Natalie Brown: In this polarizing period, when should we speak up or stay silent — online, at church, or wherever?

At the root of my attraction to writing is the assumption that conversation can lead to positive impacts. Like many, I feel a moral responsibility to speak out for what I believe is right. However, I’ve found myself confronting limitations of this view in an era of divided politics, fake news and hyper-scrutiny of our language and consumption choices.

After one too many heated discussions with fellow members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I decided to emotionally disengage from some relationships and conversations. I was struggling to understand what it meant to share our faith and “choose the right” when our views had grown so divergent, and I needed a break from the strain it was causing.

It became clear that my words were persuading no one. It was also clear that I was feeling pressured to overlook the nuances of my experience. Across America, a mandate to reduce every issue into a binary choice of political parties seemed to hover over even mundane conversations, with the stakes of that choice portrayed in increasingly cataclysmic terms.

A failure to speak out or pay attention to the right causes, so the narrative went, could result in irreparable harm. In this cultural moment, anxieties to defend perceived moral red lines or enforce philosophical purity had too often become more important than relationships with people. Something about the conversation felt very wrong.

I began by culling my social media accounts. I removed followers (left and right) whose ties to me were so distant that they could not understand the context of my life, comments and perspectives. I still attended church, performing the routines and rituals that shape our common culture while not inspecting too closely the profound political differences amongst members that they mask. Church was the only in-person space in which I experienced political diversity. While I often appreciated this access to diverse thought, it felt easier to be a member when I knew less about other people in the congregation and didn’t think too hard about what specific social visions should flow from gospel principles. It also felt empty.

What scripture shows

Unsurprisingly, the Latter-day Saint tradition does not offer clear ethics of social disengagement. The Bible, the Book of Mormon and the modern church’s history show examples of people whose brave words inspired important changes as well as people who withdrew for the preservation of their beliefs and families. Figures like Jonah and Abinadi deliver messages that are met with varying degrees of success. By contrast, Christ notably remains silent when tried by Pilate, and the Book of Mormon begins with family members whom the Lord instructs to leave their fallen homeland to preserve their faith and lives.

Makoto Hunter, a graduate student at University of California, Santa Barbara, notes that this theme of disengagement “recurs throughout the Book of Mormon — the Jaredites ‘disengage’ in their eleventh hour flashback sequence, and the followers of Alma the Elder disengage from the society of King Noah.” She observes that one can also find the theme of disengagement in pioneer history, with “Latter-day Saints fleeing a United States they became convinced couldn’t be counted on for justice.”

And, yet, Hunter observes, disengagement tends not to last: “The Jaredites’ separatist society collapses, and the people of Alma find fulfillment not in separationism but in reintegration with broader Nephite culture, becoming a leaven in a larger loaf. The pioneer exodus is thwarted when it turns out there is no escaping the expansionism of a continental empire.” Although separation is sometimes necessary, scripture and history suggest that impersonal forces such as geography, economics and war tend to bring us back into relation with one another.

As I pondered the ethics of disengaging from strained relationships, I became attuned to how many people around me were similarly taking breaks from social media or, increasingly, discussing leaving the United States for hypothetical greener pastures. I began asking friends who had lived abroad what they made of our escapist fantasies. These friends echoed a common theme: Other countries have problems, but you are not responsible for them. You can walk away.

The tug to return

Our desire to separate is often a fantasy to leave behind circumstances that seem impossible to navigate, but few of us are willing to permanently abdicate responsibility for the relationships that form our families and homes. Most Americans I know who moved abroad eventually felt a pull to return and help solve their country’s problems. And those immigrants I know who made careful decisions to permanently relocate typically retain ties to their places of origin. As with the ebb and flow of separation and reintegration that we see throughout our faith tradition, taking a break can be resetting and restoring. But odds are high that we will return to the relationships we left behind in surprising ways.

When do we leave our country? Our church? Our marriages? When do we stay? When do we come back? The gospel doesn’t provide a road map for how I should deal with my own strained relationships or use my voice in an era of division. It doesn’t have a blueprint for how to heal political divisions in our countries, congregations and families. But I found my emotions calming as I followed my intuition and continued to disengage. I started thinking more intentionally about my values and in what contexts and mediums it was productive to speak. I stopped feeling the need to respond to each instance of political discourse around me. Slowly, I felt ready to engage again — but on better terms.

Our theology suggests that engagement, separation, and reengagement ebb and flow as we meander our way toward Zion. Sometimes we are called to speak. Sometimes we are prompted to stay silent. Sometimes building Zion means retreating. Sometimes it means building bridges. Sometimes it means sticking it out. As for me, I always eventually want people back.

Natalie Brown is a writer, mother and Latter-day Saint living in Colorado. She is writing in her personal capacity. Her views do not necessarily reflect those of the church or her employer.