Dear Elder Holland,

On Monday, August 23, you spoke at BYU’s 2021 University Conference. I first heard about your speech from the expressions of pain on social media from current and former LGBTQ+ BYU students who knew that your words made them less safe on campus. You called for more “musket fire” from faculty in “defending the faith,” specifically in the context of supporting the “doctrine of the family and defending marriage as the union of a man and a woman,” with special attention paid to not condoning or advocating for LGBTQ+ students. While I understand that “musket fire” was intended metaphorically, I have to wonder, who are you expecting to maim or kill, even metaphorically?

You started your speech by referring to those present as “teachers,” as all faculty, staff, and administrators at BYU are teachers in some capacity. You also spoke of these teachers as “builders,” building a “temple of learning.” But unfortunately, you also quoted Dallin H. Oaks in calling on these teachers and builders to carry and shoot muskets, as though the Kingdom of God could ever be established by the force of musket fire. As though Jesus had not told Simon Peter to “put up thy sword into the sheath,” because His way was not the way of the sword.

I took particular interest when you spoke of looking forward to a time without need for violence or war. You said, “But we do all look forward to the day when we can ‘beat our swords into plowshares, and [our] spears into pruning hooks,’ and at least on this subject, ‘learn war [no] more.’” You see, this day—the day when we can beat swords and muskets into plowshares—is not some future day. Not when it comes to defending the Church. It is today. And it starts with doing away with the words of war.

When Isaiah spoke of a time when people “shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruninghooks,” he was speaking of a time when people would come to the mountain of the Lord’s house and allow the Lord to rule. The peace that comes from “walking in the light of the Lord” does not come without people first choosing to put down their weapons of war.

Like my friend Em, I believe that you meant the musket shooting metaphorically. I think you intend professors to use intellectual strength, not actual guns, in achieving your goals. But also like Em, I find your words dangerous both in the contexts that she wrote about and in the context of the long history of violence against LGBTQ+ people around the world. It was only two years ago that President Nelson met with the owner of PULSE, a gay nightclub in Orlando, Florida, where in 2016, a gunman killed 49 people in a mass shooting. This meeting was well-publicized, but I hope that it was more than a stunt. The reality of actual gun violence against the LGBTQ+ community makes calling for even metaphorical gun violence in “defense of the doctrine of the family” both hurtful and dangerous. Elder Holland, who is it you hope will be shot, even metaphorically?

In her book Cassandra Speaks, Elizabeth Lesser argues for abandoning the language of war in favor of other metaphors and rhetorical options as often as possible, “to fill our imaginations with the full range of what it means to be human.” She argues that our vernacular reflects our culture—do we want a culture of war, or a culture of peace? Do we want our teachers to start the school year considering who they can shoot, or who they can nurture? Instead of words of war, we can reach for metaphors of farming, gardening, baking, building, creating, and healing. We can enter conflicts of theology or doctrine with a mindset of connecting rather than killing.

What might our language become if we turned our rhetorical weapons into plowshares? There are many options for kinder metaphors, but perhaps we might talk of gardening and cultivating. Perhaps you could address BYU teachers at the start of a new school year about prepping the land to provide the best conditions for growth. When we are mired in the language of war and battles and enemies, it’s no wonder there is “confusion” about “recent flag-waving and parade-holding.” When your mission is to shoot, maim, and kill your enemies, what do you need to know about people beyond their label as “enemy”? BYU teachers speaking out on behalf of the marginalized can feel like “friendly fire” when you view teachers as soldiers and marginalized students as enemies.

If we put down the language of war and pick up a metaphor of gardening, of course our teachers would need to know and understand the particular identities of those they are to nurture. It is not enough for a gardener to know that something is a plant—they must identify the specific plant and understand the conditions it needs to thrive. When we are no longer enemies, “flag-waving and parade holding” become useful methods of understanding the needs of students on campus so that a hostile environment can be transformed to a nurturing environment by caring teachers with a stewardship and responsibility to help all students thrive. I think of the BYU Arboretum at the south end of campus with its neat labels identifying different plants. Understanding, naming, and sharing identity is not divisive when the intention is to foster health and growth.

Violent language reflects violent intentions, so we must choose better language and have better intentions. It is not possible to become of “one heart and one mind” while asking teachers to play the role of shooters.

I was sad to hear the way you spoke about love, as though it is love and empathy that we must be careful not to indulge. You said, “We have to be careful that love and empathy do not get interpreted as condoning or advocacy, or that orthodoxy and loyalty to principle not be interpreted as unkindness or disloyalty to people.” It is people we must be careful with, not acting too freely with love or empathy. You noted that Christ “never once withheld His love from anyone,” but it seems we differ in our interpretations of what that means for us. Christ was never afraid to exercise love over orthodoxy, or show empathy over the principles of the religious institutions of his time. You cannot sustain cruel ideas and policies and call those love. In Queer Mormon Theology, Blaire Ostler explains why Church leaders cannot act in ways that hurt queer Mormons and call it love. “If their so-called love doesn’t promote love, joy, and life, then it is not love. If their so-called love promotes depression, anxiety, hopelessness, and thoughts and feelings of suicide among queer Mormons, then it is not love” (30). Elder Holland, who did you hope would feel loved when you asked BYU teachers to use more musket fire, even metaphorically?

Elder Holland, like you, I also saw the “Y” on the mountain as a child. I also dreamed of attending, following in the footsteps of my father, grandfather, and great-grandmother. When I was privileged to attend BYU, I would enter the Wilkinson Student Center with pride. Ernest Wilkinson, President of BYU from 1951-1971, was my great-uncle, married to my grandpa’s oldest sister. Years later, it was with great sadness that I learned of some of Ernest’s egregiously homophobic speeches on campus, and that he developed a spy ring so students could turn in suspected homosexuals (Taylor G. Petrey, Tabernacles of Clay, 64-65). Recently, I learned more about my grandpa’s youngest brother, Dean, a brother-in-law of Ernest. Dean grew up in Spanish Fork and attended BYU in the early 1940s. He had a great baritone voice and sang in BYU choirs. After graduation, he worked as an announcer for Provo’s KOVO radio station, before spending most of his adult life in San Francisco, working as an accountant.

Sometime in the 1960s, Dean stopped coming around to family events. Before his visits ended, he never brought his male roommate, believed to be his long-time romantic partner. I can’t say if Dean ever heard any of his brother-in-law’s anti-gay speeches, or if he heard any of the homophobic statements of other Church leaders in his lifetime, or what other issues may have distanced him from his mostly-active LDS extended family. But while Dean lived until I was a junior in high school and was only two hours away from where I grew up, I didn’t get to know him. And our family records do not contain the name of his partner, leaving the records of our family incomplete. You see, I do not believe that musket fire from BYU in “support of the doctrine of the family” strengthened my family. Musket fire does not strengthen anyone’s family. LGBTQ+ families are families.

Elder Holland, today is the day to turn swords and muskets into plowshares. Put down the weapons and words of war that would turn LGBTQ+ member of the BYU community into target practice. Cultivate a nurturing, nourishing environment at BYU that allows all student to grow to their greatest potential—and not just metaphorically.

Sincerely,

Katie Ludlow Rich