I was born and raised in Orlando, a place that is so much
more than Disney. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I grew up surrounded by
diversity. I guess the first time I realized how fortunate I was, was in grad
school. A lot of people came from the deep South to attend where I was going. I
distinctly remember one day I was sitting on the balcony eating black beans and
yellow rice for lunch and a number of people asked me what I was eating because
it looked so strange, and a guy of Hispanic descent was so excited to see
someone eating food that reminded him of home. I was actually taken aback. I
didn’t think my enjoyment of Cuban food was particularly exotic; when I was
little my family frequented a little Cuban restaurant downtown. Different
cultures, different food, different languages… it was all normal.
Orlando is diverse in other ways, too. We have huge,
conservative churches. We have huge, liberal churches. We have Gay Days at
Disney. We have Christian music festivals at Disney. I myself am rather
conservative, both politically and religiously. I have friends, also
conservative, that accidentally went to a local restaurant run by drag queens.
When they realized what was going on, they laughed at themselves, stayed, had a
good time, and went on their way. Somehow this all just works.
One morning I woke up to the news that my city had been
devastated by a terrorist attack. A Muslim man had shot up a locally famous gay
bar, murdering many, many people. Shaken, I posted about it on social media,
and had people immediately jump down my throat for daring to say it was a
Muslim. It made me angry. I was just repeating what the news reports had said.
The intricate workings of a mind so twisted they would do something like this
will never be fully understood, I guess, but this perpetrator had pledged
allegiance to ISIS, then taken the lives of as many people as he could before
the police took him down. That’s what was known. That’s all I had said.
Shortly after that I saw people quickly lose interest in
what had happened precisely because it was a Muslim man who had shot up a gay
bar on Hispanic night. People, to my utter disgust, wanted desperately for it
to be a white Christian good ol’ boy. Others, again to my utter disgust, wanted
it to be something more than just one twisted individual so they could use this
event to further their own political agenda. (Social media can be a gross
place, but that’s another post for another day.)
Everyone wanted to blame their political foes. Even the
President came here and blamed the Republican party, even though the murderer
was a registered Democrat. None of that was even relevant.
But all those people looking to lay blame were outsiders,
just like the man who killed so many at Pulse that night. He drove over here
from a different city.
I didn’t know anyone who died but I still grieved. It
weighed so heavily on me. Part of it was terrorism always seems like something
that happens elsewhere; not right up the road from the little Cuban restaurant
you frequented as a child. Part of it was in my city, you have churches and gay
bars and ethnic restaurants and all skin tones and different languages, and
while people may have strongly held beliefs, it is clear here that you can
respect people’s differences. But ultimately it was so senseless, so evil what
happened.
Shortly after I went to a candlelight vigil to remember the
lost. There were a variety of speakers and at one point, one of them asked
everyone to stand in support of something I couldn’t in good conscience support
because of my deeply held moral beliefs. So I stayed sitting, holding my candle
and praying. And nothing happened. No one said a word; I don’t know if anyone
even noticed. Because that’s how this city is. This terror attack brought the
city together like nothing I’ve ever seen.
Churches sent their congregants out
of services to go donate blood. Others quickly rallied to get water and food to
those standing in line. Groups who maybe otherwise wouldn’t have joined
together got in the trenches together because this was bigger than all that. We were
just all humans, recognizing each other’s humanity.
There are still people out there trying to claim this
tragedy. Maybe it belongs to everyone, but I don’t think so. It belongs to
Orlando. Like Big Papi said in Fenway after the Marathon bombing, “This is OUR
******* city.”
And one maniac with a gun isn’t going to change that.
