There is a story I love to tell when I want to feel a little more badass in front of friends, or when I want to endear myself to a room of conservative men. It’s a bit of the legacy of Rich White America I carry with me:
When I was eighteen, I taught little girls to shoot guns. It was my literal first duty as a camp counselor when I arrive two days after graduating from high school. It was fucking awesome. There was nothing better lying on that mattress in that little hutch in the woods of Maine, pulling the trigger, and feeing the .22 gauge rifle kick a little in my hands as a my little blank raced toward a paper target hundreds of yards away…except for watching an eight year old girl hit that target smack in the middle a minute later.
So, I get the allure of guns. They are powerful, powerful instruments. I don’t want one in my home, but if you want one (that isn’t a military grade assault rifle) fine, do you. I will say, though, that aside from these bourgeois moments of sporting fun, guns have brought nothing to my life but terror and pain. They have never saved me or protected me. Guns have never protected any normal civilian I know. I, like what feels like all Americans at this point, am not immune to the long shadow of gun violence that hangs over this country.
I’ve personally experienced the terror that comes from guns falling into the hands of the unstable, the angry, one of those men with a terrifying axe to grind. In 2009, when I was a junior in college my campus narrowly avoided becoming yet another site of a mass shooting. That spring, a mentally ill young man got ahold of a gun, drove from Massachusetts to Connecticut, snuck into our campus bookstore and shot a classmate, a brilliant, kind, joyful young woman SEVEN TIMES.
A manhunt ensued and our campus went on lockdown. The day after the shooting the sky was a close, oppressive grey and campus was utterly silent–a stark contrast from the bright sunshine and carnival atmosphere of the previous morning, when we had all been preparing to celebrate the end of another school year. A friend graciously offered to let me come stay at her family’s house in West Haven while things settled out. I remember running to her car, crouched a little, trying to duck behind large objects like soldiers do in the movies.
The name of the man who shot Johana Justin-Jinich on May 6, 2009, is Stephen Morgan. He came to Wesleyan intending to kill Johana and then other students, writing in his journal, “I think it okay to kill Jews, and go on a killing spree at this school.” He was declared not-guilty by reason of insanity and sent to Connecticut’s maximum security prison for the criminally insane. He was another person who should never, ever have been able to acquire a firearm, but did so all too easily.
The day Stephen Morgan so brutally, senselessly took Johana’s life would have been a perfect day for a mass shooting. Spring fling was a day long celebration and students started partying early. By mid-afternoon there would have been thousands of us gathered on Foss Hill for the concert. Santigold was set to be the headliner. The thought of what that day could have turned into is chilling. And it’s all too easy to visualize as mass shootings pile up in our national memory bank. One life taken should be too many. we’ve let that standard slip away through years of bad news.
We can no longer allow for the practice of the few, the angry, the irrational stealing the lives of four, twelve, or fifty people in one go to be the price of living in America. This is not freedom. An ever present fear of being shot in the streets inhibits Americans from a true “pursuit of life, liberty and happiness.” I recognize the Right to Bear Arms is codified in our Bill of Rights, but what about our Unalienable rights? Is not safety a key to liberty? Wasn’t that our forefather’s ultimate goal in creating America: to build a safe n where anyone can prosper?
Gun violence affects every single one of us. As Americans we cannot pride ourselves on being the “greatest” or the “strongest” or the “best” nation in the world if we are gunning each other down in the streets every other day. Firearm regulation will only produce a happier, safer nation.
That fact is even more true in our cities. In DC or in Chicago or LA or Baltimore or Newark, the fear I felt that one single time in my life is ever-present. We allow this to happen in our inner cities without blinking a fucking eyelash because so many expect less from these places and the people who live there. We have to do better for all, not just for some.
I implore the members of Congress on both sides of the aisle to stand up for the citizens of the United States of America to AT THE VERY LEAST pass policy change that keeps military-grade weapons out of the hands of known terrorists and unstable people. I won’t be naive enough to ask for more tonight. Because if losing twenty children at Sandy Hook couldn’t get lawmakers to ban assault weapons from citizen use, then wholesale change is still far away, but we can start to honor lives lost in Sandy Hook, Orlando and the too long list of other places with this step forward.
the loneliest baguette 
Love Received, Love Sent
This morning I was sitting in the grass in Logan Circle enjoying the feeling of a strong summer breeze on my skin, the sight of fluttering green leaves changing color under the sun, a good book (The BFG, hence the above quote) and a good coffee when I was overwhelmed by gratefulness for my place in such a beautiful world. Strung out on too much sun, too little water, and the imminent threat of my period, I fought back tears, happy to have a life where I get to enjoy and revel in such simple, beautiful moments.
A minute later I checked my phone and saw a Facebook notification that an old coworker had checked in as safe in Orlando. Chills went trough me. Something terrible had happened. As we do in this digital age, I took to the internet for answers to read about a devastating shooting in a nightclub. Tears, again, this time of sadness and rage. Horrified, I read that it was the deadliest shooting in US history. Over 100 people shot, over at least 50 dead. What’s more, it was a gay club, where hundreds of members of Orlando’s LBGTQ community had come for a night of revelry, of dancing, and of safety. But you know all this.
I haven’t come here to write some think piece about gun violence or acceptance/hate or terrorism. Those things are being written ad nauseum around the world (I think I can hear the keys of bloggers all across DC as they race to get their opinions into the tubes of the internet). Instead, on Pride Weekend in DC and in the face of a grave tragedy, I want to give thanks to the LGBTQ community.
It hit me today that in every hard, sad, or dangerous moment in my life, my Queer friends have always been the first responders; the ones to rescue me, to lift me up, or just to provide some moral support. My network of queer friends are the most kind, loving and generous people I know. They are the people whose relationships I look up to, whose capacity for love I simultaneously aspire to and envy. Here are just a few stories:
In college, on a night when an attempt to drown my depression in keg stands led to me sitting on a curb threatening to kill myself, a lesbian teammate got me back to my room safely and listened to me incoherently confess to being sexually assaulted as a freshman. She called my dad, whom I had rung in the night to say goodbye, and let him know I was safe.
The most caring and generous manager I’ve ever worked with is a gay man. He was endlessly patient with me, treated me like a peer (even as an intern) and provided me constant opportunities to learn and grow. To this day he still goes out of his way to give advice and to help me advance professionally.
Three months ago, I broke my arm. Two lesbian women from my hockey team brought me groceries (separately), asking for nothing in return. The same women constantly feed me, drive me places without asking for gas money, listen to me bitch about my trivial little life, and offer me so much incredible advice on it.
In these, and so many other individual moments with so many other queer friends, sexual orientation or gender identity was not a factor at all. I single it out now to say there is a clear pattern here. Over and over again, my queer friends put judgement aside and practice being loving, vulnerable and generous first.
From what I’ve read, Pulse, the nightclub where the shooting took place was another exemplar of the same practice:
I see so much opportunity for those of us who sit in privilege in our society to learn from the LGBTQ community. Perhaps the upside of being marginalized, shut out and shown the ugly face of hate by so many is that it makes you that much more aware of the value of unabashed, unconditional love, of community building, of respect for the humanity of those around us. On this dark, dark day, I want to say thank you to my LGBTQ friends, and to all those I don’t know. I love you, and I admire you. I honor your commitment to loving publicly, living authentically and building community. I aspire to do as you do, bringing a little more light and optimism into the world.
After so many of you are done praying, let’s act to ensure that we create a light that overpowers darkness and hate, starting with lobbying our elected officials for policy change around guns and firearms.
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Tagged as LGBTQ, Love, Orlando, Pride, PulseShooting