The killing of 49 people on June 12th, 2016 at Pulse Night Club sparked one of the worst weeks of my life as a human and yes, as a proud gay man. Fear, sadness, loneliness, and anger were a few of the emotions I felt following the massacre. The level of grief matched that of watching my father pass away when I was just 18 years old. (This is not to take away any pain or suffering that the victims of the massacre, their families, and the people of Orlando are enduring. Their experience is wildly more vicious compared to mine. I honor their courage, as my heart would not be able to take what they are going through.)
I often try to bounce out of my privileged gay white male bubble to understand other communities’ experiences because I know all humans have their unique struggles. I know that I cannot fully understand what they have been through, but I believe that it is right and just for us all to open our minds to experiences of people different then us. I wrote this article for my straight allies, to know that I appreciate your empathy and I thank you for your love, support, and curiosity to understand me and other people of my LGBTQ family a little better.
Sometimes straight people are blissfully unaware of the struggles LGBTQ people go through, and I believe it’s important to share our experiences and emotions to give more visibility to what our life experience has been like. We can all learn from each other. I want to share my personal story of that terrible day, June 12th, 2016, and also shine a light on why the Pulse Night Club massacre struck so deep into the hearts of LGBTQ people worldwide.
I was visiting my brother in San Diego for his birthday the weekend of the shooting. My flight back to my current home in Las Vegas was Sunday afternoon.
Sunday morning, I woke up, checked Facebook on my phone like every morning and I read a headline of an article saying something about a mass shooting. As I read on, the wind was knocked out of me.
My fierce (straight) twenty-year-old little sister, eagerly walked in the room to say “Good morning.” I showed her the article. I broke out into tears and looked up at my sister. She was dazed and didn't know what to say.
I watched the news with my siblings for the next few hours until I had to catch my flight. We watched the same footage over and over. We watched Obama speak briefly on the matter. We watched and watched.
It hurt so bad. A voice teacher used to have me lay on the ground with books on my chest to improve my breathing habits. The pain felt similar to those heavy books weighing down on me. Now every time I see the shooters photo, that sensation triggers again. You know when you smell something that reminds you of a place and time so specific that when you smell it you are transported to that exact moment? Though this moment, I do not want to relive. [So please, reporters everywhere: Please STOP showing the shooters face. STOP saying his name on television. Let his face be forgotten. Let his name die. Because we should not encourage a coward’s way to fame.]
I wanted to know if others were feeling the same.
I looked at my brother (age 27) and sister in law (age 26) whom I love so much. They were watching the TV in silence, shocked. I looked at my little sister. She was on her phone, browsing on Instagram; not even paying attention.
The difference between our reactions couldn’t be more apparent to me at that time. Why weren’t they crying? My friend or sibling didn’t die so why am I feeling so terrible? Was I overacting?
Don’t get me wrong, my siblings were deeply saddened and we all deal with emotions differently, but I felt overwhelmingly distant and alone. I thought, “I can’t wait to see a gay person. I can’t wait to hug them.”
I got dropped off at the airport to head home. I feared going back to Vegas. After all, I moved to Las Vegas a few weeks prior to the shooting, lived by myself, and I only knew one person there and she was straight. Little did she know, she saved me that week by encouraging me to volunteer.
My (straight) best friend called me around the time I landed, but she called me to complain about the misfortunes of her day. I didn’t bring up the shooting as to see if she would. She didn’t. I later found out she “didn’t want to bring up such a sad thing.” She didn’t know it affected me so much but this is an example of why I feel the need to write this letter.
I called my mom and the first thing she brought up was: “Now Rob, if only someone had a gun in the club, the massacre would have been prevented.” Drunk people with guns in a very dark space is not safe. We don’t live in the old wild west anymore. Even if that was the answer to prevent the shooting, a what if scenario did not matter. I was needing support.
Although many people’s lives could continue, mine couldn’t. I couldn’t get out of bed. I couldn’t stop crying or reading articles or watching videos or fighting with people on Facebook about gun control, or watching the sit-in led by the courageous Congressmen John Lewis. #nobillnobreak. Remember that? The most comforting thing was to call my LGBTQ family to ask how they were feeling.
I understand this is my personal experience though while watching the television and reading Facebook comments over the next 48 hours after the tragedy, it became increasingly apparent that there was a lack of understanding of what millions of gay people have been through and why the LGBTQ community took this as such a personal attack.
My Italian Catholic mother has gone through an intense spiritual enlightenment ever since I have come out eight years ago. She knows that God loves everyone including gay people. I am so freaking proud of her. Yet, ever since the Pulse massacre, she has been stating to me, “Now Rob, you are not just gay. You are a brother, a son, a Christian...” My mom is right, though...
Who you are and what defines you is your life experience, right? If you attend a university with a good sports team, you automatically feel a bond with the other alumni from that university because of your shared experience. It’s a culture that you witnessed, created memories in, and it’s part of your identity. You bring it everywhere you go in your likes, dislikes, demeanor, and personality.
I define myself as a proud member of the LGBTQ community. Why? Because millions of people in the community around the world, and of all ages, have shared similar experiences to mine.
Millions of people in the LGBTQ community know what it's like…
…to have to be a liar. A liar to the world, a liar to our friends, a liar to our families, and a liar to ourselves. And if we were to not lie, we would be potentially ridiculed and/or exiled from our friends, family, and our almighty God. If we were to not lie, we could get fired from our jobs, we would not be able to marry the ones we truly loved (only just two years ago this was overruled by the American Supreme Court), we would not be able to be happy.
… to be afraid. Afraid out of our freaking minds. Afraid of that possible exile to hell by God or from being kicked out of our own family’s home. So afraid that we would deny any connection to the community or so afraid that we would imagine what the world would be like without us and if anyone would care if we were gone and maybe not living would be better than coming out. So afraid that we would constantly try to change ourselves and date members of the opposite sex, forcing both of us to live a lie. Or just afraid that their straight friends would disown them or treat them differently.
… to be afraid even after coming out. Afraid of being followed home while walking with your significant other. Afraid of turning out like your friend of a friend who was beaten or stabbed or even killed while dressed in drag or just minding their own business. Afraid you might turn out like one of the many who take their own lives. Afraid of the bathroom and which one to choose.
… to be disgraced and ridiculed. We may be called “faggot” while walking along side our significant other, slurred at on the subway, on an escalator, at the mall, at the grocery store, at McDonalds, on the sidewalk. One of my favorite quotes is from a family down in Houston. She said plain as day, “Rob, you can’t be a singer…you are gay.” Or maybe even some memories at home such as casual quotes at the dinner table such as, “if you are gay, you are going to burn in hell now kids.” Or casual bigoted quotes like, “that bad lesbian lady Ellen.”
… to be unwanted. LGBTQ youth are the largest group of homeless youth in America.
… to be disenfranchised. Some of us lost all our friends in school simply because we acted “gay”. Gay symptoms for guys were having a high pitched voice, flicking our wrists, crossing our legs during lunch, liking musical theatre, lack of skill in sports, or basically non-conforming to any of the demands of hyper masculinity. Gay symptoms for girls are including and not limited to wanting to wear a dress, not liking pink, being stronger than other men, or basically non-conforming to our societies’ ideal feminine uniform.
… to be excluded. A great example of this is after the Pulse shooting, organizations, and churches and even senators and public figures around America purposefully excluded the word “gay” from night club to focus more that this was a terrorist attack and not a hate crime against the LGBTQ community. This was a hate crime.
The even more heartbreaking thing is that LGBTQ people of color have been through these experiences more often and in more profound ways.
(Please understand not every LGBTQ person relates to all of these experiences. We all have our own unique stories. Some of us have more anger and fear built up than others. Some gay people have been raised is an accepting family or been born in an area more open to different types of people. Some gay people are more flamboyant then others and have been bullied more as a child. Regardless, I know that millions of us have felt disenfranchised and can relate.)
Yes, we have been through many traumatizing experiences but being a part of the LGBTQ community is also incredible! I’ve heard an ally say that “Gay people are born that way, just like with people born with handicaps or mental illness.” Illness sucks. There are no positives to an illness besides that they teach us all to be grateful for health. Being gay is in no way an illness because being a part of the LGBTQ community rocks! And here’s why:
We know what it’s like to have our first same sex kiss. It’s dangerous. It’s badass. It’s pure bliss. After all, the average gay person waits years longer than most people to have their first real kiss. That is a lot of bottled up passion. We lived our life kissing someone from the opposite sex and wondering what all the hype was about. Some of us had to wait 50 or 60+ years to feel the sensation.
We know what it’s like to go to our first gay bar. I will never forget how petrified, yet blissfully excited I was…that I would get to dance close to a boy and it be okay.
We know what it’s like to meet our first Drag Queen feeling in awe of their ferocious pride and wondering if we will ever be that comfortable in our own skin.
We know what it’s like to watch Katy Perry’s “Firework” video where a boy kisses another boy and realize others in the world might be on our side.
We know what it’s like to hear “Born this Way” by Lady Gaga for the first time and cry tears of joy and maybe start believing in God again.
We know what it’s like to watch Ellen come out on national television and feel like “if she can do it, so can I.”
We know what it was like when Obama announced his favor of gay marriage. He took a large risk to help our community. Thinking, what’s happening to the world? What changed his mind? We are so grateful for his courage in supporting the LGBTQ community.
We know what it feels like to attend our first Pride parade. The experience is life changing. That feeling of dancing in the streets knowing you are free from the closet and watching all the other proud people walk by is exhilarating! I have watched many of my friends enjoy their first Pride. They glow.
We know what it was like to hear each state in America declaring that banning same sex marriage was unconstitutional one by one. Each time, we couldn’t believe our ears. Me, finally able to get married? Is America on our side? God, the HRC (Human Rights Campaign), and hundreds of other LGBTQ organizations are creating miracles.
We know what it feels like when we see or sense that another gay person is in the same room as we are. We feel that we are not alone. We are safe. We have each other’s back without realizing it. That’s Gay Pride!
We know what it’s like to walk into a gay club and feel at home. We feel unjudged and free to be whomever we want to be. This place is where we go to discover ourselves and our true identities. To meet other people like us with similar experiences. Our gay clubs are our safe space. They are the places in this world where we are safe from feeling afraid, unwanted, disenfranchised, disgraced, ridiculed, or excluded. The 49 victims of the Pulse massacre just wanted those simple things. That is all.
Coming out is telling the world, “I want love and happiness no matter if I get bruised or beaten.” That takes a whole lot of guts and every person in the LGBTQ community that had to come out is a beacon of courage!
The Pulse massacre affected LGBTQ people so deeply because we are united with the victims by similar life experiences. They went through some of the same shit we did, they had some of the same fears we did, they had some of the same blissful moments we did, they look like us, they look like our friends, and Pulse Night Club is just like our favorite local gay club.
You can link these experiences to why we have “Gay Pride” parades. The parade is a celebration of our struggle and our victories and our shared life experience. It is a celebration of our strife for love and happiness and not giving two fucks about what others say. It’s about living the life we want, about risking our safety to be free to love who we want to love. So go to a pride parade this summer and cheer on your gay family members, friends, and neighbors. Think about what many of the Pulse victims’ lives were like, think about how brave they were, think about how much courage it took for them to say those lovely words, “I’m Gay” and pray for their families healing as if they were your own family, because when there is an act of terror like this on one of us, it’s an act of terror to all of us.
I love you Stanley Almodovar III, Amanda L. Alvear, Oscar A. Aracena Montero, Rodolfo Ayala Ayala, Antonio Davon Brown, Darryl Roman Burt II, Angel Candelario-Padro, Juan Chavez Martinez, Luis Daniel Conde, Cory James Connell, Tevin Eugene Crosby, Deonka Deidra Drayton, Simón Adrian Carrillo Fernández, Leroy Valentin Fernandez, Mercedez Marisol Flores, Peter Ommy Gonzalez Cruz, Juan Ramon Guerrero, Paul Terrell Henry, Frank Hernandez, Miguel Angel Honorato, Javier Jorge Reyes, Jason Benjamin Josaphat, Eddie Jamoldroy Justice, Anthony Luis Laureano Disla, Christopher Andrew Leinonen, Alejandro Barrios Martinez, Brenda Marquez McCool, Gilberto R. Silva Menendez, Kimberly Jean Morris, Akyra Monet Murray, Luis Omar Ocasio Capo, Geraldo A. Ortiz Jimenez, Eric Ivan Ortiz-Rivera, Joel Rayon Paniagua, Jean Carlos Mendez Perez, Enrique L. Rios, Jr., Jean Carlos Nieves Rodríguez, Xavier Emmanuel Serrano-Rosado, Christopher Joseph Sanfeliz, Yilmary Rodríguez Solivan, Edward Sotomayor Jr., Shane Evan Tomlinson, Martin Benitez Torres, Jonathan A. Camuy Vega, Juan Pablo Rivera Velázquez, Luis Sergio Vielma, Franky Jimmy DeJesus Velázquez, Luis Daniel Wilson-Leon, Jerald Arthur Wright.
Keep dancing,
Rob Moorman
