‘conferred’ the priesthood through an ‘ordinance’ in which an older priesthood holder lays his hands on the boy’s head and pronounces him a deacon (see image 4, below). When he turns 14, he is interviewed once again and (provided he is deemed worthy by the bishop) he is ‘advanced’ to the office of teacher, in a similar fashion. The same procedure takes place when he turns 16, and should be ‘advanced’ to the office of priest. The offices are differentiated by the responsibilities that adolescent men are given. Deacons are in charge of ‘the passing of the sacrament’, the ceremony that takes place every Sunday during Mormon worship services that is often described as ‘the most important part’ of the services, and that is akin to the communion that takes place in many Christian churches. Teachers are not really responsible for doing any teaching. Rather, they are responsible for the setting of the sacrament table, but can perform any other activities done by deacons. Finally, priests have the responsibility of saying the prayers during the ceremony, and can also perform any other activities done by deacons and teachers. They are also authorised to perform baptisms, although they rarely do it. If a man joins the church at any point during his adolescence, ward leaders will seek to ordain him to the Aaronic priesthood in the corresponding office for the age slot that he is in as soon as possible.

121 Image 4. Laying on of hands on an LDS boy

Fuente: https://askgramps.org/should-the-stake-and-ward-be-mentioned-when-performing-a-priesthood-ordination/

The Melchizedek priesthood, in turn, is reserved for men 18 and older. When a man turns 18 he is interviewed by the bishop and ordained to this Melchizedek priesthood with the office of elder. In a similar way to what happens with ordination to the Aaronic priesthood, men need to be vetted by the bishop as ‘worthy’. This implies that the bishop will once again interview them and enquire about alcohol, tobacco, and drugs consumption, pre-marital or extra-marital sex, and so on. It is expected that adult men have some sort of income, thus, it is also important that they are committed to observe the law of tithing, meaning that they are expected to contribute ten percent of their yearly income to the church.45 All except one46 of the participants in my research were Melchizedek priesthood holders. Since the majority of practising Mormon adult men has the office of elder, most of the participants were ordained in this office. Elders are authorised to perform all of the activities that Aaronic priesthood holders are. They can also perform other ‘ordinances’ such as giving ‘health and comfort blessings’ to members of their families and other people. But perhaps most importantly, in order for a man to go on a Mormon proselytising mission, enter the Mormon temple, or occupy a series of leadership positions in the ward, he must first be ordained as an elder. A few of the men I interviewed held the next office upward in the Melchizedek priesthood, namely, that of high priest. As with other offices, high priests are authorized to perform all activities and ordinances from the previous offices. The most important characteristic of this office is that a man needs to be ordained a high priest in order to occupy the most important leadership positions within the ward, such as that of bishop,

45 Although this is usually paid in monthly instalments. 46 He drew away from Church activity at age 16, shortly after he had been advanced to the office of priest in the Aaronic priesthood.

122 as well as in the next level up in the administrative and governmental structure of the LDS Church. Below I make a brief description of this structure.

The LDS Church is presided globally by the General Authorities, specifically, the group of 15 men I mentioned in the previous chapter: the president of the LDS Church, his two ‘counselors’, and 12 other men known as the Apostles. This ruling body makes decisions on church policy and doctrine that affect all its members. They are the head of the central office of the LDS Church in the United States. In addition to the doctrinal talks and the study curricula for Church services, this office produces detailed handbooks and manuals that describe how the Church has to be managed at all the different levels of its organigram, how programs should be implemented, and how lessons should be taught in all of its units around the world.

The two lowest tiers of the administrative structure of the LDS Church, namely, the ward and the stake, are also notably worthy of consideration for the purpose of this research. This is so because these are the spaces wherein the bulk of the quotidian interactions among Mexican Mormon men -as well as between Mormon men and women- take place. Mormons attend worship services and other religious and social activities in their corresponding congregation called ward. The ward they belong to is determined by the geographical area where they live. Each ward is presided by a bishop and two ‘counselors’ who form a bishopric. There are a few groups within the ward including the elders’ quorum (formed by men over 18 years and older), the young men (formed by men ages 12 to 17), the Relief Society (formed by women 18 years and older), the young women (formed by women ages 12 to 17) or the Primary (formed by the ward’s children). Each of them has a presiding triad similar to the bishopric that is called a presidency. Adult men preside over men’s groups, while the women and children’s groups are presided over by adult women. There are a few other administrative positions in the ward which are mostly occupied by men. Men and women serve as teachers in the different classes that take place every Sunday. All the positions in the ward (and indeed at any level of the leadership structure of the LDS Church) are referred to as ‘callings’. All of the callings in a ward are occupied by lay members who serve in those positions voluntarily and receive no economic compensation for their work.

123 The stake is the next level up in the leadership structure. A stake is typically compared to diocese in official LDS Church press releases and other communications, and is comprised of five to ten wards. It has a similar administrative structure to that of the ward, with a ‘stake presidency’ formed by three men, and ‘presidencies’ for the same gender and age based groups that exist in the wards, only at the stake level. These presidencies oversee the work carried out by such groups in the different wards. One notable difference with the ward’s leadership structure is that the stake also has a body called the High Council, a group of twelve high priests who “under the direction of the stake presidency, (…) help oversee the work of the Church in the stake by fulfilling many advisory and administrative responsibilities” (LDS Church, 2015a). All leadership positions in the stake are occupied by lay members of the wards within that stake, who also serve voluntarily. As in the case of ward leaders, none of the leaders at the stake level receive a monetary compensation for their work.

The ward leaders are appointed, or ‘called’, by the bishopric, with some of them (like the elders quorum president) having to be approved by the stake presidency. At the same time, stake leaders are called by the stake presidency. Bishops and stake presidents are called by authorities higher above the structure, with the advice of other leaders who have previously served in those positions in the area. All the positions, including those of bishop or stake president, are held for a period of time that may span over several years and is not specified47, but none of them are appointed for life.

The institutional dimension of the Mormon priesthood, its doctrine and practice inclusive, shows traces of multiple processes occurring simultaneously over time. The project known as ‘correlation’, started in the early twentieth century and deepened during the decades of the 1950s and 1960s (Prince and Wright, 2005) introduced a notably rational element to the doctrine. ‘Priesthood correlation’ specifically bureaucratised the priesthood’s organisation and practice, (Smith, 2007) and generated an epic narrative of the divine origin of the priesthood as well as of its ‘restoration’ in modern times. By extension, this narrative infuses the structure of social relations that result from priesthood withy divinity. Such a narrative rests on the notion of lineage. The premise is that the power and authority of the priesthood with which Jesus of Nazareth performed miracles was and established ‘His Church’ was lost shortly after

47 It is not uncommon that bishops and stake presidents serve in those capacities for as long as ten years or longer.

124 his death and resurrection; however, in the early nineteenth century, God ‘restored’ this power and authority on earth through Joseph Smith, the founder of Mormonism. Official LDS history asserts that Smith received physical visits by John the Baptist, and by Jesus’ apostles Peter, James and John. The bible characters would have laid their hands on Smith and conferred upon him the priesthood, causing it to return to earth once again (LDS Church, 2018a). The narrative is supported by bureaucratic record keeping, as illustrated by a Mormon device called ‘priesthood line of authority’. This is a record showing ‘who ordained an individual and who in turn ordained them and so on back to the Lord’ (LDS Church, 2015b). Mormon men can obtain a copy on their priesthood line of authority from the LDS Church, which can be central to personal narratives of priesthood linking participants to the history of the religious institution. I analyse these narratives in the remainder of the chapter, drawing out specific aspects of them. The next section focuses on the articulations’ by participants of the pleasures and gratifications of being priesthood holders.

‘The (male) privilege of holding the priesthood’

As I pointed out earlier, the ‘authority and power’ granted to priesthood holders generates an important distinction between Mormon men in relation to women (and children) in the Church leadership. The hierarchical structure for the government and administration of the LDS Church is laid out in such a way that each one of its members is ultimately under the authority of an adult man. This helps to underpin the androcentric structure of domination, still in place in Mexican society at large (Lagarde, 2005; Amuchástegui and Szasz, 2007a; Nuñez, 2007), in a particularly forceful way within Mexican Mormonism. In this sense, priesthood and its corresponding theological and administrative structures is central to Mormonism as a pillar for the configuration of the gender practice within it that ‘embodies the currently accepted answer to the problem of the legitimacy of patriarchy, which guarantees (or is taken to guarantee) the dominant position of men and the subordination of women’ (Connell, 2005: 77), that is to say, to the hegemonic Mormon masculinity.

Connell’s idea of hegemonic masculinity, as I have previously noted, incorporates the fact that many, if not most, men cannot fully embody it even if they are related to it. Thus, she argues, this relation is one of complicity that allows them to reap the

125 patriarchal dividend even if they will not necessarily get to fulfil the standard laid out by hegemony (Connell, 2005: 79-80). Such a relation of complicity with the hegemonic Mormon masculinity can be drawn from many participants’ narratives of the reasons why only men get to hold the priesthood, and only men who have specific characteristics can exercise its authority in certain positions of the hierarchical structure. One strand of such narratives tended to highlight a necessity that men be the exclusive holders of the Mormon priesthood based on some essentially masculine features. This rationalisation becomes a key element for the production of Mormon masculinity in such cases. Edgar (27), for instance, described priesthood as a spiritual boost to help men in their quest of ‘personal progress’48, as he talked about the significance of men being exclusively ordained. When I asked him what he thought made men more apt or fitted to be priesthood holders than women, he said this was not linked to the any capacities men have, but rather to those they need to develop:

I mean, it’s not that women are inferior, it’s just that in this case, men have more responsibility with the priesthood, and therefore the man is being taught to be responsible. Because I would argue that women already are [responsible], they have the capacity or the ability to be responsible faster than men, to become capable faster than men, and in fact they have a higher spiritual sensitivity, and for a testimony. They are more spiritual, many times, very many times, than men. So imagine, what would the man be if he didn’t have the priesthood? He would literally be nothing, nothing at all.

Edgar’s articulation of the differences between men and women is a clear example of an essentialist notion of gender that seems to be quite present among Mexican Mormons, and indeed many Mexican men in general (Amuchástegui and Szasz, 2007b; Montesinos, 2007). Women can often be portrayed as more prone to spirituality, which translates into higher degrees of devotion and ecclesiastical activity. Men, on the other hand, are presented as more in need of being compelled to ‘act righteously’. Other participants took a similar stance, arguing that men’s imperfections and shortcomings make it necessary for them to have the priesthood. They talked of women being ‘wiser, more intelligent, more sensitive to the promptings of the spirit’ (Héctor, 30); ‘generally more obedient’ (Noel, 39); or ‘more diligent and active’ (Jaime, 35) than men. From this perspective, holding the priesthood works as an incentive for men to perform to

48 I discuss this idea in more detail in chapter 7 on becoming Mormon men.

126 this high standards, something women tend to do ‘naturally’. Thus, these men depict and rationalise holding the priesthood as helping to balance the ‘natural’ differences between men and women, rather than actually producing the distinction.

This rationalisation poses a contradiction, as the descriptions these men make of women as ‘spiritually superior’ suggest that the latter are better fitted to be priesthood holders and occupy leadership positions than the former. However, many participants retreated to this narrative as a defence mechanism when they felt I was questioning their privileged position as priesthood holders. Consider the dialogue I had with Alberto (28, married) in this regard:

Some people think that the Church doesn’t value or treat men and women equally or equitably, what’s your view of this?

Mmm, I’m not sure I… (he pauses and looks at me as if questioning what I am referring to)

For instance, the distribution of responsibilities between men and women. Do you feel it’s equitable, or maybe it’s not equitable but that’s fine; it’s just the way it is? What’s your feeling?

Oh ok, I think I already gave you an answer to that: it’s the roles we have been given. Maybe I don't have it to a 100 percent [satisfactory answer], and maybe to a woman who wants to be a leader and occupy a given position and feels capable of doing it, this make cause her a conflict, right? But as I said I fully believe that we have the role [of man or woman] even from before we are born, and that, I don’t know, that everyone has their role in this life, right?

And do you believe there’s something that makes men particularly apt to have the priesthood? Something that makes them particularly skilled? or some reason why God has chosen them to have the priesthood?

Yes.

And what would that be?

The imperfection we have as men. But, wouldn’t that be a bit of a contradiction? I mean, if they’re the leaders wouldn’t God want them to be more perfect?

No, not really.

So, how do you feel that imperfection makes men more apt to be the leaders… ?

I think the priesthood… I mean, we were talking about this the other day, you might remember: a woman, by nature, even if she’s not from the [LDS] church, tends to be more faithful in all things; to a man, to a job, to her girlfriends, I don't know. She tends to be more faithful, and men don’t. That’s my perception

127 And wouldn’t it be more of an advantage if leaders were more faithful? I mean, if women were leaders the church would have more faithful leaders, so wouldn’t that…

Well, no, not really, because maybe God’s objective is to perfect us, everyone according to their capacities, and having the privilege of holding the priesthood, well, it's a responsibility that makes you think twice, and perhaps that trains us and makes us more apt to perfect ourselves that if we didn’t have it, and we can grow: it’s a way of growth. It’s not a way of exercising an unjust authority toward others or thinking that I am more than others. Maybe it's a way of perfecting the parts that we couldn’t without it.

This exchange is an example of the often contradictory arguments used by some of the participants to justify that men be the exclusive priesthood holders in Mormonism. It is, of course, difficult to assert whether such arguments are truly part of the beliefs these men hold as true. But Alberto’s assertion that we are given a ‘role’ as men or women even before we are born’ –an argument embedded in Mormon doctrine that other participants also presented- equates questioning God’s design, and thus a series of ontological certainties. It also draws on LDS Church General Authorities’ discourse of complementarity according to which ‘(j)ust as a woman cannot conceive a child without a man, so a man cannot fully exercise the power of the priesthood to establish an eternal family without a woman. In other words, in the eternal perspective, both the procreative power and the priesthood power are shared by husband and wife’ (Ballard, 2013: 19). This is closely linked to the model for gender (and specifically familial) relations that I discuss in chapter 6. And it notably resonates with notions of gender complementarity that have pervaded policy and everyday life in Mexico and Latin America, and have been widely discussed and critiqued in the region because of the ways in which they tend to obscure gender inequalities (Sichra, 2004).

Whether participants thoroughly believed these principles or only embrace them mostly because they find them advantageous, they are part of a narrative that these men actually ‘live by’ (Gillis, 1997). In other words, it helps them make sense of their position in the frame of gender relations. Moreover, their taking a defensive stance suggests that these men have a profound investment in such a narrative, as it works in supporting and sustaining the current state of affairs in the Mexican context — particularly within Mormonism— and the status within it that being men/priesthood holders confers upon them. Reproducing this narrative is part of these men’s masculine practice and, to that extent, of their being Mexican/Mormon men.

128 When I asked participants to reflect on their status as men/priesthood holders within Mormonism, many of them talked about it in terms of a ‘privilege’ and a mostly gratifying practice. Benito’s answer to the question of what he had enjoyed the most of being a Mormon man, for instance, focused on the different activities that his condition as a man enabled him to perform:

I’ve liked being a man, particularly in the church, because I think it’s always been really clear the situations to which you have access as a man, since very young ages. For example, at 12 the priesthood, ‘good job that I’m a man’ right? Because I can have the priesthood since 12, and all that entails: passing the sacrament, being a messenger for the bishop, all that; I really liked doing that, right? Then comes the Melchizedek priesthood, prior to the mission, ‘now I can bless the sick and baptise people!’ Then the mission; I went on mine in the 90s, and in that time it was more commonly thought of men as having to go on missions, right? And I always wanted to be a missionary, so that made feel even more satisfied with being man in the church, right? Because I could go easily, without any leader trying to talk me out of it, on the contrary, they were like ‘go ahead, it’s your duty! It’s great that you’re going!’ Now, after the mission, I may have a different perspective, but during my childhood, adolescence and youth I felt really grateful for being a man in the church.

Holding the priesthood can thus be linked to a series of concrete activities that men can undertake that are highly valued within the context of institutional Mormonism because of their ritualistic and symbolic significance. These include, as pointed out by Benito, the administering of ‘ordinances’, going into missionary service and acting as leaders in the church. Moreover, priesthood grants men access to power (‘I can have the priesthood since 12’), autonomy (‘now I can bless the sick and baptise people’), mobility (‘I could go (on a mission) easily), and agency (without any leader trying to talk me out of it’) through this activities, and restricts them for women. It is also worth noting that some of these men show a certain degree of reflexivity regarding their privileged position as men. This has been reported before in studies on the issue of gender inequality in Mexico and other Latin American countries, with men ‘extensively acknowledging’ the inequalities between men and women in the distribution of the home labour, for example (Barker and Aguayo, 2011).

On the other hand, participants acknowledged that the possibility for men to ‘hold and exercise’ the priesthood generates differences between men and women, in prominence and/or dominance. Less readily acknowledged or addressed were the differences in this sense generated among men. This may be partially the product of gender difference

129 being perceived as designed and upheld by God, and thus unquestionable. Differences among men seemed to be more difficult to articulate as divinely decreed. The Mormon doctrinal teaching that ‘he that is righteous is favored of God’ (The Book of Mormon, 1 Nephi 17:35) encourages a competitive/meritocratic scheme among men to win God’s favour. But this idea can cause dissonance when cases of perceived ‘righteousness’ can be seen not appropriately rewarded, or ‘unrighteousness’ being unfairly rewarded. This was not really developed by participants in the interviews, but it was hinted when some of them spoke of focusing on their ‘own progress’ rather than on that others’ achievements, or the criticism they have been subjected to as priesthood leaders (I will come back to this point in the last section of the chapter). They seemed, however, to implicitly recognise that the positions they may attain by being priesthood holders, and the activities they get to participate in because of that, afford them opportunities to gain hierarchical privilege and that this can be gratifying. Ernesto, for instance, referred precisely to this opportunity to be in the ‘limelight’ of the community when I asked him about the things he liked best about being a Mormon man:

I think it’s that prominence that the man has in the church, because of the priesthood, the issue of leadership, that prominence that the man may have, because at 12 he is ordained to priesthood, and girls have to remain only onlookers, or boys are advanced to a new [priesthood] office and women, again, only onlookers. Then the mission that always has a heavier weight for men. They’ve recently changed the service ages and there are more women, but I think the elder, the man, will always be seen differently than the sister missionary. The other callings that there might be. I think, in general terms, and I’d be a part of that generality, that’s the more enjoyable side of being a man in the church, right? This calling and the other, and as a man you have more opportunities to serve, to work; not that sisters don’t have them, of course they do, but there’s more opportunity for the man to show.

As pointed out by Ernesto, priesthood is the vehicle through which Mormon men access positions within the hierarchical structure of the Church, however implicitly or explicitly they may assume the existence of such a structure. The hierarchical structure within priesthood itself situates Mormon men relationally with respect to other Mormon men through the concept of priesthood office, the sort of ‘rank’ that a man holds at a given point in his life. As I have mentioned above, the position a man occupies in the leadership structure at a given point is conditional to holding a particular office (e.g. a man needs to have the office of high priest in order to occupy the position as a ward’s bishop).

130 Thus, the notion of priesthood fosters hierarchical positions and relations of subordination among Mormon men, as it endows some of them with specific powers (and responsibilities) in particular settings. In this sense, men’s priesthood offices and, most importantly, leadership positions are important in the enactment of different masculinities in the context of Mexican Mormonism, if we understand such masculinities to be ‘configurations of practice that are accomplished in social action and, therefore, can differ according to the gender relations in a particular social setting’ (Connell and Messerschmidt, 2005: 836).

In spite of their recognition of their privileges as men, many participants resorted to the complementarity discourse, highlighting the ‘gift of maternity’ and describing it as akin to holding the priesthood. The physiological capacity to gestate is described as a privileged opportunity, granted exclusively to (biological) women, to be ‘co-creators’ with God. Motherhood is given great spiritual and symbolic significance in Mormon discourse. A few of the participants seemed to draw on those notions to articulate a priesthood holding-motherhood dichotomy that only makes sense within the familial frame for masculinities and femininities that I discuss in Chapter 6. In more practical terms, the motherhood end of the dichotomy is fundamentally linked to the actual process of pregnancy and, to a lesser extent, to the nurturing and education of children, as illustrated by the following quotes:

I think those who claim for women ordination to priesthood are making a problem where there’s none, because in the end, I mean, women have a role, they’re co-creators with the Lord to bring children to Earth, right? They have a major role in the family. Yes, the father needs to be an example, provide for the family and other things, right? But the mother too, she’s in charge of us as men and women to remain here [in the LDS Church], because a lot of what they teach will have an effect on the future of the church, because they’re the ones in charge of the nurturing of the family (Antonio).

[Women] don’t stop to think that we as men, yes, we can hold the priesthood, and bless our family and other people, we can help the church improve, but they don’t stop to think that they’re goddesses and priestesses, as the scriptures say. They have such a great gift, to give life. I don't have it, a man doesn’t have in him to give life, they can give life; they can have their spirit and another spirit together in one little body, give it form, grow it and guide it. Many sisters they say: ‘I don’t have that power [of priesthood]’ Of course you do! You have the power to give life (Héctor).

This type of responses was not uncommon among participants. Such rhetoric seems to be part of a well-rehearsed narrative to appease dissenting Mormon women (and men),

131 and to defend the model from criticism. It signals to instances of resistance and challenge to it, as suggested by Héctor’s or Antonio’s assertions that ‘many sisters say’ or that ‘those who claim for women ordination’. Elsewhere, I have discussed other testimonials of Mormon women ‘disputing’ male leadership in their home or at Church, especially concerning parenting (Siles, 2012b). What I would like to highlight here is that there are moments of resistance to the gender order underpinned by Mormonism that manifest themselves within it, too. Alejandra (34), for example, is a single woman who identified herself as a Mormon feminist, and is not active in the LDS Church. When I asked her about the reasons why she had gone ‘inactive’ she told me it had mostly to do with a realisation that ‘as a woman you don’t have the priesthood, but beyond the priesthood, you have no decision making power within the ecclesiastical structure’. Many women seem to be able to negotiate that situation and remain active believing Mormons. Abril (41), a married woman, seems to have found a way of dealing with this issue by letting her husband ‘be the patriarch’ at Church, and being free of all the responsibilities of priesthood. However, she does make her discontent known when it comes to such dominance extending to the realms of everyday life:

‘I’ve told [her husband], sure you’re the priesthood and all the rest of it, but here at home we’re equally important. We both have a very well defined roles, husband and wife, and I know how to take care of mine [as a housewife]; I don’t need to be bossed around to do it! ‘cos I like doing it and I’m good at it!’. Abril stressed the issue of the God given roles and responsibilities, and that she agrees with them because in that model, women are given ‘enough responsibilities to take care of’ so as to be for burdening them further by giving them priesthood related responsibilities.

‘Kind of like that bit in Spiderman’ Priesthood: power and responsibility

Domingo (31), a graduate student who is married and has two children, had been a Mormon for nearly four years at the time I met him. He was one of the participants who seemed more prone to defending the LDS Church’s positions during the interview, particularly that to exclusively ordain men to priesthood. Towards the end of our conversation, I said to him I was still not very clear as to how he thought the priesthood was such a necessary help for men, and yet thought women did not need it. Trying to make the case for this situation as an advantage for women, rather than a limitation, he offered:

132 Well, us men having the priesthood, it’s like, a different kind of responsibility falls on us (…) In fact, when you’re being interviewed to receive the priesthood you’re asked whether you’re fully aware, if you’re fully responsible, kind of like that bit in Spiderman that ‘with great power comes great responsibility’, something like that. They simply ask you because, actually, it’s like, this is a different kind of covenant we make…

Domingo’s response highlighted the distinction that priesthood holding creates between Mormon men and women, but did not quite address my question. Rather, the idea he seemed to try to convey was that, aside from a privilege, being a priesthood holder is also a ‘great responsibility’ that can generate not only pleasures but also some pains. He refers to this as a ‘different’ responsibility, to that of women, one that presumably views as extra challenging. Such an opinion was shared by a few other participants, like Héctor, who talked about the responsibilities men are given as priesthood holders and how those can weigh on men at times:

Sometimes I think it’s quite hard as a man, because you know all the stuff you have to do, right? As a member of the (LDS) Church, and especially as a man: you have to be the patriarch of your home, guide your family, provide for them, pay tithing, serve the Church, and give to it your time, your talents, all your things to the Church, right? And as a man you have to perform at a 100%. So it is hard, it’s not easy, cos it sometimes feels like one man has to split himself in many pieces, right? Deliver here, deliver there, do this, and do that.

The above quote by Héctor is one of the few explicit comments I received from participants about the difficulty of being a man/priesthood holder within Mormonism, as most of the answers by the men tended to highlight what they presented as positive aspects of it. Héctor referred to the multi-task model of male worker, prevalent in late modern society, as defining of his experience as a Mormon man. During one of the Sunday priesthood meetings, Bishop Martínez told the men present that being a priesthood holder was not so much about ‘feeling special’ as much as it was about ‘hard work’. Thus, the idea of the ‘great responsibility’ that being a priesthood holder entails was constantly presented by participants as way to attenuate the privilege that they perceive as potentially being the object of attack and criticism. Likewise, emphasising the perceived difficulties that come with holding and excursing priesthood power and authority seems to be a way of performing the Christian notion of humility that is stated as a condition for the righteous exercise of priesthood in Mormon discourse.

133 This seems to give way to a need by participants to constantly display a humble attitude about their privilege. An interesting example is what Mauricio (25) articulated when I asked him for his position regarding the claim for priesthood ordination by some LDS women. On the one hand, he seemed to acknowledge the existence of a hierarchy linked to priesthood holding and the LDS Church leadership structure. On the other hand, his answer has an imprint of a constant effort to try and nuance such a notion:

I think I get where they’re coming from, but from what I can see they’re thinking of it like priesthood equals superiority. So, they’re saying: ‘if I don't have it, I’m not as superior as a man’, because they’re seeing priesthood as the authority, the way it’s perceived in the world; for example, in a company a manager is greater than his subordinates, and that’s always quite clear. In the case of the church, the priesthood isn’t greater than those it serves. In fact, the priesthood is lower than those it serves, because it is there to serve. It’s as if a man who has employees in his house to serve him complains to the dishwasher: ‘why can’t I be like you? Why can’t I be the one who serves?’ So, if we see it from the world’s perspective, we’re talking about that yes, women are considered inferior. But if we look at it from the perspective that Jesus Christ himself taught, that ‘he who wants to be great shall be your servant’, then we’re talking about women wanting to be servants, wanting to be inferior, but in reality they are conceiving of priesthood as superior, right?

Mauricio’s articulation centres on the idea of the priesthood holder as a servant, not only to God but also to his fellow members of the religious community. The tension is between the ‘power and authority’ that priesthood confers, and the Mormon discourse that priesthood is primarily an instrument for service. Mauricio implicitly recognised that there is a hierarchy intrinsically linked to priesthood, while he tried to suggest that having access to positions higher up in that hierarchy does in effect mean to descend it by becoming a servant.

I would argue that this type of rationalisation, along with the assertions by some of the participants about men being ‘more imperfect’ and in more need for ‘heavenly help’ via holding the priesthood, is part of a constant effort that participants seemed to make to display (at least discursively) the humility that legitimises the exercise of priesthood, which is constantly asserted in Mormon discourse. At the same time, their accounts convey a feeling of gratification from recognising themselves (and being recognised by others) as priesthood holders, and from occupying or having occupied positions in the leadership structure. This speaks of the duality in the participants’ experience of

134 priesthood, constantly speaking of holding it as a ‘privilege’ and at the same time trying to display the humility necessary to underpin such privilege.

A tension between the search for the pleasurable elements of priesthood holding and exercise and the need to remain ‘humble’ can be observed in many of the participants’ accounts of their experience ‘serving’ in various Church callings. ‘The mission’ is a particular experience many of these men have had, which epitomises the consecration and service to the LDS Church that is expected from men/priesthood holders in combination with the need to be ‘humble servants’. In the following section, I look into the narratives of these men of their experience as missionaries.

‘Called to serve’

Since the early days of the Mormon movement, the incipient leadership started calling the first LDS missionaries to go on proselytising missions. Although there are records of women being called as Mormon missionaries as early as 1898 (Mangum, 1980), the image of the young missionary men has become a visual referent of Mormonism, for both Mormons and non-Mormons alike. This can be attributed to the substantially larger presence of Mormon men in missionary labour. In the ideal path to Mormon masculinity, it is expected that every man goes on a full-time two year mission when he reaches the age of 18 (and before he turns 25). Thus, it is not surprising that the majority of the men I talked to, who were already Mormons when they reached the age stipulated, went on missions. Nor is it surprising that those who converted to Mormonism at a later stage in life, all of them active believing Mormons, told me they wished they could have served a mission.

This speaks of the ascendency that la misión, as Mexican Mormons most commonly refer to an LDS full-time mission, has gained in Mormon lore and way of life. As I discuss in more detail in Chapter 7, Mormon boys are expected to go on missions when they turn 19, return two years later and (re)incorporate into productive life, marriage and further ecclesiastical service. In the sense of Arnold van Gennep’s (2001 [1960]) classical concept, la misión serves as a rite of passage for Mormon boys to transition into manhood. There is an overarching narrative of this experience as a time for ‘personal and spiritual growth’, to obtain a ‘true testimony of the gospel’, and to get to truly know oneself, to which many participants seemed to subscribe. Men are ordained

135 elders in order to go into missionary work, that specific rite of ordination that is so closely linked to the mission, means men also transition as members of ‘the lesser (Aaronic) priesthood’ to the ‘greater (Melchizedek) priesthood, that is, from one ‘magico-religious group into another’ (van Gennep (2001 [1960]:11).

At the same time, la misión works as a rite of preparation for life as a (Mormon) adult, as for many boys it will be the first time outside the family home. Missionaries have to be single, not having been married before, and marriage is usually stressed as having to occur chronologically not so long after completing a full time mission, typically around age 21. Gabriel (51), for instance, told me that he was instructed by his mission president49 not to delay his getting married during his last interview with him as he was returning home from his mission. Added to this is the fact that sexual activity is restricted only to married life, and, as Alberto (28) put it, ‘hormones turn you into a whirlwind’ in your early twenties after coming back from your mission. I discuss the implication for this in term of familial and sexual relations in the next chapter. For now, I would just say that as an illustration, from the 15 ‘returned missionaries’ I interviewed, nine were married. The remaining six were all under age 30, two of them under 25. Also worth noting, only two of them said they would not mind never getting married as they identified as gay, and the LDS Church does not approve of non-heterosexual marriages.

Among those participants who have grown up as Mormons, a constant response to the question of what motivated them to go on a mission was that they simply felt it was a ‘natural’ part of their Mormon ‘culture’ or ‘lifestyle’. Indeed, serving either in leadership positions, teaching capacities, and/or performing any other tasks in the LDS Church is a central part of membership in it. It is also a central part of the path to Mormons masculinity that I expound on in chapter 7. The narrative in this sense of Gabriel (51), who converted to Mormonism precisely at age 18, offered further insight into the motivations men may have for embracing church service, and especially going on missions:

Look, at the beginning I started serving in the church for the prestige, because people pay their respects to you: ‘What a nice talk! What a beautiful class, brother! That’s a

49 LDS missionary work in a particular area or ‘mission’ is directed by a married adult man called to serve as that mission’s president for three years. During that time, he lives in the area with his family and dedicates full-time to this task.

136 beautiful tie you’re wearing! Please come visit us, brother, come by our house’. There’s a certain flattery, a strong flattery. In my case, even before I went on a mission, I mean, I was a 19 year old boy and there were a lot of girls, all smiling at you, flirting with you, saying: ‘I want a returned missionary’ or ‘when you get back from your mission’. There’s a culture of that. So I went [on a mission] with the idea of learning and serving, and receiving more authority and prestige in exchange. I can tell you this wasn’t a clear idea or feeling, I mean, I didn't know then what I was doing or what would happen, I was sure of that, that I didn’t understand it fully. But a great motivation was knowing the missionaries and the life they led; I did admire them, that admiration also motivated me, but I paid that respect to them and I wanted to get it, too.

Gabriel admitted that the prestige associated with service in the church was a pleasure he identified early on in his life as a Mormon man, and that this was attractive to him. At the same, time he seemed to be fully aware of the need to contain this ambition, at least discursively. He nuanced his statements by stressing that service in the context of Mormonism must be rendered with a humble attitude, otherwise it loses its validity. Furthermore, the hegemonic model of the Mormon servant also calls for the display of a true conviction that the cause in which one embarks as a priesthood holder (and especially as a Mormon missionary) is of the highest value. Thus he resorts to a narrative of redemption, constantly drawn on by Mormon discourse, by virtue of which the satisfaction of acting as a church servant comes from knowing that one is fulfilling a higher mission:

Now, during my weeks at the missionary training centre, I developed a personal relationship with God, so when I got to the mission field I wasn't looking for that anymore, during that time my soul was purified to be a missionary. And I started serving God, not men. Now, the respect came, and in time it infected me, because I like it. And only until a few years ago I was able to control it. But for a while I was a horrible person; I was a good member of the Church who did good things, but always with an interest. For a long time I did it unconsciously, but at some point I became demanding [of the recognition], I was always waiting for the compliment, and if it didn’t come I went actively seeking for it.

Gabriel seemed to have incorporated the notion that serving solely for the pleasures of prominence and dominance that being a priesthood leader affords is a negative thing, so bad as to turn someone into a ‘horrible person’. One may even incur in the sin of ‘pride’ or what he described, quoting Mormon scripture, as ‘priestcraft’. So Gabriel said he now tries to take it as a by-product of focusing on the real purpose of church

137 service: making himself a better person and serving his fellow church members. However, he said this is latent danger, as people are constantly willing to laud good performances. So he needs to keep an active vigilance in order not to enjoy the recognition ‘too much’, which highlights the tension between the pleasure of prestige and the need to be humble that I elaborated on in a previous section of the chapter. In trying to display such humbleness men can, and sometimes do, still come across as boastful. I would argue that this is in part due to the fact that, in addition to the ritualistic dimension of the mission as a passage, and the gratifications that it brings to participants, it also helps them accrue a specific symbolic capital (Bourdieu and Wacquant, 2013) that is valuable to climb in the leadership structure of the LDS Church and perform in it.

Finally, there is an epic narrative of la misión that is encapsulated in the common phrase that returned missionaries usually employ to describe their mission as ‘the best two years’ of their lives. This narrative is constructed through a story telling exercise of missionary experiences that takes place in spaces such as the monthly testimony meetings I talked about in the previous chapter, the ‘homecoming talks’ delivered by returned missionaries on the Sunday service following their arriving home, or in the moments that active missionaries share with regular LDS members when they visit their homes50. As noted by Alberto, these stories tend to ‘only include the bright side’ of the missionary experience and minimise the potentially harmful or difficult aspects of it. Many participants were encouraged to go on missions by such a narrative, which generated a series of expectations in them in terms of a unique and valuable life experience:

My dad also served as a missionary, so he always talked to us about his mission a lot, right? And how important it had been in his life, having served as a missionary. So, whether you want it or not, you unconsciously want to experience that. I see my dad as a hero, so if he went through that, I wondered: what would it be like to do it? (Antonio, 26)

I wanted to live that experience, because there were always missionaries hanging around in our house, always! My dad loved them, I guess because he didn’t get to be a missionary himself, but he loved having them over at home, and so I spent a lot of time around missionaries (Jaime, 35).

50 It is common that regular and active LDS households in a particular ward have the missionaries assigned to their area over for dinner at least once a month. In many wards this is done systematically and coordinated by the ward’s ‘Relief Society’ , the group of adult women in a given congregation.

138 The missionaries who baptised us [he and his family] spent a lot of time with us and also a few others after them. And they told us many stories about their mission was, of the miracles that took place, the change in people’s lives, I was about 15 or 16, and I have always been interested in those sorts of things. So I became fascinated with their stories, and I went: I want to be a missionary! I want to live those stories, not just have them told to me! (Fernando, 48)

Thus, aside from the construction of expectations in terms of spirituality and the rite of passage, this epic narrative of missionary service fosters other kinds of expectations in terms of life experiences. This resonates with the increased practice by youth of taking a ‘gap year’ at around similar ages. Research on this phenomenon has shown ‘gap year’ backpacking and/or youth volunteer-tourism to be driven by expectations in terms of identity formation (King, 2011), pleasurable/hedonistic life experiences (Simpson, 2004; Lyons et al. 2012), and/or status acquisition (O’Reilly, 2006).

(Not always) the best two years of a man’s life

Going on a mission and returning from it ‘with honour’ gives men in particular a great symbolic capital in Mormonism. As noted by Ernesto in a quote above, ‘the elder will always be seen different than the sister missionary’ because men are expected to serve as missionaries and recognised greatly when they do. Partly because of this aura of specialness around men’s missions, the tendency among Mormon men is to avoid discussing negative experiences of missionary service or to dismiss them as ‘challenges’ to learn something from, or simply ‘funny anecdotes’. Psychological research has documented women reporting less satisfying missionary experiences than men (Adams and Clopton, 1990), and recent discussion of sexual harassment and assault experienced by sister missionaries has sparked a conversation (at least in the US) about the less pleasurable side of the mission.51

Men are also held to a higher standard during the time of their mission and when they become ‘returned missionaries’, and looked down upon if they do not fulfil their duty to go, if they interrupt their service, or do not live up to the expectations held for them. The case of Damián (32) is particularly illustrative in this regard. He had identified he

51 An interesting example in this regard is the initiative called ‘Time for cambio’ , started by a returned sister missionary who was sexuality assaulted while serving a mission in Bolivia. The initiative calls for women and men to share their stories of experiencing ‘neglect, isolation, ecclesiastical abuse, unrighteous dominion, health crises, sexual assaults and violent crimes’ while serving as LDS missionaries, with the aim to raise awareness on such issues (See https://www.timeforcambio.org/ )

139 was ‘attracted to men’ during his teenage years and knew he did not fit the model for the Mormon teenager, ‘let alone for the missionary’, and men in general. Damian spoke candidly about his difficulties as a missionary, and told me that his mission had been much more a negative social experience than a positive one:

My mission wasn’t pleasant at all. I cannot tell you: “Those were the best two years of my life” [signals inverted commas] because that’s simply not true. I don’t know how other experienced it but I struggled. I had very weird companions; very weird experiences (…) life-long members [of the LDS Church] and other missionaries would usually tell me: ‘We’d never met a missionary quite like you’. Don’t know if they meant it as a compliment or a complaint but that’s what they’d say. And my mission president, well, he was very strict. Mind you, he’d let me get away with many unusual things, like putting up road shows and things of the sort to attract people [to Mormonism], I guess because I was a successful missionary in bringing people into the Church. But I certainly wasn’t very well liked.

Damian’s mission came to an end abruptly when he was 20 months in, out of the 24 that a regular full-time mission comprises. One night he woke up in the middle of the night, went to his companion’s bed and touched him ‘in a sexual way’ while he was asleep. When his companion woke up and confronted him he said he ‘came to (his) senses’ and knew this was a point of no return. He called his mission president and told him about the incident. The mission president transferred him to a different area and told him he would ‘consult’ about the way forward for him in the mission, because he would not want to lose such a good missionary. However, a week later he was called into the president’s office and asked to bring all his things along. He was then sent home with the instruction to ‘go, repent and then come back to the mission field’. But Damian did not return to his mission. He said going through those last days and then going home had already been too difficult to do so:

When I went back to my ward I was expecting the worst ‘they’re gonna crucify me’, I thought. The bishop went to pick me up (from the station), he took me to my parents, asked: ‘how you doing? We’re gonna have a disciplinary council’, which we didn’t, eventually, but I said: ‘do as you please’. And I felt awful; I had always felt awful, ‘cos everyone always told me: ‘you could’ve been so much more!’ I don’t know why but everyone saw me, like, something greater and I feel… I mean, I don’t have a degree, a great body, I mean; I’m not the prototype of success, in the Church, right? Or in the world, really, I mean, no money, or nice clothes… But there were so many emotions when I got back, I thought to myself: ‘excommunicate me, sack me from the Church, I’m the lowest of the low’ I longed for it.

140 Damian’s experience speaks of the highly heteronormative nature of Mormon missionary service. The ‘heterosexual panorama’ (Blasius, 1994) that Mormonism tries to maintain is particularly pervasive in this context, as missionaries are portrayed as quasi asexual. Thus, the fact that two young men or two young women spend virtually every moment of the day together and share intimate spaces (including a bedroom) is never openly discussed as a possible scenario for homoerotism or homosexual activity. Damian’s mission president explicitly instructed him and his companion not to talk about the incident to anyone in the mission. Damian told me the president seemed very upset when he talked to him about the incident, ‘he was in tears, telling me it hurt him to see me ‘fall from grace’ like this’, he recalled. Particularly striking to him was the president’s suggestion that his companion could be (negatively) marked by the experience for life: ‘that made me feel really bad, and it’s extremely mortifying for me, to this day’ he told me. Cases of heterosexual activity involving missionaries can be ‘overlooked’ if they are not deemed too serious. But Damian and other participants’ feeling was that homosexual ‘misconducts’ are immediately and inevitably punishable.

Leonardo, a man who also identifies as gay, told me that he did not ‘struggle’ with his ‘same-sex attraction’ during his mission. Focusing on the work he was assigned to do, allowed him to ‘get lost in the service’. This gave him a feeling that spiritual strength might even help him overcome his homosexuality altogether. Thus, he was able to finish his mission and go home ‘honourably’. However, as soon as he was back into ‘normal life’ he felt his ‘level of spirituality’ was immediately affected by the lack of the spiritual discipline that the rules of missionary service provided him with.

This feeling of loss of spirituality is a common experience among recently returned missionaries. Moreover, it can be experienced as a sensation of being ‘demoted’ or also losing a certain status that can only be held effectively being a missionary. Antonio had returned from his mission a little over a year before I interviewed him. Discussing his experience of returning, he said the following:

It’s hard at first to adapt to the returned-missionary life. I don’t know why, but in the church we tend to label people quite a lot: the returned missionary, the one who didn’t go on a mission, the one who got sent back before time, the future missionary. So you have suddenly changed the label, you’re not the missionary anymore, you’re the returned missionary (...) So you go: ‘wait, that’s not cool!’ cause bearing the missionary label is really cool, everyone respects you and loves you, and the returned missionary label is not as cool (…)

141

Antonio talked about the conception of men with respect to missionary service in terms of ‘a label’, a set of attitudes and characteristics that men are expected to show according to how they are positioned in terms of the Mormon imperative to be a missionary. When talking about the difficulties of being a Mormon man, he identified the relationship a man has with this mandate as a potential source of distress for some men:

It’s the social expectations that are there, because whether you want it or not you’re part of this small world. I mean, I’m meeting you now and I know I might see you again years later because this (Mormon) world is small. So sometimes you feel pressured precisely because of that. Because you think if I don't do this the community is going to know. And you don't want this to affect you or your family, because it happens. I mean, I see it with my brother, he’s seen as the one who didn’t go on a mission, got married before, and all that. Sometimes he’s resented that some brothers of older age go: ‘Oh, but your brother didn't go on a mission, right?’ But they don’t do it in an innocuous way, you know, but with an ill intention.

As pointed out by Antonio, having ‘gone on a mission’ or being a ‘returned missionary’ is of importance in the acquisition of symbolic capital for Mormon men. The ideal pattern of Mormon masculinity I have referred to demands that all Mormon men who have the opportunity serve as missionaries. Not doing so creates the ‘label’ of the one who could go but chose not to, he who did not do what he was supposed to. This ‘label’ is viewed as undesirable by the Mormon collective, who tends to respond unfavourably to such condition, like in the case of Antonio’s brother. Thus, not having served a mission creates a stigma (Goffman, 2009 [1963]) that taints Mormon masculinity. This can be attenuated in the cases of those men who did not have the opportunity to go on a mission, whether because they joined the church at a later stage or any other circumstances. But the symbolic capital that having been a missionary affords is still a distinguishing factor. Raúl, a Mormon convert who joined the LDS Church in his fifties, was called to a leadership position of some prominence in his ward soon after he had joined the church. Even if he cannot be reproached for making a bad decision not going on a mission as he did not even know of Mormonism when he was 19, it seemed as though he felt that lack of the missionary experience tainted his masculinity as a figure of authority in the Mormon context:

I was talking to a brother of the group about, well, on my insistence that they visit the families of the ward, and his response was along the lines of: ‘Well, it’s hard, brother, for us to take action under your direction, because we have a leader, who is guiding us,

142 that is a recent convert, and he didn’t go on a mission’. That response made me go: ‘Well, that’s how he feels about it’, and perhaps it’s not valid but that’s how this particular member feels, and maybe it’s someone else’s feeling, too, and they’ve discussed it. But I think those are barriers that we’ve probably put up ourselves, like, ‘How can we have a president that’s a recent convert, or that’s been a member of the church for a very short time, and therefore didn’t go on a mission?’ And I thought, ‘Well, I guess it’s valid, it’s how he feels, but I thought to myself: ‘I didn’t ask for this calling, and if there are so many other people who could do it, why haven’t they done, or sought, if you think this calling should’ve gone to someone who was born in the church, someone who went on a mission or what not, perhaps it’s because they haven’t put in the effort, or they haven’t done the work, I don't know.

Bearing the stigma of the lack of missionary experience or of life-long membership in the LDS Church can thus be problematic for men once they have accessed positions in the leadership structure. Ramón told me a similar experience when he was called to somewhat prominent position at the stake level, having been a member of the LDS Church for only a couple of years. He told me someone asked him bluntly ‘how come you are in this position being only a recent convert?’ This caused him some discomfort and distress, until he was interviewed by a leader above him in the hierarchy. In that interview he shared his concerns in this regard with the leader, who assured him he had been appointed because of his capacities and by ‘divine inspiration’ so he did not need to feel as he was ‘taking up someone else’s rightful place’. The validation from an authority figure gave Ramón the reassurance that he was on the correct path of righteous exercise of the priesthood.

Conclusion

In this chapter I have expounded how the priesthood works as one of the main linchpins around which the gender regime of Mormonism is articulated, and a constitutive element of Mormon hegemonic masculinity. This gender regime arranges a set of relations and interactions that operate on the premise that there exist two discrete and clearly defined groups, namely, men and women, and that specific functions have been divinely assigned to them. Moreover, this arrangement has developed historically into a structure within which privileged positions have been occupied fundamentally by the male group who still controls them and systematically excludes women from them. In this sense, it can accurately be described as ‘patriarchal’ (Pease, 2000; Cranny-Francis et al., 2003). Simultaneously, the priesthood generates differentiated positions and

143 produces hierarchical relations among men, on the basis of authority (offices and leadership positions), as well as of symbolic (worthiness, spirituality) and physiological (age) characteristics. This is conducive to speaking of hegemonic and subordinate masculinities within Mormonism and reinforces its patriarchal character.

As highlighted by Pease (2000) the dynamics of patriarchy are changing, which allows ‘opportunities for intervention’ (p. 13). These opportunities present themselves scarcely in Mormonism, but instances of resistance to patriarchal subordination do appear in the few women’s narratives that I was able to collect, as well as on men’ narratives, and I have cited a few brief examples. This may help explain the reflexivity shown by some of the participants around their privileges as Mormon men. Similarly, the perceived difficulties or ambivalences that participants spoke about as being part of priesthood holding can be seen as part of these changing dynamics of patriarchal arrangements. ‘Priesthood responsibilities’ have accumulated over time from purely religious or ritualistic activity, as pointed out by some participants. The expectation of a ‘righteous’ exercise of the priesthood has developed to incorporate different aspects of Church administration and management that signal its bureaucratisation. These include attending meetings, seating in committees, keeping records and statistics, and so on. At the same time it incorporates elements of ‘new masculinities’ discourses, in the shape of the demand that Mormon men be more involved in child rearing and care, and are closer parents and partners, as also expressed by some participants. This speaks of the production of contemporary Mormon masculinities in Mexico City being informed by modern and/or late-modern discourses, as well as by the rhetoric of Mormonism as a restoration of the original Christian ‘tradition’.

Finally, through the case of missionary service, as I have shown how priesthood as a system helps men gain symbolic capital (Bourdieu and Wacquant, 2013) in their Mormon milieu that can aid their climbing the hierarchy and leadership structure of the LDS Church and perform in it. I have also discussed how the lack of this capital can generate a negative ‘label’ or stigma (Goffman, 2009 [1963]) that has the opposite and undesired effect of hindering their ‘progress’ in the path to ideal Mormon manhood. I have illustrated this through the narratives of the participants who did not serve as missionaries. These provide insights into the way in which the lack of this cultural capital has reflected negatively in their church service and leadership outside the context of the mission, especially through their legitimacy and skill to be priesthood

144 leaders being contested by other men on those grounds. This symbolic capital (or lack thereof) is also relevant in other domains of their life as Mormon men, such as that of establishing ‘romantic’ relationships, pursuing marriage and family life, and so on, as articulated by some participants through the expectation of Mormon women to marry a ‘returned missionary’, something I expound on in the next chapter.

I have analysed the ways in which participants conceived of and experienced priesthood, and how this has informed their performance of masculinities. I now turn to the relevance of marriage, family life, and relationships in that same sense.

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145 6 – ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIPS, MARRIAGE, AND FAMILY IN THE PRODUCTION AND EXPERIENCE OF MORMON MASCULINITIES

1. I have a fam’ly here on earth / They are so good to me / I want to share my life with them through all eternity.

2. While I am in my early years / I’ll prepare most carefully / So I can marry in God’s temple for eternity.

Fam’lies can be together forever / Through Heav’nly Father’s plan / I always want to be with my own family / And the Lord has shown me how I can / The Lord has shown me how I can.

Families can be together forever (Mormon Hymn)

Introduction

Mormon children sing and learn this song called ‘Families can be together forever’ (LDS Church, 1985) during their Sunday lessons in Primary. It has only two short verses and a refrain (repeated after each) that convey a very concise message. It summarises the structure of familial relationships that Mormon masculinities are to be produced and experienced through and within, that Mormon men and women are given since the earliest stage of their life. In this chapter, I analyse participants’ narratives of the relationships they have established within and through this structure. They take place within the realm of what can be defined as ‘romance’. Some of them have led participants to marriage or have at least been established with that end in mind. Other narratives are more concerned with the family experience itself, both in terms of the families they come from and the ones they currently inhabit. I discuss all of this in order to observe the masculinities at play in them. The aim of the chapter is to explore how masculinities are produced, reproduced, and experienced, both within and through these relationships, through the analysis of such narratives.

146 I open the chapter outlining the current tenets upheld by Mormonism in regard to family, and the implications these have for relationships among Mormons. I do so through the analysis of a seminal document published just over 20 years ago by the LDS Church, which has become the core referent for understanding and ‘doing’ family within Mormonism. I discuss the importance of this document in the establishing of Mormonism’s gender regime in the Mexican context, and the ways in which it reinforces the overall Mexican gender order. I argue that the harmonisation of these normative discourse and structures around gender identities and relationships linked to family influence and shape the production and experience of Mormon familial masculinities.

Section two discusses participants’ accounts of their experiences of establishing what some of them define as ‘sentimental’ or ‘romantic’ relationships. The narratives are discussed in terms of three streams. The first one includes narratives of relationships driven by romance and/or sexuality. These include both heterosexual and non- heterosexual experiences. Another stream consists of trajectories that are established with the prospect of marriage and family formation explicitly in mind, and therefore, conducted within the heteronormative framework for relationships provided by Mormonism. Finally, the third stream is composed of relational trajectories that resulted in establishing institutionalised relationships (i.e. marriages). I explore the notions of masculinity at play in all these narratives and the ways in which they influenced the form and trajectories of the relationships.

The third section of the chapter deals with the experience of masculinity in the context of families as such. I analyse participants’ narratives of their families of origin, discussing their accounts of the relationships through which they interacted with their mothers, fathers, and siblings. I pay particular attention to the ways in which they portray masculinities and femininities of the different members of their families, and the ways in which those have informed their own notions of masculinity, as well as their experience of it in terms of ‘life’ decisions (i.e. whether to stay within, convert to, or draw away from Mormonism; who and when to date/marry; what careers to pursue, and so on). Finally, I discuss participants’ accounts of the families they currently ‘live with’ (Gillis, 1997), and the interactions at play within that relational framework. The focus of the section is the participants’ lived familial masculinity and the position they

147 occupy in the network of familial relationships, vis-à-vis the prescribed model of Mormonism.

‘The proclamation of the family’

Mormon doctrine incorporates the notion that ‘sociality’, the interpersonal relationships established in the world, is inherent to human life and organisation. Most importantly, it is ordained by God —which attributes it a divine origin— and has the potential to stretch into the hereafter (Doctrine and Covenants, Section 130). Familial relationships are the core of this ‘sociality’, thus, family and other intimate relationships are governed by the same ‘divine’ principles that rule life in heaven and must, therefore, be conducted in a ‘spiritual’ way. Mormon masculine and feminine identities are closely interwoven in this sociality, which makes its dissection necessary for querying Mormon masculinities.

Shortly after the emergence of the religious movement, polygamy —or ‘plural marriage’— as the practice is usually referred to in official LDS history- was adopted by Mormons and it was quickly established as a main form of familial organisation. It was a corner stone of Mormon religious practice and family formation for more than half a century, and played a major role in the establishment and consolidation of the religious community that populated the state of Utah. 52 Towards the end of the nineteenth century, the LDS Church’s power was increasingly coming under check of the US Government. The laws that the latter passed that forbade polygamy caused LDS General Authorities to start adapting the practice to the new changing context. In fact, some of the first Mormons in Mexico were polygamous families who had been encouraged by the leadership to move south of the US-Mexico border (or to Canada) looking to keep polygamy alive in territories outside the jurisdiction of the US federal government (Bitton, 1977, Cárdenas et al., 2018). Eventually, after a long dispute with the State on the issue, as well as internal agitation within the Mormon community regarding the possible suspension of the practice, General Authorities had to publically disavow plural marriage and ban it within the LDS Church. The Church’s change in

52 Although there are multiple settlements that were created by Mormon groups and many are still densely populated by Mormon households in the states of Idaho, Nevada, Colorado, or Arizona.

148 policy53 eventually resulted in the adoption of the monogamous heterosexual model of family that was prevalent in the United States. This model has remained as the referent for Mormon family organisation during most of the twentieth century, and has thus played a major part in producing Mormon men and women identities to these days.

During the 1990s, in the middle of important debates about same-sex marriage in the USA, the LDS Church produced a document called The Family: A Proclamation to the World (LDS Church, 1995). This document clearly lays out a framework for the structuring and functioning of families and family life. The 600-plus words document opens with the following statement: ‘We, the First Presidency and the Council of the Twelve Apostles of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, solemnly proclaim that marriage between a man and a woman is ordained of God and that the family is central to the Creator’s plan for the eternal destiny of His children.’ Such a statement evidences the heteronormative conception of family that prevails among Mormons to this day. The document further elaborates that every person in the world is ‘a beloved spirit son or daughter of heavenly parents… (with) a divine nature and destiny’ and that ‘Gender is an essential characteristic of individual premortal, mortal, and eternal identity and purpose’ (LDS Church, 1995; emphasis added). This highlights the essentialist conception of the man-woman binary as the foundation for family. Moreover, the idea of gender, understood as the condition of forming part of one of the two discrete groups into which humanity is divided, is asserted to have a divine origin, and the establishment of heterosexual relationships for procreation reasserted as the vehicle for the fulfilment of human existence.

La proclamación de la familia (the proclamation of the family) —as participants usually referred to this defining document— conceives of ‘mankind’ as God’s family, and earthly family units are presumed to be devised to resemble this heavenly model of family life under these gendered organizing principles. The document describes three main constituting elements for families. First, it establishes that family formation is of divine origin and that it is transcendent, as it can (and indeed, ought to) stretch into the afterlife. Secondly, it reiterates that families are formed around biological

53 There are strong arguments about the fact that the principle of plural marriage still forms part of Mormon doctrine as taught by the LDS Church, since it is still believed to be practiced in the afterlife (See: Pearson, 2016).

149 reproduction54, and sexual activity is reserved for married heterosexual couples. Lastly, the proclamation puts forth differentiated responsibilities for men/fathers and women/mothers. It states that ‘(b)y divine design, fathers are to preside over their families in love and righteousness and are responsible to provide the necessities of life and protection for their families.’ On the other hand, ‘(m)others are primarily responsible for the nurture of their children’ (LDS Church, 1995; emphasis added).

Even when the document has not been officially included in the LDS Church’s canon of scripture55, it is a major referent for participants’ articulations of the families they ‘live by’ (Gillis, 1997), the normative, often romanticised, images of how the familial groups with whom men actually live should be and act. The contents of this document arose constantly –both explicitly and implicitly– when they discussed either already existing or prospective families. In consonance with the messages transmitted in LDS Church services, publications, and so on, many participants talked about exercising their ‘responsibility as the family patriarch’ or being the ultimate authority in the family; the need of having a remunerated activity to fulfil their responsibility as the sole family providers; and referred to the ‘nurturing’ of the family, mostly materialised in educating and taking care of the children, as the main responsibility of women in their capacities as mothers and wives.

All these ideas about how the family is formed, what purposes it serves, and who ought to do what within it, are part of the gender regime of Mormonism of which I have talked along the thesis. Upon its arrival in Mexico, through the missionary work that the LDS Church rebooted in the early twentieth century, this regime easily aligned with the gender order in place in Mexico at the time, especially in terms of familial structure, which had consolidated in the ‘nuclear family’ towards the end of the nineteenth century (Esteinou, 2004; 2009). The growth of Mormonism in Mexico coincided with a period of important transformations in family and gender relationships in the country (de Oliveira, 1998; Rojas, 2008). This helped solidifying Mormonism as a referent for ‘traditional’ family organisation. Moreover, it reinforced ideas of masculine identities that establish that adult men should do paid work, start a family, have children, and be

54 Although adopting children is also sanctioned as a valid way to establish progeny for legally married heterosexual couples that cannot conceive children biologically. 55 In contrast, for example, to the ‘manifesto’ by the then president of the LDS Church that publically disavowed polygamy, which was later incorporated as ‘Official Declaration 1’ to the book of Doctrine and Covenants.

150 the authority and provider of the household (Rojas, 2008: 65), or the conflation of fatherhood and work (Olavarría, 2002) that are still prevalent in the country.

Thus, the Mexican gender order in general, and Mormonism’s gender regime in particular, inform participants’ constructions of their ‘imagined families’ (Gillis, 2002). The following quotes are but a few of the instances in which participants referred to their imaginaries of family, and the ways in which those expectations guide their experience of family life:

Even in a family with several members like mine, with my parents and siblings, I mean, a really pretty family that I remember fondly and love dearly to this day, we still had our differences, and strong differences at times (Ernesto, 41)

And you think your family is at a different spiritual level. But then I came home [from his mission] and I started being bombarded with problems, serious stuff. My sister had a boyfriend that was much older than her, living at home with her, my parents were not getting on. More people lived at home, I mean, my brother and sister in law with their kids, creating problems with people’s space… So, I went ‘what’s all this? What’s happening to this family?’ (Antonio, 26)

I’m ok with my future wife working, but as soon as we start neglecting the children I’m going to tell her: ‘You know what? I should work less time, and you shouldn’t work at all, and we should devote more time to the children’, you know? (Edgar, 27)

These quotes illustrate the family imaginaries against which men judge actually lived family experience. Ernesto talked about his past experience of family life, and the moments in which the ruling harmony was interrupted by the ‘differences’ among the family members. Antonio referred to his then current experience of family, in which he was confronted with a much more problematic scenario than the one he had envisioned for when he returned from serving a mission: rather than the image of the supportive ‘spiritual’ family that emailed encouraging messages to him while he was a missionary, and that he was promised he would come home to if he was obedient and worked hard he found himself in the midst of a group of people cohabiting together, not necessarily linked by blood, dealing with everyday problems in conflicting ways. Or as in Edgar’s case, the family that some men pictured having in the future, and the ways in which they will deal with the issues that may present themselves as every member of the family strives to ‘fulfil their function’.

What these three brief examples -and indeed many other of the narratives by participants- have in common is the constant reference to the centrality of family in the

151 experience of being a Mormon man. Throughout the chapter, I provide examples of how these ideas of family are constantly present, at the fore and/or as the backdrop, as Mormons establish relationships and the role that love and intimacy play in the production and experience of Mormon masculinities. In the following section, I explore how family (whether current, past, projected or denied) influences, leads and/or complicates these men’s experiences of romantic relationships, and how these interact with their experience of masculinities.

‘Thou shalt live together in love’: Mormon masculinities at play in romantic relationships

The book containing the ‘revelations’ to Joseph Smith, the founding prophet of Mormonism, that are believed to be essential for the restoration of Christ’s true Church in modern times, teaches that ‘the same sociality that exists among us here will exist among us there [in the afterlife], only it will be coupled with eternal glory’ (Doctrine and Covenants, Section 130: 2). Thus, Mormonism holds as divine true that relationships established during earthly lifetime, familial or otherwise, can actually endure in the hereafter. Moreover, Mormons have received the ‘commandment’ to establish relationships among themselves beyond cordiality, but actually based on mutual love. ‘Thou shalt live together in love, insomuch that thou shalt weep for the loss of them that die’ (Doctrine and Covenants, Section 42: 45), was part of a new Decalogue of sorts that Joseph Smith revealed to his early followers, and that is still part of the Mormon canon of scripture. Love defined as ‘deep devotion and affection’ (LDS Church, 2013c) is encouraged in relationships established among Mormons especially between ‘husband and wife’ and ‘parents and their children’.

On the other hand, Mormon discourse and normativity de facto dissociate love and sexual expression by confining sexual activity to heterosexual marriage. The legitimate exercise of sexuality is reduced to married heterosexuality, and any other form of sexual expression is cast as ‘Sexual Immorality’ (LDS Church, 2013c). While marital sexuality tends to be portrayed as one of the purest forms of affection available to humankind by Mormon discourse (LDS Church, 2018b): ‘the ultimate symbol of total union, a totality and a union ordained and defined by God’ (Holland, 1998); sexual immorality (or sexual sin) is described as ‘the most abominable above all sins save it be the shedding of innocent blood’ (The Book of Mormon, Alma 39: 5). This generates

152 a tension in the establishment of romantic relationships, especially during adolescence, as these relationships are characterised by ‘a peculiar intensity’ that ‘can be marked by expressions of affection —including physical ones and, perhaps, the expectation of sexual relations, eventually if not now’ (Collins, 2003:2).

This is the normative framework that Mormon men are given to establish romantic relationships. Therefore, it is not surprising that participants said to have avoided engaging in relationships of this nature in their adolescence or that, when they did establish them, they did so in line with a heteronormative script that had marriage as an articulating force. Likewise, it helps explain why the experience of romantic relations involving pre-marital or non-heteronormative sexualities is articulated as problematic by some of the participants. In the next subsection, I analyse participants’ narratives of romantic relationships as they emphasise companionship, emotional connections, attraction and/or desire.

‘It is not good that man shall be alone’: romance, companionship and pleasure in Mormon men’s relationships

The LDS world leadership advises men and women not to start ‘dating’ before the age of 16, and to go on group dates while they are younger than 1856 (LDS Church, 2001). Beyond the official instruction of LDS leaders in the matter, the idea of dating has become popular only recently within the context of Mexico City. Participants grew up and are much more familiar with the concept of noviazgo (roughly translated as courtship) or tener novia/novio (having a girlfriend or boyfriend), which conveys the idea of taking part in slightly more formal (even if brief) relationships (Rocha, 1996). In spite of the variations that these noviazgos have experienced, especially in the ways in which they start or how long they last, they still notably display ‘traditional gender roles’ (Bustos, 2009; García et al., 2010). This particular kind of romantic relationship (noviazgo) serves as a good starting point to explore this type of relationships among Mormon men.

Participants’ narratives of the noviazgos they had been part of tended to focus on the ‘romantic’ aspects of the relationship, and to emphasise the idea of ‘deep devotion and

56 Which de facto would make dating legitimate for Mormon boys only when they have come back from their mission and, ideally, with marriage high in their life priorities.

153 affection’ rather than their component of sexual attraction or practices, which is something I anticipated from the more active/believing Mormon men. Gabriel (51), married for over 30 years, told me that when he met his now wife he had only had one ‘novia formal’ (formal girlfriend). When that relationship ended, he put together a list of ‘ten potential substitutes’. This was part of his enjoyment of the romance as he explained it:

I like to think I’m a formal man but I wasn’t aware of it then. In fact, apart from being a formal man, I also think I'm a romantic. So writing this list, feeling excited about the possibilities, and all the rest of it, it was all part of my own private romance, my particular romance. I didn't have the intention to look for a companion that was forever, I mean, I was only 18, right? But I was playing my own romance, you know what I mean?

This quote is indicative of the playful dimension that some of the participants highlighted from establishing this type of relationships. As the sexual element is precluded from noviazgos by Mormon normativity and discourse, other aspects of romantic relationships take prevalence, such as the ‘fantastic’ side of romance. In other cases, romantic relationships are portrayed more as a special kind of friendship, where companionship is more valuable than ‘romanticism’. Consider what Camilo said in this sense:

I had my first novia at 15. I’m kind of difficult in that sense, my mum says I have a heart like a revolving door. I think that’s an important aspect for me, ‘cos I can remember very few and very short periods when I’ve not been in a relationship. For one reason or another, I always tengo novia (have a girlfriend) or see someone somehow. But at the same time, all my relationships never last long. I mean, I’m quite cold, very dry; I hate romance and romanticism, all those corny things. This might sound awful but when I get bored of a relationship it’s quite easy for me to say: alright then, goodbye, on to the next one.

Camilo said he enjoyed the company of novias, although he did not offer many details of the type of activities this entailed that made it different to just going out with female friends. Mormon unmarried couples are generally allowed to go out on their own, as Camilo described doing. Participants talked of going out with girlfriends to the cinema, the shopping centre, the park; out for dinner, or even dancing (something Camilo said he particularly likes to do), as part of the activities involved in noviazgos. The LDS Church provides moments and spaces for leisure among Young Single Adults (YSA) that include dances and other recreational activities where the Mormon norms of

154 conduct I have discussed are always in place. Heterosexual noviazgos are encouraged among YSA, and tolerated among teenagers, so that it is not uncommon to see young couples holding hands or kissing ‘discreetly’ during those activities. These moments allow for measured physical contact in unmarried couples and reinforce the idea that self-control needs to be exercised.

In the case of participants that said to have incorporated this normative, establishing contact with women under these circumstances was seen as advantageous as it could aid keeping relationships ‘within the boundaries of (sexual) morality’. This is part of Jaime’s (35) explanation as to why he did not establish many relationships before getting married:

The girls I’d go out with weren’t members [of the LDS Church]. So, I did like them [felt attracted to them] and everything, but it always came a point when I thought: ‘Jeez, I like her but we have that ideological difference’ and I don’t know how that would turn out, so that made me stand on the edge a lot, you know what I mean? It was a difficult position because I’d think to myself: ‘If I start a relationship with her, I know we would eventually brake up and I’m going to hurt her’. I mean, I didn’t know what to do at times. For example there was a girl who told me right out: ‘I like you’; and I liked her too, but she was not a member. And we’d hang out and it was progressing, but I didn’t know what to do, so I kind of froze, you know? And before I knew it, we’d ended up as just friends. What do you think that was? what stopped you… or froze you? I think it the fact that I knew it’d come to a point when we’d have that difference, about physical attraction and physical contact. And that was something I didn’t want to draw myself near to, because ‘the flesh is weak’ and if you put yourself in those situations there’s a chance you might slip, so why run the risk? Why put myself in risk that way? Why put her? Hurt her, why do that, you know?

Jaime’s narrative is illustrative of the resonance of Mormon discourse in the establishing of relationships through a hegemonic model of Mormon masculinity. His articulation, similar to that of several other participants, appears to be drawing directly form the message by LDS General Authorities that establishing physical sexualised contact outside the institution of marriage is ‘dangerous’ and must be avoided or kept at a minimum for the sake of ‘spiritual’ safety (Kimball, 1974; Scott, 1994; Holland, 1998). There is also the idea that, even if his environment may be dangerous, a man must be the guardian of his own spiritual safety. Furthermore, he must be vigilant of others’ safety, too, as Jaime’s assertion of not wanting to put himself or his potential girlfriend(s) at risk seems to suggest.

155 In this sense, Mormon hegemonic masculinity distances itself from the image of the Mexican macho as the man whose masculine identity is defined through sexual prowess. As Matthew Gutmann (1996) points out, Mexican men constantly compare themselves to the notion of the Mexican macho that is commonly assumed to be the predominant (hegemonic) form of masculinity in Mexico. They tend to define their own masculinity in those terms, for better or worse, even if the meanings they attribute to the term macho may vary ostensibly. The following dialogue in his ethnography on being a man in Mexico City is particularly enlightening in this sense:

“What does that mean?” I inquired “Macho? That you’ve got kids all over,” said Esteban. “That your ideology is very closed,” said Pancho. “The ideology of the macho mexicano is very closed. He doesn’t think about what might happen later, but mainly focuses on the present, on satisfaction, on pleasure, on desire. But now that’s disappearing a little.” “You’re not machos?” I asked. “No, somos hombres [we’re men].” (Gutmann, 1996: 221, emphasis in original),

Gutmann goes on to say that, for older generations, for instance, being a macho may mean providing financially and otherwise for a family or being an honourable man. In other words, the meaning of macho can be something very different for different men, to the point that it might be used by some to describe attributes and behaviours that are completely alien to it in the consideration of other men. In a similar way, Mormon hegemonic masculinity can greatly resemble notions of masculinity present in Mexico City at large, that it manifests to openly reject: the non-Mormon way of being a man is defined as a mostly pernicious way (much like the men in Gutmann’s research do with the macho way). And the idea of the Mormon man is posed in opposition to it, as the ‘true man’, the macho of old who was responsible for a family, and had his honour to back him up.

Noviazgos provided a script for these men’s romantic relationships as spanning over time, and helped them come up with coherent narratives of their emotional or romantic involvements. Such a script marks the pursuing of relationships, their duration, and their coming to an end (and potentially their resuming or revisiting). This is particularly present in the accounts of many participants expressing the existence of particularly successful ways to approach women and have ‘conquests’, talking about the knowledge of the ‘right’ or ‘best way’ to talk to women with the idea of establishing a romantic relationship, or the lack thereof. Many men said they were too shy because they ‘simply

156 did not know how to talk to women’ and this made the experience of establishing romantic relationships difficult, discouraging, or sometimes even burdensome:

This might sound a bit sad, but I always got bateado,57 always! I was so shy that girls never found me attractive, that's why they always rejected me, I think. When I was in secondary school there were at least two girls I liked who snubbed me. And even the few girlfriends I had before my mission, they dumped me. The first one, we were novios [boyfriend and girlfriend] for a couple of months, and then she freaked out when I started talking to her about ‘when we get married’, and she dumped me. I learned there not to bring that up with girlfriends, even when I always thought about it. Edgar (27) I think my problem was that I didn't know how to speak to girls. With my father it was like, how can I explain it [laughs], he’d sit me down and tell me how to do it, but I didn't listen to him, you know? I looked elsewhere, but I also had a lack of male friends, so I didn’t have this sort of… (pauses) Referents…? Yeah, exactly, my referents were my female friends. And it became apparent to me years later, that they’d say: ‘well, you can do this, or why don’t you do that’ and that was what they wanted their boyfriends to do, but still their boyfriends were such louts! So that was confusing, some kind of a double discourse, right? So, I was completely misdirected. Juan Carlos (33)

These narratives suggest imaginaries of masculinities regarded as more apt to succeed in the quest for partners. Edgar thought that being shy made him unattractive form the start, as did his lack of skill in conducting relationships when he managed to establishing them. This speaks of the notion of specific knowledge that men need in order to start and maintain relationships; one true way of doing it that mirrors the idea of one path to follow towards ideal masculinity (and eventually to happiness) that Mormonism provides. This is linked to the notion of a correct path to Mormon masculinity that I expound further in the following chapter. The knowledge to recognise and follow such path is seen as possible to be obtained on their own via trial and error, as Edgar suggested when he said he ‘learned’ he should not talk about marriage and family ‘so soon’. But it is also seen as needed to be transmitted to them by other men, as put by Juan Carlos. Thus, participants placed great importance in some specific aptitudes that are necessary to engage in romantic relationships, and how this can be a difficulty when one does not have the right referents to follow. This seems to be used as a way to explain disappointment, disaffection and other emotional difficulties they encountered as part of their attempts at starting noviazgos.

57 This expression literally means ‘batted out the park’ (as in baseball) meaning to be markedly snubbed by women. It is also used to convey the notion of being blatantly rejected in other aspects, such as a job interview, applying for an educational course and so on.

157 The love that dared not speak its name at Church

One central aspect of Mormon hegemonic masculinity, aligned with that of the larger Mexican context, is its heteronormativity. Its pervasiveness is particularly evident in accounts of relationships by participants who identified as ‘same-sex attracted’. Even when they had had assumed early in their lives that they were physically attracted to men, some of the participants were able to establish heterosexual romantic relationships in their adolescence on the basis of the prescriptions for this from Mormon normativity, and the dissociation of romantic relationships and sexuality:

I had a girlfriend in college; in fact, my first heartbreak! [laughs] Some people agreed to meet once, to go out or something, I can’t remember, but I couldn’t go, so that upset her and she started a relationship with another guy form the group! We were novios [boyfriend and girlfriend] for about six months. We got along quite well and I really identified with her. And at that time I was learning at Church, you know, to keep my body clean and all that, so it was quite nice, that was why it was upsetting when she dumped me [laughs]. Irwin (35) I mean, I played the typical teenage games, spin the bottle and all that, and I did have girlfriends, I’d even kissed them, well mostly pecked them, really. And the [non- Mormon] girls even put my hand on their breasts! But I didn’t really feel anything so didn’t feel guilty [laughs]. And later I had this girlfriend, when I started uni. But she got so much into the whole thing, really, and me trying to go along with the whole eternal family thing, I even introduced her to the [LDS] Church. And she joined and was quite constant. Aldo (26)

These examples of the establishing or romantic relationships mostly as part in the structure of Mormonism show how men are expected to perform heterosexuality, and to experience romantic love and companionship only through that performance. Therefore, establishing strong ‘romantic’ connections with other men made all these participants feel that they were stepping over the line. This left them with the choice to either try to ‘rectify’ their mistake, or to go further in their journey and delving into the sexual aspect of them. In some cases, as I detail in chapter 7, both of these options materialised in some participants’ fluid trajectories, or in their routes outside of Mormonism. But in all cases, whether heterosexual or homosexual relationships, romance and love have played a major role in the experience of masculinity of these men, and the structure provided by the (heterosexual) notion of the noviazgo served to frame them. Damián (32), for example, said that he has had several boyfriends, who have mainly left him heartbroken. He made a special emphasis on the account of his first noviazgo as he felt it was very defining of what the rest of his relationships would be:

158 My first novio formal [formal boyfriend] was in college, as part of the folk dance group. We were on tour and four of us had to share a bedroom, a bed in fact! And I was lying next to him and praying that nothing would happen. But in the middle of the night I felt his hand holding mine, and he kissed me, and I kissed him. And it started there. I knew it was wrong, and that we could be kicked out of [the Mormon] college for it. But it was deliberate, I ran the risk because I loved him, and I think he loved me. We didn’t say anything ‘cos we weren’t allowed, but we’d kiss and hold hands, and so on. In the end, we still broke up because it was wrong; that was always on our minds, on my mind mostly. We’d split up and get back together, but the last time was gonna try to talk him into getting back together, he told me he had just been with someone else, sexually, an older man, just minutes before. And that came as a shock! I went: ‘but how? why?!’ and he just went: ‘Well, that’s none of your business anymore, is it?’ And he was right, so I left it at that… but I cried like a Magdalene, for months!

In the above quote, Damián highlights the link between emotional connection to a novio/a and sexuality, in a way that was mostly absent in the relations by heterosexual men. The fact that he considers this a ‘deliberate’ choice also contrasts with the position by heterosexual men that physical contact in noviazgos is dangerous because agency seems to be reduced, even to disappear, as one moves into sexual territory. Likewise, he puts risk into perspective as he highlights the practical implications (they could be expelled from the Mormon college they attended) rather than the much larger danger of losing their souls. However, this last idea of a ‘sinful’ relationship seemed to have prevailed as it caused distress in the relationship and eventually led to its termination.

A similar experience is that of Claudio’s (28). One central element around which he articulates his narrative is a ‘long and difficult relationship’ he had with a boy from Church. This relationship, he tells me, is still ‘meaningful and at the same time painful’ for him up to this day. The boy in question was a neighbour and fellow ward member, as Claudio put it:

His family was exemplary in the Church, very super strong. His dad was counsellor (of the bishopric) and his mum Relief Society president, his older brothers in missions, his sister chaste and pure, and all the rest of it, you know what I mean. And I was the only one in my family who was active [in the LDS Church]. I basically went to Church ‘cos I saw him there, but I also liked it, and participated in the activities, and there were one or two people in the ward that looked genuinely interested in me, so (…)

Claudio explained to me that the relationship was ‘complicated’ from the start, firstly because of the sexual nature that it had since very early stages. He told me he had ‘always known [he] was gay’ and had no problem with it, nor did he feel the need to

159 make a statement and come out to anybody. But his ‘tipo novio’ (sort of boyfriend) would never fully come to terms with his attraction for him:

He knew I was gay, but him, he never wanted to accept [his sexuality] I think. I guess because of the pressure from Church, and his parents. He never said anything. We never talked about it, or wanted to make it public or anything. And he was quite fit, and popular, so many girls were after him. I didn’t really care but from time to time I’d learn that he was seeing some of those girls, too. And that was weird. I mean we had started a sexual life really early, and he’d tell me he did love me, but at the same time he was seeing my girlfriend, you know?

The situation of his partner’s undefined sexuality and the lack of a public element in their relationship prompted Claudio to identify it as ‘not quite a noviazgo’. Another difficulty he associates with this situation was the fact that the boy would establish similar contact with girls from the ward while Claudio assumed they had an ongoing relationship, which constantly disturbed him. This relationship went on for 5 years until Claudio called it off when he moved out of his father’s house and stopped going to Church. But he describes it as ‘a beautiful relationship, very hurtful, and painful, but one of the best experiences of my life to this day. I mean, 10 years on I still love him, and miss him’.

Previous findings in the literature on romantic relationships in adolescence suggest that they should be seen as important elements for the formation of identities, especially the ways they frame the transition of into adulthood (Collins and Laursen, 2000; Collins, 2003). Damián and Claudio’s narratives seem to strengthen that view in general, and specifically in relation to masculine identities that position themselves vis-à-vis hegemonic models; in this case, non-heterosexual masculinities in the context of a heteronormative gender regime. They also help to explain how homosexual romantic relationships ‘dared not to speak their name’ in the early adolescent experiences of these men that took place in heavily Mormon contexts, but have ultimately got to be a defining part of the these participants’ masculine practice.

On the other hand, the idea of scripts that are successful to ‘partner up’ is also evident in participants’ narratives of non-heterosexual romantic relationships. Irwin, for example, told me that even though he felt attracted to men as early as age 12, he found it quite intimidating when he came in contact with what he called ‘the gay scene’ of Mexico City, and started having invitations to go out with men in ‘what we could call dates’. This speaks of the existence of normative masculinities that delineate the

160 masculine traits and behaviours needed to be successful finding partners, which is observable across heterosexual and homosexual gender identities, as ‘the conquest’ is a task socially conceived of as masculine.

In this regard, other participants also spoke of a normative aspect of physical appearance being as equally relevant as attitudinal characteristics:

When I was in college, girls would ask me: ‘do you want to be my boyfriend?’ and I’d always go like: ‘yeah right! No, thanks’. And I could never get my head around that, I mean, I dressed all scruffy, always have, still do, you can tell (signals at his outfit). So I thought: all scruffy and fat and with no money, who’s going to want me, really’ Do you know what I mean? No one, that’s who!

Physical appearance came up more often and explicitly in this sense among non- heterosexual participants, as in the case of Damián. He placed special emphasis on the ‘right appearance’ for romance in terms of sexual desirability (not being fat), but also as a marker of certain economic status: looking scruffy conveys the idea of carelessness and having ‘no money’, attributes deemed important for establishing romantic relationships. Aldo, on the other hand, said that it is more about of matter of ‘losing fear’ and going out to get the experiences one might desire. After his personal struggle to come to terms with his attraction for men, once he ‘broke the barrier’ and established sexual contact with a man, he quickly got ‘the hang of it’ and decided to take this experience ‘to the limit’. He told me he became ‘quite active sexually’ and got into a lot of casual sexual experiences under different circumstances. This led him to accumulate the effective knowledge, scripts and strategies, to ‘hook up’ with almost any man that he put himself to the task of winning over:

I feel like I’ve already lived that experimental phase. Now I can tell you that I am so skilled that any guy I come across and like, I can win him over. I have developed lots of skills to cajole people and use them for my own benefit. But I don't see it as necessary anymore because I've experienced enough. I've had so many experiences that I can tell you how every penis is, every person; hairy, hairless, fatty, you name it. I’ve had the experience of each of them and it’s nothing new anymore, it’s gotten normal. Having got the knowledge of the rules of the game of romance, Aldo could focus in the more playful part of partnering. He used to get a lot of excitement from ‘hooking up’, he told me, but he does not find it as stimulating anymore. The more gratifying dimension of partnership for him now, he said, is to be found in a more quotidian sort of relationship. He told me that he now wants stability: ‘Maybe even an “eternal companion” as they say, you know? I'm not only looking for a shag anymore, I’m

161 willing to have a relationship with someone, but not only sexual, but a life relationship, someone to share interests, experiences and stuff with’. This idea is similar to that of other non-heterosexual participants. They still think of the possibility of finding a lifetime (even ‘eternal’) partner with who to enter a ‘gospel-like’ type of relation, as Leonardo put it. This speaks of the ascendency of the notions for couple and family life that Mormonism proposes to them, and the search for ways to adapt them to their specific sexual identities. I now move on to the analysis of participants narratives of relationships geared toward the realisation of the marriage and family life ideals that these men are provided with, both form the gender regime of Mormonism and the Mexican gender order at large.

In search of ‘an help meet’: relationships framed by the prospect of marriage

The Spanish expression ayuda idónea is commonly used in Mexican Mormon vocabulary to describe the role of women as men’s partners in marriage. This comes from the translation of the English term used in the King James’ Bible and other Mormon scriptures, in the story of the creation of the world, and specifically the moment God decides to create Eve as a companion and ‘an help meet’ for Adam (The Bible, Genesis 2:18). This story sets up the framework for heterosexual relationships as a quest of men to find their ayuda idónea that should result in marriage. It assigns an active role and a great amount of the responsibility in the search to men, while positioning women at a passive state of waiting to be found by men. However, as some of the accounts I cite in this and the following subsection illustrate, Mexican Mormon women play an active part in the process of establishing relationships aimed at marriage, even if the degree of recognition of this by their counterparts or their communities may vary.

Alberto’s (28) account illustrates this very active role of men as partner seekers. He had already been married for a year when I met him, but he said one of the difficulties of being a Mormon man for him was precisely ‘finding a good candidate’ to marry. Because of the great importance placed on marriage within Mormonism, there is great pressure on Mormon men and women to ‘marry the right person in the right place at the right time’ (McConkie, 1975; Hinckley, 1999, Monson, 2004). Similarly to other participants, he presented physical (sexual) attraction as a central element upon which

162 a marriage must be founded, even if it is not all there is to it. Alberto felt that having to circumscribe his search for a potential wife to the Mormon community made it harder for him in this regard:

There weren’t many pretty women (in his LDS community) and the few pretty ones were all very conceited. They seemed to think: ‘Oh, I’m the best, and I need someone who is the best, too’. And they have…, I understand, I mean, the education in the church since they are young girls makes them believe that, believe that a perfect man will come along, you know, like a knight in shiny armour, riding his horse, in their rescue, and it’s not like that at all, I mean, real life’s not like that. And so, in general, the pretty girls I liked were like that. I think that’s really immature. And I didn’t meet any girl that in my view was pretty and mature, and (a member) of the church, until I met (his wife). But that’s why I generally didn't date girls from church.

Alberto showed himself critical of the way in which Mormonism assigns this position to women, as very valuable companions for very valuable men. At a discursive level, this is based heavily on ‘spiritual’ attributes (Holman, 2002). But as he noted, this notion is usually extrapolated to physical and material attributes. He suggested the latter tend to take primacy over the former in the assessment of one’s own suitability and value as a potential spouse. However, he feels this is particularly noticeable in the case of women and considers this an ‘immature’ approach to the issue, associated with the specific femininity of ‘pretty girls’ (Duke and Kreshel, 1998; Harris, 2004). It is interesting that even though he thinks women can be too demanding in their expectations of the man they will marry, Alberto did not seem to feel the same way about his own expectations, which seems to echo the notion of entitlement that the role of men as the ones who actively get to ‘find’ a companion brings .

Although the process of establishing this type or relationships in a Mormon milieu is clearly a gendered one, participants’ narratives also introduce some elements of lineage and heritage into the issue. An article published in the official LDS magazine Ensign, titled ‘Choosing and being the right partner’ (Holman, 2002) speaks of this in terms of ‘the effect’ of heritage. It states that ‘(g)ood family environments and family relationships tend to lead to good quality marriages by the children; poor family environments and family relationships often foreshadow poor marriages by the children from these homes’. The article does not abound on what a ‘good family environment’ might look like, other than speaking briefly of emotional issues derived from experiences such as divorce. But in practical terms, class and prestige seem to be

163 considered part of such an environment, as suggested by Alberto. Oscar (28), a single man who converted to Mormonism about five years before I interviewed him had an experience that illustrates this in a clearer way. He had been in contact with the LDS Church before he started dating a Mormon girl, but it was only then that he decided to get into it more seriously, and decided to join the church. He became very invested in this relationship and had discussed the possibility of marriage with his then girlfriend. But the plans did not come to fruition, in his view, because of the ‘difference of status’, between him and his girlfriend and her family, that soon became apparent:

There are certain stigmas among Mormons. Me, being a convert, I'm not that worthy of the trust of a person who was born in the church, at least that’s my experience. I fell in love deeply with this girl, and she with me. But I’m mostly from a middle class and she’s from an upper-middle class. All her siblings married foreigners, I mean they met at BYU (the LDS University in Utah) and got married, right? They all live in the US, so I understand that I was like a rock in her parents’ shoes, because that’s how it was in the end, like ‘we have a vision for my daughter’s life and you don’t quite fit in it’, you know? They were super nice, you know, like good Mormons, but there was something in the backdrop that I didn’t like at all (…) My girlfriend and I exchanged our Facebook passwords. So she logged in to my account and read a conversation that I had with a girl. It was a friendly conversation only, but she felt it was too flirty. She showed it to her mum, and that was a perfect excuse that her parents used to discourage her form being with me. Her mum told her: “look, that’s all wrong, he’s flirting with other girls, not being serious with you” and all the rest of it. So she broke up with me on account of that. And I tried to talk her into getting back but it was no use. Her parents eventually told her not to talk to me anymore, they would get her off the phone when she was talking to me and stuff like that, which I found really hurtful. So I just gave up at some point

So you think that had to do with you being kind of a rookie in the church?

Well, yeah, it might be that, or simply that they had a different vision for their daughter’s life, so much so that she’s married to a gringo (an American man) now.

For Oscar, being the heir of a Mormon tradition that is as close to the source of Mormonism, namely its Utahan-American version, can make a difference in how valued a man can be as a candidate to marry. This is linked, to a great extent, to the implications that it has in terms of class. The imaginary of an American way of life is merged with that of the Mormon lifestyle to produce an image of the American version of Mormonism. This is usually conformed of elements of middle class standards of life, levels of income, patterns of consumption, and so forth, which give way to a certain kind of middle class respectability (Skeggs, 2004). Oscar told me he was trying to fit

164 into these expectations from his girlfriend’s family: he had started to consider moving to Utah, enrolling in pre-med school at BYU and then try to continue studying medicine and make a living in the US as a physician, a project that would require for him to invest a lot of resources, and to give up his musical interests (he had already been studying a major in singing). However, the ladder to this version of Mormonism can be too steep to climb. In his case, Oscar fell short of the initial expectations of his girlfriend’s parents. He said he felt that they were not willing to wait for him to even try, and took advantage of the opportunity to take him out of the picture when it presented itself.

Sometimes the willingness to strive for such respectability is deemed as enough to make a man a fit candidate for marriage. As Gabriel told me, when he got married he ‘had nothing’ to offer his wife in ‘material’ terms, but the determination to work hard and build a patrimony. He and his now wife came from working class backgrounds so this was a shared aspiration upon which to build, he said. His case is particularly illustrative of the ways in which some of these noviazgos turn into formal relationships that result in marriages. In the next subsection I analyse this case in more detail and look at other narratives of institutionalised romantic relationships, or in Mormon terms, in ‘eternal marriages’.

‘The new and everlasting covenant’: marriage and masculinities

Marriage is a cornerstone of Mormon doctrine. As such, it has become a fundamental mandate for Mormon men to enter into what is known in Mormon lore as ‘the new and everlasting covenant of marriage’ (Doctrine and Covenants, Section 131: 2). In this context, marriage has a great symbolic significance as it generates a bond that is valid for life and stretches even into the afterlife. These doctrinal elements have implications in the lives of men and women in so far as they influence practical decisions regarding who and when to marry.

Gabriel’s account of the process through which he and his wife got married and started a family is particularly telling of the ways in which the symbolic dimension of marriage within Mormonism and the practicalities of sexual-affective relationships are articulated into a coherent narrative of how he came to fulfil the mandate of being a married man and head of family. Gabriel met his now wife when he was 18. They had

165 been dating for about six months when he joined the LDS Church. He introduced her to Mormonism and she eventually converted as well. About a year after he had been baptised into the Church, Gabriel left on a full time mission. Their agreement was that their relationship would carry on in the distance, restrained to the scarce communication by post that missionaries were allowed at the time (in the 1980s) for the two years they would be apart.

While Gabriel was away on his mission, his family moved to Mexico City. At the same time, rumours had started to spread that his then girlfriend was seeing other boys; something Gabriel told me he still disbelieves to this day. This situation led to a particular arrangement in which Gabriel’s parents were actively involved. While his mother thought it was best for him to end that relationship, Gabriel told me that his father, was a very jealous man, and ‘having great affection for my wife who was then a young woman’, he decided to bring her to live in the city, ‘basically, to keep an eye on her for me’, he said. Interestingly, Gabriel did not mention what the motives were for his then girlfriend to agree to such arrangement. Rather she is portrayed in his narrative as subject to his own family’s judgment.

Gabriel and his girlfriend finally got married nine months after he had returned from his mission. The reasoning behind this decision once again focuses, on the one hand, on the characteristics that he attributed to his wife and the fact that she actively decided to be with him:

Sexual attraction was fundamental. I felt super attracted to her, and was madly in love with her. She was very caring with me, very loving, even possessive with me, and I liked that very much. She also had a quality that I picked up on from the beginning, and that compensated one of my weaknesses: she had a way with little children (…) I thought: “I need a mother for my children”, and I noticed she was like that and it turned out to be true. Then, she followed me, I mean, she left her religion (…) She waited for me the two years of my mission, and being a beautiful woman she had the chance to go with other alternatives, other suitors, some even with money, but she decided to wait for me.

Even when the rhetoric of the man as the active seeker for a partner was present in most participants’ narratives, the description Gabriel made of his wife in the process of getting married showed her in quite an active role at decisive moments. He told me that his then girlfriend gave him an ultimatum, after he had pushed back the date a couple

166 of times on account of not having enough money. She said they either went ahead with marriage on the third prospective date or she would have to move on.

On the other hand, Gabriel also focused on his position as a man within the normative framework of Mormonism:

Now I won’t tell you that I married her with all certainty. On the contrary, I always had my selfish side, like saying: ‘that’s it? Is it over?’ I mean, I met her when she was 16 and I was 18, she was my second formal girlfriend, there were other girls I kissed and that I went out with, and all that, but she is my second formal girlfriend! And Mormonism limited me, I wasn't going to be able to…, well, you know…, plus, say I did leave her, and what would I do then? Go just holding hands with other sisters? No, no, no. I felt like I had no choice, but my egotism said: look some more’ while my heart said ‘no, just get married’. And… sexual tension between us was quite strong. I used to dream of her while on my mission, and not just holding hands, no, I dreamed of having sex with her.

When he got back from his mission, Gabriel felt that he could do other things, among which there were studying a degree or, perhaps most importantly, dating other women. Getting married ended those possibilities. But Gabriel’s rationale is that by getting married he was taking the safest of options to secure what mattered most to him: his membership in the LDS Church and what it symbolised: his foundation for ‘eternal salvation’. He put it in the following terms:

Marrying her was an exercise of intelligence. I was in love, but not blinded by love, right? I was attracted to her but also to other women. I think that was a decisive factor, that I was afraid of my sexual instincts. I mean, I didn't want to be excommunicated from the church, so I thought: if I don’t marry her and I start having sex outside marriage, with her or other women, I’m in danger of breaking ‘the Law of Chastity’ so I will protect myself getting married. It was a clear and specific idea. It definitely played into it, so much so that I told my two sons when they came back from their missions: ‘If you’re capable to obey the Law of Chastity without getting married and you want to study, I’ll support you. But if you’re not capable of obeying it and want to get married now, I’ll support you, too’. But the condition is to obey the Law of Chastity. I value that much more than having a degree, I mean, what good is a degree if you lose your soul, right?

The Law of Chastity is the Mormon norm that regulates sexual activity and makes ‘sexual immorality’ a serious transgression. So getting married, he said, granted him the assurance that we would not have to break this law to satisfy his sexual desire. In Gabriel’s narrative, he and his wife appear —at different times and to different

167 degrees— as active agents, making decisions within the normative framework that Mormonism had given them for their experience of masculinity and femininity specifically in relation to marriage. But they clearly held different amounts of relationship-defining power. Similar to other cases, Gabriel seems to centre his narrative on himself, his doubts, desires and security, rather than on his wife’s, which seems to be presented as naturally benefited by his right choices about what they both should do.

Other narratives focused more on the structural and contextual side of the relationships and how this influences the decisions they make. Such was the case of Ernesto:

I had it very clear, since a young age, surely because of the example of my parents, the concept of family, and to start a family myself by getting married, right? I was actually married before; I married an LDS woman, at 27. I wouldn’t like to go into much detail but I tell you because it’s part of my life somehow, right? And I think it’s something that, without having experienced it, I knew I had to, I had to get married. Many guys return from their mission and have this idea, although I think in the last couple of decades that idea has been fading, even some leaders would advise you ‘well, now get married’. I remember that even though I had it clear I wanted to get married, and that it was my next important plan or goal, as it were, after getting a degree, I think that compared to the average I delayed getting married (…) but it didn't work out the way we expected it and we got divorced. And now with all this maturity, knowing exactly what I wanted and needed, really being able to differentiate what it is to be in love with someone and wanting to marry them, than to say: well, she has to be like this and this, and you almost have a checklist to tick boxes from and say, alright she’s covered most of them, let’s get married, right?

Ernesto avoided speaking much about his first marriage but the sense that he conveyed was that getting married at that moment was more of an ‘automatic’ decision framed by the ideal time-table prescribed for men (which I describe in more detail in the Chapter 7). For Ernesto, his decision to marry a second time was much more informed by feelings of love and the sensation that he had met someone with whom he had much more (plans, ambitions and expectations) in common. Although he insisted this is not to say that he was not emotionally involved in that first relationship, it seemed as though he thinks his decision to get married was motivated more by factors that were external to him, such as: the age he and his then partner were at the time, the condition he found himself in professionally, the expectations his family and community had of him, and even the expectations he had imposed on himself.

168 This sheds light on the degree to which some doctrinal – as well as social and cultural – aspects of the Mormon normativity were internalised by these men. In this regard, it is worth noting what Ernesto said about his experience of going through a divorce:

I think the hardest event (of his experience as a Mormon man) was when I got divorced which was something unthinkable, I don't know, in my family, with some friends. And I remember that I had to swim against the current for a while and it was heavy and hard (…) something that I think is not the case for most people who get divorced outside the type of life I’ve led and the social circle I’ve had, right?

Because of the reactions around it?

Yeah. And I think the first one was with myself, going: ‘But how? How is it that we’re getting divorced?!’ I think that was the heaviest weight to bear. And then other kind of weights, such as: ‘Oh, what are they going to think?’ The stigma, and so on.

The structural organization of family formation imposes itself on men and they can try to adjust to it, resist it, or embrace it through a process or resignification of their lived experience. Ernesto’s divorce meant for him to openly subvert the norm, and put a ‘stigma’ on him, as he called it, similar to the unpleasant ‘labels’ that Antonio talked about as being stamped on the men who do not serve missions, or finish them earlier (See Chapter 5). But it also allowed him to resignify the experience of marriage and give it a second opportunity with the idea that this time he was actually going by the rules in a better way.

Another example of the process through which relationships that led to marriages can have a different meaning is that of Ramón (55). He joined the LDS Church at age 38, a single man who had been in charge of raising his seven siblings after his parents -first his mother and weeks later his father- abandoned them when he was only 15 years old. Ramón said he did not believe in marriage on account of this, but when he knew ‘the gospel’ he came to a realisation: ‘I understood the correct principle of marriage. I went: ‘wow, I have a responsibility to the Lord’. Ramón ‘understood’ that if he wanted to be a faithful Mormon man he needed to diligently seek to enter in ‘the new and everlasting covenant’. He looked for a potential wife for some time but to no avail. At this point he decided that the main agent in his plot would be God, so he decided to leave it up to him. One day he went to the temple and there he met his now wife. They talked only briefly then but exchanged contact details and say they would get in touch later.

169 He would not hear from her again until four years later, when it was she who contacted him by phone. Ramón asked her to meet again at the temple to which she accepted. This was symbolically important for him as he had asked God beforehand to show her who his ‘companion’ would be by having her accept to have a first date at the temple. Praying to God asking for a confirmation that one has found their ‘eternal companion’ is part of the prescribed narrative for Mormon marriage. Ramón thought this was the sign he had been waiting for and went ahead to meet his newly found ‘companion’ as agreed. Ramón’s account of this experience is a good example of the cooperative model between the man and the deity that Mormonism promotes. He sees the events unfolding as charged of divinity and a superior will at play:

When I went to meet her, this was after four years of only meeting her briefly, right? So I didn't remember what she looked like. So when I saw her and she saw me, I wasn’t attracted to her and she wasn’t attracted to me (…) This kind of disturbed me a bit, But I thought what’s happened is really special, I analysed it and thought: by the way things have occurred, it’s got to be. So I kneeled down again and prayed to God, I said: “Father, I know that she is my companion, as you have answered me, but now help me love this woman, because I really don’t feel that which the world calls love” An then I kept on going out with her, and started to discover something different in her, I started noticing her qualities and started to develop a very deep feeling for her, a different kind of love, different to what I thought it was. And I understood that the love that Jesus teaches is based on helping your partner to progress, to grow (…) She doesn't have to tell me what she needs to grow, I can know for myself, guided by the spirit, what she needs.

Ramón saw his actions and decisions in this process as being ‘inspired’ by God. The same is true for his wife’s actions and decisions. Evidence of this to him was the fact that the promises given to them individually in their ‘patriarchal blessings’58 have been fulfilled. In her blessing Ramón’s wife is ‘promised’ she will marry a priesthood holder, but it states that she must hurry and actively search for him. Ramón’s blessing, in turn, promises him that he will marry a faithful woman in the Mormon temple and instructs him to teach the children that God sends them the principles he now has learned. The agency that Ramón exercises is portrayed by him as empowered by the

58 Patriarchal blessings are a special kind of blessing that adult members receive from “the patriarch”, a man appointed to such priesthood position, in their stake. These blessings are said to provide “inspired direction from the Lord. Patriarchal blessings include a declaration of a person’s lineage in the house of Israel and contain personal counsel from the Lord. As a person studies his or her patriarchal blessing and follows the counsel it contains, it will provide guidance, comfort, and protection” (LDS Church, 2017).

170 will of God, and is, in that sense, part of the experience of a holy masculinity of sorts. Additionally, the ways in which women tend to be regarded as implicitly passive is striking as expressed in Ramón’s idea that he can know what she needs without her having to telling him. This gives the idea that if he feels that his wife is mistaking in her judgement and her views differ from his own, she does not have ‘the need’ or even the opportunity to say so. This can have serious implications in the everyday lives of these men and the people with whom they live. In the next and final section, I explore the narratives of participants in terms of their actually lived experience of family.

‘Family matters’: families and the production of masculinities

Families of origin

Gabriel also spoke at length and in detail of his experience of masculinity within the framework of relationships in the context of his early years, before he and his family of origin had converted to Mormonism. As he did so, he proposed to me a frame of reference for understanding family relationships in the following terms:

My parents lived in a very humble way, their house was made of wood and cardboard, and largely under the protection of my grandma, who was the centre of gravity of the whole family. Mexican culture is very matriarchal in that sense, right? You need to identify very well where you work, where you live, and where your mother lives so that… I mean, that is your triangle, right? But since my grandma had nine children, and my dad was one of the youngest, I mean, my dad was not one of the alphas in the family, we had to get out of the area, and started to move all over the city, until we eventually moved to the countryside.

Gabriel’s notions of family life were informed by what he perceived to be the national ‘Mexican culture’. In the above quote, he attributed specific elements of place and hierarchy to this idea. He talked of a spatial triangle which an adult married man like his father (or even himself) needs to know well, with the three corners of the triangle being his workplace, his own family home, and his household of origin described by him as one’s own mother’s home. From this follows that, for him, the most important relationships a man establishes take place within this triangular framework. The relationships that develop, particularly at this latter space, are not necessarily horizontal

171 but rather hierarchical, as suggested by Gabriel when he asserted that Mexican culture is ‘very matriarchal’. The figure of the mother is given a position of apparent primacy, which in the case of Gabriel’s experience is related to specific tasks performed by her:

I found Mormonism at age 19, not by my own initiative but because of my mom’s, ‘cause we as young boys, we were already being vagos, hanging out about town at night, at pubs, and sort of strip clubs, and what not, and we were already drinking and some of my brothers smoking. Also, my dad had started to show an evident alcoholism. So, the mother of the family, because we’re matriarchal as I said, decides to do something, and looks for Mormonism, as she already had an idea that it could help families make changes. So, she reached out to the church, by her initiative. And we were a family with values, so we decided to enter the church together as a family. It wasn’t difficult really, we were motivated by our union, by the love we had as a family.

The figure of the mother has been considered an important symbolic referent in Mexican culture in general, especially from the perspective of psychology (Diaz- Guerrero, 1982; 2003). From the more critical standpoint of feminist studies, Marcela Lagarde (1993) particularly elaborates on the idea that women are realised in the figure of la madresposa (the mother/wife), the ultimate expectation of the feminine character. This idea shows a high degree of continuity in Mexican Mormon culture. Participants seemed to view women in that light, as either realised or potential mothers/wives. In the case of these men’s narratives, mothers appear as active and key agents in keeping and adjusting the moral principles of their family units. As Noé (39) put it:

My mother practiced this religion from her youth, from when she was 20, I think. My father got baptised later, although he was never active in the church. But my mum was; it’s because of her that my siblings and I learned this religion.

This is the case in several other accounts by the men of how they joined the LDS Church, such as those by Felipe (25), Aldo (26), Héctor (30), Daniel (32), Fernando (48) or Raul (52). In all of these cases, their mother (or in the case of Raul his wife and mother of his children) joined the church first, or was presented as ‘leading’ the conversion of the family. Fathers, on the other hand, tended to be portrayed as more passive subjects in these processes of conversion, following on the footsteps of their partners and/or children. This is interestingly embraced by participants as a positive thing, as it led to the pivotal moment of their conversion to Mormonism. But at the same time, mothers are welcome to take a back seat to their husbands (or leaders, if

172 they are single or when they become widows) once inside Mormonism, as only their ‘help meet’.

The mother-son relationship was described as particularly difficult by some men who identified as non-heterosexual. Daniel (32) for instance, told me that he had lots of problems with his mother on account of his being gay, so much so that he had to leave the family home in order to establish ‘a healthier relationship’ with her. Aldo (26) has not come out to his family as gay, as he considers that it would be an unnecessary grievance to both his parents who are already elderly, and especially his Mormon mother. Aldo told me this had been an issue as his mother constantly asks him when he plans to get married and start a family. It reached a peak when his mother told him: ‘I hope you’re not going to come up someday and punish me saying that you’re maricón (bent)’. Even if they have come to terms with their sexuality, the heteronormative expectations of family life from institutional Mormonism still reach these men via their mothers’ expectations.

Asserting masculinity required some of the participants to establish certain boundaries to the authority of the mother figure at a given point. Gabriel asserted that his mother was ‘a very strong figure in his life’ particularly during his adolescence. ‘She was easily-frightened about me teniendo novia (having girlfriends)’, he explained, which is why he decided to delay establishing relationships until he was 16. He also said his mother was not very fond of his fiancée and the idea of marrying her right after he returned from his mission. Gabriel said his mother would tell him: ‘Don’t get married, son. We’ll support you now, so you can study and get a degree, and you can be whatever you want’. He had had to stop his education when he finished secondary school in order to work with his father and alleviate the economic load that the education of his five siblings meant for the family. Gabriel’s response to his mother, he said, was that the time for all that had already passed, and that if she wanted to support him now, the best way of doing so was to help him get on with his plans to get married. This event in Gabriel’s narrative signals a partial breakage with his mother’s authority, resulting in an increased autonomy for him from the family structure that he characterised as ‘matriarchal’.

Even though it was his mother’s initiative to join the Church, Gabriel pointed out that his father did embrace Mormonism with a strong commitment. His conversion was a

173 moment that helped cement Gabriel’s ‘admiration’ for him to a great extent. This was because when the father converted to Mormonism, he quit drinking, smoking, and drinking coffee. ‘These three addictions are all very hard to overcome –Gabriel said – and he did it all at once. So, I really respect that’. Participants’ fathers appear in these narratives as constantly measured against the standards a man ought to live up to according to the Mormon normativity. Gabriel depicts his father conduct as admirable when he decided to make the necessary changes to become a faithful member on the LDS Church, thus setting an example for his children. In a similar tone, Jaime deemed his father to be a very respectable man and father:

He always took time, in spite of working long hours, took time to spend with us, and took the time to talk to us. We spent a lot of time with him on weekends; he’d take us to the park, to the sport centre, to the pool, and so on. I really respected him, not as a friend but as my dad. To the point that he didn’t have to tell me off; just by saying to me: ‘we need to talk’ I’d immediately say: ‘I’m sorry, dad, I won’t do it again!’ [laughs] You know what I mean? That’s the kind of father I want to be for my children.

Both Gabriel’s and Jaime’s fathers died several years before I interviewed them. Looking back from this distance in time, they recall –or imagine– them as exemplary men at the head of their families who set good examples for their children, and that are worth emulating. Once again, these speaks of the ascendency of the ‘Imagined families’ (Gillis, 2002) by which these men judge their own performance of familial masculinities.

A similar case is that of Ernesto, whose father (still alive) was ‘a prominent leader in the Church’ for the space of ten years. However, Ernesto’s recollection of his experience of his father offers a more reflexive perspective and assessment of his father’s conduct. Ernesto told me that his siblings and he:

saw my father as an irreproachable person, a righteous person. And at some point, we would see some situation in which, you know; he was a human being, too, right? So he’d get mad or something and we’d go: ‘wow, what’s up with that?’ And I think it was because of the expectations we had of his behaviour, right?

Although he made a description of his father as an exemplary man, Ernesto acknowledged that the expectations he had of his father growing up were somewhat unrealistic at times, based on the imagined character of the man at the head of the family that Mormonism prescribes.

174 Away from the more indulgent stance that Ernesto takes when recalling his father’s performance as the ‘family patriarch’ (after all ‘he was a human being, too’), some participants offered a more critical view of their own fathers’ performance as ideal men. This is the case of Edgar’s description of his father as an authoritative figure:

My siblings and I usually say ‘our parents didn’t pay much attention to us, did they?’ I mean, we’d spend a lot of time outside the house, anything could’ve happened to us and they wouldn't have known. My siblings even tried stuff, alcohol and such, that I didn't, but my parents never knew that. They never really said: ‘You know what? Be good! don't do this or that ‘cause I'm keeping an eye on you and I’ll beat you if you do it, because I'm your father’ you know?, stuff like that. And maybe they’d say something but about insignificant things, you know like a fight between brothers or something.

Edgar incorporated the vision of parenting from the ‘proclamation of the family’ that parents are ‘equal partners’ in fulfilling family responsibilities, among which there is maintaining the discipline within the family. However, when he offered examples of the ways in which they could have warned him and his siblings about their conduct, he articulated such warnings as delivered by the father and backed up by a threat of physical violence. The hierarchy resonates in his phrasing making the father ultimately responsible for the family discipline.

Another example is that of Claudio who showed himself to be very critical of his father’s conduct in terms of the affective element of family when he was growing up. Claudio’s mother died when he was 11 years old and this made him feel that he was in effect alone from then on, as he did not feel close to —or taken care of by— his father:

I like to think that God knows what he’s doing, but… I mean…, I thought my dad would die first. But no, it was the person that was most important for me, that I had a stronger bond with. So when [my mother] died I was practically left alone, right? I mean, my dad never showed any love to me or anything like that. He kind of only cared about his daughters, about my sisters, and that was it.

Claudio described his relationship with his father as a teenager as ‘quite rough’, even though they seldom saw each other on account of the long hours the father worked. He eventually moved out of his father’s house and stopped talking to him for a few years, until he decided to try and resume contact with him prompted by the example of his partner’s relationship with his own family.

175 These narratives exemplify the ways in which the relationships that participants established with their parents growing up inform their notions of masculinity (and femininity). In the following subsection, I discuss how these notions are deployed, reaffirmed and/or reconfigured through participants’ accounts of relationships they have established beyond their nuclear family framework, more specifically with partners and/or children in the families they currently live with.

Current families

During our interview, Gabriel apologised for having to take a couple of calls. One of the calls was from his daughter, the oldest of his children. Gabriel explained to me that his family ‘has a tradition’ to get some take away tacos on Tuesday night and eat them together for dinner, and so he was being asked to buy them before he got home. A few minutes later when the interview was over, Gabriel admitted that this ‘family tradition’ was only a little more than a couple of weeks old. It is interesting, however, that he decided to call it a tradition, as is the explanation he gave to me about the work he and his family were expecting this weekly activity to do. Gabriel explained that this was an attempt to set a time apart for his family to spend together, to pause and talk to each other about their daily affairs in a pleasant environment. This idea is informed directly by the notion of Family Home Evening, a program of the LDS Church to encourage families to spend an evening together at least once a week. Gabriel elaborated saying that their many activities and different schedules can easily take up all of a family’s time, leaving them having to base their interaction solely on settling the “differences that naturally arise” in family living. This makes it necessary to deliberately create spaces for the family to share time and generate an enjoyable atmosphere; ‘these are the time one remembers the most (from the family home)’. This is related to the idea of the families these men ‘live by’, as put by John Gillis. The author explains that, in contemporary Western societies, just living family life has become not enough; it needs to be scripted and recorded in different ways (Gillis, 1997: xvi), usually linked to the idea of the traditional family, a particular family form from a specific moment in history that is reified as such. The dynamic nature of contemporary family life constantly threatens this ‘traditional’ family. If it is to survive, there is a need for families to be constantly invested in preserving themselves from complete annihilation

176 (Gillis, 1997: 3-5). These ideas are clearly present in the Mormon discourse and men, as families’ patriarchs, are the ultimate responsible for this work. Gabriel seems to recognise this when he says that the ‘inertial trajectory’ of the everyday lives of each of his family’s members does not necessarily lead to pleasant family interaction. He links this to the dynamic character of today’s life and the particular conditions under which his family lives. Procuring these moments of interaction is a way of ensuring ‘good old’ Mormon family life that can otherwise be easily lost.

Gabriel’s household consists of himself and his wife, one of his sons who is “still single”, his married daughter, his son in law, and his baby granddaughter. After consulting with his wife, Gabriel invited me to take part of the Tuesday taco evening and observe the dynamic there. Before we started eating, Gabriel asked his son to say a prayer to ‘bless the food’. Then we started eating and chatting. A good amount of talk focused on me as the new comer, but there was also talk of some of the family activities, one of which was watching a Spanish TV drama from a video streaming service similar to Netflix, that the whole family (except for Gabriel) had been ‘binging on’ for the last couple of weeks. Many of the comments looked for Gabriel’s validation, as acknowledging him as a chair of sorts for the discussion. At some point, the cost of the food was introduced to the discussion by Gabriel’s daughter, and she and her husband made their contribution as a differentiated family unit. The food bought was ready to eat, so no great preparation was involved. But whatever there was, it was mainly the women (Gabriel’s wife and daughter) who were in charge of it, as well as of picking up the dishes and washing up. Spaces such as this seem to serve as an opportunity for the performance of the ‘traditional Mormon family’, with a man ‘presiding’ over the activity and providing for the family, almost as much as Church services do as I have shown in Chapter 4.

This sort of performance is positioned against the ‘differences that naturally arise’ in family interactions. Antonio, for example, talked about the difficulties in everyday family life, particularly regarding the relationship with his siblings:

Well, sometimes (arguments) can be simply because of the space, you know? My house is big enough for four people but not for everyone who lives there, we’re too many; apart from my three siblings there’s my dad, my sister in law, my sister’s boyfriend who now lives there, so I think the lack of space has forced us to be a bit more hostile sometimes, right? I think part of the problem at home really is the space.

177 Practical issues, such as the space that Antonio needs to share within the family house, were acknowledged by the participants as important in establishing relationships with the families they live with. Antonio also mentioned that while his relationship with his brothers was easier, even taking the issue of space into consideration, his relationship with his sister ‘has been somewhat more complicated, as she’s the only woman’. Notions of gender and age also come into place in that sense, as he considers that it is more complicated to share space with her on account of her being a teenage woman “going through that blast of hormones and change of ideas” that is the adolescence.

Ernesto, on the other hand, said that he tries to please his wife as much as he can in regard to these practical issues of family life. This means that at times he has to “compromise” on things such as where a picture is hung or a particular piece of furniture is set, even if he does not necessarily like it. But he also made it clear that his position as the patriarch of the house makes him the presiding authority and, thus, the ultimate decision maker. He told me that he tries to resort to this authority as little as possible, only when it is strictly necessary, as it may lead to conflict, but he feels this part of his duties as the man at helm of the family:

I try to please my wife as much as I think I can. However, there have been situations when I’ve said: ‘Honey, I'm sorry, right? But we’re going to have to do this or the other’, when I think I exercise my responsibility to be the patriarch, without being machista, right? I mean, when I was a kid I wanted to go out and play in the rain, and my parents would say ‘well, no’. And I’d be like, ‘But please’, and they’d just put their foot down and say no. I think they exercised a righteous dominion, because there’s the power of unrighteous dominion, but that’s a different story, right? But I think that happens in every aspect of life, in all areas; at work that’s why there’s a hierarchy, and at home too, right? There’s a saying I’ve told my wife in situations like that, I say: ‘Honey, in a ship there’s only one captain’. I mean, clearly there’s a co-pilot and everyone in the crew, but in the end the person who makes a decision to steer the ship will be a captain. If there are two captains steering one towards one way and the other the opposite, that can’t be. On a plane there’s a pilot and a co-pilot. The co-pilot helps and advises the pilot, but in the critical moments the pilot is… his is the last word, and that’s what’s done, and I’ve told my wife that at home I see it the same way. I go: ‘Honey, you’re my co-pilot, and we go together and we have to apply ourselves to reach a good destination, but there’ll be moments in the flight when you’ll say right and I’ll say left, and I'm going to have to say: ‘We go left’ [laughs].

The patriarchal authority can be waved in day-to-day issues but when the decisions to be made ‘have a further reach’, such as where to live, when to move, or what kind of job to make, it is usually men who have the last say. It is worth noting how the exercise

178 of authority is only seen as macho (here understood as sexist or male chauvinist) if it resorts to physical violence, but imposing one’s superior authority as men is only fair. Similarly to Ernesto, other participants like Javier, Alberto, Francisco or Ramón, talked about the need to discuss different situations with their spouses and try to reach a consensus. However, they all shared the view that it is their ultimate responsibility to decide on a course of action, and to assume the consequences of their decision.

Aside from the tensions that can arise in the interactions with the families they live with, participants also highlighted a ludic dimension of their experience of familial relationships that contributes to a sense of distinctive Mormon masculinity in many of them. Elsewhere I have discussed the playful element of fatherhood and its importance for its practice within a Mormon context (Siles, 2012b). Men highlight this ‘fun’ element of doing family life, usually in connection with cultivating gratifying family relationships, with partners and children:

I don't really have my own time [laughs]. I do have friends, lots of them, but I'm in touch with them via Whatsapp or Facebook, I never go out with them, I don’t take time for that. I take time to be with my wife and my daughter, that’s my free time, going out with them, having fun with them. We go to the park, for a stroll, or we stay home and watch movies, we stock up on the popcorn and the snacks and that’s an afternoon (…) but I mean, going out with the friends or something I don't do it, I keep it familial (Héctor)

My wife and I love dancing, so we try to dance as much as possible. It is usually at family gatherings and things like that. We also visit museums and go to the cinema a lot, because of our [3 year old] son. We search for spaces for him, mostly. We try to help him in his formation, try and get everything that the Lord may inspire us to do for him so that he can develop fully, right? (Ramón)

Héctor said he was happy to devote his ‘free time’ to his wife and daughter. This, he said, is closely linked to the ‘family focus’ of the LDS Church that he willingly embraces. In a similar note, Ramón emphasises parenting as a vehicle for ludic opportunities with the family and conflates it with his and his wife’s responsibility to educate their son according to God’s will and inspiration. In a Mormon worldview, love achieves its fullness in marriage and family relationships. An important element of this family relationality is also the constant display of it in everyday interactions:

You have to be very careful not to lose the details with your wife: take her out to dinner, tell her that you love her, kisses, flowers, and all the rest of it.

179 Don’t you find that hard?

Well, not really because I’m very loving. But sometimes you do forget. Because of all the stuff you need to pay, I mean, you work to pay rent, food, baby stuff, your wife’s stuff, your own stuff, so, many times you lose focus on making (your wife) feel good,. And you lose the saying “I love you” every time, right? Or giving her a kiss. Sometimes you get home so tired and all you want is a shower and your bed, and then she gets a bit upset, right? Then comes the complaint, and she has every right to complain. So that’s an important part of us as members of the (LDS) church (…) I’m always trying to tell her that I love her, maybe I don’t take her flowers every day, but I cook for her or, I don't know, I iron the clothes or bathe our girl, I do things to make her feel good.

For Héctor, fulfilling his material responsibilities towards his family must spring from the love he has for them. But one should not expect that this will be sufficient to convey that love. That needs to be done constantly through smaller or larger gestures. Spending leisure time with his family instead of with friends or on his own is precisely a token of the love he feels for them, and clear demonstrations of affection towards his wife and daughter must be kept in mind. These displays of affection are part of the responsibilities he needs to fulfil as a good husband and father.

Conclusion

In this chapter, I have shown how Mormon masculinities are produced, reproduced, and experienced, both within and through the structure of familial relationships that Mormonism provided the participants with. This clearly detailed structure offers guidelines and sets out mandates for the organisation of these men’s lives and supplies them with regulations for their interactions within it. I argued that romantic relationships, marriage, and family are central to this structure and, therefore critically relevant for the construction and experience of Mormon masculinities.

I discussed the importance of the Mormon doctrine and teachings regarding family, especially ‘the proclamation of the family’ issued by LDS General Authorities to establish their official position as a (hetero)normative. In so doing, they have condensed Mormonism’s gender regime into one very succinct and accessible document. This document seems to have settled in the subjectivities of Mexican Mormons, as evidenced by the narrative exercises that participants realised in the interviews. This helps reinforcing an overall heteropatriarchal gender order that still

180 prevails in Mexican society at large. Participants’ accounts of the romantic relationships they have established show the ascendance of love and desire as important and differentiated elements. These two are more clearly intertwined in the account of non-heterosexual relationships, and to a lesser degree, in those narratives of relationships established with prospect of marriage in mind, and those that had already materialised as marriages.

Finally, I explored the ways in which participants’ experience of masculinity was shaped by their interactions with mothers, fathers, and siblings in their families of origin. Their portrayal of familial masculinities and femininities in those families of origins suggests that they informed these men’s notions of masculinity, and their decisions in key moments of their life, such as their conversion to Mormonism, the time to start romantic relationships, the times and way to formalises them (i.e. formal courting and marriage), and so on. These, along with the normativity of Mormonism, constitute the basis upon which participants imagine family and what I have called, following Gillis (1997), the families they ‘live by’. The following chapter utilises the dimensions of Mormon masculinities that I have developed so far (their spatial display, the priesthood, and romantic-familial relationships) and puts them into the perspective of the process through which participants are constantly becoming Mormon men.

181 7 - BECOMING MORMON / MEN

Introduction

A few of the men I talked to during fieldwork research, either in interviews or in more informal conversations, asked me what my reasons were for wanting to talk to them specifically. The answer I would usually give them was a very concise line straight out of the information sheet for participants I had previously devised: because you are a member of the LDS Church and/or identify yourself as a Mormon man. Indeed, they all identified themselves and were identified by others as Mormon men. However, the routes they had followed to arrive at this identification were diverse, nuanced and varied. In this chapter, I analyse the various routes that participants have followed in becoming Mormon men. I look at the accounts they made of how they got to the places where they were at the time I met them, positioned as Mormon men, as a relation of their ‘constant becoming, never arriving’ (Plummer, 1995: 20) at Mormon masculinity.

The chapter is divided into four sections. In the first one of them, I locate participants in terms of their biographical connection to Mormonism and their investment in it. I describe what I call the ‘strait and narrow path’, the ideal trajectory that Mormonism prescribes as the route to follow in order to be righteous in this life, and to achieve ‘exaltation’ in the life to come. This is connected to the notion of a distinctive Mormon form of ‘hegemonic masculinity’ (Connell, 2005; Connell and Messerschmitt, 2005) that I have developed along the previous chapters. In very practical terms, this route to Mormon masculinity entails doing a series of things, participating in specific rituals, and undertaking a series of actions, along men’s life trajectories and in their everyday lives, many of which I have described in previous chapters. I argue that this path is clearly gendered through Mormonism’s ‘gender regime’ (Connell and Pearse, 2015) as it establishes a series of mandates and expectations that locate men in a different position to that of women in terms of power, responsibility, and prestige.

Section two draws on narratives of men walking this ‘strait and narrow path’. That is to say, even if they do not fully embody Mormon hegemonic masculinity, their life accounts transpired, in general terms, in harmony with it. I characterise these participants’ narratives as articulated by a relationship of nearly unquestioned adoption of such a model and a constant effort to conform and adjust to it. This section is in turn divided into two subsections, the first of which discusses accounts by participants who

182 inherited Mormonism from their families and have been Mormon all or most of their lives. This gives these men the feeling of belonging in a ‘tradition’ of ‘truth and righteousness’ that demands that they live up to the knowledge they have been handed down. In the second subsection, I discuss the cases of participants who joined ‘the path’ later in life and have since adjusted to it. In those cases, there is a rational narrative of the decision to adopt this path and follow it. This rationality interweaves with notions of religious ‘traditions’ that Mormonism complements, enhances or expands.

The third section is concerned with narratives of men whose relationship with the ideal model has been marked by a negotiation with it, at specific moments in their lives. Rather than straight linear trajectories along ‘the path’, their accounts describe an ebbing and flowing that have drawn them close to it and away from it depending on specific circumstances linked to their interests and contexts at different points of their lives. These are accounts of more ‘fluid trajectories’ that I refer to as ebbing and flowing routes to Moron masculinities. Routes of this type are particularly better understood when analysed through the double thinking (Butler, 2002; Heaphy, 2018) I discussed in more detail in Chapter 2. This is so because they illustrate moments and situations when participants appear to think and act through ‘traditional’ frameworks that contradict other more modern/late-modern ones, and moments when they act conversely. Men’s negotiations in those moments are what give these narratives their ebb and flow.

The last section of the chapter analyses the narratives of conflict with the model produced by some of the participants. These are defined by a relationship of constant and overt contradiction between the participants’ life experience and the prescribed route to follow by the hegemonic model of Mormon masculinity. Such relationship of contradiction has resulted in an outward trajectory that draws men away from the ideal model, (and in some cases, eventually Mormonism altogether) and leads them to a resignified idea of what being a man means and involves in terms of their life experience.

I view masculinity as a process that can take on different forms and nuances. Thus, the chapter’s main argument is that Mormon masculinities can be produced and gone through in different forms according to men’s lived experiences and the different ways in which they engage the well-defined path to becoming a man that Mormonism

183 proposes to them. Moreover, I contend that participants’ telling of their stories of becoming Mormon men is part of the way in which they produce masculinities, as storytelling is a way to locate oneself in the world, make sense of it and interact in and with it (Plummer, 1995: 20). This also allows thinking of multiple forms of masculinities (within Mormonism, as well as outside of it) that coexist and relate to each other in hierarchic, competing or contradictory ways.

Positioning men versus ‘the strait and narrow path’

The Book of Mormon teaches that when men are baptised into Christ’s true church (i.e. the LDS Church) they enter ‘the strait and narrow path which leads to eternal life’. The prophet Nephi elaborates saying that, once in the path, men ‘shall press forward… and endure to the end’ so that they can effectively reach ‘eternal life’ (The Book of Mormon, 2 Nephi 31:14-20). I use this same expression to describe the model trajectory that has become the benchmark for the route to (hegemonic) Mormon masculinity. I refer to the actual gender practice that allows men’s domination, not only over women but over other men, on the basis of what has been established as the most righteous way of being a Mormon man. As I have argued in chapters 4 and 5, the LDS General Authorities can be regarded as the closest embodiment of this hegemonic pattern. Their biographies tend to be presented as almost flawless routes along this ‘strait and narrow path’, having been born into Mormon families, and done almost everything that is required from an ideal Mormon man. That is to say, the ‘pattern of practice (i.e., things done, not just a set of role expectations or an identity)’ (Connell and Messerschmidt, 2005: 832) these men have followed has produced a narrative of successful attainment of Mormon masculinity through this path.

The first (almost obvious) element for positioning participants vis-à-vis this path is their membership in the LDS Church, and the interaction they have had with it along their life. Almost two thirds of my interviewees identified themselves as being Mormon for most or all of their life. This means that they are part of a Mormon lineage, with LDS parents who took them to church since they were only infants. In some cases, they have grandparents and/or other relatives who also identify as Mormon. For these participants, Mormonism has been a major referential framework to make sense of the world, and the place men occupy in it, from very early in their life. Their Mormon

184 lineage is relevant to the ways in which they construct their narratives of growing up, the horizon of possibilities they envision for themselves, and the centrality that Mormonism plays in the processes of becoming men. Their practice takes place within the framework of ‘religion as heritage’ (Lehmann, 2003) to a great extent, and is expected to develop into an individual ‘testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel’. The remainder of the interviewees, about a third of them, converted to Mormonism at some point during their adult lives. This means that the narratives produced by these men include the moment of finding and embracing Mormonism as a definitive moment that is part of a series of events in their life course that has taken them to the stage where they now see themselves.

In addition to this biographical dimension in their experience as Mormon men, there is the issue of the participants’ investment in Mormonism. They employed the terms ‘the church’ or ‘the gospel’ almost interchangeably to designate the comprehensive system of beliefs, norms and practices that is Mormonism, and that structures and organises their life in its various domains. Participants talked about their degree of investment in Mormonism in terms of their ‘conversion’ to the gospel’, or of their ‘testimony’ of it, and their obtaining and strengthening of such testimony. That is, the degree to which they have developed a conviction that the Mormon doctrine as taught by the LDS Church is accurate, and to which that conviction leads to acting according to its normativity. Thus, religion is practiced also as ‘believing’ (Hervieu-Léger, 1999) and not only as heritage. The idea of ‘religion as belief’ (Lehmann, 2003) is even more readily noticeable in the case of the men who converted to Mormonism later in their life that in the case of long-life Mormons. However, the narratives of the former, recognise the importance of the lineage and highlight the fact that the adoption of the faith works in both directions, meaning they are adopted into the tradition, too, mostly on the basis of the adequate performance of the masculinity of the ‘believing man’, one who has a ‘testimony’ of the church upon which his actions are founded.

These notions have a strong subjective, emotional, and affective component. But they also materialise in a series of attitudes and practices that I was able to observe through my interviews and interactions with them at Sunday worship services and other church related activities. Based on those observations and the accounts they offered, I locate the participants along a continuum. As I detailed in Chapter 3, this continuum spans from a deep investment, materialised in a high incorporation of institutional

185 Mormonism and its associated principles and practices, to disaffection with the LDS Church and the abandonment of most tenets and practices promoted by it. In this sense, the vast majority of participants can be placed closer to the former end of the continuum, as mostly believing and ‘active’ Mormon men, with only a handful of them falling on the not ‘active’ or mostly disaffected/disbelieving side of it.

These two dimensions, namely, the span of time for which they have been in Mormonism and their investment in it, provide a first idea of where the participants stand in terms of their being Mormon men. In the remainder of the chapter, I explore the different routes they have followed in their becoming Mormon men, through the biographic accounts of the process that they produced. As I mentioned earlier, these routes are defined by the relation that men have established with the hegemonic model of masculinity within this particular group. The notion of ‘personal progress’ is of notable importance to this hegemonic model in Mormonism. It is linked to the process through which men draw near to ‘exaltation’, in Mormon vernacular, the perfected state that is the ultimate end of human existence, and that is only attainable in the afterlife. In earthly, practical terms, men’s ‘progress’ in life is often conceived of as their advance through a linear and well-defined path marked by a succession of life ‘stages’, marked by a series of rituals, relevant events, and experiences, verified along those stages. All participants acknowledged the existence of this ideal journey, to some extent, and positioned themselves in relation to it. This path can be seen as a linear movement in time that (ideally) starts at the beginning of their lives and stretches until the end.

The ideal trajectory of the Mormon man starts as an infant. Only a few weeks after they are born, babies are part of a ritual by which they are given a ‘blessing’ and a name. It is usually their father who pronounces the blessing and gives them a name as part of it, during the first Sunday meeting of a month. If the father of the child is not a member of the LDS Church, or is a member but not ‘in good standing’59, it will usually be a close male relative ordained to priesthood, a priesthood leader, or some other priesthood holder, who performs the ritual. The giving of a name and blessing of infants bears a particular symbolic importance. The man pronouncing the blessing is meant to

59 A member in good standing is one that is deemed by the leadership as worthy of participation in the LDS Church and enjoys all privileges granted by membership, including the right as a priesthood holder to officiate in rituals such as blessings, baptisms and so on.

186 do so under ‘the inspiration of the Spirit’, which in practice means that there are no exact words he needs to repeat and can pronounce whatever ‘blessings’ he feels the impression to vest upon the child.

Having witnessed the performance of baby blessings several times60, I would argue that there is a scripted narrative to them that is noticeably gendered. The ritual serves for the reassertion of the sex assigned to the baby at birth –much like the christening in other Christian traditions– in as much as it assigns a name to the child that is distinctively male or female. But furthermore, ‘blessings’ tend to showcase the Mormon ideal models of masculinity and femininity that the newly born are expected to fulfil growing up. And it particularly highlights the heteronormative nature of such models, marked by gender conventionality, heterosexuality, and ‘family traditionalism’ (Oswald et al., 2005) as pillars of what I refer to as the strait and narrow path. The path for Mormon men is constructed in relation to women, who are perceived as their complementary counterpart. This is a clear example of ‘institutionalized heterosexuality’ (Ingraham 1996:187) as the ideological and organizational regulation of relations between men and women.

In the case of baby boys, the path is laid out by usually ‘blessing’ the child with physical strength as he grows up, with wisdom for choosing to act righteously, with the promises/mandates to serve a full-time mission, to find an ‘eternal companion’ (a Mormon wife), to have a family, to serve in the church, as well as with the necessary capabilities to become a professionally successful man. Girls also receive a name and a blessing as infants; however, in the ‘blessings’ pronounced over them there is greater emphasis on being ‘virtuous’ (a notion in Mormonism associated with the repression of sexuality outside marriage), marrying a righteous man in the Mormon temple, as well as being a mother, guide and educator to her children and family. ‘Blessings’ related to professional success or church service tend to be less present than for boys. The ritual contributes to boys and girls being recognised as part of a Mormon community. More importantly, it is a performative act in the sense proposed by Butler (1993) following Austin’s (1955) theorization of speech acts. Just as the minister

60 Baby blessings take place during regular worship services in meeting houses, on the first Sunday of a given month. As I was raised a Mormon myself, and attended church services regularly during my childhood and adolescence, I was able to sit in a number of enactments of this ritual practice.

187 produces the marriage of a couple by ‘pronouncing’ them ‘man and wife’, the blessing vested upon the newly born body is part of the process61 to produce a ‘baby boy’ or ‘baby girl’, and the potentialities that they will be expected to develop, the gender expectations to which they will be expected to rise. Thus, ‘boys and girls’ start learning ‘the gospel’ from the earliest stage of his life.

When children reach what Mormons call an ‘age of accountability’ they are to take part in the ritual of baptism. This age has been marked by the LDS leadership as eight years old, and means that the child is now able to tell right from wrong and, thus, accountable for their own choices. Baptism marks a person’s formal entrance into the Church’s membership and reasserts their commitment to adhere to the Mormon normativity. A man’s transition from childhood to adolescence is marked by being ordained to priesthood at age 12. As I described in Chapter 5, this entails being given some minor responsibilities in the functioning of the Church Sunday services. The element of duty, mostly to God and the Church, is reinforced during this life stage.

Even though girls are also baptised at age eight, their passage into adolescence is not marked by priesthood ordination as is the case with boys. At age twelve they become part of the Young Women organization, which groups Mormon women ages 12 to 17. Unlike teenage men, being part of this group does not give them any responsibilities in the functioning of the ward beyond their own groups.62 The main purpose of the organization, as expressed by the LDS Church, is ‘to help each young woman be worthy to make and keep sacred covenants and receive the ordinances of the temple’ (LDS Church, 2017c). One of the objectives set by the organization for each young woman is to ‘Prepare for her divine roles as a daughter, wife, mother, and leader’ (LDS Church, 2017c, emphasis added). In practice, this means that the religious formation for Mormon teenage women emphasises family life and temple marriage as a priority for women over church leadership or professional development.

61 Babies are blessed in Sacrament and testimony meetings, which take place on the first Sunday of each month. Parents tend to strive to have their babies blessed in the first such meeting immediately after they are born. In this sense, although the gendering of the baby has occurred even before birth by virtue of calling them by male or female names, the giving of the name and a blessing makes it official for the Mormon community. 62 Although adult women (18 and older) grouped in the Relief Society are usually assigned lots of practical (not directly ‘spiritual’) tasks in the ward, for example in the organisation and delivery social events, especially the ones that involve food preparation.

188 Men’s ordination to priesthood and their development within the priesthood structure as they go through adolescence leads up to missionary service. At age 18, he is expected to go on a two-year mission, away from his place of origin, family, and other personal networks. As I have detailed in Chapter 5, this is one of the most significant moments in a Mormon man’s life, and a pivotal part of the ideal path for the Mormon man. In the same chapter, I stated that a man’s mission tends to be perceived as a rite of passage (Van Gennep, 2004 [1960]) through which the teenage boy is expected to grow and mature into adulthood, and the possibility that is affords them to have experiences similar to those built into narratives of ‘gap years’. Until a few years ago, the LDS policy was that women who wished to serve full-time missions could do so only after they turned 21. Benito (39), a former bishop in one of the wards I attended as part of my fieldwork research, told me that women who expressed such desire used to be advised to pursue other goals, specifically to get married and start a family if possible. The change in policy meant that women can now go on missions at age 18, too, if they so desire. Benito says this policy change has also meant that women who express a desire to serve a mission have stopped being discouraged from doing so, resulting in an increase in the number of serving sister missionaries. However, missionary service is still not seen as mandatory for them, and the amount of time they serve is still less than that required of men, 18 months. This speaks of the homosocial nature of the missionary experience, which was reflected in comments by some of the participants who they ‘liked the notion that mission are seen as ‘a commandment’ for men, and a labour that men are more fit to perform than women, because of the physical toll it takes, and the toughness that men have to deal with rough or hostile environments.

As a ‘returned missionary’, the ideal path takes the Mormon man into productive adult life. He may well become a worker, a professional or a small, midsized, or big business owner; as long as he is in a position to be the main provider for a family, he is fulfilling the expectation. Sometime along this productive project, better sooner than later after returning home from his mission, he should find a prospective female partner to marry. As I have argued in Chapter 6, marriage is a fundamental goal, and another crucial ritual in which a man must take part, as being ‘sealed for eternity’ to a spouse in matrimony is essential for a man’s ‘exaltation’. Mormon marriages take place inside the temples I mentioned in Chapter 4, which have restricted access (only LDS Church members in possession of a ‘temple recommend’ issued by their priesthood leaders

189 may enter). This enhances the symbolic weight of the ritual as a major milestone in the ideal path. This is also meant to mark the beginning of the man’s own family, so fathering children becomes the next goalpost. At the same time, he is expected to continue participating actively in the church, taking on various leadership positions or ‘callings’. Ideally, a man will get married some time during his 20s, and work in ward and stake leadership positions between his 30s and 50s. If he reaches positions higher in the leadership hierarchy, that is, above the stake level, he will usually be called to occupy those in his late 50s. In any case, he is expected to be a responsible father, a dependable leader and a faithful member of the LDS Church. For the rest of his adult life he is expected to conform to Mormon normativity, ‘enduring to the end’.

On the other hand, marriage and motherhood are arguably the most important elements in a Mormon woman’s ideal path. Alejandra (34) told me that the ‘sealing’ in the temple is given a greater symbolic importance in the life of women than of men, and that once a woman is married, her main responsibilities constantly are linked to the domestic sphere -being a housewife and a mother- in Church lessons and talks. In terms of the provision of the family, this is not regarded as a mandate for women. Most of the married men I interviewed recognised this as their responsibility rather that their wives’. All of them are employed somehow and consider themselves the main provider (or at least an equal contributor). In one of the wards I attended, none of the married men’s spouses worked outside the family home.63 By contrast, in the other ward, all seven spouses of the married men I interviewed have a job or otherwise contribute to the household income. This is not a very different scenario for women to the overall tendency in Mexico City, where roughly 50% of the female population is recorded to participate in the job market (INEGI, 2018). This may also be related to an issue of class: the households in the first ward (where none of the participants’ wives were employed) could be characterised as having lower-middle income, and the men had in general a lower degree of formal education, had lower paid jobs, or were self- employed. The households in the second ward predominantly had middle to upper- middle income levels. A larger proportion of the men were paid professionals and so were their spouses.

63 Only two of them referred to their wives as contributing sporadically to the household income through some form of remunerated activity, mostly in informal settings.

190 However, this did not mean that the responsibilities for the care and maintenance of the household were equally shared between partners, and they tended to fall mostly upon women, as per participants accounts. Research on this topic (García and de Oliveira, 1994; 2005; de Oliveira, 1998) has showed that this is a trend in Mexico. In terms of Church administration, only a few positions can be occupied by women, mostly linked to the organizations of adult or teenage women, or children. Women are expected to take on these administrative roles at some point in their lives, but this is also seen as second to their main responsibilities as wives and mothers.

Due to the fact that I recruited participants mostly out of the two wards I attended during fieldwork, most of them defined themselves as active believing Mormons. Thus, a good portion of them produced a narrative of their adoption of this model path, as well as of a constant strive to stay on it. In the following subsection, I analyse these narratives and show how their accounts are an effort to harmonise their own lived experiences with the ‘stages’ and events prescribed by Mormonism as constitutive of the model path.

‘Talking the walk’: narratives of staying on the ‘strait and narrow path’

I treat the narratives articulated by the participants as accounts of the routes they have followed in becoming Mormon men. In the case of those who have adopted the ideal, their accounts display an effort to fit their lived experiences together with the model I have described above, constituting stories of staying on the strait and narrow path. These take place in one of two possible scenarios, namely, as members of the LDS Church from birth or as converts to it at a later stage. In the next subsection, I look at the cases of participants who have been Mormon for most or all of their lives, and then move on to the accounts of conversion to Mormonism at a later adult stage in life, in the second subsection.

‘Born in the covenant’

I began all my interviews by asking participants to introduce themselves briefly. When I asked Edgar (27), a man in charge of the activities of the group of Young single Adults (YSA) in his ward, his response went as follows:

191 I was born in Mexico City, but I went to live in the country side with my family as a child. I have been a member [of the LDS Church] all my life; you probably know that my dad’s a returned missionary and all that. My teenage years, about 12 to 19, I spent back here in the city… Then I went on a mission, as part of this tiny sacrifice we men of the church do. When I came back, I started studying [to obtain a degree]… I am also working in a job that’s somehow related to my education, so I like it in that sense, but as I was telling you earlier, I’d like to change jobs later. Then, get married and carry on with my life like that, I mean, setting goals for myself in things related to my career, my family, and the church.

Edgar’s story is a short, well-rehearsed relation of the route that has taken him to the point where he is at in life that is closely framed by the model. A few other participants, like Camilo (20) or Antonio (26), describe similar life trajectories to that of Edgar. They have all returned from serving full time missions within the country and are now undergraduate students. They, like Edgar also talk about of some of these experiences, the mission more concretely, as making them part of a community of men/priesthood holders. Their accounts differ in detail and length, but clearly have the narrative of the ideal path as a structuring referent for their own. Some other interviewees, like Jaime (35), Benito (39) or Ernesto (41), have gone through a few more of the life ‘stages’ described and participated in some more of the rituals. In addition to having been born into Mormon families, grown up as active members of the LDS Church and served full time missions, they have served on different callings and leadership positions in their wards, and, most notably, they have gotten married. Benito and Ernesto have also become fathers.

The stories all these men told me are encompassed in the overarching narrative of staying in ‘the strait and narrow path’ that leads to exaltation. Similarly to what Ken Plummer (1995) asserts about what he calls sexual stories, these narratives show a clear outline that structures participants accounts. They have become a resource ‘to facilitate self-determination’ (Heaphy, 2008), to help them make sense of the process through which they have become (and strive to stay) believing righteous Mormon men.

The ‘church’, or the ‘gospel’, appears in these men’s narratives as their main source of morality, knowledge, and other social-cultural –and in some cases even economic– resources. It has been central in providing a structure for their lives and the process of making decisions in their trajectories. Edgar was particularly emphatic in this, when he told me that he wondered how he and his siblings turned out to be ‘good children’,

192 considering his parents did not really teach them to be, or give them a family education he would characterise as particularly praise worthy. ‘The only thing I do recognise of them is that they persevered in taking us to church, and that’s what determined everything’, he said.

Other participants do acknowledge the role played by their parents in the process of their formation as men. At the same time, they view the functioning of their family units as closely linked to their adherence to Mormonism. Ernesto puts it this way:

I come from a functional family. Had a very pleasant childhood and adolescence, really; always with my family, always with the image of my dad, who was, well, a prominent leader, so to speak; he was a Stake president for 10 years; then the image of my mom64, and my siblings… We lived in an area where most families were Mormon, something not many kids in Mexico experience, I think. And we spent a lot of time interacting with Mormon neighbours, I mean, I played with them and things, and we took part in countless activities, and I would go as far as to say that 80% of those activities were church related.

A similar case is that of Jaime (35) who focuses on the role his father played in his upbringing. His father was mostly an ‘authority’ figure to him, but he also describes him as a ‘wise, close, and caring man’. Jaime explains that his father was constantly ‘present’ at home, establishing communication with him and his siblings, and spending time with them. This made him ‘trust and respect’ him, regarding him as the kind of man Mormonism can produce. His father’s performance of the Mormon ideal for men became a referent for Jaime, who strives to replicate the good practices he saw in his father as a priesthood leader and husband. Eventually, he says, it will also be his main referent when he becomes a father himself and has his own children.

Ernesto describes his years growing up as heavily influenced by his family as well as the predominantly Mormon environment in which he interacted. Jaime places a particular attention to the story of his father and this being a major referent of a man staying in the path. These stories of becoming men within ‘the church’ tend to highlight the perceived benefits of abiding by the norms of conduct received from Mormonism

64 Before our interview, Ernesto told me about his mother also being a referential figure in his Mormon community, due to a specific position she held in the college of the LDS Church education system in Mexico (an important referent itself for the Mormon experience of youth since the 1960s and up to the 2000s). This is, however an exceptional case rather that regularity. In the context of this quote, Ernesto is mostly refereeing to the image of the (hetero)normative notion of family characteristic of the lifestyle promoted by Mormonism.

193 in every one of the life ‘stages’ they go through. In this sense, they feel to them as if the right story had been passed down to them, enabling them to replicate and make the most out of it.

They constantly refer to the norms of conduct that structure the story as ‘commandments’ 65 that a man needs to obey. Obedience to the commandments, especially associated with the figure of the man as god’s servant, is a core principle of Mormonism. Thus, Mormon normativity provides men with a structure and a standard to constantly compare themselves against. This normativity constitutes a potential source of identity for men when they conform to it; an obedient man who keeps the commandments is a good, faithful servant. Consider Edgar’s image of himself has having been obedient and this as fundamentally informing his identity as a Mormon man. Specifically regarding the ‘commandment’ for men to go on missions, he said:

For people who have little faith, when they hear that it is a commandment for men they will be so disturbed that negative things will come to their life. But in my case, I’ve assumed it is a commandment, and I mean, that’s great! [Going on a mission] changed my life, so it’s great that it’s a commandment for men; that’s true! And I’m glad they say that, because for every man it should also be a privilege to serve. It’s a commandment, yes. So, go because it’s a duty, but commandments must be viewed differently. So, I have no problem that for men it is, if you will, mandatory, I’ve no problem with that.

Being an obedient man has brought god’s protection and ‘blessings’ to his life, Edgar reflects. Through quotes like the one above, he constructs a narrative of obedience as causing the plot of his life to move on. By having obeyed the ‘commandment’ to go on a mission, Edgar has reaffirmed his own perception as a righteous Mormon man. Within this framework, he interprets the events in his life that he values as positive as the natural consequence that follows from doing God’s will.

65 It is worth noting that even though it may refer the reader to the biblical account of Moses and the ten commandments he revealed, the term commandments is used to refer to “The laws and requirements that God gives to mankind, either individually or collectively” (LDS Church, 2013c). In more cultural terms, a commandment in Mormonism is anything that a man (or a woman) perceives as a divinely assigned duty or responsibility. In these sense, many of the guidelines given by the LDS General Authorities and/or other regional or local leaders are regarded as commandments by some Mormons.

194 Having ‘entered in by the gate’

The story of following the path is well-known, widely told, and largely celebrated. It is a story of a successful route to masculinity that some other Mormon men even covet (I will discuss this further later in the chapter). However, it is not the only one that can give the reassurance of good realised in men’s life. Mormonism is not only a ‘tradition’ that is inherited (Hervieu-Léger, 1999) by men from immediately previous generations. It is a proselyting faith, constantly endeavouring to pass down this ‘tradition’ to as many people as possible. Thus, it is equally valued to opt into the tradition and join the path through personal ‘conversion’. Among the stories of believing and active Mormons, there are those who see themselves as having fallen short of the ideal at different times –either because they have found it at a later stage in life or gone astray at some point– but who have achieved this conversion and ‘have entered in by the gate’ (The Book of Mormon, 2 Nephi 31: 18) putting themselves in the strait and narrow path.

That is the case of Rubén (44) who describes himself as having grown up as a fundamentally ‘good’ man, whose life was enriched when he joined the LDS Church around 11 years back:

[Before joining the Church] I’d always been a good kid, you know? As a child I was very calm, didn’t give my parents any headaches… I always focused on doing what I had to. Maybe I wasn’t the brightest at school, but passed my tests and did okay, didn’t get into any trouble. I worked since I was very young, you know, a calm boy. And I’d always believed in God when the missionaries taught me, never doubted he existed. I think nature tells us as much, I mean, you’d have to be too blind not to see that there’s a God.

But when he found ‘the church’, he encountered a more comprehensive way of believing, with a stronger emphasis on being a ‘believing man’. The idea of a believing man is present to different degrees in several of the narratives of the participants. A believing man has faith in God, and in Mormonism as the best way to draw near Him. This materialises in specific practices to develop as such, which include attending Church services regularly, attending to his ‘calling(s)’ (i.e. fulfilling the responsibilities associated with the position he occupies at a given point in time), and in general trying to observe the Mormon normativity in everyday life.

195 Discussing his decision to get married and start a family, something he did quite shortly after joining the LDS Church, Rubén explains:

Well, the first thing was my age, I was already 33. But it was also the knowledge of the plan of salvation that the church gives you, that they teach you, you know, about eternal families, forming a family and guiding it with LDS norms. And it’s a very good and beautiful plan. And you do compare your experience and think: ‘I would’ve loved to have gone on a mission or to learn all these things as a child, or a teen’, and so on. Well, it wasn’t the case but it can still be done now, right? Even if it’s in a little different way. And that’s what made me decide to have a companion, an eternal companion, an eternal family, right?

Rubén talked about the idea of different events connected to specific moments or ‘stages in life, much as the path lies out, as evidenced by his consideration that he was at an adequate (perhaps even slightly late) age to start a family. Having to ‘guide’ his family according to Mormon principles toward ‘exaltation’ or ‘eternal life’ is also highlighted by him as a responsibility for a righteous believing man. This is a central task in the ideal route to masculinity, as the head of a family, its guide and teacher.

A similar case is the one of Raúl (52) who converted to Mormonism only a couple of years ago. He has very fond memories of his non-Mormon childhood and teenage years; although he says they were full of hardship. In our interview, he spoke very candidly about his family experiencing economic difficulties while he was growing up, and even had to pause and breathe trying (unsuccessfully) to hold back the tears when he remembers ‘the many sacrifices’ that he, his five siblings, and his parents had to endure.

In his narrative, Raúl constantly returns to the notions of family life and responsibility towards it. He spoke at length of how the process of getting married and starting a family was rough for him, since it came in the context of an unwanted pregnancy when his now wife and he were only 18. He told me that this feeling of responsibility was the main drive he had to venture into family life and to stay in it up to this point. This strong relationship between responsibility and family in Raúl’s narrative is also characteristic of the Mormon discourse. A man’s responsibility towards his family, not only as a provider but also as a guide, is perceived as a ‘traditional’ value that is ‘being lost’ in modern society at large. The emphasis on it was one of the points that attracted him to Mormonism the most. He came to know the LDS Church after his son was in a

196 near-fatal accident. After spending several weeks in hospital, Raúl’s son wanted to explore spirituality and turned to the Mormon missionaries who were teaching his cousin at the time. This led to his children and his wife learning about the Mormon Church and joining it. Raúl’s focus on family led him to consider following in their footsteps and join the LDS Church himself:

I remember I thought: ‘Well, I'm not really a Catholic’, I mean I had no motivation to be there every week. And I thought, ‘well, if my children, if my son, who surprised me by being baptised into the church, and going every week, and my daughter and wife the same –I thought– this might actually be something good, right? And if I didn't find anything [in Catholicism] that motivated me, why not look this way now, right? So, I decided to listen to the missionaries. And as I did I constantly thought: ‘Yeah, that makes sense’ or ‘I already try to do this or that other thing’ And I really found the joy in going to church every week, and what I was looking for, and had not found elsewhere, I had found here.

Raúl’s narrative of becoming a man rests on a series of key events in his life course. His son’s accident and its aftermath is a ‘critical moment’ (Thomson et al., 2002) that shifted this course toward spirituality. Although he characterises himself as a man of principles up to that point in his life, he considers the pivotal moment of his ‘conversion’ came when the teachings of the Mormon missionaries and the Sunday lessons provided doctrinal content for his moral intuitions of what the path to masculinity was:

As I said, I used to think, well, most of the stuff these boys (the missionaries) are telling me I already do. But there was a key moment when they told me about the Word of Wisdom. I didn’t use to be a heavy drinker, but I did drink. And I hadn’t stopped to think about the negative consequences of drinking. But as they told me about it, it really dawned on me, like ‘Yeah, that’s right, what’s drinking doing for me? What harms can it actually bring?’ So, when they challenged me to observe the Word of Wisdom (by not drinking, smoking, or drinking coffee, and trying to stay healthy) I just said yes. And I made a commitment with them. So, that very afternoon I quit, I made my toilet super drunk with all the booze I flushed down that afternoon! I emptied all my bottles and did away with it

These stories of becoming Mormon men through sticking to the strait and narrow serve the reassert (hetero)normative relations, and especially family, as a desirable ideal. In this sense, they can be seen, in Plummer’s (1995:6) terms, as counter to the broader social and cultural shift toward non-heteropatriarchal family formations. On the other

197 hand, narratives of everyday negotiation with the Mormon ideal in practical terms over the life course may influence change. In the following subsection, I discuss some examples of personal stories depicting more fluid trajectories to Mormon masculinity.

Ebbing and flowing

The overarching narrative of Mormonism presented as the one true gospel is not only comprised of the stories that follow a linear progression. The story of redemption can take different forms: not necessarily one discreet ‘critical moment’ that sets a man on the ‘right’ path. It can be experienced, as some participants’ stories reflect, as a more fluid process over time, and as constant ebb and flow that may pull men away from Mormonism at times, and push them back towards it at others. This entails establishing a relationship with the ideal model of Mormons masculinity through constant negotiation.

The case of Alberto (28) is interesting in this regard. Although his father was a Mormon even from before he was born, and took him to church almost every Sunday growing up, Alberto did not develop a strong identity as a Mormon early in his life. Most of his closest acquaintances growing up were ‘people from the world’.66 During his teenage years, he stopped attending church and spent a great amount of time in environments and behaviours he now describes as ‘inappropriate’. In his view, this had to do with the lack of surveillance that his circumstances implied:

Maybe there are people who, I don’t know, they have their mom, their dad, and they may be better guided, better supervised, they can be made to reflect. But that wasn’t my case; I had way too much freedom. I lived only with my sister at the time, I mean, I pretty much had a bachelor’s pad. We were too young, I must have been about 15 and my sister 18… as a teenager you don’t know any better, do you?

In his narrative, Alberto describes this period of his life as one of disorder and uncertainty. His account suggests that he started to feel the need to be restrained in a sort of protective way. However, Alberto says he was not able to find these restraining forces at the family home, which can be seen as an implicit criticism of his own father’s

66 This is a common trope in Mormonism to describe anyone who is not a member of the LDS Church, or any practices that are not established, taught or endorsed by the Church.

198 masculinity, perceived by him as the evident source of authority at home. Thus, he decided to turn to the religious tradition he had drifted away from. Alberto started going to church on his own and to make changes in his lifestyle so as to be in line with Mormon normativity. This included giving up the consumption of ‘harmful substances’ and attending church services regularly. Mormonism seemed to provide him with an effective way to restrain his life, making him feel safe and reassured.

From that time on, Alberto was able to retake the path that his Mormon inheritance had provided for him. This was not without any further ‘trespasses’, as he explained that a man’s nature is prone to fall short from the standard. In this he resorts to the notion of the ‘natural man’ that stems from the Book of Mormon. The book teaches that ‘the natural man is an enemy to God’ and he will always be, unless he gives up this evil nature by becoming ‘as a child, submissive, meek, humble, patient, full of love, willing to submit to all things which the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon him, even as a child doth submit to his father’. (The Book of Mormon, Mosiah 3:19). The nature of men can then be deduced as being subversive, stubborn, arrogant, and impatient. Although these characteristics are undesirable, for Alberto they are part of his nature and overcoming them entails a struggle that takes place over a man’s entire life.

In his early twenties, Alberto went on a mission as a way of reaffirming his journey back into Mormon masculinity. However, upon returning from missionary service, he had to deal with another issue that would put him at odds with Mormon normativity. On the one hand, he had committed himself to obeying the ‘commandments’ –which included finding a woman, establishing a relationship, getting married and starting a family with her– and felt compelled to do this. So he did start a relationship that lasted for several months. However, he met someone else he felt attracted to, which prompted him to end that relationship and start a new one. This started to become a trend, Alberto says. Then he went from these somewhat formal relationships, to establishing various informal and brief relationships and/or contacts with more women, and eventually turned sexually active as part of this process. This situation presented itself as a conflict for him, which he considered to be the case for many men: ‘It’s a conflict between your (religious) beliefs and what you yourself believe and in the end you have to make a choice’. He decided that it was best for him to explore this while he was still single, rather than later in his life when he was already married, as that would have been ‘even

199 worse’. Even though this was conflictive for him, he managed to negotiate his withdrawal from Mormon normativity:

Was it hard for you to make (that choice)?

All the time, all the time! And when I decided to do it differently (to the norm) I felt bad, really bad. Because, I mean, the scriptures don’t lie. The theory of the gospel told me ‘if you do it, you’ll feel bad’ (…) so, I did feel bad. But having to go through church discipline was a good excuse to just run with it for a while, while I decided to set my situation straight, which I did, eventually (…) I'm being honest; I'm not embarrassed to say, because I think this is something many go through, not just me. And many men leave the church all together on account of this issue, because they come back from their mission at a time that hormones turn you into a whirlwind. And they experience a conflict between the gospel and themselves, and sometimes they break away, and they have to live some things in order to come back, and sometimes they don’t ever come back, right?

As suggested by Alberto in the above quote, the conflict between ‘man’s nature’ and the Mormon precepts for masculinity can become unsurmountable at times. Some men can decide to yield to nature and then lack the strength or resolution to return to the path to exaltation once they have wandered off it. However, he sees his experience more like meandering, with a clear idea that there was always a way back to ideal Mormon masculinity, and he would have to take at some point or another to ‘set (his) situation straight’. The conviction of the possibility to ‘repent’ from his trespasses gave Alberto room to negotiate the norms in a temporal framework. So he constructs this period as a hiatus in his journey to righteousness, understandable and, most importantly, safely amendable, as he had by then gained first-hand knowledge of the right path and the way to get back on it. ‘I personally never, in spite of doing something very wrong by church standards, I never lost my beliefs’, Alberto told me, ‘I knew what I was doing and it never influenced me to stop believing. Deep inside of me, I knew that was fleeting, artificial even, and that it was wrong’. It is also interesting that, in spite of him saying that he was not embarrassed admitting he had ‘making the wrong choices’, Alberto could not bring himself to tell me openly and literally that he had been sexually active during our interview, but instead only hinted it. This speaks of the stigma that this type of behaviour could leave on a man’s trajectory, especially after having gone through a process of drawing away and coming back on the path. However, Alberto seems to perceive the negotiation of an enactment of relational and

200 sexual masculinity that is off the path of Mormon masculinity as valid, as long as one keeps it in view and is willing to ‘repent’ as many times as necessary and return to it.

Furthermore, this negotiation can be broadened, and fluidity amplified, as it happened in the case of Irwin (35), who is a member of the LDS Church and also a part of the LGBT group Afirmación. When I asked him to introduce himself in our interview, Irwin told me, first and foremost, that he is a member of the LDS Church, and mentioned his Mormon lineage that makes him a descendent of Mormon ‘pioneers’ and leaders in his local congregation in a small village in the outskirts of Mexico City. He told me that he loved the church and ‘all the good things’ he had learned from it. But he also mentioned that coping with the expectations people have had from him as a member of such a well-known family in his local Church community had been one of the hardest things he had had to endure, since ‘for better or worse’ he has ‘a different sexual preference’. For Irwin, this implied engaging in a negotiation with ‘compulsory heterosexuality’ (Rich, 1980; Jackson and Scott, 2010) from early in his life, that would allow him to pursue Mormon masculinity by remaining an active member of the LDS Church and trying to observe the principles, rules and guidelines that Mormonism taught him. Contradictorily enough, he told me he had ‘never repressed’ himself in terms of his sexual orientation.

Irwin has been able to fluctuate between the highly heteronormative codes of male conduct defined by Mormonism, and other frameworks of reference outside that context, for the better part of his life. This has led him to positions that often contradict each other. Once again, double thinking about Irwin’s story allows us to make sense of the existence of these contradicting stances, to see them as occurring in concurrent but separate life spaces, and put together in a consistent narrative. Although he realised he was attracted to men since around age 12, Irwin tells me that his journey into what he calls his ‘world’ (the LGBT scene) properly began when he was 18. At that time, he reconnected with an old classmate from primary school with whom he worked together for some time. His friend came out to him as gay and introduced him to ‘the LGBT scene and nightlife’ of Mexico City. He found this somewhat intimidating at first, but over time, he was able to construct a space where he could start exploring his attraction for men outside the realm of Mormonism, and with people ‘with the same preference’ as his. This marked a first venturing out of the Mormon path to masculinity for him. In a similar manner to that of Alberto’s narrative, Irwin felt he could move safely in spaces

201 outside the Mormon way of being a man that he had known from very early in life, as his ‘testimony’, his conviction of Mormonism’s truthfulness and value, kept him ultimately anchored to it.

This anchoring eventually pulled Irwin back to the core of Mormonism in an unexpected way. He was out with a man he was seeing and was spotted in his company by members of his family. This came to be his ‘outing’ to his family who reacted very negatively, he recalls. He was reprimanded by an uncle of his who happened to be a priesthood leader in his local Mormon congregation, and was first-hand exposed to the Mormon Church’s position (particularly that of the leadership) on non-heterosexuality for the first time.67 When this occurred, he decided to retreat from the LGBT spaces he had inhabited, making only sporadic incursions. During those incursions, Irwin started his sexual life. This is a key event in his narrative, which he calls a ‘perhaps late, sexual awakening’, that took place when he was 21. Had he experienced this awakening before, he ponders, his whole perspective on the matter ‘would have been very different’, as it helped him finally come to terms with his being gay. The issue of participants’ sexuality is of notable importance as I have discussed in previous chapters. The cases of Alberto and Irwin illustrate how sexuality can become a catalyst for the ebb and flow in the routes to Mormon masculinity that some of these men have followed.

Soon after, Irwin started what he considers his first formal homosexual relationship, with a man who was not a Mormon. By this point, he had decided that it was worth the attempt to make these two realms of his life (being gay and being a Mormon) coexist in a more open way. He introduced his partner to his family, took him to church with him (even though he did not openly introduce him as his partner there) and eventually moved in with him. His relationship lasted for about 18 months. During all this time he remained active in the church, constantly flowing between his ‘(gay) world and the Church’.

67 Although attitudes and policy of the LDS Church have varied over time, General Authorities say that, based on Mormon doctrine, non-heterosexual activity is sinful. ‘Same-gender attraction’ is not a sin in itself (Holland, 2007) but acting on it is. Thus, non-heterosexual practices are considered a serious transgression, and entering a ‘same-gender’ marriage is an act deemed as apostasy and subject to church discipline (LDS Church, 2015a).

202 Irwin has managed to use this fluidity to his advantage, as he did when this relationship came to its end and decided to move back to his family home. At that time he was able to resort to his Church congregation as a safety net on which to fall. He recalls that during those times he became very engaged in church activity and had a series of experiences that reaffirmed his self-confidence and strengthened his identity as a member of the Mormon community. This is another example of his ‘knowledge of the gospel’ and his ‘testimony’ of it working as an anchoring that helped him to return to the centre of the ideal journey.

Nevertheless, the fluidity has also led him to tensions in different moments. The latest of these occurred in the context of his current relationship. His partner also identifies as a Mormon man and is a ‘returned missionary’. The issue of sexual intimacy between them presented Irwin with a conflict:

Maybe the first time I was with (his partner) I did kind of feel remorse. That torn me inside, and I even broke into tears in that occasion (…) But after that, I started analysing things and, the penny kind of dropped, so I thought: ‘why should I repress something like this, if this is actually my moment?’ I have to live now, and enjoy it. Even the church teaches that the answers to some questions won’t come until an afterlife. So, I decided not to repress myself in that sense after that, and decided to enjoy my relationship with my partner, regardless of my being a member of the [LDS] Church, because there are many members of the church that are sexually active, and they go to church and to the temple, and all the rest of it, and are enjoying, because they have their husband or wife, so why should we be any different?

Irwin has had to negotiate the ambivalence with which he has navigated the relationship between his sexuality and his faith. He said now he has decided to embrace this as ‘(his) moment’. For him, this meant proposing to his partner and wager for a stable long term relationship with him. They got engaged and Irwin hoped they could get married in the near future. This was a critical moment in Irwin’s narrative where these two great domains of his life (his faith and his sexuality) converged in one experience.

Irwin told me he believed it will be a long time before the LDS Church is ready to accept same-sex relationships, and even marriages, ‘maybe not even in our lifetime’, he said to me. And for now he said he is willing to conform to the norms governing interactions at Church: I take my partner to church in my ward with me, but we’re obviously not holding hands or anything like that there”, he tells me. In this sense they participate in maintaining the ‘heterosexual panorama’ (Blasius, 1994) within some

203 spatial boundaries established by Mormonism. However, the room for negotiation seemed to be widening for him as he asserted that he will not let the normativity affect him ‘in (his) own space’. As noted by Heaphy et al. (2013:54) for the case of the UK, after same-sex marriage was made legal in Mexico City in 2009, same-sex relationships are more commonly represented in the media, and have become more visible in spaces of day-to-day interaction. This seemed to give Irwin the reassurance that ‘his space’ to be a gay man keeps on expanding. Moreover, Irwin’s participation in Afirmación has provided him with one other such space where he can display his being a gay Mormon man openly. As I have previously exposed, the group worked as a buffer space for negotiation as it presents as a space that amplifies Mormonism to accommodate other forms of masculinity (and femininity). It positions itself as an inclusive collective; different to the LDS Church in the sense that it does not demand that its members believe anything in particular, only to share some basic values as respect and inclusion.

It was precisely through my visits to Afirmación’s activities that I could get in contact with some men who thought of themselves as ‘have-been’ Mormons, or being in the process of leaving it behind. Their stories tell of a relationship of growing contradiction with the ideal path to Mormon masculinity that I discuss further in the next section.

Men coming in/out of Mormonism

Along with the narratives of men finding certainty in the adoption of the Mormon ideal of masculinity or those that negotiate their masculinity within it, some participants’ stories are built around the contradiction between the predominant forms of Mormon manhood and alternative experiences of masculinity. The routes to masculinity that they articulate follow an increasingly outward trajectory in relation to the ideal path.

Claudio’s (27) story is a good example of these routes guided by contradiction. He was in contact with the LDS Church since very early in his life as his father had been a Mormon from a young age and his mother converted after she married him. His parents took him to church regularly, he was baptised into it at age eight and stayed active in it until well into his teenage years. He grew up in a densely populated LDS ward, with ‘most of the families in the colonia being Mormon’. A large portion of the narrative of growing up as a man that Claudio articulates takes place within this context, which

204 impacted his experience profoundly. This starts from the position he occupied in relation to most of the members in the ward he attended, subordinated in various ways:

Just imagine: alone, gay and poor. Those were the worst factors of my life. I was like the pariah in all activities, the one who got everything paid for by the ward’s budget, and this and that. That really affected me, it undermined my self-esteem. Many times I didn't want to go to the activities because some guys there called me ‘the scrounger’, ‘the foster child’, and stuff like that.

Claudio’s account highlights strong notions of distinction in his Mormon community. They delineate a sort of Mormon version of (middle) class respectability. It constitutes itself as an aspiration for those men in the ward, most of them from working and lower- middle class according to Claudio’s description, but as pointed out by Skeggs, ‘differentially cleaved into the respectable and unrespectable’ (2004: 97).

A similar situation was that of Damián (32). He had joined the LDS Church after his older brother, when they were both young boys. Even though three of his four brothers, his sister and eventually his mother were also baptised into the Church, he was the only one active in it. He told me that it worked as a ‘refuge’ for him during his childhood and adolescence that helped him staying away from a family environment he thoroughly disliked and where he did not feel appreciated. Damián’s financial position was stronger than that of Claudio. In fact, he says that sharing money with other boys was probably what gained him entrance in their ‘gang’. But still the idea of respectability weighed heavily on him as he measured himself to the life experience of his peers at Church:

I would’ve loved to have lived the cycles of normal people, or what I call normal people. You know, you turn 12 and you get into the Young Men, you do the whole Duty to God68 thing, you study at (the Mormon college) and then graduate, become an adult and go on a mission, you come back, get married, get a good job, you’re called as a bishop, then as stake president, and if you do really well, maybe other positions (higher up). I always liked that dream, like ‘the American Dream’ [laughs], no, seriously, I respect the people who did it, a lot. But unfortunately it turned a different way for me.

68 Young Men is the name of the organisation within the LDS Church that conducts activities for boys in Aaronic Priesthood age (12-17 years old). Duty to God is a program to monitor their progression through the different priesthood offices (See LDS Church, 2010a).

205 Damián defines his trajectory as a Mormon man as clearly opposed to the ideal model, especially as he tried to fulfil some of the mandates and failed. He went to the Mormon college but felt he had failed as he had ‘fallen into homosexuality’. A similar thing happened when he got sent home from his mission after a ‘sexual incident’ (see Chapter 5). When he got home he was given ‘yet another chance’, he said, which was what prompted him to start a noviazgo with a girl to whom he became engaged. But he eventually gave up that relationship, too. ‘It wouldn’t have been fair to her if I married hear being such a puto (poof)!’ He said. But he did not even have the ‘courage’ to confront her, so he stopped seeing her without saying anything, just disappeared and ‘ghosted’ her. ‘What kind of respect can I command to other Mormons?’ He questioned.

Just like Damián, Claudio was the only member of his family who continued going to church after his mother died when he was 11 years old. This was, to a great extent, linked to the fact that around that time he started a relationship with a boy from the ward (see Chapter 6). The heteronormative ideal made it difficult for Claudio to ‘play along’ with the ideal of exemplary (and straight) masculinity that his then partner embodied. Moreover, he told me that he experienced the ward as a particularly homophobic environment, especially when he took part in the Young Men organization of the ward, the group for men ages 12 to 17. This was also problematic for him because the prevalent environment ‘forced’ his boyfriend to participate in bullying him. He reasoned that this was part of the heterosexual masculinity that the boy had to perform, and for what he would constantly apologise to him, and justified himself as having to adjust to the expectations of his family, as well as of the ward’s membership and leadership. Although Claudio tells me that he understands that now, but at the time he found it ‘confusing’, at an emotional level, that the only person who seemed to care for him would be willing to hurt him that way by performing heterosexual masculinity as the ideal model demanded.

Claudio talks of constantly feeling the contrast between the model of a loving and compassionate masculinity, so present discursively within his Mormon context, with the actual attitudes and behaviours which he encountered in church. This contradiction led to tensions at different moments along his adolescence, which he narrates as slowly but steadily pushing him away from a life project within the framework of ideal

206 Mormon masculinity. Claudio gained a conviction that the contradiction had become imminently unsolvable, so decided to make a clean cut:

At some point the situation got too ugly for me, and so my escape was to just get away; get away from home, from everything. One fine day I just disappeared, just like that. My dad complained to me about some money, because I didn't give him any that fortnight, so we had one last big argument at the door as I was leaving. I remember I just threw the key to the house at him and left.

Similarly to Damián, Claudio saw disappearing as the way out of the conflicting situation in which he had found himself. He stopped going to church without letting anybody in the ward know. Damián was able to graduate from the Mormon college without being ‘found out’ of his ‘homosexualities’ as he called his encounters and relationships with boys. Claudio could not go as far as the first year in it. Unable to continue paying for his pre-university education at the Mormon college he had been attending (the ward had partly funded him but suddenly stopped doing so), he dropped out of it as well. The price for transgression of the order came much harder on him: while Damián was constantly given chances by his leaders (his bishop did not even discipline him when he got sent home from the mission and gave him a ‘calling’ instead), people in Claudio’s ward, ‘mustn’t have even noticed I was missing, no one came looking for me’, he told me. Having found a new job and moved out of his family home, this period marked the breaking of Claudio with institutional Mormonism, his partner, his father, and his community of origin.

The route to masculinity he would follow from then on has positioned Claudio in overt contradiction with the ideal Mormon path discussed above. He recognises some merit in the normativity, for example, the fact that it encourages a temperance based masculinity which he perceives as a strong point of it; ‘Not that I follow it, of course’ –he joked– ‘I mean I do drink and smoke and all the rest of it, but it’s obviously not a good thing’. At the same time, he emphasised that his experience out of the Mormon path had resulted mostly positively. In fact, he tells me that he constantly flirts with the idea of going back to the ward of his childhood to display the type of man he has now become:

I’d like to go back to the Ward (where he grew up) and speak at the testimony meeting and say: ‘I’m gay and I’m happy, and I don't give a damn. And tell those people who hurt me that they did, they treated me like crap and I was just a kid, in need of support,

207 what could I possibly have done to them? So that’s my plan, to show them that I’m slim now, that my life is now built on those small achievements, like going to uni, losing weight, being more sociable (...) I want them to notice me, notice that I am something, that I'm no longer the kid who lived in the ugliest house in the colonia. Because I’ve actually invested in revamping my dad’s house, you know?

Claudio was unable to fully perform the ideal model of masculinity as a youth and his eventual withdrawal could be read as him ‘giving up on the gospel’ and on himself, because he stopped attending services, going to the Mormon college, and did ‘not even try’ to go on a mission. All these would have been part of a material display of Mormon masculinities sanctioned and expected by the collective of the ward. Furthermore, he pursed a route of counter display of the model, by withdrawing from church activity and effectively giving up the heteronormative structure for romantic and familial relationships. He went on to start new homosexual relations, including the one of cohabitation he was in when I met him. Additionally, he has achieved other traits of a respectable man that hegemonic Mormon masculinity promotes, and would thus still be valued in his former Mormon milieu. These are associated to a performance of material success and improved physical appearance.

Damián, on the other hand, has stayed around Mormonism on and off, trying to fit into the model. But his ‘weaknesses’ keep pulling him away. He seemed to feel that because of his weakness and imperfection, namely his inability to stop desiring other men and engaging in sex with them, he does not belong in the LDS Church. And at the same time, he lacks the strength to just stay away from it on his own:

Like I told you, when I got sent back [from his mission], I used to think: ‘kick me out [of the Church], excommunicate me, I mean, I’m a fucking homo!’ I went to (a reparative therapy group), I’ve spoken to psychotherapist. But I don’t like all this people on about how it’s their genes, or Diosito (dear God) made me this way... Look… I’m a poof. I like it, I can’t deny that. Do I know it’s wrong? Yes, I do. Am I responsible to God? of that sin? Yes, I am. Will I burn in hell? Probably, God only knows; every law of the gospel suggests me that I will. But who knows? Maybe one day I’ll stop being a homo, and thieves will stop being thieves, and adulterers will stop committing adultery, and fornicators fornicating.

Even when Damian seems to clearly have internalised that the route he is following is sinful, at the same time he expresses he is tired and frustrated of not being able to

208 amend it. Unless a miraculous event comes round, he will keep slowly and steadily drifting away from the ideal model for Mormon masculinity.

Conclusion

Along this chapter, I have illustrated how, rather than as a characteristic that is inherent to specific physical bodies, masculinities can be seen as a process through which those bodies come to see and identify themselves as men, and also to be identified and recognised as such by others (Butler, 1990; 1993). I looked at these processes as experienced and narrated by some of these bodies who have also acquired an identity as Mormon, either by heritage (having been born into Mormon families and communities) or by conversion, (being baptised into the LDS Church at some point in their life) and as a result, identify themselves as Mormon men. However, just like there may be various forms of masculinities in any given point in time and context (Minello, 2002b) with one of them being hegemonic and other subordinated (Connell, 2005; Connell and Messerschmidt, 2005), there are different routes of doing this process and becoming a Mormon man. I have identified three routes that participants related to have followed. They are defined by the tone of the relationship that participants established with the hegemonic route to Mormon masculinity.

The majority of participants appeared to conform to the main story they have been offered by Mormonism and told their stories using that general scripted story. In this sense, they have mostly adopted the path, with its implicit regulations, restrictions, and mandates. A smaller number of them told a story of their becoming Mormon men that depicted a negotiation with the hegemonic model, in different time junctures and specific life situations. This negotiation has allowed them to amplify their scope of possibilities for actions and at the same time has offered them safety and certainty when they have needed it most. These stories of negotiation also resemblance what Connell (2005: 79-80) calls relations of ‘complicity’ with the hegemonic models inasmuch as they still reap the benefits of the system for patriarchal domination, even when they do not fulfil or promote hegemonic masculinities.

Finally, I have analysed accounts of a relation of overt contradiction with the hegemonic model of Mormon masculinity. These stories have the issue of non-

209 heterosexuality at the centre as the most powerful factor of contradiction. In this sense, they are reminiscent of the accounts ‘of coming out’ that Plummer (1995: 81-96) analyses. Plummer suggests that the coming out marks a critical moment in which the story tellers forsake the identity they have been given since childhood, in which they never quite fitted, to embrace an identity as gay or lesbian. This process appears distorted in cases where participants have come to terms with their sexual attractions but not in terms identity, but more within the framework of the ‘heterosexual panorama’ (Blasius, 1994) that only conceives of non-heterosexuality as an abjection. Thus, these trajectories can also be understood as produced by relations of marginalization (Connell, 2005: 80-81) as the nature of the heteropatriarchal gender regime of Mormonism renders them invisible and locates them in the margins of the Mormon milieu.

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210 CHAPTER 8: CONCLUSION, PRODUCING AND EXPERIENCING MORMON MASCULINITIES

In this thesis, I have explored various ways in which particular religious masculinities are produced by men (and women), in a particular context. To this end, I have interrogated Mexican Mormon men’s experience of masculinities in biographical terms, in their observable religious practice and in everyday life. In doing this, I have focussed on four main dimensions: the display of masculinities, the institutional structure of male authority, their relational structure, and men’s conception of their life trajectory as men. In order to frame and analyse observations made and narratives generated, I have drawn on what I deem as some of the most important theoretical developments in the study of gender and masculinities, as well as the sociology of religion. Overall, this has contributed to an approach to the particular example of Mormon communities in an urban context that has been widely characterised as complex and multidimensional. This chapter presents a series of concluding reflections on the main contributions that the thesis makes to the field(s) of enquiry that it has addressed.

Researching masculinities in particular empirical contexts

‘The problem of men’ (Friedman and Sarah, 1982) has been widely studied from a feminist perspective. As noted in the thesis, this started to be addressed in second-wave feminist thought, stemming from the realisation that the relation between masculinity and dominance as an aspect of patriarchy —where men were clearly defined as the oppressor— remained vastly unknown and needed to be further explored (Minello, 2002b). Following this, post-structuralist gender theory put into critical perspective the use and validity of affirming ‘men’ and ‘women’ as objective and discrete categories susceptible of academic and scientific analysis. It steered the study of gender identities in a multiplicity of different ways in which masculinities and gender formations were produced and experienced, and opened up further possibilities to look at various masculinities and femininities in different temporal and spatial contexts, especially those outside the Global North.

In the case of Latin America, and Mexico specifically, gender studies initially focused largely (and understandably) on problems facing women, as a means to produce work

211 that could serve as informed input for policy design and implementation. Later, a field started to consolidate, more diverse work on gender identities began to be pursued. It was then that the study of masculinity started to be undertaken with more regularity. Studies of men and masculinities in the region have come largely from demographic, psychological, and social work perspectives, as well as, to a lesser extent, from an anthropological standpoint. Even though what can be identified as the field of men or masculinity studies —with its theoretical, political and methodological ties to what has been labelled as the gender perspective— has been established in quite multidisciplinary ways, rigorous sociological approaches to the study of men and masculinities remain limited. This thesis is an attempt to contribute to the development of sociologically informed research on men and masculinities.

Undoubtedly, the work of Raewyn Connell (1983; 2005; Connell and Pearse, 2015) has had a most (if not the most) influential impact on theorising masculinities. This is true about her model for the social construction of gender and masculinity, and especially, regarding her category of ‘hegemonic masculinity’. This latter category has sparked much conceptual discussion within the social sciences. It has also informed a vast array of empirical work, in which the use of the category has led to a reification of the concept, overlooking and/or obscuring one of its most important traits, namely, its highly normative character, which makes hegemonic masculinity hardly —if at all— achievable (Connell and Messerschmidt, 2005). The study of Mexican masculinities is not the exception and it has seen the concept of ‘hegemonic masculinity’ deployed extensively, and sometimes somewhat arbitrarily. This has fairly regularly led to the conflation of the category of ‘hegemonic masculinity’ with reified versions of the notions of machismo and the Mexican macho, in accounts of ‘traditional’ Mexican masculinity. Forms of understanding and enacting masculinity in different ways, mostly deemed as ‘progressive’, are thus conceived of as signs of ‘new’ masculinities.

This thesis responds to the need to question the interpretation of a Mexican hegemonic masculinity that is almost synonymous with the historically constructed notion of the macho. My research addressed this need through the study of a group and discourse that produce masculinities that reveal themselves as distinctively double, simultaneously ‘traditional and new’. In this context, these particular religious masculinities are also perceived and experienced in double ways: as ‘other and assimilated’, as ‘hegemonic and subordinate’. Thus, the study constitutes an example

212 of the possibility to incorporate relevant theoretical developments on the subject of men and masculinities, and to go beyond a strictly theoretical account. The research looked at different dimensions of the production and experience of masculinities as gender identities in search for empirical evidence that can substantiate, amplify, and revise the still developing theory on masculinity. In other words, it contributes to the ‘construction’ of the category of masculinity (with a specific emphasis on its hegemonic dimension), to its solid foundation and to its increasing rigour (Minello, 2002a: 716).

The research looked at gender realities and religious masculinities unfolding in a very particular context: that of Mormonism in Mexico City, in the early decades of the twenty-first century. This in itself is relevant as Mormonism as a belief system and discourse, and the LDS Church as a religious institution, have not been thoroughly studied in Mexico. This in spite of the Mormon faith being present in Mexico for over a century; of the growing public presence of the LDS Church via the hundreds of missionaries in large cities and small villages alike all over the country and its sizable community of followers; and of the considerable amount of assets that it owns, mostly in the form of real estate for its meeting houses and temples.

Furthermore, the empirical data generated in this research suggests that Mormonism has direct implications in the public display and performance of masculinities produced in interaction with it, as evidenced in Chapter 4. Mormon normativity regulates displays of masculinity in non-Mormon spaces as well as in mostly Mormon ones, even if such displays may be evaluated differently by distinct audiences. This speaks of the strength of Mormonism as normative discourse, and the ways in which it has been able to enter a dynamic that feeds into the hegemonic version of Mexican masculinity while still being able to portray itself as distant and different from it in its most negatively perceived aspects. Additionally, as I point out in Chapter 6, Mormon normativity fosters the establishing of heteronormative gender relations and, to that extent, is conducive to the enforcement of a heterosexual panorama within various segments of the population.

On the other hand, studies which have Mormonism as their focus, or Mormon groups as their object or context, have been undertaken mostly among Mormon populations in North America, and focused largely on English speaking groups there and (to a lesser

213 extent) in other English-speaking contexts, such as Canada, the UK, or Australia. Moreover, studies of Mormonism have been largely framed and developed from the perspectives of history and divinity studies. Sociologically informed empirical research on Mormonism contributes importantly to a field that continues to grow and develop, that of Mormon studies. A particularly important aspect of the experience of Mormonism by Mexican men is that of service in the LDS Church, and especially the experience of a full-time mission, that I discuss in Chapter 5. However, it has not been widely analysed as it takes place in the particular context of Mexico. This opens up possibilities for further research regarding the experience of religious belief and practice in highly homosocial contexts, sharply defined by stringent heterosexual frameworks of relations. As missionary service is usually performed by groups of Mormon men and women coming mostly from within Mexico and the United States almost in equal proportion, it is also conducive to the analysis of dynamics taking place therein in terms of class, national and/or ethnic identity, and so on.

Beyond normative masculinity

Mexican Mormonism has not only been neglected from the perspective of the sociology of religion. Certainly, it has hardly been explored by scholars of gender and masculinity studies. This may be a response to the assumption that, as a mostly conservative way of believing, Mormonism is little more than an elaborate example of ‘traditional’ normative gender relations and ways of organisation. While this may be the case in more than one way, I argue that Mormon masculinities are a particularly notable site in which to look at the reproduction of normative masculinities and the ways in which these can resist contestation by inciting and tolerating various degrees of negotiation. Normativity is clearly visible in the displays of Mormon masculinities in clearly ecclesiastical contexts or in participants’ decisions on if or when to establish intimate relationships, get married, or start a family. It is also possible to see how the particularities of Mormon normativity intertwine with other gender regimes as those at the workplace or school —which are highly hierarchical— to regulate displays of masculinity there as well, or with (late-modern) discourses about self-realisation or personal growth, in order to negotiate decisions such as whether or when to go on a mission or be sexually active. Moreover, it is possible to see how Mormon

214 (hetero)normativity is so pervasive that even in the cases of more overt resistance to it there are important continuities of it, as is the case of displays of non-heterosexual masculinities, by individuals or groups that self-identify as alternative, both in non- LDS-sanctioned spaces, and within the confines of institutional Mormonism.

Mexican Mormons find themselves in a very particular place. On the one hand, they interpret their position as men and perform their masculinities in a highly conformist fashion that regards striving to observe normativity as much as possible quite highly. This means following guidelines and norms, and functioning within structures that are very patriarchal, androcentric and hierarchic in nature. Such a way of experiencing masculinity is hardly surprising considering the Judeo-Christian basis of Mormonism, in terms of its doctrine and religious practice, and the claim of Mormonism as the restoration of original Christianity that is central to the movement started by Joseph Smith. On the other hand, however, Mormons see themselves as ‘Latter-day’ Christians, or ‘Saints’. This represents the need to adapt their ways of understanding the world and living in it to the current conditions. In practice, this has derived in a particularly strong adoption of capitalist ways for the organisation of life, and of the conception of the modern self. Mormon men strongly see themselves as individually responsible for their spiritual and —quite importantly— their material welfare, as well as that of their families. The Mormon mandates to be self-sufficient and prosper contrast highly with the ‘traditional’ way of believing historically prevalent in Mexico represented by Roman Catholicism, which emphasised material hardship as a virtue, and implicitly (and at times quite explicitly) endorsed class conformity.

Embracing Mormonism and the Mormon way of ‘being a man’, either having inherited it from older generations or adopted it through ‘conversion’, puts these men in the position of having to strike a balance between ‘tradition’ and modernity that appears as very fragile at different times. This fragility comes across in the narratives of these men of oscillating between a series of potentially opposing possibilities. They incorporate very ‘traditional’ views on gender relations that are a constitutive part of the gender order (under questioning) in Mexico, upheld strongly by the Catholic Church and its hierarchy in public discussions, into their position as a ‘new’ and modern alternative for leading pious Christian lives. This is evidenced in the narratives of men trying to conform to what I have called the ‘strait and narrow path’ to Mormon masculinity (see Chapter 7), who assume positions in terms of gender relations and

215 (heteronormative) family formation that are quite conservative by definition, while trying to enact modern, rational, productive masculinities in their professional performances.

Even those Mormon men who have challenged traditional gender views more overtly, especially those identified as LGBTQ, seem to be treading a very fine line and striving to maintain a fragile balance. Some of them have rejected Mormon gender normativity, particularly in terms of sexual behaviour, but have retained several aspects of it that do an important work in terms of their sense of self. This is evident in the narratives that talk about having been ‘created by God as sexual beings’ with ‘non-heterosexual desires and identities’, or having to perform a particular role in their familial or other type of communities. At the same time, many seem to try and accommodate their desires and aspirations in terms of their sexualities, their affections and their life trajectories, within the relational structure provided to them by Mormonism. Instead of removing themselves completely from the institutional spaces of Mormonism wherein their non-heteronormative sexualities or otherwise non-conforming behaviours are cancelled, they try to accommodate them. This is particularly evident in the case of Afirmación through the generation of spaces where many of the structural aspects of Mormonism can be replicated in less rigid, more ‘inclusive’ environments. The narratives of a route marked by negotiating Mormon normativity described in Chapter 7 are examples of this swaying between opposites that I have characterised as ‘ebbing and flowing’ towards Mormon masculinities.

Thus, being a Mormon man in Mexico City entails constantly inhabiting this liminal space, for the majority of participants. It means being active part of an institution engulfed in modernity that embodies it, connects to it and operates in accordance with it in various meaningful ways. And at the same time, it means being members of a community whose shared normativity and group monitoring of behaviour weighs heavily on the making of important life decisions, such as whether to go on a full-time two-year mission or not (see Chapter 5), or whether to get married, when or to whom (see Chapter 6), as well as on quotidian interactions like attending church services, working in leadership or other service positions in the LDS Church, dressing and conducting oneself in ‘righteous’ and ‘worthy’ ways, both at church and in everyday contexts and situations like school or work, and so on (see Chapters 4 and 5). It also implies remaining spiritual while attributing great importance to economic prosperity

216 and middle-class respectability as suggested by narratives of entrepreneurship and self- development as part of the paths followed to Mormon masculinities (Chapter 7).

‘Seeing/thinking double’

Throughout the thesis I have argued that, in various regards, the adoption and embracing of Mormonism for these men has meant a double way of understanding the world and interacting in it. Mormon discourse emphasises the Christian motto of being in the world but not being of the world. This means that Mormon men see themselves as part of a group and institution that operates in accordance to a paradigm of its own that is of divine origin and thus of infallible nature. This causes such a paradigm to be at odds with the consensus outside of it in many occasions, which is seen as inherently flawed due to its reliance on human generated knowledge and thought, which is inferior to its divine equivalent by definition.

The need to inhabit these two paradigms simultaneously makes it necessary for Mormons to negotiate the contradictions in different ways and to different extents, in order to ensure the continuity of the ideal model of masculinity they have assumed as a primary referent. They need to be ‘traditional’ enough, for instance, so that they can remain faithful and true to their beliefs and principles. At the same time, they ought to be ‘modern’ enough so as not to be perceived as ‘religious fanatics’ by society at large, and so that they can thrive and excel in today’s capitalist, highly dynamic, and technological society. The observations undertaken and the narratives generated through this research provided several examples of this doubling.

In the current context of Mexico City, there is an important public debate regarding the gender order and its associated identities. Many of the public discussions feeding this debate have to do with issues of violence against women and sexually or gender diverse minorities, linked to misogyny, homophobia, transphobia, and so on. Many of these issues are constantly identified with what has been called a ‘toxic’ masculinity (Kupers, 2005; Banet-Weiser and Miltner, 2016, Sagot, 2017). This toxic masculinity is assimilated into ‘traditional’, hetero-patriarchal ways of organising collective life and characterised as violent, authoritarian, intolerant, insensitive, and detached from emotion.

217 Mormon discourse rejects and condemns most of these attributes as not Christ-like, and this is reflected in the narratives of many participants. At the same time, nuanced versions of some of these characteristics seem to be reproduced by participants in their enactment of what they perceive as a ‘righteous’ and/or ‘faithful’ masculinity in their everyday lives. For instance, they subscribe to a highly patriarchal and hierarchical model of organisation as expounded in Chapters 4 to 7. Many of them reject non- heteronormative gender and sexual identities, behaviours and forms of organisation, and support the LDS Church’s high intolerance of dissent, as illustrated by the views and understandings of many participants of LGBT or feminist Mormon positions and identities. Yet, as part of the doubling they engage in, they are able to accept and encourage emotional sensitivity, empathy, and compassion as desirable masculine traits, to different degrees and under different circumstances. Being caring, loving and tender men is seen as desirable, even mandatory, for Mormons, within contexts of heteronormative families as some of the accounts of family life (see Chapter 6) illustrate, or in homosocial and heteronormative environments such as ‘the mission’ or many other instances of ecclesiastical service and interaction (see Chapters 4 and 5). Something similar occurs among non-heteronormative masculinities, as is the case of those displayed in the gatherings of Afirmación. Although reclaiming a non- heterosexual identity or being in an openly non-heterosexual relation are encouraged and supported in the group’s spaces, an effort needs to be made to maintain the heterosexual panorama at Church meetings or any other sort of ‘spiritual’ activities (Chapter 4).

Mexican Mormon men are used to moving between spaces. Evidence of this is their constant shifting from spaces wherein they occupy the most important positions of authority (such as in Church or, in more contested ways, at home) and others where they exist as subordinates and in which hierarchical structures are not necessarily consistent with the model of male authority at each and every level (such as school or work). Thus, they can find themselves having to perform under female authority. Notions of the ‘traditional’ and the modern/post-modern constantly coexist and interact in these displays of masculinity, as pointed out in Chapter 4. The nature of ‘worldly’ forms of organisation, transient when perceived through the lens of a ‘divine and eternal’ order, seems to make it easier for these men to negotiate it as part of their ‘temporal’ earthly existence. And yet, material prosperity and stability, tied to the

218 accumulation of wealth and other ‘temporal’ things such as social status and respectability, has been paramount to Mormonism almost since its beginnings and regarded as evidence of the favour of God for righteous and faithful Mormon men.

The Mormon rhetoric constantly asserts that ‘the worth of souls is great in the sight of God’ (Doctrine and Covenants, section 18: 10) and that ‘all are alike unto [Him]’ (The Book of Mormon, 2 Nephi 26:33). Participants seemed to have adopted this narrative as something to ‘live by’. However, they appear to ‘live with’ constant distinction and labelling. Manifest differentiation seems to have been in place when they have decided with whom to associate in fraternal or familial ways (Chapter 6), or which priesthood leaderships to support (Chapter 5). In these instances, lived experience, lineage, and in a less evident form class and ethnicity were central to the enactment of masculine identities and behaviours. As was evident throughout the thesis, there are several instances in which men refer to their ‘working/lower-middle-classness’, or their not having been born into Mormonism or served as a missionary, as hindrances to their development and performance as Mormon men, in terms of marrying into the family of their choice or exercising authority in Church leadership positions. Strong differentiation in the performance of masculinity also comes into play in establishing heteronormative relationships, such as ‘choosing’ the ‘right’ woman —with a balance of spirituality, congeniality and attractiveness— to court and marry.

Finally, the double ways in which Mormon masculinities seem to be configured and in how men act is particularly evident among those who identify as LGBTQ. They have adopted non-heteronormative forms of living, relating and interacting with others, but not in a radical fashion. Many of them are constantly making an effort to stay within the confines of behaviour configured as masculine in Mormon ways. They see themselves as ‘queer’ (Jagose, 1996, Alexander and Yescavage, 2009) in terms of their (homo)sexual identity and some of their actions and behaviours they associate with it. And at the same time, by following many of the norms of the masculine hierarchy and heteronormative order, they do not ‘queer’ (Sullivan, 2009) their Mormonism in ways that can be considered radical. They mostly keep the separation between Mormon and non-Mormon spaces, the former being unsuitable for queer identification or performance, and the latter more conducive of a somewhat queer existence. This has to do largely with the positions these men occupy and that allowed me to come in contact with them; that is, maintaining close ties to Mormonism. This makes it possible

219 to envision future research endeavours that seek to reach those subjects who have mostly or completely detached themselves from Mormon discourse and forms of interaction, so as to gain insight into those processes of reformulation of identity and normativity.

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238 APPENDICES

1. Information sheet and informed consent form for participants

University of Manchester School of Social Sciences Participant Information Sheet

What is the title of the research?

Researching Mexican Mormon Masculinity

Who will conduct the research?

PhD Student Ali Siles

What is the aim of the research?

To explore how Mexican Mormon men and women construct and experience masculinity, within the contemporary context of social change.

Why have I been chosen?

Because you are a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (LDS Church)

What would I be asked to do if I took part?

You would be asked to participate in an interview with myself. In it I will ask you to discuss your experience as a man/woman in the LDS Church. The interview process can be enjoyable but there is a possibility that you may find some of the topics sensitive to talk about depending on your own experiences. We will mutually agree on a time and place to conduct the interview prior to it taking place. If you feel this is appropriate, I might ask to visit with you and other members of your family in your home. Additionally, and also at your discretion, I would ask to come along with you on your daily routine one day.

What happens to the data collected?

The analysis of the data will be written in to my PhD research project and possibly published in academic journals and presented at academic conferences. It will be made public and available to other researchers and academics.

How is confidentiality maintained?

Interviews will be audio-recorded. The recordings will be stored in on a password protected data stick and password encrypted computer. I will also make some notes on the Church meetings, and any other visits we may have. I will keep these notes safeguarded. The information generated in this way will then be analysed by me, the researcher, in a private study space. The only other people the information will be shared with are two other

239 University staff who supervise me with my project and help me with my analysis. All participants will be given pseudonyms in the written up research. These are fictitious names, so you will not be able to be identified. If there are any other people involved in the conversations or reunions they will not be mentioned by name either.

What happens if I do not want to take part or if I change my mind?

If you do decide to take part you will be given this information sheet to keep and be asked to sign a consent form. If you decide to take part you are still free to withdraw from the process at any time without giving a reason and without detriment to yourself. If you choose to withdraw, all data pertaining to you will be deleted, up until the time of completion of the thesis.

Will I be paid for participating in the research? No

What is the duration of the research?

I will be attending meetings and other social gatherings at your ward and/or stake for a period of two to three months. You will participate in one interview which will last between half an hour and two hours. If you agree to it, I may visit with you at home for a similar period of time and/or come along with you as you go about your everyday routine one day.

Where will the research be conducted?

Within the Metropolitan Area of Mexico City. Interviews can be conducted either in your home or at a public space that you would prefer.

Will the outcomes of the research be published?

Yes, the research findings and data will be part of a PhD Thesis that is made public, and will be shared with other academic researchers. Additionally they may be later published as part of academic articles or other academic texts.

What benefit might this research be to me or other subjects of the research?

The research will not directly benefit you. It will explore the specific experiences of people who identify as Mormon. Your participation will help contribute towards developing knowledge through academic research. This will highlight the distinct characteristics of this religious group in Mexico.

What if something goes wrong?

In the first instance, please contact the researcher, whose details are below. If you do not receive a satisfactory answer, please contact his supervisor at the University of Manchester:

Brian Heaphy Email: [email protected] Tel: +44 (0)161 275-0266

If there are any issues resulting from the research which you would prefer not to discuss with the researcher or his supervisor, please contact:

240 The Research Practice and Governance Co-ordinator: Email: [email protected] Tel: +44 (0)161 275 758

Contact for further information Isaac Ali Siles Email: [email protected]

University of Manchester School of Social Sciences

Researching Mexican Mormon Masculinity

CONSENT FORM

241 2. Outline for interview

Can I please ask you to introduce yourself as if it were the first time we met? How long have you been a Mormon? Can you tell me about your experience growing up as a Mormon/non-Mormon child-teenager? What kind of schools did you attend? Who were your friends and what kinds of things did you do with them?

Family and relationships

Do you have any brothers or sisters? How was your experience growing up? …in a mostly -male/female household?

Can you tell me about your experience establishing ‘romantic’ relationships? When did you start 'dating'? Are in a relationship? Married? Had you lived with a partner before? How did you decide to get married/start living with a partner? Are there any common features of the people you stablished relationships with (personality traits, activities you did together, etc)? What were they?

Are there any situation(s) you have found particularly challenging as a man, in regard to relationships?

[Probe for views on affectivity, sexuality, etc]

Do you have children? Who is mostly in charge of their care/education/etc? Do you think your relationship with your children is different form how you related to your parents? How?

How do you usually handle making important family decisions (i.e. buying a car, what school to tale your children to, etc) in your family?

Work

What do you do for a living? How long have you done it for? How did you get into your job/chose that profession? Do you work with mostly men or women/both? Who do you feel more comfortable working with (men or women) as bosses/collaborators?

Friendships and leisure activities

Are your friends mostly Mormon/non-Mormon, male/female? What kind of things do you do with them? What activities do you do on your spare time? Who do you spend it with, mostly? What kind of things do you discuss with your male/female friends? When you're experiencing personal problems, such as stress from work or financial issues, who do you talk to about them?

242 Gender/religious views and practice What do you like/dislike the most about being a man/woman? Why? Have there been any times or situations when being a Mormon man felt easier or more difficult than being a Mormon woman?

Discuss: Missionary service, marriage, leadership, parenting and other highly gendered responsibilities. Ideas on gender inequality, roles, mandates, privileges, responsibilities

Some people feel that the church does not regard and treat women and men equally, based on its organizational and leadership structure (as examples, discuss how the LDS church’s Handbook of Instructions sets minimum numbers of men to organize its units (39 for a Stake, 15 for a Ward, 4 for a Branch, at least 1 man for any other sort of group), or that more than 100 thousand male members have sanctioned access to the Handbook, but only nine women in the world do, all in auxiliary capacities) What do you think about this?

Photo elicitation 1

Please take a look at the following pictures:

What do you make of them? How do they make you feel?

These images were produced by the group Ordain Women (OW), have you ever heard of them? What do you know about them?

OW states the following as their mission:

“The fundamental tenets of Mormonism support gender equality: God is male and female, father and mother, and all of us can progress to be like them someday. Priesthood, we are taught, is essential to this process. Ordain Women believes women must be ordained in order for our faith to reflect the equity and expansiveness of these teachings. …the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (has) reaffirmed its commitment to equality: “The Book of Mormon states, ‘black and white, bond and free, male and female; … all are alike unto God’ (2 Nephi 26:33). This is the Church’s official teaching.” Ordain Women embraces this statement. We are committed to work for equality and the ordination of Mormon women to the priesthood” What do you think about these claims?

243

How do you feel about these claims?

What do you think women could contribute if they were ordained, as say bishops or stake presidents? What about men, what makes them particularly apt for being priesthood holders? How would you feel about a woman as the bishop of your ward or receiving a blessing from or being baptized by a woman?

Do you have any relatives, friends or acquaintances that identify themselves as LGBTQ? What’s your relationship with them like?

Have you ever heard of Affirmation? What do you know about it?

A spokesperson from Affirmation said on a radio interview that their purpose is to cater spiritually to LGBTQ people by “fostering an environment in which you can develop your spirituality without denying your sexuality”

What do you think about this?

Recently, there has been some discussion about the modification to church policy regarding the baptism and other ordinances for children of same sex couples,

(as necessary, explain that the changes include that LDS people in same sex marriages can now be subject to church discipline, excommunication included, and that children of parents in same sex marriages cannot be given a naming blessing, baptised, ordained to priesthood or go on missions, until they turn 18, having disavowed the practice of same sex marriage, and only if approved by a general authority)

Some people say that LDS prophets have revealed important changes to doctrine in the past (like in the cases of polygamy and the priesthood ban on people of African descent) and have requested the leadership of the church to seek revelation in that regard so that the church can better serve women and LGBTQ people, Let’s imagine for a minute that general authorities announced that LGBTQ people can be in same sex relationships, and be members in good standing, or even get married in the temple,

How would you feel about same sex couples attending church in your ward? What about a person identified as LGBTQ as a ward leader (bishop, primary or relief society president), or as a missionary?

Some members of the church make a distinction between church policy and church doctrine in this regard, saying that some policy is “discriminating” and/or “unequal”, whereas doctrine is “inclusive” and “compassionate”

What do you think about that?

Photo elicitation 2

244 Just to wrap our conversation up, please have a look at the following images of different men:

What do you make of them? What do they suggest to you? Do you identify with any of them? Why? Do any of them make you feel uncomfortable? Why?

245 3. Participants’ pen portraits/vignettes (excerpts)

Raúl

Raúl is an average height man (about 170 cm) in his early fifties, a little slim by Mexican standards. He has very light brown skin, brown eyes, and greyish hair. I met him on my second visit to his ward’s capilla, when I was attending the monthly meeting of the consejo de barrio (ward council) invited by the bishop. Raúl is the president of the ward’s elders quorum, the group formed by men over 18 years old (ordained elders or not), except those who hold the office of high priest. He accepted immediately when I asked him to participate as an informant in my research, and my interview with him turned out to be one of the longest I conducted for the project. We met for our interview at the church building on a Saturday afternoon, while he was overseeing a quorum activity.

When I ask him to introduce himself as we start our interview, the first thing he tells me is that he is married, and has “two children within (his) marriage”. They are already “grown up” 31 and 30 years old. He is originally from Mexico City and has lived there his entire life. He goes on to mention that he is “not a professional” as he dropped out of school towards the end of his pre-university education. His decision to do that, he readily explains, was motivated by the fact that he and his then girlfriend (now wife) were faced with an “unwanted pregnancy” at the time. The last introductory fact he mentions about himself is that he has been a “member of the Church” for a little over 2 years, and that his life has “completely changed” since he converted to Mormonism.

Raúl grew up in the same neighbourhood where he now lives and has very fond memories of his non-Mormon childhood and teenage years; although he says they were full of hardship. He speaks very candidly about his family experiencing economic difficulties, and even has to pause and breathe trying (unsuccessfully) to hold back the tears when he remembers “the many sacrifices” that he, his five siblings, and his parents had to endure. Perhaps these difficulties are partly responsible for the shyness that characterized him until his teenage years, he reflects, as he answers my questions about his relationships with other children growing up. Talking about his experience with “romantic” relationships, he tells me about an important event he experienced as a ten year old boy: he inadvertently caught the attention of a girl who fancied him, and this turned out to be troublesome for him. With the help of some of Raúl’s boy classmates, the girl got him to go to the playground, and as soon as he got there, she kissed him without any warning, or even suspicion on his part, in front of many other classmates, leaving him feeling deeply inadequate.

The memory of that experience made Raúl want to stay away from girls until he was around 14 years old, he ponders, when he started to take an interest in them.

246 At around that time, he decided to try and approach a girl whom he had noticed “was really uninhibited and experienced in dealing with the opposite sex”. At some point, when he got to talk and be alone with her, he says, they started kissing and she touched him in an “intimate” way. This time around he was not upset, but felt a deep satisfaction. He then decided to start “taking chances” with girls and soon discovered himself getting physical with any girl who would “let him have his way”. Raul’s stories in this sense reflect a common notion among (Mexican) men by which making sexual advances is seen as an exercise of power. Although he admits this only went as far as the girls would allow it, he still thinks of it as if getting their consent was more of his achievement than a reflection of their will, in line with a desexualised idea of the feminine that is still commonly associated with Mexican machismo. Furthermore, he deems his behaviour as negative as suggested by his assertion that he was always “trying to get over the line” with them. This also reflects the moral standpoint that while men are mostly prone to sexual activity, women ought to avoid it and need therefore to be “tricked” into it.

Raúl says there came a time when, moral considerations aside, he thought his behaviour toward women was putting him at risk (particularly in terms of an unwanted pregnancy) and that a more contained conduct could protect him from such risk. He decided to slow down his physical-sexual conquests and to start pursuing more friendly relationships with women, one of whom turned out to be his girlfriend and later wife. A definitive moment in Raúl’s narrative comes when his then girlfriend told him that she had become pregnant. He relates being “absolutely shocked” when he learned the news, feeling as though “his worst fears had come true all the same”. He was 18, in the last year of pre-university education, employed in a very badly payed job that was only “enough to cope with the expenses of being a student”, and terrified of what his parents were going to say to him. He decided to step away from the relationship, he recalls, asking his girlfriend for some time to think about the situation. Three months later, he decided to “do the responsible thing”: go back to his girlfriend, propose to her, and start a family with her. When I ask him what made him decide to follow that course of action, he explains to me that “knowing that a child of mine was out there, and that I didn’t take responsibility for them, was too haunting an idea to put up with for the rest of my life”. This element of responsibility is another of the traits that Raúl emphasises as he paints the portrait of himself as a man. He has never, and will never, willingly step away from his responsibilities, particularly to his family.

In this sense, work is a linchpin that articulates his narrative to a great extent. When I show him some photographs of men and ask him to reflect and tell me how he feels about them, he immediately says he feels identified with the image of a construction worker breaking the ground with a shovel. “I have worked all of my life, worked hard, and I love it”, he says with resolve. Ever since he was a kid, he explains, he has done different jobs motivated by the idea that he could contribute to the wellbeing of his family, of origin or current family. When he decided to get married, he states, it was his decision alone to quit school and find a better paying

247 job in order to provide for his child, “so that they would not have to endure the hardships that I had”. A few years into his marriage he managed to find a job as a driver for a high executive in a company. He went on to work with him for almost 25 years, across 3 different companies. Raúl explains how important it was for him to keep this job as it was a sound source of income that allowed him to build a small apartment within his mother in law’s house plot, get a car of his own, pay for his children’s education, and so on. This meant delegating the tasks of looking after and raising the children entirely to his wife, he reflects. Having to be the breadwinner was his “alibi” to skip PTA meetings, graduations, and other school events, not being very involved in his children’s development. However, his formulation is that by being responsible –and most notably loyal– to his employer, he was in fact securing his children’s wellbeing.

This loyalty toward his employer was put to the test in another key event in Raúl’s life, when he was asked to work very closely with his boss’s daughter. He explains that things started to complicate when she started to look at him “as a man”. This eventually developed into an “inappropriate” relationship between them, that he says he experienced more like a burden than a pleasure. Had he not been married and a father, he might have found a way around the situation, Raúl reflects. But the fact that this was his boss’s daughter, and some twenty years younger than him, meant he was taking advantage of his trust, and would thus be unacceptable. Moreover, the notions of responsibility and loyalty towards his family, particularly his children, once again made it very difficult for him to cope, he says. He explained to me how he tried to stop that situation a few times, either by talking to the woman or asking his employer to give him other tasks, but to no avail. Eventually, after having an argument with her, he explains, she told her father that Raúl had sexually assaulted her, after which his boss summoned him to a conversation. He takes pride on the fact that his boss told him he did not believe his daughter’s accusations to be true, as he “knew him well and trusted him”. However, he recognised these were serious allegations and wanted to find out what motivation his daughter could have in making them. The incident made Raúl realise the only way to get out of the situation was to “come clean” about the relationship and quit the job, he tells me. Even though his boss told him he already suspected the relationship, and that he had no issue with it, Raúl was resolved to “keep (his) family together” and spare his children any unnecessary pain or suffering, even if this meant giving up financial stability.

This strong orientation toward family in Raul’s discourse is characteristic of the Mormon discourse itself, and it is one of the main selling points that attracted him to Mormonism. He came to know the LDS Church after his son was involved in a car accident that caused him to have a leg amputated. After spending several weeks in hospital, Raúl’s son wanted to explore spirituality and resorted to the Mormon missionaries who were teaching his cousin at the time. This led to his children and his wife learning about the Mormon Church and joining it. Once again, Raúl’s focus on family made him follow in their footsteps and eventually join the church himself.

248 He offers a narrative of the compelling power of Mormonism as a discourse, that made him change his mind about giving up the traditional religious (but mostly cultural) heritage of Catholicism he had received from his parents, only by being in contact with it. This meant overhearing the talks his family had with the missionaries, going along with them to church services and activities, and reading the materials that the missionaries gave him. He tells me that Mormonism has provided him with a “better yet” way of serving his family and other people around him, an intention he has always had.

Like many other men I interviewed, Raúl is ambivalent about the issues of women ordination to priesthood and sexual diversity within the Mormon Church. He says he would have no problem with women being ordained and holding important positions in the Church. At the same time, his answers make him sound as though he intuitively knew that this is not the right answer. He cannot give me a sound explanation as to why things are the way they are, why only men are priesthood holders, but he is sure there is one, he says. But since he is only a recent convert he has not yet obtained “all the knowledge” there is regarding this issue. His position is a little clearer on same sex relationships. He stands by the Church’s position that same sex relationships “are not the divine established order”, as this is consistent with a world view he shares since before he was even a Mormon, and that is common in the broader Mexican context. However, he can be reflexive and consider what his children have said questioning such position. “What about their (LGBT people’s) rights? They say. And I think that’s a fair point”, he explains. For now, he thinks it’s important to respect and accept everyone, regardless of the “sexual inclinations they are born with”. And even regardless of the choices they make in that regard, as he thinks that many people who identify as LGBT do it more as a conscious choice that is motivated by “a current trend”.

He still thinks it would be problematic to accommodate these lifestyles in the Mormon culture. Just a few weeks before our converstaion, he tells me, there was a small altercation during Relief Society (the ward’s all women group) meeting. The person conducting the lesson asked Raúl’s sister in law to say the closing prayer. But, against the unwritten dress code for Sunday services, she was wearing trousers. Some women made a comment saying they found this upsetting, which in turn upset the woman in the trousers. The person in charge of the meeting handled the situation very poorly to Raúl’s judgment, only making matters worse. “And that is only about some silly thing, can you imagine how people would react to a person openly in a same sex relationship?! It’s a very complicated issue”, he concluded.

Irwin

I met Irwin at an open house activity of Afirmación, where I listened to his participation in a sharing circle. I was very intrigued by his intervention in which, notably moved, he mentioned he was a lifelong active member of the LDS Church

249 who had recently got engaged to his male partner, a returned Mormon missionary who is part of the board of directors of the LGBT group. I contacted him through Afirmación’s Facebook group and asked him whether he would like to participate as an informant in my research. He is a very kind man who responded quickly and affirmatively to my request, and who would go out of his schedule and long commute to talk to me on a weekday afternoon. We set an appointment to meet in a café near the place where I was staying, the following day, to have an interview there.

Very slim, average height, with short dark hair and brown skin, Irwin looks a little younger than his 35 years of age. I opened our interview with the same prompt I used with all participants: “If we were meeting for the first time and I asked you to introduce yourself, what would you say? What would you tell me about Irwin?” His first response was another question: “you mean personal wise or church wise?”, as if acknowledging that in spite of my closeness to Mormonism, I was there in a research capacity. This is also indicative of the clear divide that LDS men (and women) tend to perceive in their life experience, constantly navigating between Mormon and non-Mormon contexts. When I say that this is his choice to make, depending on what he considers to be most important, he tells me, first and foremost, that he is a member of the LDS Church, a fact “I always mention”, he claims. He goes on to explain that he is an active member who has gone through the temple69, the fourth generation of Mormons in his family, descending of Mormon leaders in his local congregation in a small village in the outskirts of Mexico City, so his life has “basically been surrounded by the Church”. He is the oldest of four children (has one sister and two brothers) for whom he has felt somewhat responsible since his parents got divorced when he was 12.

Irwin describes himself as a lively person, an avid fan of music with a big love for dancing, and a hardworking individual. He says he loves the Church and “all the good things I have learned from it”, but also mentions that coping with the expectations people have had from him as a member of such a well-known family in his local Church community has been one of the hardest things he has had to endure. This is closely linked, he ponders, to the fact that “for better or worse” he has “a different sexual preference”. But at the same time, he says, he does not feel this has affected his membership or activity in the church. He tells me that he has always tried to observe the principles, rules and guidelines Mormonism has taught him, but “I have never repressed myself in that regard”. At the same time he clarifies that he is not the kind of person that “goes around creating outrage in

69 Mormon temples are different to regular meeting houses. Special ceremonies that take place in temples include marriage and ‘sealing’ ceremonies, as well as a ceremonial instruction known as “the endowment”. This is reserved for active adult members of the LDS Church and is an important milestone in a Mormon trajectory. When men or women go out to serve as missionaries, for instance, they usually receive this endowment before they leave, constituting a sort of rite of passage for young Mormon men and women. The Spanish expression entrar al templo (enter or go through the temple) is commonly used to indicate that a person has received this ceremonial instruction, and is located at a specific stage on the ideal Mormon life path.

250 public” as his relationship with his (LGBT) friends “is completely apart from Church stuff”. Irwin’s relation of his life experience is an example of a compartmentalization that is a common practice among Mexican Mormon men (and women). He has been able to fluctuate between codes of conduct rigidly defined by Mormonism, and other frameworks of reference outside that context, all along his life. This can lead to positions that often contradict each other when put together in a consistent narrative, but that make sense when thought of as occurring in concurrent but different life spaces.

Irwin says he realised he was attracted to men as early as age 12. However, he did not rule out the possibility of establishing relationships with women, like his male cousins and friends would do, and indeed experimented with it during his school years, which came to an end in his last year of pre-university education. Although he came from a family of tradition within Mormonism, he had not really been raised within it. His mother was a lifelong member of the LDS Church but ceased activity when she married his father who was not a Mormon. It was not until Irwin was 16 that his mother resumed her activity in the Church. From Church lessons, he explains, he learned about morality and “the importance of keeping your body clean” by not engaging in sexual practices. Embracing this normativity helped him establish brief relationships with girls without a strictly sexual component. This gave him some reassurance and helped him put the issue of his sexuality in brackets for a while.

When he was 18, Irwin reconnected with an old classmate from primary school. After working together for some time, his friend came out to him as gay and introduced him to “the LGBT scene and nightlife” of Mexico City. He found this somewhat intimidating at first, but over time, he was able to construct a space where he could start exploring his attraction for men outside the realm of Mormonism, and with people “with the same preference” as his. At some point he was out with a man he was seeing and he was spotted in his company by members of his family. This came to be his “outing” to his family who reacted very negatively, he recalls. Although he “did not receive very sweet words” from his mother and siblings, he did not feel as though his behaviour was completely inappropriate, since the relationships he had been involved in were, in his view, “not sexual at all”. He was somehow reprimanded by an uncle of his who happened to be a priesthood leader in his local Mormon congregation, and was first-hand exposed to the Mormon Church’s position (particularly that of the leadership) on non-heterosexuality for the first time. He decided to retreat from the LGBT spaces he had inhabited, making only sporadic incursions as a sort of coping strategy.

During those incursions, Irwin started his sexual life. This is a key event in his narrative, which he calls a “perhaps late, sexual awakening”, that took place when he was 21. Had he experienced this awakening before, he ponders, his whole perspective on the matter “would have been very different”, as it helped him come to terms with his being gay. Soon after that, he started what he considers his first

251 formal homosexual relationship, with a man who was not a Mormon. By this point, he had decided that it was worth the attempt to make these two realms of his life (being gay and being a Mormon) coexist in a more open way. He introduced his partner to his family, took him to church with him (even though he did not openly introduce him as his partner there) and eventually moved in with him. His relationship lasted for about 18 months. During all this time he remained active in the church, constantly flowing back and forth beyween his “(gay) world and the Church”. Without a doubt, this fluidity led Irwin to tensions in different moments. Nevertheless, he has managed to use it to his advantage, as he did when this relationship came to its end and decided to move back to his family home. At that time he was able to resort to his Church congregation as a safety net on which to fall. He recalls that during those times he became very engaged in church activity and had a series of experiences that reaffirmed his self-confidence and strengthened his identity as a member of the Mormon community. At the same time, this experience convinced him that having a long term relationship with a male partner was a project that he would definitely want to pursue at a later stage.

Irwin’s narrative is articulated with the idea of “change over time” constantly in mind. When he talks about his years in secondary school, for instance, he insists that being bullied by some of his classmates for the ways in which he displayed what they deemed as feminine attitudes was unmistakably a sign of the times in which he had to grow up. He considers that even though “things were starting to change” when he was in college, “sexuality” in general, and “sexual diversity” in particular, were topics people still tended to avoid. This general environment of “ignorance about sexual diversity”, he explains, accounts for the negative reaction his family had when they discovered he was going out with men. There is more tolerance and openness toward LGBT people today, he says, and this less hostile environment seems to have given him some confidence to stretch out his range of action. When he moved back to his family home, he became quite active in the Church. During those years he decided to quit his job of seven years, working for a shop chain at the airport, and decided to start his own business. “It was time for change”, he explains. He opened a novelty shop in his village, and at the same time he started a small agency to plan and organise events, mostly traditional Mexican XV Años (15th birthday parties) for girls, which usually involve choreographic arrangements, one of Irwin’s passions and areas of expertise.

It was also during those years that he first heard about Afirmación, but was reluctant to come in contact with them. After years of declining invitations to take part in the group’s activities, he came in contact with one of the leaders who hired his services as event planner for his niece’s XV Años. Working with him made him feel more confident and he decided to finally go and see what the group was like. At first, he says, he felt a little strange about a group of men being gay and “spiritual” at the same time, but soon he started to feel comfortable in that company. There he met his current partner, with whom he started a relationship soon after. Irwin relates how he has had to make some choices regarding the ambivalence with which he

252 had navigated the relationship between his sexuality and his faith. He tells me that at the beginning he felt a little inhibited to establish sexual contact with his partner, as he is also a member of the LDS Church, “a returned missionary and he has also been to the temple”. He went from inhibition to guilt, as he had been through the temple shortly before that, and felt that this was not appropriate. However, he decided to “embrace” this as his “moment”, he tells me with a voice broken down by emotion. For him, this meant proposing to his partner and wager for a stable long term relationship with this man. They are now engaged and hope to get married in the near future, he tells me. This is a definitive moment in Irwin’s narrative where these two great domains of his life (faith and sexuality) finally converge in one experience. He says he believes it will be a long time before the LDS Church is ready to accept same sex relationships, and even marriages, “maybe not even in our lifetime”. He is willing to conform to the norms governing interactions at Church (“I take my partner to church with me, but we’re obviously not holding hands or anything like that”), but he says he intends not to let it affect him “in his own space”.

When I show him some pictures of different men, he tells me he identifies with all of them as he sees a little of himself in every one. The only one he seems to take issue with is the photograph of an “effeminate boy”. He explains to me that he dislikes the “camp” stereotype of gay men because they come in all forms and shapes. For example, he says, he used to be a first aid firefighter, and would wear a uniform “even to church, sometimes”, something considered “very masculine”, he says, and that had nothing to do with being gay.

Alberto

Alberto arrives at the ward’s meeting house a few minutes after the time we had set for our interview on a weeknight. The heavy rain has forced him to pull over to the side of the road for some time while he was riding his motorbike making him late, he explains. One on one interviews are a common practice in Mormonism, and he seems to have been thinking of our appointment as if he was taking part in one of these recurrent talks between ward members and ward or stake leaders. He is used to the dynamics that these interviews entail, so after apologising for being “more than a little late”, he suggests that we go into one of the many classrooms available that night, where we can talk privately and without distractions.

After I turn on the recorder, Alberto introduces himself as a native of Mexico City. He points out he is the son of two immigrants (his father originally from Guatemala, and his mother from the state of Michoacán), and that he is married to a woman who is also an immigrant to the city, as if he felt some sort of satisfaction from his cosmopolitan family context. Alberto is a tall hefty man, who has “worked out” since he was 17 (he is 28 now). He says he has always liked sports and physical activity, which has included playing American football and being a black belt in

253 karate. In fact, a sizable part of his response to my request to introduce himself consists of a somewhat lengthy description of “Men’s physique”, a sub category of body building that focuses on “a more aesthetic look, and not so much on big muscles”. He explains to me that this has been his passion for a number of years now, and that a lot of his free time is spent at the gym training and taking part in contests. This activity has led him to start a small business venture online, commercialising food supplements and other products consumed in body building. Additionally, he has a degree in marketing and currently works with a marketing research company.

When I ask Alberto about his experience growing up in the family home, he tells me that I will find his answer interesting. In fact he keeps this tone along most of our talk, as if he were trying to give me the right answers regarding the things that he thinks I am interested in learning about. Alberto explains that his parents got divorced when he was six years old, and that he and his siblings (two older sisters and one older brother) remained under the custody of his father, “in contrast with what happens more commonly, that men leave and women have to keep the children”. Having grown up “only with (his) dad”, he tells me, he can hardly remember life with his mother. He also says that he has never been very close to his siblings. In fact, he describes his relationship with his brother in particular as something of a rivalry, which sometimes scaled up to the point where they would have “actual fist fights”.

Alberto tells me he has always been a very “sociable person”. As a result, even if he did not hold very strong family ties, he had close relationships with friends from school and from his neighbourhood during his childhood and adolescence. Although his father was a Mormon even before he was born, and took him to church almost every Sunday growing up, Alberto says he did not make many friends there. Thus, most of his closest acquaintances growing up were people “from the world” as he calls them, differentiating them from members of the LDS Church.

Alberto discovered DJ-ing when he was a teenager and became very fond of the activity. This, he explains, meant he would spend a great amount of time in parties and many “inappropriate” environments. This led him to take part of “many things that were not good, consuming all sorts of stuff”. He found himself living only with his older sister, who was 18 at the time, after his father remarried when Alberto was around 14. This, he reflects, gave them both “way too much freedom” and was greatly responsible for him “going astray”. He describes this period in his life as quite messy and uncertain. Although he does not say this explicitly, it seems as though he started to feel the need to gain certain stability. Unable to find it at the family home, he started to turn to the religious tradition of his family. Alberto tells me he started to feel “a lot of curiosity” about Mormonism around the time he was 20. Trying to satisfy this curiosity he decided to read the Book of Mormon. “I had gone to church all my childhood, up until I finished secondary school, and still had no idea what the book (of Mormon) was about”, he said. He started to go to church

254 on his own and to make changes in his lifestyle so as to be in line with church norms. This included giving up the consumption of “harmful substances” and attending church services regularly. In the process of engaging in church activity, he tells me, “I discovered a whole different world I didn't really know existed”. Mormonism seemed to provide him with an effective way to structure his life and made him feel safe and reassured.

A key process in Alberto’s narrative is that associated with LDS missionary service. A little over a year after “reactivating” in the church, he decided he wanted to go on a full time mission for two years. He says he thought that his “worldly” experience of adolescence disqualified him for being a missionary. But when he talked to the bishop about this intention and received his assurance that he could still “serve a mission” this gave Alberto a whole new sense of purpose. He followed through a plan based on “spiritual goals” and about a year later he left to go on a mission to Northern Mexico. This was for him “a fantastic experience”, even though he struggled getting used to following the “many rules” under which LDS missionaries have to live. These rules include a strict time table; having to stay within the boundaries of their assigned area at all times; avoiding communication with family and friends at home; not going out with friends or partners; not consuming non-Mormon literature, music, TV or films; among others.

Alberto’s relation of this experience, as well as that of his “conversion” process or his positions on specific issues along the interview, is clearly framed by the model for interaction that missionaries are provided with. Thus, he talks vaguely about things that can be considered mishaps in his display of himself as a “righteous” Mormon man, providing as little detail as possible of his “past transgressions” or any behaviour that can be considered inappropriate, and emphasising the narrative of personal and “spiritual” growth through obedience and spiritual practice. He tells me that his “way of thinking” changed completely after his mission, in the light of the knowledge he obtained during his mission, giving the experience a marked transformational imprint. As a teenager, he tells me, he did no ta have “a testimony of the gospel or proper knowledge of it and all it entails”. Gaining this “testimony” is part of a process of maturation that, if authentic, has impacts on most aspects of the life of a Mormon man. In Alberto’s case, this meant giving up his aspirations as a DJ and focusing and more realistic professional enterprises. He decided to get a degree in marketing and prepare himself for business life.

Alberto seems to try and adjust his narration of his trajectory in relationships with women in a similar way as he talks about his “conversion” and his missionary years. He tells me that before his mission he only had one sort of formal girlfriend, a woman a couple of years older than him who decided to end their relationship arguing he did not seem to have a plan for the future, or any sort of stability, when he was around 18. This, he says, was understandable as women “tend to mature earlier and faster than men”. He had been interested in women since a very young age, but always had been rejected by “the girls (he) fancied”. His “success with

255 women” came after his mission, a period of around three years in which he managed to “kiss more than a hundred women”. Alberto explains that he worked out the way to talk to women effectively and started to “pick up girls very easily” at parties and clubs. When I ask him about the role of sexuality and the Mormon normativity around it in this period, he seems unwilling to discuss the issue. After I probe a little, he reluctantly and vaguely admits that he did infringe the norms, which resulted in his being disciplined by church authorities at some point. Having already broken the rules, and under these disciplinary measures (that prevented him from actively participating in church meetings as a priesthood holder), he decided to “take advantage of the situation” to continue to experience his sexuality. He is able to reconcile this as part of the human experience, particularly through the relevance of the physiological dimension of it that Mormonism seems to emphasise. “I mean, it’s also a part of you, it’s something hormonal”, he asserts, as well as that most of these multiple encounters and relationships with women “were based purely on physical attraction”. However, this physical dimension needs to be subordinated eventually to the spiritual through the adoption of the normative framework. That is why, Alberto says, “if you want to settle down with someone, and everyone has to, at some point, you have to start looking for something else in them”.

Perhaps the most reflexive aspect of Alberto’s interview was precisely the one related to the difficulties of finding a “good candidate” to marry, and the challenges of marriage itself. Even if physical attraction is not all there is to finding a couple it still matters, he explains. Having to circumscribe his search for a potential wife to the Mormon community made it harder for him to find a suitable match: “there weren’t many pretty women (in his LDS community) and the few pretty ones were all very conceited”, he says. “They think: ‘oh, I’m the best, and I need someone who is the best, too’. They are expecting a perfect man to come along, you know, like a knight in shiny armour in their rescue, but real life is not like that”. Alberto considers this is understandable as the Mormon discourse they are exposed to, what he calls “their education in the Church, since they are little girls, makes them believe that”. Mormonism does seem to assign this position to women, as very valuable companions for very valuable men. At a discursive level, this is based heavily on “spiritual” attributes. But as Alberto notes, this notion is usually extrapolated to physical and material attributes. The latter, he reflects, tend to take primacy over the former in the assessment of one’s own suitability and value as a potential spouse. He feels this is particularly noticeable in the case of women, however, and considers this an unrealistic approach to the issue, associated with the specific femininity of “pretty girls”.

Alberto says he believes marriage should be experienced “at least once in a life time”. There is no guarantee that it will work, he ponders, but you have to make an effort. “Marriage is beautiful, but it is very difficult”, he declares, “It brings out the best and the worst in you”. When I try to enquire how this quandary materialises, once again he seems to try and dodge my questions by not discussing specific issues.

256 Instead he turns to a widespread notion among Mormons (and indeed various conservative sectors of the Mexican society) that marriage is “totally different” to noviazgo (which roughly translates as courtship). The noviazgo is easier, he explains, it is much more of a performance of “the best possible version of yourself, whereas the married you is the real you”. I press again, asking how the “real you” does come out. His answer is once again made of vague remarks, a distinctive characteristic in Alberto’s narrative which I perceive as a form of keeping it as less personal as possible. “There is a little of everything”, he says, as he concludes that it can come down to a struggle between egos.

Trying to broaden his scope for a potential “companion”, Alberto met his now wife via Facebook. She lived in the area where he had been a missionary and, as a result, they had a few mutual connections. He established contact with her through the platform, met her in person when she visited the city, and later went to visit her, too. They started a long distance relationship that included constant traveling of the both of them to visit each other. After a couple of years meeting about twice a month, he says, he concluded that it was a better idea to get married. He tells me that one of the main motivations he had to do this was of a very practical nature, as marrying his then girlfriend would mean that they could live together and stop spending “so much money” on travelling. Financial considerations come up as Alberto talks about marriage and his role as a man in that particular setting. He tells me that as a single man, he was somewhat intimidated by the prospect of being the provider for a family. But once he found himself in a more or less stable job and actually, providing for him and his wife, this responsibility became routine and he did not think much of it anymore. Besides, he remarks, “circumstances can be adapted depending on the woman you procure for yourself”. In his case, when his wife first moved to the city he was the only breadwinner, which he found a very heavy burden, and so he felt greatly relieved when she found a job and started contributing with her income.

The phrase used by Alberto about adapting circumstances seems to come almost as a direct quote from The Family, A Proclamation to the World, an official statement published by the LDS Church in 1996, in which it made clear its clearly heteronormative position. Alberto constantly incorporates the discourse of this document to his narrative, as when he explains that when his wife and he have children he expects her to stay home and be their (main) carer. As other participants, he concedes the possibility of his wife not withdrawing completely from the labour market, but “if the situation requires it, only after she has been in charge of the kids for a few years”.

Notions from the document also arise notably when I ask Alberto whether he thinks being a Mormon man has any advantages compared to being a woman. He firmly, and a little defensively, answers that he thinks there are no advantages or disadvantages to either being a man or woman, as this is “only a role” to fulfil. This role, he explains, has been given to every person since before they were born, is

257 part of their spiritual nature, and will endure in the afterlife. An essentialist view of masculinity and femininity is a strong component of the Mormon discourse, and the document on the family particularly. This clearly informs Alberto’s answers as to why women are not ordained to priesthood or why same sex marriages are not viable. When I ask what makes men particularly apt to be the priesthood holders, for instance, he responds quickly, trying to convey ease as he speaks, that it is the fact that men are more imperfect than women. “Isn’t that somewhat of a contradiction?” I ask, but Alberto firmly responds it is not: “women don’t need it, they don’t need to perfect themselves as much as we do”, he says, as he tries to devoid his face of any sign of (negative) emotion.

Interestingly, these positions seem to be informed also by notions linked to a psychological interpretation of certain behaviours, upon which Alberto draws at various points during our interview. When he talks about his opinions on sexual diversity, for example, he says he can understand some people may feel the urge to act in a non-heterosexual way, but that this must have its roots in their life trajectories at a psychological level. This, he emphasises, does not give them “a free pass to do whatever they want”. He then compares his own experience of sexuality in similar terms, saying that perhaps the lack of a mother growing up is responsible for the intense impulse to be in the company of a woman he has always had, especially after his mission; “I’ve even discussed this with a psychotherapist” he tells me. But these impulses are to be contained, controlled, and ultimately overcome, fitting into the referential framework of Mormon normativity.

As we finish our interview, I ask Alberto if there is anything he would like to add. He closes by saying that he understands that my research is of “a social character, about a social group that is part of society at large” and that, in this regard, he would think most of the topics I wanted to discuss (which are “current topics, happening right now”) can be covered by The Family, A Proclamation to the World. I tell him that I noticed that he, as well as other participants, seems to rely on this document to a good extent, and thus ask him why he thinks it has not been enshrined as scripture, as other official declarations have. 70 He once again gets somewhat defensive, saying that while it may not be part of the canon this does not make it any less valid as scripture, as it is a document penned and signed by the LDS Church’s First Presidency and Quorum of the Twelve, the two highest ruling bodies of the church. “In my perspective that is official”, he tells me. Finally, he uses the device of a clear divide between the realm of Mormonism and “the world” once again to highlight that, even though it may originate within the LDS Church, “it is a proclamation from God to the whole of the world, not only the Church”.

70 Concretely, Official Declaration 1, which announces the end of the practice of plural marriage as a practice sanctioned by the LDS Church; and Official Declaration 2, which opened up the possibility for black men to be ordained to priesthood; both part of the book of Doctrine and Covenants today.

258 Rubén

After a couple of weeks of greeting each other as we crossed on the hallways of the LDS meeting house, I approached Rubén one Sunday while he watched his 5 year old daughter and waited for his wife, as the last classes of the service were ending. At this time, the hallways fill up with children running around, chit-chatting teenagers, and older members catching up on their weekly affairs. Soon after I start making small talk with him, Rubén asks about my presence there: am I a new member of the ward? In fact, am I a Mormon at all? What is it exactly that I am researching? I answer his questions to the best of my ability and let him know that, apart from my observations, I am looking for men to talk to about masculinity, which prompts an expression of curiosity in his face. “That sounds interesting” he says. I respond by asking whether he would be willing to help me taking part in an interview. He pleasantly accepts and invites me to pop by his house sometime during the week.

Rubén works half of the time at home in the family bakery business. Every other day of the week, he goes round the streets of his colonia selling the bread. I visit him in his home on Thursday, after he told me he would be in that day. He lives there with his wife and daughter, his parents and some of his nephews “on and off”. Leaning on a long table where he and his family usually knead the dough, I turn on the recorder and we start the interview. With his soft toned and slow paced voice, Rubén tells me that he is 44. Having been born on 29th February in a leap year, he has to celebrate his ‘un-birthday’, so he gets “more celebrations’ he tells me jokingly. In fact he constantly jokes and giggles all along our conversation. He tells me that he is the fifth child in a family of six siblings, all of them men, except for his one sister. As a kid, he remembers, he was a very calmed boy, who got along and played orderly without causing any problems. He says he has always been “very selective” with his friends, so if he saw something he did not like in a person he would just try to avoid them, and nourish those relationships he felt comfortable with. He does that “up to this day”, he asserts.

I ask Rubén how he found his experience growing up in a home with mostly men, to which he replies that it was “pretty normal” and uneventful. He says he gets along fairly well with his brothers, although they have always “whined a bit too much” when he punched them in the arm or slapped them in the head “what boys do, you know?” By contrast, he says, it has been his sister who, even to this day, gets engaged with him in these types of dynamics. “She can actually be pretty rough, too” he explains, as he jokingly tells me that since she was older than him, he “grew up under her yoke”. Rubén spent his childhood in a different neighbourhood, fairly near to the one where he has lived in since his family moved there, a little over 30 years ago. He made many of his friends as a child in that other colonia, so he remembers that as a teenager he would try and go back, and “hang out” with them, playing ball on the streets or just doing the rounds in their bikes or roller skates. These are the things he enjoyed doing as a child and teenager, he tells me with a

259 nostalgic lilt. “You could play on the streets or in the park as a kid back then, but not anymore” he grumbles, alluding to the sensation of insecurity that many people perceive in the city these days.

Another important element in Rubén’s narrative of growing up is his participation in the Boy Scouts program in Mexico. He got involved in Scouting when he was as a child, participated most of his adolescence and even as an adult for a few years. This was a “great experience” for him and gave him several opportunities for leisure. He enjoyed all sorts of outdoor activities they did in the group, such as camping, trekking, rappelling, and so on, and continued to practice them as much as he could on his own after he decided to step away from the group. It was also during those scouting years that he first came in contact with archery and became really fond of the activity. He practices traditional archery, “not the kind they do at the Olympics, we use a wooden bow” he explains to me, and has done it regularly since ten years ago. This hobby is associated with an interest in medieval culture, which has taken him to participate in so called ‘renaissance fairs’ and do some cosplay. “I love all that stuff, it’s great!” he says. Then he tells me that living in Britain would be “wonderful” for his interest, since this is where the best bows are made, renaissance fairs are a lot more frequent, and “they have actual castles there!”

Like many of the men I interviewed, Rubén did not go to university. Also like many of them, he started working at a young age. This is a common situation among working class men in Mexico City, which arises mainly from concrete economic factors, but that also has a cultural dimension. Paid work is a key component of the best regarded model of masculinity, thus incorporation to the labour market, irrespective of the formality or informality of the job, is usually perceived as a desirable trait of a man among the working classes. Rubén did several jobs as a courier for different companies and at a government office. His father used to own a couple of newsstands and so he worked with him on that business, being in charge of running one of them at some point. It was his mother who started the bakery business when he was already an adult. Seeing it as a good opportunity, Rubén started to get closer to the business, and eventually fully joined it. This led him to take some training courses on baking and confectionary. Now he has been in the business for about seven years and says he is glad he found it.

Although he did not have a strict or very constant religious practice growing up, Rubén says he had always believed in god. He said that he always recognised nature as god’s creation, and reaffirmed this conviction as a Boy Scout. “I think that’s plain to see, you’d have to be blind no to see it” he states. When he was in his early thirties, Rubén’s parents joined the LDS Church. At some point they invited him to a “fireside talk” at the ward, and he decided to attend out of curiosity. “It raised some points I found quite interesting” he says. Then he was given a Book of Mormon, and got caught by the narrative in it when he began to read it. He started meeting with the missionaries and shortly after he decided to get baptised into the LDS Church. One of the things he found more enticing about Mormonism, he tells

260 me, was the idea of eternal families. This inspired in him the desire to have a family of his own. He met his now wife at the ward, and started to see her in the activities organized by the Church’s Young Single Adults group. “It was kind of natural, because we lived very near each other so we could go together to the activities, and our parents knew each other” he says of the way he started to get in contact with her. After a few months of relationship, he proposed to her and they were married within a year.

Rubén says marriage can be hard because of the discrepancies between people that are bound to emerge in human relationships. But he highlights the cooperative element he perceives in this arrangement as one of its virtues: “It’s very nice to have someone to share projects with, and their successes and failures”, he says. In contrast to what other heterosexual married men told me, Rubén says there is an even distribution of the work between him and his wife that does not seem to rest on a complementary view that emphasises gender differentiated responsibilities. He highlights that both his wife and he work, contributing to the household income, and that they both look after their daughter. “You gotta give the grandparents something to do to keep them busy” he jokes, when he explains how his parents and parents-in-law help them with the care of their daughter. Interestingly enough, gendered assignments do seem to take place in what “the grandparents” do. For example, he tells me that it is his mother-in-law who sometimes picks his daughter up from school and looks after her, when he is out selling the bread and his wife is at work in an office in the city centre. He also mentions that food preparation is mostly in charge of his own mother, and that his wife usually eats out. In Rubén’s experience, his family configuration is a good network of support for everyday affairs.

At some point during our conversation, Rubén’s wife came into the working area and sat down to prepare some things for the baking. Her presence seems to inhibit his responses a little, but she does not intervene or contradict him. I ask her a few incidental questions as a way to incorporate her in the conversation but she does not seem too keen. She does tell me that she works nine to five, and that she is taking a short holiday for the summer. She nods when Rubén tells me that it is he who generally takes his daughter to school and picks her up, but points out that she is the one who helps her with her homework.

Toward the end of our interview, I show Rubén a couple of photographs produced by the group Ordain Women. One shows a girl passing the sacrament at church, the other one a woman baptising a man, both tasks exclusively performed by (male) priesthood holders in the LDS Church. I ask him how this makes him feel, to which he responds “well, the thing is that this isn’t possible”. He says that both the Bible and the Book of Mormon clearly state that the priesthood is exclusively to be held

261 by men. 71 When I ask him what he thinks makes men particularly apt to be priesthood holders he simply replies that this is god’s design. Then he goes back to the idea of men having to “make an effort to be worthy of holding it and keeping it, being righteous in deeds, thoughts, and words”. He notes that in the LDS temple, there is a ceremony where women do officiate as if they were priestess. In fact, other men I interviewed referred to this same issue, and to the possibility that women will be given the priesthood fully in the afterlife. Finally, I ask Rubén how he would feel if this happened in this life, and the LDS General Authorities announced that women can be ordained. He enthusiastically says: “if the prophet received a revelation that this is what should be done, so be it! That’s what we have a prophet, seer and revelator for, and we need to obey what he says”. He presents no resistance to the idea and does not take a defensive stance, like other men I interviewed. He says women would bring in nothing different to the church if they were ordained, because their tasks would be the same, and both men and women are “perfectly capable” of doing it.

Then I show him the pictures of five men that I have shown to all participants. The first one he identifies is the image of a man in a suit, saying that he looks like a politician or a business man; either way, he seems crooked. Then he goes on to the picture of a construction worker saying “this is a pretty regular picture, showing working people, what we all do, work”. The same is true for the image of a soldier, he says, whose job is to defend or attack, or for the picture of a bearded and tattooed young man posing in front of a painting, who “may be an artist at work, too”. He sort of avoids talking about the image of a young man wearing makeup that most other participants have identified as a gay man. When I ask “what about that one?” he only replies “looks like he’s taking a selfie”. I refer to a lesson that was given at church a couple of weeks back in which the topic of non-heterosexuality was touched upon along with the policies of the LDS Church regarding same sex couples and their children. Rubén tells me that he was not there, but that he personally has no issue with non-heterosexual people as “people are free to do whatever they want with their bodies and their life”. Although he seems a little uncomfortable discussing the issue of non-heterosexuality, he does seem to favour a tolerant position, at least discursively. “As I said before, I think it’s the church leaders who can receive a revelation on the issue. And if they say that it is ok (to have same sex couples at church) that’s fine by me. I’d have no problem with them. I don’t have any problem with them right now”, he concludes.

Edgar

71 However, documents produced buy Ordain Women say that there is no explicit prohibition in the Mormon canon off scripture for a woman to be ordained, or an explicit statement declaring its male exclusivity.

262 Every Sunday during the three months I attended services in his barrio, I saw Edgar walking up and down the hallways of the LDS meeting house, wearing his dark suit and tie, and attending to the different issues of his various “church callings”. Edgar is friendly and solicitous, while still being very formal and reserved. The capilla felt like the natural setting for an interview with him and thus, after agreeing to participate in it, he asks me to meet him there on a Sunday morning before the services start. We sit down in one of the small classrooms that are not being used yet and start our conversation.

His self-introduction comes in the form of a series of key events and phases ordered chronologically. He tells me he was born in the city, but moved to the country side with his family while he was still merely an infant. After spending all his childhood there, his family and he returned to the capital when he was about 12. Then he takes a leap over his adolescence and tells me that at age 19 he went on what he describes as “this tiny sacrifice we men of the church do”, a two-year full time mission in the north of the country. Upon his return, he started studying and now he is about to complete his degree in interior architecture. Some months ago he found a job at a construction company, working “more toward the civil engineering side, but still related to my profession” he says. In the near future, he adds, he would like to find a more suitable, better paid job. Then get married, and continue on with his life, “setting goals and things related to my profession, my family and the church”. The notion of personal progress is of notable importance in Mormonism. For men, it is often conceived of as their advance through a unidirectional and well-defined path. Edgar amply conforms to this normative notion, and he seems satisfied with the work he has done in this regard so far.

Still as part of the introductory exercise I prompted, Edgar offers his view on his personality. “I guess you could say I’m a methodical person, or perhaps a bit orthodox when it comes to church related stuff; sometimes people even think I'm square”, he tells me. But he thinks this has to do with being sensitive to the environments he finds himself in, and also acting with sensibility. “I have a fun side, too” –he says– “I just feel there’s a time and a place for everything: when I'm playing basketball I act like a person that’s playing basketball, and when I'm at church, I act like a religious person that’s at church. Same in school, same at work. I adapt, right?” This capacity to “adapt”, he reflects, was particularly useful to him when he was a missionary. He was able to adapt to the particularities of missionary life, and this helped him to be a “good and successful missionary”, and to avoid having problems “unlike some other missionaries”. Edgar’s case is a very good example of the incorporation of another common idea in Mormonism: a man’s life experience is compartmentalized, experienced in different places and moments that call for particular behaviours. There are a set of core values he must always carry with him, but as long as these are not compromised, he must adapt to the circumstances, balancing congeniality, affability, dignity, and self-control. These elements are constitutive of different masculinities present in the Mormon

263 imaginary, such as the missionary, the LDS General Authority, or the regular “faithful” member of the LDS Church.

Edgar tells me that his childhood in the country side was very nice and quiet. There he grew up with his brother and sister, as well as a number of cousins and neighbours who spent a lot of time playing on the streets of the small town where they lived, looking after each other. However, he tells me that he does not feel he has such a strong bond with his siblings, let alone his cousins. He thinks this was because his parents failed to teach them about the importance of family ties. In fact, he considers that his parents did not pay much close attention to their moral education. He says there where some issues with his siblings’ conduct that he believes his parents should have addressed, but of which they were not even aware, as both of them spent large amounts of their time outside the home. The wise move his parents did take, he acknowledges, was being constant in taking them to church to be educated by it. This, he ponders, must be the reason why they still turned out to be “good children”.

Along his narrative, it is clear that Edgar regards “the church”72 as his main source of morality, knowledge, and other social resources, and that it has been central to structuring his life and making decisions regarding his trajectory. One dimension in which this shows particularly is that of relationships. He tells me that, even though he became interested in women since he was maybe about ten years old, he did not start dating until he was 16, just like LDS leaders instruct. This may have in part been a result of the fact that the two girls he was interested in at different points while he was in secondary school “curved him”, he admits. However discouraging these experiences were “on the side of the heart”, it was reassuring to him that he was still able to conform to the norm. Furthermore, he tells me that one of the girls is now a single mother, “something we would not want within the church”. Edgar takes this as a sort of indicator of why things happened the way they did for him, as if implying that it was best he did not get involved with that specific girl who he seems to perceive as a “negative influence”. He tells me that he has always “feared God”. Not fear of his punishments, he clarifies, but of being forsaken by him and consequently exposed to “bad things”. He thinks that abiding by the norms of conduct he has received from Mormonism, which he refers to as “commandments”, has brought god’s protection and “blessings” to his life.

When he was 16, Edgar had his first “formal girlfriend”, a 12 year old girl from the ward. Although she was quite younger than him, he explains, she and her sisters were always taller and –unlike he– more mature than their age suggested. He was very enthusiastic about this relationship, he tells me, thinking about marriage for them in the future when he returned from his mission, which was still some three years ahead. He tells me this over-enthusiasm frightened the girl who decided to break up with him. From that experience, he reflects, he learned that even though

72 It is common that people use this term to refer to Mormonism not only as a religious tradition, but as a complete and complex way of understanding and making sense of the world, and organising life.

264 this was a good and sincere desire he felt every time he found himself in a relationship, he should not share it so openly with the girl in question in order not to scare her away again. However, Edgar tells me that, since very early in his life, the family oriented model of masculinity enshrined by Mormonism has been of particular importance to him. During a seminary73 class he took when he was about 14, the teacher asked the class what their worst fear was. While other boys and girls responded with their “fear of spiders, or being badly beaten by their father”, Edgar tells me that his immediate response was that his worst fear was “to be a bad father, and not maintain the stability that is necessary for (his) family to be happy”. He says he has reflected on that experience many times thereafter, and has concluded that he had a “different mentality” since a young age, something he feels very satisfied with today.

Edgar had a couple of other girlfriends before he went on his mission. After he returned, he started a relationship with which he was very happy and made him, once again, start thinking about marriage. His girlfriend decided to go on a mission herself and asked him to terminate the relationship on account of that. He agreed “out of obedience”, he tells me, as LDS authorities recommend not to try and keep long distance relationships during that period. At the time of our interview, Edgar was still expecting to retake this relationship once his girlfriend completed the time of her mission a few months later. They had not kept much contact (which in the case of missionaries must be limited to weekly post or email exchange) for a couple of months. However, he said, he would not want to see other women or move on from the relationship until his partner had come back and he was able to discuss things with her. “That’s just the way I am”, he tells me; once he has made a decision he has to follow through with it, and face whatever consequences it brings.

I ask Edgar what he thinks are “the pros and cons” of being a man within Mormonism. He says he cannot think of anything negative about it. Immediately thereafter, he starts telling me that as a Mormon man he feels that a great responsibility rests upon his shoulders, because “in this life” many important duties fall on LDS men as priesthood holders. This is not to say that women do not have vital responsibilities as well, he clarifies. In fact they have the most important responsibility of them all, which comes as the gift of “being co-creators with god”, and being in charge of “raising the family”. Edgar says that many women “don’t value this enough, that’s why they usually complain, saying that it hurts or that it is too straining. They focus on men’s (decision making) responsibilities portraying them as more special”. He then says that being a priesthood holder implies a great deal of duties and responsibilities. Taking a somewhat theological perspective, he explains to me that a man receives authority once he is ordained a priest, but that “the power (of the priesthood) has to be earned by keeping the commandments and

73 Seminary is a religious education program of the LDS Church aimed at youth aged 14 to 18, both men and women. It consists of lessons imparted daily (though sometimes it is done weekly outside of the regular Sunday schedule) by a member of the ward appointed as teacher, in which the four books of scripture of the Mormon canon are studied over a four year period.

265 being worthy”. This is why, he says, most temptations in the world “lain by Satan are aimed at men” (rather than at women), because that is the only way he has to damage “god’s church” and undermine the power of the priesthood. Edgar regards this power as a very real force that can literally heal the sick, “shake the unrighteous”, and command the presence of angels. Therefore staying worthy of exercising it makes him feel a lot of pressure and responsibility. “I don’t want to say (I feel) stressed” he says. “But you do feel stressed, a little?” I probe. “Well, yes, somehow” he finally admits. Interestingly enough, Edgar says he “can’t really thing of any negative things about being a man”. I ask him whether he does not consider feeling stressed by this is a negative thing. His response is that this is a pressure he puts on himself, so he cannot say this is a negative thing. It is actually a motivation, he says, and insists that he does not feel he is being obliged “by anybody”.

When Edgar says that he feels responsible but not “forced to do anything”, I enquire about his decision to go on a mission, and whether he felt driven to do it by duty. He says he always wanted to serve as a missionary because of the many “blessings” he knew this would bring to his life, and because he understands this to be a commandment for men. “But not for women, right?” I ask, to which he readily answers “yeah, it is only a commandment for the men, definitely”. Then I ask him how he feels about the differentiated standards for men and woman regarding missionary work. His answers express very essentialist ideas regarding the “nature” of men and women that are common within Mormonism74. “I think women should go on missions only for a year, I mean, they are so different to us! We (men) do need two years because, for us, it’s more difficult to focus”. He elaborates by saying that for men, the experience of a mission is a double edged sword, because you can also learn to “manipulate people and distort the scriptures for your own benefit; a man can learn to do that”, something he is sure women would not do, as if implying that feminine nature tends toward “good” much more than masculine nature. He says although it may seem as compulsory for men to go on mission it is ultimately a matter of faith, that is, having enough faith to obey the commandment.

The discussion takes us into the topic of the gendered distribution of responsibilities between men and women in life beyond missionary service. Edgar says some people regard this as an “unjust” distribution, but he is not sure about that. As he does constantly during our conversation, he engages in an interpretative reasoning exercise, more resembling of an exegete (although this figure does not exist formally in the LDS Church) than of a regular adherent to a faith. He says that the scriptures are full of examples of this distribution as the divine order, starting from Adam and Eve. He also invokes The Family, A Proclamation to the World as a settling and undisputable standard on the issue. “It is the man’s calling to be a

74 Although the particular characteristics he talks about are to a great extent idiosyncratic to Mormonism, some of them are linked to notions also common in the broader Mexican context. These include ideas of femininity as naturally passive, compassionate, caring, loving, etc.

266 provider, since the beginning”, he says. By this, he assures me, he does not mean a woman’s “calling” is less important. In fact, he reassures me, it is the most important. “Without women we’re nothing” he says categorically. To back this claim, he refers to the example of “Church leaders” who are often heard saying that they have accomplished their status “thanks to my wife” in public talks and speeches. In sum, he says, it is not about it being just or even, but being functional, and the distribution of responsibilities does serve a purpose. This purpose is the ultimate goal of “successful family life”, and it should be regarded as what is most important. Adjustments can be made if the purpose is not compromised, he says echoing The Proclamation. “I’m not saying women don't have the right to work, for example, the day my wife tells me or asks me whether she can work I will says yes. I always separate things and strive for organisation in everything, so I’d say to her ‘look, let’s organise so that we can work without affecting the children’ if we strike that balance I have no problem at all but as soon as we start neglecting the children I’ll tell her “you know what? I should try and work less and you should stop working, we should dedicate more time to the children”.

This also connects with Edgar’s views on why men are priesthood holders and women are not. Men need to be taught to be responsible more, and having the priesthood does that; women are more “spiritual” and capable than men by nature, he reflects. “The man without the priesthood would be nothing, nothing”. This is again linked to an essentialist notion of the masculine and the feminine. At the same time, it is related to the idea of two separate spheres in which the masculine and the feminine belong. Men may be the manager and administrators in the Church or at the workplace, he says, but at home women have the last word. This is their realm and it is of the utmost importance that they look after it. Edgar recognises that there is no guarantee that men will use their priesthood authority and power in the best possible way. In fact, he says, there are many cases in which the opposite happens. He thinks this is problematic as it causes some women to “feel that they can now be feminist, that they now have the right to go: ‘now I’m going to be a feminist because men are stepping over the line’, and there are many cases were men don’t do what they should be doing”. So it is the wrong doing of men in attending to their responsibilities that causes women to question their authority.

When I ask Edgar about his sexuality and the position of the Church on the subject, he quickly shifts the discussion to terms that are more familiar to him by saying “Are you asking about the law of chastity?” I nod, and then he tells me that opinion is not really relevant since “the commandment”, restricting all sexual contact to heterosexual marriage, is very clear. Once again, he draws on the relationship between faith and obedience to commandments. He concedes that it can be problematic because “in this day and age, people think of sex among unmarried people as standard thing”, and having a different view on sexuality means rowing against the current. The struggle to control one’s sexual drive is difficult enough, but the biggest difficulty, he ponders, comes from taking a position that goes against the bulk of society. “So that kind of makes you a freak, I mean, you’re

267 stepping aside (of the mainstream), and they (society at large) is also putting you aside on top of that, and make you feel even more of a freak”.

I finally ask Edgar about the debate on sexual diversity and Mormonism. More specifically, how he would feel if the LDS authorities declared that it was correct for openly non heterosexual people to be members in good standing. He swiftly and directly tells me that he could not accept it, for this would be a blunt contradiction of the doctrine, “and a church that contradicts itself is not for me, so I’d leave”. However, he assures me that he does not discriminate against “those people” and that he has many friends who are gay. From these friends he has “learned”, he tells me, that gay men refer to themselves as “de ambiente” (which roughly translates as ‘of the milieu’), and that they can be identified as part of the “active ambiente” or the “passive ambiente”. He says he used to be annoyed by gay men in general, but now it is only those he identifies as of “passive ambiente” that he feels uncomfortable with. When I show him the pictures of different men and ask him to tell me what he thinks about them, he immediately says he does not identify with two of them because they are both gay, and of the “passive ambiente”, so he feels a bit uncomfortable with their images. On second thought, he says that one of them is maybe more of an “active”. He praises the figure of the construction worker, as he works with them every day and is impressed with how happy and positive they are even with all the limitations they have. He sees the soldier as a hero, and identifies the next one as “either a church leader or an MP”. It is time for the sacrament meeting to start so Edgar apologises and tells me that he needs to go. As he leaves, he asks me if I could share the results of my research, because he would like to know what his responses (particularly the ones to the images) may mean.

Claudio

I meet Claudio at a shopping mall in the heart of Mexico City’s centre. This is a very centric location on one of the city’s main avenues, right by the Zona Rosa, a district that has been associated with the LGBTQI scene in the city for some years now. We meet at midday on a weekday, before he goes to work at a coffee shop in the city airport. I had met him at a movie night of Afirmación where I introduced myself, told him about my project, and exchanged contact details with him. At that time he told me he could offer a lot of insight for my research, so I said I would contact him shortly after to arrange an interview. After a few text messages exchanged, we agreed on a time and a place that suited us both and we got together to talk.

After we say our hellos, we head to a nearby coffee shop, where Claudio insists in getting me coffee. He is a medium height, medium build, very friendly, and vey talkative young man. The first pieces of information he offers when I ask for an introduction after I have set the recorder on are that he is 27, from Mexico City, lives outside his family home, is the only man out of a four children family, a

268 manager at a coffee shop, soon to start his undergrad in social sciences, and gay. He then goes on to talk profusely about his experience growing up, describing how he felt that his sisters and he were “basically orphans”, as both of his parents where constantly gravely ill, and had to spend long periods in hospital. This had a direct impact on their financial situation, so he says he remembers growing up in a “very poor” family. His mother eventually died from a chronic disease when he was 11, and this made him feel that he was in effect alone from then on, as he did not feel close to –or taken care of by –his father; “all he cared about was his daughters”, he says.

Claudio’s mother died when he was 11 years old. His oldest sister had married and moved out of their home by then. His 14 year old sister left home one day without any previous warning, shortly after. His father had regained his health enough to work full time and all this, he explains, meant he was de facto left in charge of his six year old sister at the time. He tells me that he had to take on many care responsibilities which included feeding her, taking her to school, helping her with her homework assignments, and so on. About a year and a half later, his younger sister went to live with their oldest sibling, leaving him “alone with my dad, but living practically on my own”, he says. Claudio describes his relationship with his father as “quite rough”, even though they seldom saw each other on account of the long hours the father worked. This, he ponders, was related to the fact that the various grievances his father had had to endure “had torn him to pieces”.

Claudio was in contact with the LDS Church since very early in his life as his father had been a Mormon from a young age and his mother converted after she married him. His parents took him to church regularly, he was baptised into it at age eight –as Mormon children traditionally are–, and stayed active in it until well into his teenage years. He grew up in a densely populated LDS ward, with “most of the families in the colonia being Mormon”, and a big part of the narrative constructed by Claudio takes place within this context. As he tells me about his experiences in the ward, he places himself within a network of relationships that profoundly impacted his experience as growing up as a man. This had to do with the position he occupied in relation to most of the members in the ward which was subordinated in various ways: “just imagine” he says “alone, gay and poor (…) I was like the pariah in all activities”.

Claudio presents a robust narrative of his years as a teenager in the ward. At times I have to jump in to ask for some clarification, or try to get him to talk more specifically about a certain topic, but it is mostly he who leads the conversation that flows more like a monologue. One central element around which he articulates this narrative is a “long and difficult relationship” he had with a boy from the ward. This relationship, he tells me, is still “meaningful and at the same time painful” for him up to this day. The boy in question was a neighbour and fellow ward member. They started becoming close shortly after the death of Claudio’s mother, which prompted the boy’s mother (a close acquaintance of Claudio’s own mother in life)

269 to ask him to be a company for him. This boy was part of “an exemplary Mormon family”, with parents that occupied leadership positions and older brothers having served or serving missions. Claudio, on the other hand, was the only member of his family who had not fallen into inactivity, which was, to a great extent, linked to his seeing this boy at church activities.

Claudio explains that the relationship was complicated from the start, firstly because of the sexual nature that it had since very early stages. Although pre-marital sexual practices are deemed as highly inappropriate in Mormonism, when they occur within a heteronormative framework they may be tolerated or somehow dealt with in a relatively easy way. Homosexual practices, however, tend to be perceived as completely intolerable. Claudio tells me he had “always known (he) was gay”. He had no problem with it, nor did he feel the need to make a statement and come out to anybody. But his counterpart in the relationship would never fully come to terms with his attraction for him. Because of all of this, they had to keep their relationship secret from everyone as much as possible. Another difficulty he associates to this situation was the fact that his sexual-affective partner would establish similar contact with girls from the ward while Claudio perceived they had an ongoing relationship, which constantly disturbed him.

Claudio tells me that he experienced the ward as a particularly homophobic environment, especially when he took part in the Young Men organization of the ward, the group for men ages 12 to 17. “Can you believe it?” –He tells me– “I was never bullied at school because of my condition; it was only at the capilla that I suffered any bullying”. This was also problematic for him, he ponders, because the prevalent environment “forced” his counterpart to participate in bullying him. Claudio reasons that this was part of the heterosexual masculinity that the boy had to perform. He would constantly apologise to him for taking part in this dynamics, and justified himself as having to adjust to the expectations of his family, as well as of the ward’s membership and leadership. Claudio tells me that he understands that, but at the time he found it “confusing”, at an emotional level, that the only person who seemed to care for him would be willing to hurt him that way.

Regardless of this confusing behaviour, in the narrative of his days in the ward, Claudio still locates this boy as one of the few people who tried to “act in a Christ like manner” toward him. At some point, he recalls, they were out in a young men’s camping activity. The boy was feeling really poorly and vomited inside his tent at some point. Claudio helped him out by cleaning, tried to comfort him, and even offered his spot in a different tent for the boy to sleep in. This caused that another boy questioned him, telling him he “was stupid for helping him out when this guy treated me so badly”. His response was that he was only treating him the way he would like to be treated by others, he tells me. The opportunity for this would materialise soon after, he explains, when it was the partner who came in Claudio’s aid when he fell ill while they were away on another camping activity. These dynamics were frequent, he remembers, and they did not go completely unnoticed.

270 The youth leadership would constantly try to keep them apart as much as possible, he recalls, and the bishop did come to him once and explicitly asked him to keep “appropriate distance” from the boy. Although there were a few other people in the ward who befriended Claudio (for example, he tells me about two men in particular, both older than him, who showed a genuine interest in his wellbeing), most of the members of the ward in his relation appear as antagonistic characters, constantly making him feel unwelcomed and undervalued.

A particular experience Claudio narrates to me illustrates this with clarity. He saw himself involved in a gossip situation that made him and part of his family deeply uncomfortable. Some rumours were spread among the ward’s youth that implicated the sister of one of Claudio’s older friends. It would be a long time before he found out what he was being accused of, but the girl in question started to mistreat and abuse him verbally (and in one occasion even physically), and instigated others to do the same. At a given point, the ward’s bishop came to him during a field trip activity and reprehended him for talking “in such a bad way about a young lady”, and asked him to refrain from doing so, which he recalls left him quite puzzled. The situation escalated to the point that the girl came to see him in his house along with her father. There they were greeted by Claudio’s sister, who had returned to the family home a few months before and had taken on “the role of the mother of the house”. Only then he discovered that he was being accused of spreading rumours regarding the girl’s sexual behaviour, and that many members of the ward, and even the stake, had confirmed they had heard him say these things. “Virtue”, as Mormons often refer to women’s virginity, is of great value in Mormon discourse, so putting a young woman’s “sexual purity” in question can be quite harmful to her image and that of her family. Claudio says he does not remember having ever said anything to anybody about this girl’s sexual behaviour; “I didn’t know anything, or cared about it, anyway!” he tells me. He told these people as much, and also the bishop who visited his home a few hours later on the same night. His interpretation of the incident goes back to the vulnerability with which he felt he was perceived by the ward membership: “who else were they going to blame but me, I mean, they must have thought: ‘who’s going to stand up for him?’ right?”

By this time, Claudio had started pre-university education at the LDS Church’s school in Mexico City. He paid half of his tuition fees with his work in the school, and the rest of it was paid for by the ward. One day, he tells me, he was called out of class and told he could not continue attending classes until some overdue fees were covered. He subsequently learned the ward was not willing to pay their share anymore, which made him feel rejected even worse that he had before. Things had also “gone wrong” in his relationship after the boy from the ward had been seeing over the last years started a more open and serious relationship with a girl, at the same school they were both attending. Overwhelmed with all these situations, Claudio decided to “make an escape and leave”. He stopped going to church without letting anybody in the ward know. Unable to continue paying for his education at the Mormon school, he dropped out of it as well. Then he found a new

271 job and moved out of his father’s house. This period marked the breaking of Claudio with institutional Mormonism, his partner, his father, and his community of origin.

The years that came after his attempt to start anew are presented by Claudio as a period of emotional hardship. He suffered a huge blow to his confidence and the incipient stability he was finding when he learned that his sister and mother figure had been murdered by her partner. Around that time, he had established another “complicated relationship”, this time with an older man who was married and with children. He has struggled with eating disorders since his early adolescence, he tells me, but the issue intensified during this period. Claudio tells me that his self-esteem was severely decimated, as he felt deeply lonely and uncared for. These circumstances, he says, pushed him into an “awful depressive period” that included a suicidal phase. He was able to get through this, he explains, with the help of some “very good friends” he had met at work and who had accompanied him for some years. After he decided to end the relationship he was having, he tried to focus on work, on getting some stuff to furnish the small accommodation he had been able to find for himself, and trying to have fun with his friends and, importantly, “without drinking”, he says.

Claudio’s narrative constantly refers to an affective dimension. More specifically, a lack of perceived genuine affect, especially from relationships that are deemed as key providers of it, such as those established with family members or “romantic” partners. In fact, affect seems to be the main structuring axis of his entire narrative. Thus, the last part of our talk is occupied mostly by his account of his relationship with his current partner. He has been with his current partner for nine years, the last three of which they have lived together. Claudio tells me that he is content with this relationship overall, although it has not been “stress free” by any means. There have been episodes of unfaithfulness “mostly on (his partner)’s side, to be honest”, he tells me. It has also made it difficult for him to cope with his eating disorders, as he feels that, at a certain point, his partner started pushing him to lose weight. It was during this time when he “stopped being bulimic and became an anorexic”, he tells me. At the same time, he feels there are also some very positive things he has gained from the relationship. The example of his partner’s relationship with his parents inspired Claudio to re-establish contact with his own father and try to mend their relationship. Now his father has become “one of the most important people in (his) life, and (they) have a good and close relationship” he says. Plus “he and my sisters love (his partner)”, giving him the feeling that he belongs in an affective network that he really values. He tells that he has an agreement with his partner that if they are still together by the time they reach ten years of relationship, they will get married “somehow”. However, he confesses that every day he hopes something will come along that pulls him away from the relationship and makes him feel the same way he felt about his partner from his teenage years, as he admits he still has a very strong affective bond with him.

272 Claudio tells me that he is fully conscious of the problems associated with eating disorders and is trying hard to overcome them. But that aside, he says that being slim has helped him a great deal in gaining self-confidence, as this means “people now notice (him)”, he can wear clothes he likes, and all that makes him feel good about himself. In fact, he tells me that he constantly flirts with the idea of going back to the ward of his childhood to display the type of man he has now become: slimmer, more self-assured, and mature. “I’d like to let them see that now I am something” he says. When I ask him about his position toward the church as an institution, rather than just the local congregation, he tells me that he has “a testimony”, and that, ironically, this has been strengthened by people outside the church. By this, he refers to a conviction of the existence of a divine power that he feels protected by, and to which he feels connected. “I feel like I have a personal relationship with god” he tells me, and explains to me that he has always felt that god listens to his prayers. Thus, this is a practice that he has retained since he was a child.

The desire to take part in “spiritual” atmospheres, such as the ones he found in the context of institutional Mormonism, prompted Claudio to reach out to Afirmación. He tells me that he thought that was the kind of environment he would find there, in a safe space with other gay people. However, he has been disappointed by the dynamics he has found to take place in the group and that, in his opinion, dominate the group’s activities. “I don't believe in Afirmación” he tells me point blank. “It’s all about finding other men to hook up with! And, to be honest, I find all of them quite unattractive” he sentences. Interestingly, he asserts that, though disappointing, he hardly finds this issue surprising since “that’s just the way gays are, all promiscuous”. Claudio is one of the many men I spoke to who offers this sort of comments based on somewhat stereotypical notions of gay men. When I show him a set a pictures of men to prompt discussion about different models of masculinity, he tells me he feels identified with all of them as he thinks there is a little of every one in him. However, he has a rather critical response to the picture of a boy wearing shorts, a blouse and makeup. He tells me that he finds this image upsetting as “because of guys like him we (gay men) are all labelled”, a similar response to it that I had from other gay men. He then goes into a brief reflection on trans issues, saying that he is okay with “trans guys as long as they make up their minds and decide whether they want to be a woman or what”. He concedes the possibility that his opinion is “uninformed or maybe even plain ignorant”, and says he does not want to be close minded and discriminating, as he would not like other people to be to him.

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