Trigger Warning: Mass Shooting





These are a selection of images I captured when attending the vigil for Pulse Nightclub in Burlington, Vt.

How a shooting in Orlando made me appreciate my community

The evening of June 11, 2016, likely started just like any other Saturday night at the Pulse Nightclub, a haven for the Queer community in Orlando. People gathered for a night of fun and revelry in a place where they could be themselves.



For some, it might have been a routine. Perhaps they were frequent patrons at the club. Perhaps it was others’ first time. For most of the night, it was business as usual.



In the early hours of June 12—between 2 and 5 a.m.—the unthinkable happened. Shots rang out, 49 lives were lost, and countless others were irrevocably changed.



Orlando’s Queer community lost friends, family, and its sense of security. That night, the gunman robbed a community of its safe space.



I didn’t live anywhere near Orlando in 2016, but I felt the ripples of this tragedy all the way up in rural New England. I was a young Queer person working at a Central Vermont newspaper. Violence at that scale was unfathomable to me. What struck me more than anything was where it happened. Pulse was supposed to be a safe space for Queer people. It was a place where they could hold their partners’ hands, dress in the clothes they wanted, and shed society’s expectations of them. It saddened me deeply because of how important spaces like those are.



That unbridled act of hatred caused me to feel unsafe. I began questioning whether I could be queer in the United States, and it pushed me farther into the closet regarding my gender identity.



However, I found a lot of solace with a local organization, the Pride Center of Vermont. Spaces such as these are invaluable to people on the Queer spectrum because it gives us an outlet to express ourselves and the opportunity to spend time with people who understand us better than members of the cis-hetero community.



I had visited the Pride Center at least a few times before the tragedy in Orlando, but it was infrequent, as I’ve suffered with social anxiety for much of my life. However, very soon after that June evening, I found myself heading to Burlington, where the center is located, to join the community in a day of mourning. The vigil for the victims of the Orlando shooting was a cathartic event, heavily attended by members of the Queer community, as well as by allies in the interfaith and the greater Vermont communities.



Despite my earlier feelings, I felt supported by this community. We were proving to the less kind people of the world that we would not hide. We would stand united against hatred, and that bolstered my confidence.



I would later post this status on my personal social media page.



“I spent a lot of time yesterday thinking about what happened in Orlando, and I don’t quite know how to put to words what I’m feeling. I’m angry. I’m upset. I’m saddened beyond words for the families and friends of those who perished because of the unbridled hatred of one man. But it’s so much more than that. So much more that I feel I can’t sit idly by without speaking my mind in some way. It’s personal. I didn’t know anyone who was at Pulse when the shots rang out, but the news still had me on the brink of tears — maybe it’s because I can relate to the people at that club. As a freshman in college, I struggled with whether I should come out as gay. I sought out whatever safe spaces I could find, and I weighed the unintended consequences that might come from my being gay. Luckily, my peers at SUNY Plattsburgh turned out to be welcoming and accepting. Little by little, I shared my true self with those around me. Eventually, I wrote my story for all to see in a column in the student newspaper. I could finally stop hiding who I was. Without this safe space, I never would have been comfortable with myself. My family was similarly accepting. There were some minor bumps in the road, but I trust they love me just the same as they always did. I was lucky. For many of the victims in Orlando — and not just those who were injured or killed — I’m sure Pulse was a place that they went to be themselves, somewhere they could hold hands with and kiss their partners without fear of violence or disapproving stares. It was somewhere they could cut back their inhibitions and express who they really were without fear of retribution. It was their safe space. Yesterday, that was robbed from them. Those who died are lost forever, and those who survived will likely never be the same. How many of them will ever truly feel safe again? Personally, this tragedy has brought on a lot of self-reflection. What if something like that happened here in Vermont? What if I witnessed it firsthand? What if, God forbid, I were killed in a hate-fueled rampage? One always thinks tragedy could never happen to them. It’s always in some other place, or it affects some other demographic. Then suddenly, it strikes close to home — literally or figuratively — and it’s impossible to prepare for. This act of terror was a wake-up call for me. It makes me question how safe I am even here in Vermont. That said, I will not let fear rule my life, and I can only hope that you will not either. My heart goes out to the victims, their families and the greater community that is struggling to pick up the pieces.”



That year, I decided to volunteer and help plan some annual events with the Pride Center and Pride Vermont, and I found myself surrounded by many wonderful and caring people. I still volunteer with them to this day. They’ve been a great source of comfort for me as I continue working toward my transition goals.



When you hear somebody badmouthing safe spaces, I hope you think of the good that they do.

Remember, the views expressed in this post are my personal beliefs and may not reflect the feelings of the greater Queer community. Please email AskAdaBT@gmail.com with any questions about this post or to request I cover a topic.



With respect,



Ada B.