The Other Deconstruction

I grew up in a very conservative home. This shouldn't be surprising for a Mormon boy growing up in a small town in Utah. From my understanding, Utah held the title of "strongest Republican-leaning state" between 1976 and 2004, which encompassed just over the first twenty years of my life. While shifting demographics have altered this status in the last two decades, Utah remains deeply Republican.

I grew up with strong feelings about being pro-life. I grew up with strong feelings about fiscal responsibility. I grew up believing that one day "the constitution would hang by a thread," and the Mormon church would be its protector. I grew up believing that homosexuality was a sin—though the concept wasn't introduced to me until my late teens. I grew up in a very different world than kids do today.

The Water I Swam In

I remember being shocked at a scene in Friends where Rachel is kissed by a female former college friend. I remember how awkward it felt watching movies like Big Daddy or other 90's films where there were sometimes openly homosexual couple.

I grew up thinking that immigration was something to do within the confines of the law.

I grew up believing in the institutional authority of church, family, and limited government.

I grew up thinking that the wealthy had a right to their wealth.

I grew up seeing the United States as the rest of the world's big brother—not a 1984 reference. I mean this in the sense that with great power comes great responsibility, and because of the power the US had, it was responsible for helping to police and take care of the world's bullies.

I cheered for the invasion of Iraq and Afghanistan in the early 2000s. I very nearly became a Marine because of my church-instilled belief that the country needs stalwart defenders. I was on the threshold of becoming a soldier in a war that I had no idea would last twenty years.

While I recognized the significance of having a black man as president, I did not like Barack Obama. I wasn't a fan of the Affordable Care Act. His policy toward NASA is a large contributor to the reason my dad lost the job he'd had for about thirty years.

I was an avid fan of the talk radio host Rush Limbaugh for well over a decade.

The Fractures Appeared First

One of my first posts mentioned wondering how my family and past friends might react knowing how things have shifted for me.

As I've deconstructed my faith, I've also found myself deconstructing my political beliefs.

There were fractures that showed up before anything foundational shifted. I still remember in the mid-2010s no longer finding Rush Limbaugh a voice I wanted to listen to. It was about this same time that I stopped going to church. Not because of anything earth-shattering—just a slow drift.

As I've mentioned in other posts, my journey wasn't a sudden change. It happened over time. No doubt those who hold to their faith might say it's because I failed to nourish my faith and my testimony. There might be some truth to that. Along with not going to church, I stopped wearing my garments. I didn't read my scriptures. I prayed on very rare occasions.

But I now have to question the veracity of a system of belief that needs regular reinforcement.

The Seed That Needs Constant Watering

Alma 32 talks about faith being like a seed. If nourished, the seed should take root, grow, and become strong. If neglected, it will wither and die.

But as I've been diving into philosophy, I've begun asking the question: if something is objectively true, why is its "reality" dependent on daily maintenance? I suppose that's just the foundational difference between empirical truth and theological truth.

It makes me think that spiritual truth has to be maintained not because it's true, but because you have to force yourself to retain knowledge gained outside of empirical means.

I think it's very true to say that my spiritual ground became barren because I fell out of old patterns and then started looking at them from a different perspective. I started asking questions about why I believed and found that the answers were lacking.

A New Framework

So how does this apply to the shift in political beliefs?

I started learning about new concepts such as secular humanism. This framework eschews supernatural explanations and focuses more on science, reason, and human experience.

When you remove "God said so" as the foundation for your beliefs, you have to rebuild from the ground up. And when you rebuild, you get to ask: what actually makes sense? What actually helps people? What actually reduces suffering?

What's Changed

On sexuality: I grew up in an era where homosexuality wasn't an inherent part of your individual sexual expression. It was a choice or a lifestyle, not a part of you. I no longer believe that old teaching. I do not believe your sexual identity is a choice like picking out the shirt you're going to wear today. It is a core part of you—as much as the color of your eyes, how tall you are, the color of your hair, and the color of your skin.

On abortion: This is not a black-and-white pro-choice vs. pro-life argument. The life of the fetus is not the only consideration. Even the language I use around it—notice that I said fetus, not baby. This is not meant to diminish the way that eager parents think of their unborn child as a full person they will love, protect, and nurture. It is to say that when you're still gestating, you are not yet an individual. You are part of something outside yourself. You depend on your mother to carry on living, eating, breathing in order to survive.

While I still think that abortion is not a choice to be made lightly, I also believe there are perfectly justifiable reasons to have one. The obvious reason is if a medical professional advises it because carrying the fetus poses a threat to the baby or the mother.

But there are other considerations: What kind of environment will the child grow up in if it is born? What will the economic situation be? What will the parental situation be like? Is the mother married (or in an otherwise committed relationship), or will she be trying to raise the child on her own? Single mothers do amazing work, but it takes a village to raise a child. What does the village look like?

While I think that fathers should have a voice in what happens to the potential life, ultimately a woman has the right to decide what is best for her and what she's willing to put her body through. I believe in the autonomy of her deicions to do as she wishes with her body.

We live in a remarkable age where birth control options are numerous and overall safe. To make something that humans have been doing for millinia illegal only serves to drive practices underground and make them less safe than if they can be done in a regulated way.

There's more to the debate than being strictly pro-life at all costs or a laze faire and indiscriminate termination of potential life. Medical decisions should be made between the individual and the doctor, not politicians.

On authority: I no longer believe in the unquestioned authority of government officials, especially when it comes to law enforcement. I think the police have become far too militarized. They increasingly approach their interactions as soldiers. The citizens they supposedly serve are too often seen as inherently guilty—it's just a matter of finding out what they're guilty of. The sad reality is that they're probably right, given how loosely some laws are written.

I see an erosion of fundamental liberties in the name of public safety. And I have to question whether what we have sacrificed is worth the abuses now perpetuated in the name of law and order. Those familiar with history know that following a higher authority that assumed greater latitidue that should have been allowed is what leads to most of the most egregious situations we see in war.

On wealth and power: I see the cracks in the foundation of government. I see how corporations have been given personhood to the point that they drown out the political voice of the everyday citizen with their increasingly immense financial means.

When an individual's net worth is greater than the national GDP of not just small countries but the majority of them, something is vastly out of balance. According to Yahoo! News, Elon Musk's net worth is greater than all but 28-32 countries in the world. Out of 195 countries, that's more than 83% of the countries in the world. While 1% of billions of dollars is a large number, the amount of charitable giving by Musk barely meets even this minuscule percentage.

What does it say about our society when billionaires are continually allowed to amass such a large pool of resources? And more—they use those resources to squeeze out those without the same means.

On family: I believe families are important. However, the composition of those families is not something that should be confined only to a man and woman and their children. Those compositions should be allowed a greater latitude for diversity. My reading of academic studies on the matter bears out this belief.

On American exceptionalism: I grew up believing that the United States was divinely appointed to be a land of promise for those who kept the laws of god. 2 Nephi 1:7: "This land shall be a land of liberty unto the Gentiles, and there shall be no kings upon the land, which shall raise up unto the Gentiles"

I see the actions of the United States in the world, and I think we've lost our sense of direction towards the rest of the world. I think of the wars we've been invovled in in the last 60 years from Vietnam, Korea, Iraq, and Afghanistan as pointless battles that went on for far too long and had far too high a price.

The Thread That Connects Them

Looking back, I can see how intertwined my religious and political beliefs were. The church didn't just teach me about God—it taught me about authority, hierarchy, obedience, traditional gender roles, and the righteousness of American power. When I started questioning one set of beliefs, the others began to unravel too.

This wasn't a coordinated effort on my part. I didn't set out to become politically progressive. I just started asking questions. And once you start asking questions about one foundation, you find yourself asking questions about all of them.

The boy who cheered for war, who listened to Rush Limbaugh, who believed the constitution would hang by a thread and the church would save it—that boy was shaped by a very particular environment. He believed what he was taught to believe.

The man writing this has learned to question what he was taught. Not out of rebellion, but out of a genuine desire to understand what's actually true and what actually helps people. He shines the light of his questions at places that others might find uncomfortable.

Where I Am Now

I don't have all the answers. My political views are still evolving, just like my understanding of meaning and purpose outside of religion. But I've learned to be comfortable with uncertainty. I've learned that changing your mind when presented with new information isn't weakness—it's growth.

The shift hasn't been easy. It's strange to look back at the person I was and realize how different my values have become. It's strange to wonder what my family would think if they knew the full extent of these changes.

But I'd rather live with uncomfortable questions than comfortable certainties that don't hold up to scrutiny.

That's what deconstruction has taught me—in faith and in politics. The questions matter more than the easy answers.