As a master’s student in the Religion, Conflict, and Globalization track, I chose a thesis topic that was both deeply sensitive and theoretically rich: the history and continuing legacy of the priesthood and temple ban in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

From 1852 to 1978, the Church, as an institution, implemented a policy that restricted men of African descent from being ordained to the priesthood and restricted members of African descent from participating in certain temple rituals. The introduction of these racial restrictions stood in direct tension with this faith’s religious teachings about the equality and divine worth of all people. Most of the research on these restrictions has focused on their historical development or theological explanations—what the restrictions were, how they emerged, and how they have been understood within the Church. However, I was interested in a different question, one that has received less attention: What happens to a community after a deeply harmful policy ends? How is that history remembered, discussed, or passed between generations, and how might it continue to shape people’s experiences of identity, belonging, and faith?

To explore these questions, I turned to the theoretical framework of collective trauma, which offers a way of understanding how deeply disruptive experiences can continue to affect a community’s social bonds, collective identity, trust, and meaning-making long after the original event has ended. This framework provided a valuable lens for examining how the effects of historical harm can be carried across generations, even after the policy itself has ended. To investigate this, I conducted 14 semi-structured interviews with practicing Latter-day Saints, exploring how participants understood the ban, its legacy, and the response of the Church institution.

Six interconnected themes emerged from my research. Participants described the ban as largely absent from contemporary Church discourse, which I understood as institutional silence, as well as an absence of a clear, shared narrative about this history. Many expressed some variation of “I don’t know” when trying to understand why the restrictions existed or how they should make sense of them today. Participants also reflected on the main official statement the Church institution has presented addressing this history, recognizing it as a meaningful step while also identifying tensions between disavowing previous racial explanations and directly acknowledging the harm caused by the restrictions. I also found a double silencing of women, whose experiences can become less visible as discussions of the ban focus primarily on men’s priesthood experiences.

The final two themes focused on how this legacy might be addressed. Participants connected institutional repentance and reconciliation with truth-telling, acknowledgment, and responsibility. Several participants noted that, while the Church institution has disavowed past racial explanations for the ban, it has not formally apologized for or acknowledged that the restrictions themselves were wrong. Some described this as having “skipped some steps” in the theological process of repentance and reconciliation. Participants also emphasized the need to address and “unteach” racism within religious contexts. Ending the restrictions in 1978 did not necessarily erase the ideas and cultural patterns that developed alongside them.

These findings found that ending a discriminatory policy does not automatically undo its legacy. Difficult histories can continue through the stories communities tell—or do not tell—about themselves, shaping identity, belonging, relationships, and collective memory across generations.

Completing this thesis has deepened my understanding of reconciliation and healing as a process that extends beyond resolving conflict between opposing groups. It can also involve communities examining difficult parts of their histories, acknowledging harm, rebuilding trust, and considering how those histories continue to shape the present. Confronting difficult histories is not about dwelling in the past. It is about understanding the past well enough to learn from it—and creating the conditions for communities to move forward without repeating the harms of previous generations.

Talia Pedersen is a master's student at the faculty of Religion, Culture and Society. She studies in the Religion, Conflict and Globalization programme.