On Sunday June 12th, we woke up to our nation's deadliest mass shooting to date. There are mixed reports on whether last weekend's perpetrator intended to target gay victims specifically at Pulse, but there is no question that this marks a heinous tragedy for the LGBT community. As this country collects death tolls like key chains, I found myself shaken and pessimistic for a response beyond harrowing clickbait footage and shallow Facebook duels.
Desperate for humanity, and on a side of the country that I rarely get to explore, I began searching for LGBT events to attend that day. My momentum exploded as I found the Los Angeles Pride Parade scheduled in West Hollywood at 11am. Authorities considered canceling the event as a safety precaution, but supporters contested that fear was not the answer. Instead, the parade went on with heightened security, and a portion was dedicated to those marching in solidarity for the victims of Orlando's massacre.
Some felt hesitant about a celebration in the wake of such a somber event, but many others urged that there was no better time to unite.
Immediately, I began texting the handful of contacts I have around the Los Angeles area, desperate for someone to join me for the ride. To my alarm, I was met with overwhelming reluctance; another attacker was suspected to have targeted LA Pride.
Searching for information on the alleged attacker, I was disgusted to find that within that half an hour, a man was arrested in Santa Monica. He told authorities that he was going to the pride festival, but was found with assault rifles, ammunition, and explosive materials in his car. I was unnerved and panicky, but my momentum found outraged new drive. Determined to attend, I found a coworker that was willing to come with me.
Anxiety ate at me during the drive. Maybe the foiled attacker had an accomplice. Maybe I was making a mistake. Upon arrival, every doubt I had vanished.
I cannot express the staggering comradery, vitality and love that I experienced that day. From the first step I took onto Santa Monica Blvd, I was surrounded by the most welcoming and lovely people imaginable. Everyone was dancing, making new friends, and cheering relentlessly for the beaming participants in the parade. Even the security guards I encountered were uncharacteristically amicable, readily engaging in the fun.
Normally, I hate crowded areas. People can be selfish and irritable, and it's easy to sweat your soul out around all those bodies on a hot day. Instead, every person I made eye contact with greeted me with a brilliant smile and encouraging words.
About twenty-five minutes into the parade, we ran into a kind older couple in line for the bathroom, spirits soaring. Within thirty seconds, they explained that they were leaving for the day and offered us their wristbands for the Pride Festival a street over. I could not believe the instant generosity, and stressed that they should keep the bracelets for themselves.
Assured that they were about to drive off, we watched the couple force the bands off their wrists. Sydney and I accepted their gift, thanked the couple (and lady luck, like what?), and continued to watch the end of the parade.
Entering the festival, I found the same passion and excitement we experienced at the parade, maybe to an intenser degree. We danced in the field by the stage, learned about different LGBT organizations in booths, and went on a few rides. Other than the benevolence, it felt like any other festival.
Most notably, I can compare this day to my experience at another music festival wherein my phone died. Angry festival-goers fought and snapped at each other at the charging station, and I miserably waited for the apple icon to appear and rescue me.
Well I sure haven't gotten any more responsible with my phone, so it died again last weekend. Everyone at the charging station was outrageously nice. It was like we were all in it together, like we shared a species or something. They kept allowing each other to reach around to check phones regularly over intimate conversation, and AMICABLE political discussion. I can't make this shit up. I thought I was being punk'd.
One thirty-something man discussed his experience in finding himself and his sexuality with us. We shared our experiences for almost forty minutes. We would have stayed longer, but the night concert began. Even walking through the thick crowd, the climate was unbelievably easygoing. No angry pushing and shoving. No bitter remarks toward those trying to move up. Just dancing and talking. Just people that understood how difficult life can be for everyone.
I'm not naturally prone to writing serious pieces, yet this article is dear to me because last weekend forever cemented the devastating confusion I have toward ill will misplaced on the LGBT community. It's the most backwards anger imaginable. How can hate encroach on love? How dare others react to love, a love that involves them in no way, with violence?
I don't understand how these concepts seem so slippery to some. People can believe in whatever they wish; I don't care. People may act however they wish provided it doesn't harm others; I don't care.
You should be able to live your life however you please as long as you do not tell others how to live theirs. If that latter part was allowed you wouldn't be able to do the former, see?
We can argue endlessly about the issues this nation faces with gun control and background checks (fun fact: did you know that if a background check doesn't come through within 72 hours, a consumer can just buy a gun anyway? Look it up). However, last Sunday proved to me that in a nation marinated in anger and contempt, love still prevails.
Last Saturday's attack in Orlando reminds us that despite how far we've come, we still have a long way to go, but we will. After seeing a community so full of life and pride, I have no doubt that this love is too loud to be silenced.
