I can’t seem to get beyond the horror that occurred in my hometown of Orlando last weekend. Friday night the singer Christina Grimmie was shot to death while signing autographs for fans. Although I did not know her, her death shocked and saddened me. While trying to process that event, less than 24 hours later, I was met with another horror. In the early hours of Sunday morning a gunman opened fire in the popular LGBTQ club Pulse during their Latin night. After a three-hour hostage situation, 50 people were left dead including the shooter. News sources stated this was the worst mass shooting in recent U.S. history.
In the week that has passed, there has been much I wanted to say, and yet the words escaped me. Every time I try to process what occurred my mind hits an emotional wall that prevents me from fully comprehending the magnitude of the events. My consciousness was thrown into a state of shock. I can’t get past the senselessness of these events. I can’t get past the pain caused by hate and mental instability. I can’t get past the 50 lives lost. And I can’t get past the proximity in which these horrific events happened.
To be sure, there have been mass shootings and killings both domestically and internationally, but this is the first one that occurred in my hometown. I think perhaps I had created a false sense of safety knowing that other events were geographically distant from me. However, when this national tragedy was brought to my backyard, the illusion of safety was shattered. I began to understand the precarious nature of human existence in a new way.
The Pulse night club shooting was significant, not only as one of the worst mass shootings in recent American history, but also because it rests at the intersection of many national issues such as gun control, violence against the LGBTQ community, mental health, terrorism, Islamaphobia and race relations. Although interests groups have attempted to seize this moment for their particular cause, this is not the result of a single cause. Rather, this was the result of a confluence of factors inflamed by hateful ideologies and rhetoric. In many respects, the Orlando shooter was the perfect storm.
While there are many lessons and reflections one could make from Orlando, and I am sure that I will continue to reflect on the matter long after the cameras leave and Orange Avenue is reopened, I continue to come back to the fragility of life for minorities, or those who live on the margins of society. I keep pondering how at times living in such a way forces a dysfunctional form of survival that can lead us to attack ourselves or other discrete minority groups. The shooter targeted a LBGTQ club; a club he frequented. Why then did he choose to attack the very community he belonged to; a community already susceptible to external violence? Was this the result of internalized self-hate? Was he seeking revenge for feeling slighted by someone within the community? Was this a terribly misguided attempt at redemption? Or was it simply an act of terrorism done in protest of US foreign policy?
Also, while this is largely viewed as an attack on the LGBTQ community, it was also an attack on black and brown people. This event occurred during the Latin Night. Most, if not all, of the victims of the shooting were brown or black; minorities within a minority. This is particularly perplexing in light of witness testimony stating that the shooter said he “had no problem with black people because [they] have suffered enough.” Again I am forced to ask why. Why did he target only minorities, the group he claims to sympathize with? Why did he attack the already vulnerable members of society? Why did he choose those who have historically and presently experience domestic terrorism as the sight of his act of terror? It is nonsensical!
Searching for answers to my questions, I come up empty. Instead, I am drawn back to the reality of the fragility of life for those who live on the margins. We are constantly faced with threats from within and without; betrayed by spaces that should be sites of refuge, and by people we thought we could trust. It would be too careless to assume, as I heard others do, that because this did not impact your particular community then it is not significant. Not only does this response lack compassion and humanity, but it is dangerous. Our appropriate response must be as Jesus who stated, “if you have done it to the least of these, you have done it to me,” or as Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.”
This is particularly true for those already ostracized by society. Contrary to what we may assume, our rights and safety are only as secure as the present majority allows them to be. That is why over a hundred and fifty years ago slavery was legal in this country, and only sixty years ago Jim Crow was the law of the land. Therefore, when violence is condoned or tolerated against one group, it should cause alarm for others because it speaks to the current state of the majority. With a peace this fragile, we cannot afford to ever be passive about such acts of violence. The truth is, what happens to those on the margins, happens to everyone in society.
In the end, I still believe, as I have stated before, that radical love is needed to eradicate hate. However, until we reach that place we must find a way to live together. We must learn that although we may not agree, we all deserve the right to be left alone. One’s safety and affirmation of humanity should never rest in the hands of others. It is a birthright. Until we realize this, I am afraid that my hometown will not be the last sight for such senseless violence.
–Until Next Time–
Palooke
