Latest news with #OmarMateen
Time Magazine
15 hours ago
- Time Magazine
9 Years Since the Pulse Nightclub Shooting What Comes Next?
On the morning of June 12, 2016, a Sunday, I woke up in my Manhattan apartment to see several missed calls and voice messages from my mother. 'I need to know where you are,' her first message started out. 'I saw on the news what happened. Please call me back.' When I called her back, she picked up and sighed deeply. 'Oh, thank god. I know you just like to pick up and leave without giving anyone notice. I thought you could have been there. In Orlando. At Pulse.' My mother seemed to think she was breaking the news to me, but I already knew. I had still been up in the wee hours the night before, when social media accounts began to report the massacre, when concerned texts from friends started coming in. At around 2 a.m., just after last call, twenty-nine-year-old Omar Mateen had entered Pulse Nightclub on 'Latin Night' with a semiautomatic rifle. He killed 49 people and wounded 53. He shot people who had traveled to Orlando from Haiti, Puerto Rico, Cuba, Mexico, the Dominican Republic, and more. He shot a mother who would perish protecting her queer child with her body. He shot singers, hairdressers, nurses and photographers and literature students. He fired bullets into the flesh of people who wanted, for an evening, a few hours, a moment, to be free—to move their bodies joyously to the rhythms of Latin Night. As the news of the massacre was breaking, I didn't know the details of their lives. I just knew, at the deepest of levels, that many were just like me: Queer, Latinx, and fighting to survive. These were queer people composed of diasporic rhythms, queers moving across the globe, queers who have had to reckon with worlds hostile and cruel to their being. I found myself already haunted by their deaths, awestruck at how soon I felt that loss. Haunted by the body counts, the names, the stories and histories attached to those names—just like I am haunted by the many thousands of queer people, both named and unnamed, whom we have lost to AIDS. What does it mean to be "after' loss? What does it mean to continue after the Pulse Massacre or after the AIDS Crisis? How can we heal when we are always in a cruel and devastating after? I am not alone in asking these questions. 'Yesterday we saw ourselves die again // Fifty times we died in Orlando,' mourns the narrator of Christopher Soto's poem, ' All the Dead Boys Look Like Us.' The 'we' Soto describes in its plural subaltern voice is of young, queer people of color hailing from colonized countries. Many of the Pulse shooting victims were in their twenties, some in their late teens, just babies. Richard Blanco, in his own tribute to the Pulse victims, ' One Pulse—One Poem,' writes: 'picture the choir of their invisible spirits / rising with the smoke toward disco lights, imagine / ourselves dancing with them until the very end.' Forty-nine people were killed at Pulse. They were friends, lovers, mothers, siblings, partners and so much more. ' Restored Mural for Orlando ' by Roy G. Guzmán focuses on the importance of a city like Orlando for queer community. Yet, he writes,'I am afraid of attending places / that celebrate our bodies because that's also where our bodies // have been cancelled / when you're brown and gay you're always dying / twice.' The 49 people who were killed at Pulse each had a name: Darryl Roman Burt II, Deonka Deidra Drayton, Antonio Davon Brown, Mercedez Marisol Flores... Their names of the 49 lives lost go on, as do the details of their lives. Jerry Wright worked at Disney World, one of Orlando's biggest employers. Juan Ramon Guerrero and Christopher 'Drew' Leinonen were boyfriends, and took their final breaths together. Jonathan Camuy worked as a producer at the popular Spanish broadcasting company Telemundo. Names do not necessarily tell the story of a life, and neither does a number. Yet, when brought together, compiled, and compacted, they speak to vast contexts and histories. Forty-nine people were killed at Pulse. Seven hundred thousand dead—disproportionately poor, unhoused, and people of color—from HIV/AIDS. Sadly, there remain many other queer names we may never know because history did not record them. Yet, despite their incompleteness, we need these names and numbers in order to have a sense of who we have lost, to feel the weight of the tally—not as a burden but as part of our fight for a different past, present, and future. My mother called me after the Pulse Nightclub shooting because she knew something of tragedy, mourning, and fear. But in truth, she was scared for me long before that terrible morning, ever since I elected to move to New York City when I was eighteen. For years, she experienced the cocktail of emotions that comes with loving a queer child—fear of our early passing from some disease, some mental illness, some lover's quarrel, some brutal attack by a stranger on a street. I want Pulse not to be solely a tragedy, a massacre, a mass shooting. I want it to signify more than pain, suffering, and unending mourning. I want after Pulse to be about the patchwork of joys, contradictions, mundanities, hopes, differences, and freedom projects that define queer life. The many ways of reaching out with all of our senses to other bodies, other places, other histories. Our after should include shaking a**, gossiping with friends, drinking cocktails, lip-syncing to a favorite song—staring into the strobe lights, feeling alive, fully bodied, transcendent. After Pulse is where I want to be.
CBS News
a day ago
- CBS News
Pulse massacre survivors revisit the nightclub before it's razed for a permanent memorial
Survivors and family members of the 49 victims killed in the Pulse nightclub massacre nine years ago got their first chance Wednesday to walk through the long-shuttered, LGBTQ+-friendly Florida venue before it is razed and replaced with a permanent memorial to what was once the worst U.S. mass shooting in modern times. In small groups over four days, survivors and family members of those killed can spend half an hour inside the space where Omar Mateen opened fire during a Latin night celebration on June 12, 2016, leaving 49 dead and 53 wounded. Mateen, who had pledged allegiance to the Islamic State group, was killed after a three-hour standoff with police. At the time, it was the worst mass shooting in modern U.S. history. The Pulse shooting's death toll was surpassed the following year when 58 people were killed and more than 850 were injured among a crowd of 22,000 at a country music festival in Las Vegas. The city of Orlando purchased the Pulse property in 2023 for $2 million and plans to build a $12 million permanent memorial that will open in 2027. Those efforts follow a multiyear, botched attempt by a private foundation run by the club's former owner. The existing structure will be razed later this year. Christine Leinonen, whose son, Christopher "Drew" Leinonen was killed in the mass shooting, was among the first groups to go inside the club on Wednesday. Leinonen, who has been a fierce critic of the police response, the investigation into the mass shooting and the nightclub's owner, said she wanted to see the space where her son died. "It's not closure. It's pragmatic for me because I needed to see the space. I needed to see how big it was," Leinonen said afterward. "I would have regretted it if I didn't go through it." Visits coincide with the shooting's ninth anniversary The opportunity to go inside the nightclub comes on the ninth anniversary of the mass shooting. Outside, oversize photos of the victims, rainbow-colored flags and flowers have hung on fences in a makeshift memorial, and the site has attracted visitors from around the globe. But very few people other than investigators have been inside the structure. Donna Wyche, City of Orlando Outreach and Engagement Coordinator, answers questions at the Pulse nightclub in Orlando on the eve of the mass shooting's 9th anniversary, Wednesday, June 11, 2025, in Orlando, Fla. (Joe Burbank/Orlando Sentinel via AP) Joe Burbank / AP Around 250 survivors and family members of those killed responded to the city's invitation to walk through the nightclub this week. Families of the 49 people who were killed were able to visit the site with up to six people in their group, and survivors could bring one person with them. The club had been cleaned and lighting has been installed ahead of the walk-throughs. The people invited to visit were given the chance to ask FBI agents who investigated the massacre about what happened. They weren't allowed to take photos or video inside. On Wednesday, a security screen shielded the entrance to the club as the visitors got off a small bus and walked into a white tent at the venue's entrance. Some of those who had planned to come backed out at the last minute. Brandon Wolf, who hid in a bathroom as the gunman opened fire, said he wasn't going to visit, primarily because he now lives in Washington. He said he wanted to remember Pulse as it was before. "I will say that the site of the tragedy is where I feel closest to the people who were stolen from me," said Wolf, who is now national press secretary for the Human Rights Campaign, a LGBTQ+ advocacy group. "For survivors, the last time they were in that space was the worst night possible. It will be really hard to be in that space again." Mental health counselors planned to be on hand to talk to those who walk through the building. Original memorial plans for Pulse fell short Survivors and family members had hoped to have a permanent memorial in place by now. An earlier effort by a private foundation to build one floundered, and the organization disbanded in 2023. Barbara and Rosario Poma and business owner Michael Panaggio previously owned the property, and Barbara Poma was the executive director of the onePulse Foundation — the nonprofit that had been leading efforts to build a memorial and museum. She stepped down as executive director in 2022 and then left the organization in 2023 amid criticism that she wanted to sell instead of donate the property. There were also complaints about the lack of progress despite millions of dollars being raised. The original project, unveiled in 2019 by the onePulse Foundation, called for a museum and permanent memorial costing $45 million. That estimate eventually soared to $100 million. The city of Orlando has since outlined a more modest proposal and scrapped plans for a museum. "The building may come down, and we may finally get a permanent memorial, but that doesn't change the fact that this community has been scarred for life," Wolf said. "There are people inside the community who still need and will continue to need support and resources."
Globe and Mail
a day ago
- Globe and Mail
Pulse massacre survivors revisit the nightclub before it's razed for a permanent memorial
Survivors and family members of the 49 victims killed in the Pulse nightclub massacre nine years ago got their first chance Wednesday to walk through the long-shuttered, LGBTQ+-friendly Florida venue before it is razed and replaced with a permanent memorial to what was once the worst U.S. mass shooting in modern times. In small groups over four days, survivors and family members of those killed can spend half an hour inside the space where Omar Mateen opened fire during a Latin night celebration on June 12, 2016, leaving 49 dead and 53 wounded. Mateen, who had pledged allegiance to the Islamic State group, was killed after a three-hour standoff with police. At the time, it was the worst mass shooting in modern U.S. history. The Pulse shooting's death toll was surpassed the following year when 58 people were killed and more than 850 were injured among a crowd of 22,000 at a country music festival in Las Vegas. The city of Orlando purchased the Pulse property in 2023 for $2 million and plans to build a $12 million permanent memorial that will open in 2027. Those efforts follow a multiyear, botched attempt by a private foundation run by the club's former owner. The existing structure will be razed later this year. History in photos: Massive casualties in Orlando club shooting Christine Leinonen, whose son, Christopher 'Drew' Leinonen was killed in the mass shooting, was among the first groups to go inside the club on Wednesday. Leinonen, who has been a fierce critic of the police response, the investigation into the mass shooting and the nightclub's owner, said she wanted to see the space where her son died. 'It's not closure. It's pragmatic for me because I needed to see the space. I needed to see how big it was,' Leinonen said afterward. 'I would have regretted it if I didn't go through it.' The opportunity to go inside the nightclub comes on the ninth anniversary of the mass shooting. Outside, oversize photos of the victims, rainbow-colored flags and flowers have hung on fences in a makeshift memorial, and the site has attracted visitors from around the globe. But very few people other than investigators have been inside the structure. Around 250 survivors and family members of those killed responded to the city's invitation to walk through the nightclub this week. Families of the 49 people who were killed were able to visit the site with up to six people in their group, and survivors could bring one person with them. The club had been cleaned and lighting has been installed ahead of the walk-throughs. The people invited to visit were given the chance to ask FBI agents who investigated the massacre about what happened. They weren't allowed to take photos or video inside. On Wednesday, a security screen shielded the entrance to the club as the visitors got off a small bus and walked into a white tent at the venue's entrance. Some of those who had planned to come backed out at the last minute. Brandon Wolf, who hid in a bathroom as the gunman opened fire, said he wasn't going to visit, primarily because he now lives in Washington. He said he wanted to remember Pulse as it was before. 'I will say that the site of the tragedy is where I feel closest to the people who were stolen from me,' said Wolf, who is now national press secretary for the Human Rights Campaign, a LGBTQ+ advocacy group. 'For survivors, the last time they were in that space was the worst night possible. It will be really hard to be in that space again.' Mental health counselors planned to be on hand to talk to those who walk through the building. Survivors and family members had hoped to have a permanent memorial in place by now. An earlier effort by a private foundation to build one floundered, and the organization disbanded in 2023. Barbara and Rosario Poma and business owner Michael Panaggio previously owned the property, and Barbara Poma was the executive director of the onePulse Foundation — the nonprofit that had been leading efforts to build a memorial and museum. She stepped down as executive director in 2022 and then left the organization in 2023 amid criticism that she wanted to sell instead of donate the property. There were also complaints about the lack of progress despite millions of dollars being raised. The original project, unveiled in 2019 by the onePulse Foundation, called for a museum and permanent memorial costing $45 million. That estimate eventually soared to $100 million. The city of Orlando has since outlined a more modest proposal and scrapped plans for a museum. 'The building may come down, and we may finally get a permanent memorial, but that doesn't change the fact that this community has been scarred for life,' Wolf said. 'There are people inside the community who still need and will continue to need support and resources.'
Toronto Star
a day ago
- Toronto Star
Pulse massacre survivors revisit the nightclub before it's razed for a permanent memorial
ORLANDO, Fla. (AP) — Survivors and family members of the 49 victims killed in the Pulse nightclub massacre nine years ago got their first chance Wednesday to walk through the long-shuttered, LGBTQ+-friendly Florida venue before it is razed and replaced with a permanent memorial to what was once the worst U.S. mass shooting in modern times. In small groups over four days, survivors and family members of those killed can spend half an hour inside the space where Omar Mateen opened fire during a Latin night celebration on June 12, 2016, leaving 49 dead and 53 wounded. Mateen, who had pledged allegiance to the Islamic State group, was killed after a three-hour standoff with police.
Yahoo
2 days ago
- Politics
- Yahoo
Pulse shooting survivors, family members tour building before demolition
Survivors and family members of the victims of the 2016 Pulse nightclub shooting are touring the inside of the building for a final look before it's torn down. About 250 people accepted the city of Orlando's invitation to tour the building where Omar Mateen, who had pledged allegiance to the Islamic State group, killed 49 people and wounded 53 others during a Latin Night celebration at the popular LGBTQIA+ club on June 12, 2016. Mateen was killed following an hourslong standoff with police. At the time, it was the deadliest mass shooting in modern American history. The shooting at the Route 91 Harvest music festival in Las Vegas would eclipse the Pulse shooting's death toll the following year. The visits, which coincide with the shooting's nine-year mark, are being done in small groups over the course of four days, with survivors and family members spending about a half hour inside, according to The Associated Press. Christine Leionen lost her only child, 32-year-old Christopher, in the shooting. Wednesday marked the first time she saw where her son was killed. "My son died on that dance floor. He was shot nine times, and he bled to death on that dance floor," she told CBS News. She said going to Pulse was "a way to try to experience his last seconds of life. I just want to feel closer to him." Orlando Mayor Buddy Dyer, who also visited the site, said the visit "took me back nine years." "Reflecting on being in the command center on Orange Avenue as all the things are transpiring and, eventually, the shooting of the killer and then the realization of just how many people were impacted," he said, according to CBS affiliate WKMG-TV. Dyer said the people visiting included 25 of the 49 victims' families. The city of Orlando is planning to build a permanent memorial where the building currently stands. City officials approved a plan to buy the property for $2 million back in 2023, following several previous failed attempts to buy the land. Family members and some survivors had been pushing for a permanent memorial for years before the purchase. But some of the families and survivors still have questions about whether more could have been done to prevent the shooting or if police could have done more to save people. Questions also surround the ensuing investigation and the issue of whether the attack was a hate crime. "I lived that night, but it's a constant sacrifice to keep moving every day," survivor Maritza Gomez told WKMG back when the city approved the plan to buy the property. "I don't think that Pulse should be diminished. I think that an investigation should be taken care of first." An accused woman skips her pedicure, kills her ex-husband Watch California Gov. Gavin Newsom's full speech on federal response to Los Angeles protests LAPD chief speaks out about deployment of military forces to anti-ICE protests
