Many of the tech entrepreneurs are Mormon and attended BYU. Some have been influenced by Silicon Valley’s more libertarian culture and are sending money to a recently launched tech political action committee that will attempt to offer more progressive views on social views than the LDS Church in state politics.
“I deeply regret that these two groups have been drawn into conflict with one another,” Oaks said of advocates for religious liberty and LGBTQ rights.
To Williams’s amazement, Oaks then went on to quote Williams — a longtime activist who in 2009 led kiss-in rallies at the major temple in Salt Lake City and in 2014 was jailed after a sit-in at the state capitol — in a positive way. Despite both having worked on the compromise, the two have never met. (An LDS spokesperson said Oaks was not available for comment.)
LDS leaders and elected officials in Utah see the state as a role model for balancing what seems to many like competing rights in a deeply divided country. So far, Utah is the only state that has such a law on its books, and efforts to replicate it on a national level have so far failed.
Many supporters of LGBTQ rights are less enthusiastic. They cite glaring gaps in the state’s protections for LGBTQ people and argue that religious freedom protections, which were integral in securing conservative support for the compromise, were already strong in the state. For example, Brigham Young University prohibits LGBTQ students from dating and can deny housing to same-sex couples.
Williams still believes in engaging with lawmakers and Mormon leaders as he did six years ago. But he has a new source of potential leverage: the state’s tech industry. While start-ups were already springing up between Salt Lake and Provo before the compromise, observers credit the law — and the absence of measures such as a ban on gender-affirming health care or bathroom bills — with helping Utah stay competitive in the fight for talent. And now, with newly built fortunes, some tech entrepreneurs want to counter the influence of the LDS Church on social issues.
Upon reaching a penthouse suite, Williams was greeted by Jeff T. Green, who founded the online advertising company called the Trade Desk. Green is one of the wealthiest Mormons in the country with a net worth of about $5.7 billion. He had been skeptical the compromise had changed the state’s culture and had agreed to meet Williams to hear his group’s plans to advance LGBTQ rights.
During a two hour-conversation, they traded stories from their Mormon missionary days. Green, who now lives in California, explained that he was preparing to leave the church soon. And he wanted to know: What could Equality Utah do with more money?
Common Ground
Since 2015, the state has taken other LGBTQ-friendly steps. In 2017, Utah overturned its “No Promo Homo” law, which prohibited discussion of LGBTQ issues in classrooms. In 2020, the state banned conversion therapy. And this year, the Mormon governor recognized Pride Month. A queer bookstore recently opened within walking distance to the LDS temple in Salt Lake City, and at least twice a month in Provo, Utahns can attend a drag show.
While LGBTQ advocates often view the enormous influence of the LDS church as an obstacle, some observers say it can be an advantage, too. Mormons make up about 86 percent of the state legislature, according to the Salt Lake City Tribune, while about 60 percent of Utahns are Mormon, according to the latest figures available from the LDS Church. Once Mormon leaders and lawmakers got behind anti-discrimination protections for LGBTQ people, they were able to get them through a Republican-controlled legislature, a rare step, according to Lambda Legal, a nonprofit group that tracks LGBTQ rights legislation.
How much further are they willing to go? LGBTQ rights advocates want the state to ban discrimination against LGBTQ people in public accommodations. For example, a Mormon cake baker can legally decline to provide services for a same-sex wedding. But some who helped craft the 2015 compromise feel they went far enough.
“I realized I needed to live my religion rather than protect my religion,” Adams said. “Rising tide lifts all ships, and you find a way to protect everybody’s rights, you find your rights are protected with others.”