Heard on GayPrime

Devastated. Saddened. Outraged. Frightened. Confused. These are just some of the adjectives I’ve used as I attempt to put a label on the myriad of emotions I’ve been feeling following the horror in Orlando. Yet they are all woefully inadequate. At times they barely suffice. When I first sat down to write this, I intended to bitch-slap the world with my outrage in a childish rant aimed at anyone who happened to be listening. I didn’t care who I pissed off, as long as I could make someone else feel as horrible as I did. But my inner adult kicked in and reminded me that no purpose would be served from such a tantrum. Instead, I initiated some much-needed chill time, took my dog for a walk, and remembered that I am not alone in feeling a kind of ire that is all too familiar.

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I am a very small part of a much larger family of incredibly strong, loving and caring human beings who have had a great deal of experience at getting knocked down, beaten up and cast aside. My siblings in this family include every gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgendered person around the globe, as well as countless allies and soulmates. The Orlando bloodbath has hit every one of us with a blow that feels new and unprecedented, but the truth is that we’ve felt it before. It has ignited a firestorm burning inside each one of us. But here’s the thing. Fire can be used to inflame and destroy, or it can be used to provide warmth and comfort—and heal cold hearts. 

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Hiroshima, the Cuban missile crisis, the assassination of JFK, 9-11, Columbine, Sandy Hook, Aurora. They’re just some of the days of tragedy we will remember for the rest of our lives. On June 12, 2016, we added a fresh entry to that list, but this time we reached a new milestone in the annals of American history, as an Orlando nightclub became the site of the most horrific mass shooting to date. Forty-nine dead, with another fifty-plus fighting for their lives, and just because they just wanted to have fun on a Saturday night. They were targeted because of who and how they love—and because two men kissed. According to the shooter’s father, he was offended when he saw two men offer one another the simplest act of affection: a kiss. Nothing more. A fucking kiss. There was no nudity, no sex. Just a kiss. And, as the murderous homophobe told his father, he found it disgusting.

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Meet my family.

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I don’t want to turn this into an “us vs. them” issue. We were all affected by this tragedy, and we have more than enough divisiveness right now. But the fact remains that the shooter’s target was the LGBT community, although it’s more than a community. We are a family, and I am honored to be among its many members. Long before the slaughter in Orlando, it occurred to me that there are millions of people who have no idea what our struggle for equality is all about. For them, Stonewall was a civil war confederate general; Laramie is just a college town in Wyoming; and Milk is something you pour over a bowl full of Cheerios. Of course, for the LGBT family, those names represent pivotal events over the course of our historical journey. Some still believe that journey is about attaining “special” privileges, rather than the most basic rights that have been granted to every other American citizen, but which gays have been denied. Perhaps they’d be more sympathetic to our cause if they understood that the members of this family share a unique set of humbling experiences along with an often painful history, and we understand what real prejudice truly feels like. Maybe they aren’t aware that until recently, being gay meant being attacked and shamed. For some of us, it still does. We have juggled bigotry, discrimination, oppression, and humiliation. We have been told we are a lesser subset of the human race, not worthy or deserving of even the most basic civil liberties. We have been told God hates us, and we’re doomed to an eternity in the fires of hell. We have had to lie to our friends and family, to the world, and even to ourselves, simply to function within a society that made us feel like we didn’t belong. We’ve had to cower in a kind of shame we didn’t understand. We were taught that “people like that” are dangerous, but it was always mentioned in a whisper since it was too abominable to speak aloud when talking about “people like that.” We were told whatever we were feeling was unnatural, though it didn’t matter because we were also told it was a phase we could overcome with dedicated bible study and hard work. We were made to feel dirty, even worthless, often by our own families. Many of us were confronted with the ultimate of all humiliations—being denied and disowned by our parents. Imagine having to hear the words, “You are no longer my child.” Too many of my brothers and sisters have been handed that undeserved disgrace, and I am still brought to tears when I hear friends describe that moment.  At times, I almost feel guilty that I was blessed with parents who would never dream of bestowing such shame on one of their children.

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I won’t even touch on the thousands who are no longer with us because, for them, it was just too much to bear and they believed the only dignified action was to take their own life. So we carry the torch for them, as it illuminates our path in the darkness and keeps their spirits nearby. Each and every time we’ve been knocked down, we’ve gotten back up, brushed off the dust and gone forward, continuing to fight for our right to simply be the people we were born to be. So maybe if more people understood all that, this issue might not be quite so heated and divisive. Maybe.

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Decades of struggle have made us incredibly resilient and strong. While our history includes far too much persecution, that’s not what we are about. We are about love, compassion, and inclusivity—and we are about hope. Our journey has brought us much closer to full acceptance and equality, but the tragedy in Orlando reminds us that we still have a long  way to go. Yet we remain indomitable and determined that no one will stop us—not the Orlando shooter, not the religious extremists, and not the ignorance-fueled bigotry we encounter every day. We will always rise above the darkness. Stonewall. Laramie. Orlando. They do not define us, nor are they just pitiful reminders of the hate we have endured. Quite the opposite, actually. They are our monuments of pride.

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Fear of what???

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It is often said that people fear that which they do not understand. We know that hatred is born out of ignorance and fear. But when people talk about their opposition to LGBT equality, what is it they fear?  We’ve heard everything from a threat to the safety of children, to some invisible force that can destroy the institution of marriage. Let’s address those fears and lies right now. Contrary to what uninformed conservative thinkers may believe, we do NOT want to recruit your kids. That’s not only insulting and ludicrous, it’s pure stupidity. And how a same-gender marriage threatens anyone else’s legal union is a question that has yet to be answered. The idea that marriage equality somehow threatens the sanctity of your own matrimonial bliss has no factual basis whatsoever. It is preposterous.

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Abomination is in the eye of the beholder.

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I did not choose to be gay. Why on earth would anyone choose a life that includes so much pain and adversity? But for the sake of argument, let’s say it is a choice. So, at what age did you CHOOSE to be straight? Fortunately, most of my straight friends are also proponents of the theory that sexual orientation is genetically coded into our DNA. When discussing the subject with those who do not share that belief, I am often frustrated when they quickly dismiss the idea without so much as a mere moment of contemplation, a rejection based solely on a few passages in the bible. They won’t consider the possibility that those passages may not, in fact, be part of God’s message, and may have been the result of a misplaced stroke of the pen or an erroneous translation when added to the scriptures by man. I’m tempted to share with them my own personal and ethereal adventure resulting from my little visit to death’s front door last year, which is when I gained an unshakable understanding of who and what God is. And I can tell you with absolute certainty that God—or whatever name you happen to call your higher power—has no problem with homosexuality. That tidbit of misinformation was created a very long time ago by frightened humans, and it has ballooned into the mutant lie that permeates our world today. But claiming to have some kind of inside information about the Big Kahuna is considered blasphemous and arrogant. And let’s be honest—it sounds downright crazy. So, understandably, I refrain from sharing that information. Still, we keep trying to enlighten “the other side.” Why? Isn’t it just a waste of energy and time to engage in an effort so seemingly futile?

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Perhaps it is. But we do it because it’s how we make a difference in the world. Baby steps. Tiny, infinitesimal, nearly unnoticeable steps, each seemingly insignificant by itself. However, when you put those steps together, they start to become measurable. And one day, those steps become strides. Strides become leaps and before long, people’s lives are improved because of the actions and deeds of a few determined individuals who began by attempting something that seemed impossible. When the actions of a few are joined by similar actions of a few more, those steps are no longer tiny and infinitesimal, and their impact is finally noticeable. Right now, we are faced with a choice. It’s nothing new, but it’s now more important than ever before. And it’s up to you to decide if you will remain silent and do nothing, or stand up and be part of the effort that makes a difference and changes the future.

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The new meaning of Pride.

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As horrific as the slaughter in Orlando was, we are seeing so many positive outcomes born from the nightmare. Our straight allies are standing with us in greater numbers than ever before, and we are reminded that they remain resolute and unswerving, determined to see our struggle for equality and acceptance all the way to the finish line. Yet many in the LGBT family have expressed new fears of more violence, and a perfectly natural reaction would be to lay low, allowing fear to govern our lives. But that’s not who we are. With every crisis we have encountered, we have faced it head-on with the resolve that we will not be defeated. That message is more important now than at any time in our history.

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June is Pride month across the country, and the big festivities here in Denver begin in just a couple of days. We are honored to have so many allies with us, all of whom are loving members of the LGBT family and whose love and support are testaments to what Pridefest is all about.