Without A Pulse

I fight every day to be able to breathe as a POC person. As a queer person. As a trans person. It is on dance floors that many of us forget all of the "others" that we are. We rightfully lose ourselves.
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Rainbow flag against sky during gay pride parade
Rainbow flag against sky during gay pride parade

When a bomb went off at the 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham Alabama in September of 1963 taking with it the lives of four young Black girls, it was not attack on our nations children. It was an attack on their skin color. It was a crime motivated and carried out by white supremacy. It was a crime fueled by our nations allowance of treating brown bodies like they are disposable; no matter their age.

When Pulse nightclub in Orlando rang out with hundreds of bullets in the early morning hours of June 11th 2016 killing 49 it was not an attack on nightlife, or "our religious freedom", it was actually religious freedom personified. It was an attack on the brown queer community. A community that religion and government goes out of its way to erase. It was an attack fueled by aggressive religious rhetoric. It was an attack that we as Americans need to hold our government responsible for.

We do not need to look overseas and condemn ISIS. We need to go into our courtrooms and condemn those who represent us. Those who are by the day passing more and more laws that restrict the basic human rights of LGBTQ people. Half of our government is homophobic and transphobic. We must stop using Islam as an escape for rhetoric the GOP and far right conservative Christians have been spewing for years. We must hold them accountable. We must not allow them to use our tragedy as a means to start a war against more brown skinned folks. Hate crimes against the LGBTQ community happen every day in America; in our court rooms, in state houses, and in congress.

Was it not only a month ago that we saw people posting photos of themselves standing outside of bathrooms with guns, threatening to "stop" trans people from using the facilities? Are we supposed to ignore that these people are a very real part of our American fabric? They aren't in a cave in the Middle East as our government would like us to believe; they are in line behind us at the grocery store mumbling under their breath and calling us faggots as we shop with our lovers.

When you feed and feed and feed a fire and allow people to truly believe that they are above other citizens death happens. It has happened. It will continue to happen. And no religion is to blame here; except for the zealous Republican who has utilized the bible and fear mongering mixed with lax gun laws to further not just an agenda but an entirely sound and reasonable way of behaving and existing as a "God-loving Christian".

All I ever wanted was to be 21. I wanted to get in where I actually fit in. Young and gay and figuring it out. 18+ nights were sought after, fake ID's were currency. How could I get in? How could I be? How could I release? Every single week I went to Tilt in Rochester. I would rush to the bathrooms and wash off the X's on my hands, and then I would join the chorus. My family. We were all in that moment strangers that could very well become best friends or lovers. And we did. It didn't matter much if you were shy, you had something to talk about with every single person in that room. You shared common ground with both the bartender and the drag queen. You all had a rainbow thread sewn into your heart.

When I finally did turn 21 I found my sanctuary in New York City nightlife. Every single week, I went to Cubby Hole in Manhattan. Every single week I played "Dancing On My Own" by Robyn. I fell in love in that bar; I would many times over the years. Both with friends and partners. I grew up there. I became who I am. This past year I stood at the bar in Lexington Club in San Francisco as hundreds came to say goodbye to an institution. I cried with them because I imagined what it would feel like to watch Cubby Hole shutter. Like your parents moving out of your childhood home. Yes, we would relocate but it wouldn't be the same. It never could be. I thought that night I was seeing death. I thought that was the closest I would come in nightlife to witnessing grief over a space. But then I woke up Sunday morning, and everything I knew to be "the worst" was turned on its head.

I fight every day to be able to breathe as a POC person. As a queer person. As a trans person. It is on dance floors that many of us forget all of the "others" that we are. We rightfully lose ourselves. We need to. The name Pulse makes so much sense for a gay bar. Our bodies pulsate through the doors. Our heartbeats speed up as we see our crush. They sync to the beat of our favorite DJ. We do not imagine that there in that space that feels like home we would cease to feel a pulse. That is an unimaginable idea. An inconceivable thought. And yet due to our countries preposterous gun laws it has become reality. The music has stopped. And this time, not even the pulse remains.

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