In the Line of Fire: Reflections on the First Anniversary of the Pulse Massacre

About 369 days ago, I came out for the first time. I did it over text message, like the millennial trash I am. I still have the screenshots of my confession and my roommate’s reply, in which she told me that she was proud of me and that I was great and that she loved me a whole bunch *heart emoji.* I saved the texts because it was a rare moment of safety and self-acceptance for a then-closeted gay kid working at a Christian campground. It was a moment when I felt like everything was going to be ok. It was a deep breath in the midst of a years-long panic.

Four days later was the Orlando Massacre.

On Sunday, June 12, 2016, I felt the full weight of the words “that could have been me” like I never had before. Forty-nine people were murdered in what was supposed to be a sanctuary, the same kind of sanctuary I had just visited for the first time a couple weeks earlier. They died on what was supposed to be a lighthearted night of dancing and flirting and drinking and being human. They were not radicals. They were not there as activists. They were kids and spouses and siblings and partners who were just trying to have a good time and live their lives. They were killed for doing exactly what I was trying to work up the courage to do: openly existing as the people they were created to be.

The Pulse Shooting was a brutal reminder to the LGBT community that to step out of the closet is to step into gunfire. We already knew that, but we were starting to get comfortable with the fact that the gunfire is usually metaphorical. Usually it’s the slurs you hear every now and then, or the dirty looks you occasionally get for holding your significant other’s hand in public. Sometimes “gunfire” comes in the form of social isolation, depression, or anxiety. Sometimes it’s misguided and damaging theology that condemns you to Hell. Sometimes it’s having to sign a contract promising not to be a “practicing homosexual” before your evangelical college will give you housing.

But damn it, sometimes the gunfire is literal. And I still don’t know how to process that. I don’t know what to say when my mom asks if it’s safe for me to go to Pride, and I don’t know how to not think about June 12, 2016 every single time I go out dancing with my friends. I don’t know how to comprehend the pain that the families of those 49 people have endured or how to give any kind of comfort to the friends who were left behind. I just know that LGBT people are still getting killed for existing, and I know that we keep existing anyway.

Not only do we still exist, but we still go dancing. We still hold hands. We still laugh and create and love so very deeply. We still go to evangelical colleges, and I dare say, we are still fabulous. The Church may have given me the language to talk about forgiveness and joy in suffering, but over the past year, it has been the queer community that has shown me what that actually looks like.

After Orlando, it’s hard to feel like everything is going to be ok. But we can still learn to take deep breaths in the midst of panic, and we can take pride in the fact that every single one of those breaths is an act of bravery.


On this one year anniversary of the Pulse Massacre, please take a moment to read through the names of those who lost their lives. Remember them, say a prayer for their families, and consider making a donation to Equality Florida in their honor. 

Edward Sotomayor Jr., 34
Stanley Almodovar III, 23
Luis Omar Ocasio-Capo, 20
Juan Ramon Guerrero, 22
Eric Ivan Ortiz-Rivera, 36
Peter O. Gonzalez-Cruz, 22
Luis S. Vielma, 22
Kimberly Morris, 37
Eddie Jamoldroy Justice, 30
Darryl Roman Burt II, 29
Deonka Deidra Drayton, 32
Alejandro Barrios Martinez, 21
Anthony Luis Laureanodisla, 25
Jean Carlos Mendez Perez, 35
Franky Jimmy Dejesus Velazquez, 50
Amanda Alvear, 25
Martin Benitez Torres, 33
Luis Daniel Wilson-Leon, 37
Mercedez Marisol Flores, 26
Xavier Emmanuel Serrano Rosado, 35
Gilberto Ramon Silva Menendez, 25
Simon Adrian Carrillo Fernandez, 31
Oscar A. Aracena-Montero, 26
Enrique L. Rios Jr., 25
Miguel Angel Honorato, 30
Javier Jorge-Reyes, 40
Joel Rayon Paniagua, 32
Jason Benjamin Josaphat, 19
Cory James Connell, 21
Juan P. Rivera Velazquez, 37
Luis Daniel Conde, 39
Shane Evan Tomlinson, 33
Juan Chevez-Martinez, 25
Jerald Arthur Wright, 31
Leroy Valentin Fernandez, 25
Tevin Eugene Crosby, 25
Jonathan Antonio Camuy Vega, 24
Jean C. Nives Rodriguez, 27
Rodolfo Ayala-Ayala, 33
Brenda Lee Marquez McCool, 49
Yilmary Rodriguez Sulivan, 24
Christopher Andrew Leinonen, 32
Angel L. Candelario-Padro, 28
Frank Hernandez, 27
Paul Terrell Henry, 41
Antonio Davon Brown, 29
Christopher Joseph Sanfeliz, 24
Akyra Monet Murray, 18
Geraldo A. Ortiz-Jimenez, 25

Rest In Pride.

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3 comments

  1. Beautiful. I’ve been thinking about you a lot today. I do every day. But on this one-year anniversary of the Orlando massacre, there is a lot of pain to try to comprehend and process. Thanks for helping us approach that with your blog. Love you!

    Like

  2. No eloquence from Joe and me at this hour but your words here and the list of names / ages is powerful. Thank you so much for this blog, Caitlin.

    Like

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