I love Pride. It's easily one of my favorite days of the year. Yesterday was Boston's parade and festival. I woke up at 6 in the morning so excited that I laid awake in bed for an hour until my alarm went off. I spent the rest of the day (and much of the night) standing, marching, tabling, moving boxes, and talking with friends and strangers. I would (and will) do it again in a heartbeat. And again, and again. I had the opportunity to speak with people who had been activists since before I was born, and have seen firsthand the progresses and pitfalls we've made. I spoke with teenagers who were so confident in and enthusiastic about their sexual and gender identities that I was envious. With people who were so excited that our organization even exists, who had grappled with the intense loneliness that comes with thinking you're trapped between worlds. With people from the pansexual, asexual, non-binary, genderfluid communities who had caught a glimpse of home in our sliver of the inbetween. I got back to my bed late; exhausted and rejuvenated and so in love with what I do.
Maybe that's why the news I woke up to this morning took so long to truly sink in.
Last night, at a gay club in Orlando, there was the largest mass shooting in American history. At least 50 people have died, and many others are wounded. All this during Pride month, the one time a year where many people finally, truly feel like they fit into a society which tries, constantly, to alienate them. Make no mistake; this was a directed hate crime. This attack may spark another discussion about gun control, but the regulations are a band-aid on the ever-present root of the problem: hatred.
I, too easily, could have been a victim of such an attack.
When I travel, I specifically seek out queer spaces. To me, they've always felt like the safest places to be. I can go out and dance without being as hypervigilant about the repercussions of male attention. I can relax and not be expected to act befitting of my sex or gender. I can go out with friends, no matter their gender identity or presentation, and not have to worry constantly about their safety.
I've previously only written about my own bisexuality within a select, curated list. This is my most public posting on the topic. Honestly, I've been scared. Scared of alienation, scared of judgment, scared of countless forms of backlash. I have faced some of this already. Not as much as many others (for which I regularly feel thankful), but enough. I still have all those fears. I live with those fears every single day. But things have become bigger than me, and I no longer can or want to hide who I am. Last year, a 16-year-old girl was stabbed to death at Jerusalem's Pride parade, mere weeks after I'd likely walked down that very street. Now this. These attacks are so close to my home and heart, and it physically hurts me to think about. As much as I wish I could, I can't single-handedly combat all the hate that people so similar to me face every day. And neither can any one person. But there are things we can all keep in our minds.
When you read coverage of this brutal attack, make note of the headlines in which the word 'gay' doesn't even appear. When you call for volunteers to donate blood, remember that many of the same people affected by this tragedy are those who are still banned from donating under archaic and discriminatory regulations. When you search for the friends and loved ones of these victims, consider how many of them were likely ostracized by said loved ones simply for having the gall to exist publicly as their true selves. Or, worse, had their friends and loved ones with them in that club, in what should have been a celebration of love.
I've spent the day reading and hearing so many heartbreaking and strengthening sentiments. Some words that have particularly resonated in my heart lately come from a wonderful friend and ally of mine, about the LGBTQ+ community.
"They have fought hard, their whole lives, for acceptance in society, and they must continue to fight whether they want to or not. This choice is not a capricious whim. They choose every day to accept and love themselves and stand up to the hatred and fear of the people around them for what they know to be true about themselves; the alternative is to hide the truth and to build walls to protect themselves from hatred. This is literally a matter of life and death for them, because every day they face the possibility of not just emotional abuse but real tangible physical violence, just for being who they are."
Take care of yourselves, friends. And everyone love a little extra hard today, okay?
