Editorial: The people of Central Florida stand as the real tribute to Pulse

Yahoo

2 days ago

The story of what happened in the early morning hours of June 12, 2016, began with gunshots, pain and terror. Forty-nine lives lost, dozens more injured in bodies and souls. The violence unleashed by a single gunman at Pulse nightclub left scars on this community that will never disappear. And at long last, local leaders have a plan for a fitting memorial to that tragedy.
But that is not the end of this story, and that memorial will not be the most important way the Orlando area honors the legacy of Pulse.
Even before the sun set on that fateful day, Central Floridians were building their own monuments, written in flowers, candles, prayers and tears. In public spaces across the region, people gathered, strangers coming together to reassure each other that this ugly act did not represent what this community stood for. And before the eyes of the world, that steadfast insistence made a difference. Orlando rebutted any suggestion that it provided a haven for hatred — by responding to ugly violence with love, kindness and solidarity.
That response was anchored in common but often unspoken knowledge. Even before the Pulse massacre, Orlando was known as a place where members of the LGBTQ community could live in relative peace, even though homosexuality was a crime in Florida until 2003, and same-sex marriage was only legalized in 2015. It was also recognized as a haven for people from all over the world — not just tourists, but those who came to this country looking for a new start, even if they didn't speak perfect English. Clubs like Pulse provided safe spaces for people regardless of sexuality, national origin or skin color to come together in safety, to dance, to celebrate their common humanity instead of focusing on their differences. But many of Orlando's neighborhoods, businesses and houses of worship also worked to ensure that all were welcome.
That made Central Florida unusual, particularly in the South. But what happened after Pulse made it extraordinary.
Even as the shock of the massacre reverberated, there was little tolerance for intolerance. We're certain that there were people who attempted to preach the massacre as the wages of this area's acceptance of alternative sexualities, or who attempted to use the Islamic ideology of the killer (who also died that night) as a wedge for anti-Muslim hatred. But those voices were barely heard — even when they came from presidential campaigns. Instead, the Orlando LGBTQ community quickly forged an alliance with local Muslim leaders and Latino organizations, standing together against the kind of persecution that each community had far too much experience with.
This is the legacy of Pulse, and one that we need today more than ever.
Over recent years, Americans have seen their state and national leaders attempt to exploit ugly prejudice for political gain. In Florida, elected leaders tried to parlay angst about drag queen story hours and overly 'woke' teachers to distract attention from their attempts to weaken the strength of public schools and erase history lessons that underscore the toll that hatred extracts from today's society. More recently, unfounded antagonism against immigrants is being used to sow fear across many Orlando-area communities.
The goal seems obvious: Every attempt to divide our communities makes us more vulnerable, more easily manipulated, more vulnerable to acts of political aggression that can easily flower into actual violence. That reality also hit hard locally in the aftermath of the January 6, 2021, attacks on the Capitol: The revelation that many of the ringleaders and their misguided followers hailed from Central Florida was a gut check, but that knowledge was tempered by the understanding that these groups, who called themselves 'Oath Keepers' and 'Proud Boys,' were in fact too ashamed of their own hateful ideology to embrace it publicly.
Within a year, Orlando residents will see the new Pulse memorial taking shape at the corner of Kaley Street and Orange Avenue, and it will be beautiful: A stirring, color-shifting tribute to the 49 angels who died that morning, and the community that is still brought to tears by their memory. But residents don't need to wait for architects or builders to remember those victims, or to protect their legacy. We honor the victims of Pulse by rejecting attempts to divide us, by celebrating our shared humanity, and by remaining Orlando United — not just today, but every day.
The Orlando Sentinel Editorial Board consists of Executive Editor Roger Simmons, Opinion Editor Krys Fluker and Viewpoints Editor Jay Reddick. Contact us at [e-mail]