Let legacy of attack be found in our resilience
What is the legacy of the worst attack in recent history on the LGBTQ+ community? On June 12, 2016, 49 lives were taken at Pulse Nightclub in the largest single incident of mass violence in U.S. history up to that point. Each year since then, we have remembered and honored the lives of our 49 angels. At this fifth milestone, Orlando is asking itself good questions. How have we changed in five years? What is the legacy of Pulse? How do we keep that legacy alive?
Pulse changed our community in very visible ways. Our amphitheater downtown is painted in the colors of the rainbow. Orlando City Hall flies the progress Pride flag during the month of June. Exploria Stadium, Orlando City’s soccer venue, has 49 rainbow-colored seats. There are countless murals commemorating Pulse. The Orlando community rallied around and embraced our LGBTQ+ community with open arms and open hearts. We became a shining beacon of acceptance.
For our Latinx and Black communities, Pulse had additional layers. The tragedy happened during Latin night, so in the aftermath our Latinx and Black communities were bombarded with images of 49 faces that looked like us. Our parents saw their children reflected on the TV and cried with the families that lost theirs, our people heard the term LGBT for the first time in our native language over and over, and our churches prayed for the lives lost. Pulse forced our communities to see that our identities are intersectional, and for the first time those of us at the intersection felt a collective call to action, to mourn, to heal and to create.
The legacy of Pulse is not tragedy, it’s resilience. It’s the story of often-invisible, marginalized people speaking up and taking action and building power. When media attention came, love and support from around the country poured into our city. This love opened the eyes of our community to the gaps in resources and services to Pulse-affected communities, and most importantly gaps in opportunities and representation. The Orlando United Assistance Center opened its doors to help the families and victims; our LGBT Center became a safe haven for those looking for support; and our city government rose to action to help our community heal. Grassroots organizations like Qlatinx formed and with them new spaces for us to be in community with one another, something that LGBTQ people of color were desperately lacking outside of the nightclubs. Then came the Contigo Fund, which gave funding power to the LGBTQ people of color in Central Florida and ensured that what we created would not be destroyed. From tragedy, a movement was born.
Every year we honor and remember Pulse, and every year this gets more complicated. Some families of the 49 have asked for their faces to stop being used so that they may have their chance to heal. We move forward with plans for a memorial with mixed reactions from Pulse survivors and our community. The Orlando United Assistance Center, which still serves over 350 people in Pulse-affected communities, was forced to find a new home at the LGBT Center in the middle of a global pandemic, and our own governor vetoed critical funding for them days away from the fiveyear remembrance of the tragedy. Organizations and funders that rushed to respond to Pulse lost interest and moved on as if our communities no longer matter. The further away we get from Pulse, the easier it gets for us to be divided again.
My hope in writing this piece is to remind all of us that when tragedy strikes, we must come together and pour love into communities affected. That love must come with a commitment to ask ourselves, “How can I honor this loss by changing our world for the better?”
This year as we gather to continue our healing process let’s remember that the legacy of Pulse is not in tragedy. The legacy is the queer and trans leaders of color who found their voice after Pulse and continue to affect the lives of thousands across Central Florida. The legacy is every queer and trans person that has found a safe haven in Orlando. It’s every young kid that grows up knowing they can be who they are because we have changed to embrace all parts of their identity. It’s every family that gets support in times of crisis because the systems we build to help one another are still there long after our wounds begin to heal. So, as we remember the tragedy of five years ago, it’s up to all of us to commit to supporting the people and organizations that still fight to keep the legacy alive. Let’s keep healing, let’s keep learning, let’s raise each other up and above all, let’s stand united.