Orlando: Observances

Abstract

528 Feminist Studies 42, no. 2. © 2016 by Feminist Studies, Inc. Orlando: Observances In the wake of the June 12 mass shooting at the Pulse nightclub in Orlando, Florida, many individuals and groups spontaneously organized vigils to mark the massacre. Given the transitory nature of public attention to news stories, our editorial board felt that it was important to record the sensibility of the collective responses to this tragedy. We have compiled here a selection of first-person accounts from vigils held within and outside the United States. It is not surprising that several contributors mention the complex interplay between racism and homophobia. The problem of violent policing in US communities of color (which we discuss in our “Forum: Teaching about Ferguson,” Volume 41, Number 1) has also continued to haunt our imaginations and animate resistance efforts. Many of the accounts below mention how people of color express their solidarities with multiple struggles. * * * Joseph Allen Ruanto-Ramirez, San Diego, CA Within hours of the news on the shooting at the Pulse nightclub in Orlando, Florida, a Facebook invite spread throughout San Diego’s social media networks to attend a vigil in front of the rainbow flag in the community of Hillcrest, San Diego. Hillcrest is the center of (predominantly white) LGBT communities, where gentrification has been very prominent and where the commercialization of LGBT identities (so-called LGBT culture) has been growing in the past couple of years. Pockets of queer and trans people of color disturb these spaces, but for many, the hashtag #gayissowhite has transformed to #hillcrestissowhite. Although the tragic incident that happened in Orlando, Florida, has galvanized both LGBT and allied communities, the rhetoric being used during the News and Views 529 vigil by the participants differed starkly from what many of the speakers and community leaders were saying on the mic. Armed officers surrounded the flagpole and the vigil, while police cars drove around the streets to “guarantee the safety” of the LGBT community . Signs that read “We are Orlando” and “Love is love” were carried by individuals in silent protest as people gathered around the rainbow flag lighting candles, burning sage, and writing notes. Hugs and kisses were exchanged as tears flowed. More radical signs and comments from predominantly (and visibly) queer women and queer people of color stating “Islam means peace” and “Islamophobia is not the answer” were in evidence, yet some conversations among queer men standing near me were clearly anti-Arab, xenophobic, and Islamophobic. Queer men joked about bringing guns to clubs and to Pride to protect themselves from “terrorists.” When a speaker talked about the failed attempt of an attack at Pride in Los Angeles, some men next to me joked about how this white domestic terrorist was possibly “radicalized” by Islam, although there was no information in the news that the Los Angeles attacker was Muslim. Being in the sea of contradictory and gendered responses at the event made me feel uncomfortable as I took off my t’ndung (head wrap in Iranun culture) to avoid being racialized and Orientalized , and I was asked how I might have felt about the attack if I were mistaken to be a queer Muslim. As speaker after speaker addressed the situation, the rhetoric of “this is us” or “this could have been us” created considerable discomfort for me. Who is this “us,” and how is it that people can imagine a direct connection to LGBT clubbers in Orlando, but that “us” does not include queer Palestinians or queer Black activists from Baltimore? Where is the “us” they kept on addressing? Was I part of this “us?” Then the politicians came up. They praised the LGBT community for being about diversity and inclusion, yet it was these same politicians who questioned the validity of having ethnic studies classes in San Diego high schools and who stated that restrooms for trans high school students might be a financial burden for the districts. The politicians praised the police officers and the police state, the same officers who regulated not just bodies of color, but also LGBT people during the Trump rallies in the city. As I turned around, I noticed that two white male police officers...