I wrote this to get the thoughts out my head this morning, and shared privately. I was encouraged to share publicly, so do so. I did have caveat that it should draw more of a line between the chasm of experience between being in the UK and being in the US, so I mention that as well.
It’s nearly noon. I’ve worked all morning. I was dancing in my kitchen to Erasure and tweeted about it. “Today is a day for dancing to Erasure in your kitchen.” I’m messaged by someone telling me it’s a day for mourning the dead. I check the news, and see the news. 20 dead. Horrified. I delete it and tweet a little little about the nightmare with them.
I’m late for a meeting, so leave the house, heading to a bar in Soho to spend the afternoon with a friend.
We’re three drinks in before I check my phone in the bathroom. News has updated. Not 20, 50. More details on the bar. More details on the shooter.
Before writing this, I see a friend succinctly describe what was my initial response: “Homophobia, islamophobia, domestic terrorism, mass murder and gun law all collide in one horrifying night. A greatest hits of American hate.” It’s a monstrous event that seems custom designed to hit the fractures in all the discourse, especially on the progressive left. In that first scan of responses, I see friends already going at each other for perceived lapses. I head back into the bar.
We were about to go home. After the news, I stay for another three drinks.
I retweet what looks like useful, practical tweets but nothing else. I do not trust the self that contains three drinks to say anything that will not cause harm. I reach out to friends. The conversation continues on lines you would expect after that. In retrospect, I’m surprised where it doesn’t go. I have to think why. I realise it’s because I’m too disturbed to completely verbalise what I’m thinking.
The bar’s in Soho. Could have happened here. The bar’s no more than 10m from GAY. Could have happened there. Think of any of my friends at any Pride event. There too. I think of all those times on a floor in a gay club or bar and dancing, and then imagine it interrupted by gunfire. I think of dancing in the kitchen to Erasure, in my head recalling those times when I was doing that in a gay club, before that reverie being punctured by reality in a tweet. I hate that to contextualise it, I immediately make it about me, the people I know, the people I love. I wish I was better at empathy. I wish we all were. If we were better at empathy, none of this would happen. If we were better at empathy, no hate would be able to make us treat humans as things to be disposed of.
I eventually go home. I’m still drunk. Eventually, C tells me to turn off the Internet and eventually I listen.
In the morning, I find myself thinking that nothing good will come of this. American gun laws didn’t move from the mass slaughter of children. Even putting aside homophobia – and how can we do that? – this won’t either. The lines of privilege are going to be subtle to navigate for us to talk about it. The real pain is going to overwhelm anything. It will be used to support racism by opportunistic shitstains.
Nothing good will come of this, I think.
Yet simultaneously I think “but somehow it has to.”
I don’t know how, but I know part of it has to be to continue with as much humane understanding we can muster. When we’re as sad and angry as we are, I’m not sure how likely or even possible that is.
We have to be better as we can’t carry on being worse. “Love” is a small word, but it’s all we’ve got. I love you all and I wish this hadn’t happened and I hope we can work out a way out of this.
This doesn’t have to happen.
Here’s a useful post of LGBT resources and helplines.
Orlando-relevant places to donate to
The Orlando Youth Alliance
The Orlando Health Foundation
The Center
Pulse Victims Fund
Gun Control
Guide to contacting your representative
Everytown
