On June 12, our country awoke to the news that yet another mass shooting had occurred within our borders. As I prepared to gather with my community in mourning, I was called to put words to a nagging feeling. Straight, cisgender (non-transgender), white Americans awoke that day to a tragedy that defies description – but, unlike me and my queer siblings, they likely awoke to a feeling of safety.

LGBTQ-plus people live each day with an awareness that safety is not guaranteed. We walk the streets knowing the harassment and violence could come at any moment.

Trans folks and queer people of color know this threat even more intimately than others. Let us not forget that last Sunday’s shooting took place on Latinx Night at Pulse – a night celebrating queer people of color. (“Latinx” is a gender-neutral term for the Latin-American community.)

Recently I worked a Pride event here in Maine, where I spent hours trying to negotiate with an irrational man who sat across from our children’s activity area spewing homophobic and transphobic slurs.

I wish I could tell you that was the first time I endured horrifying verbal abuse on the job, but that would be untrue. When he held up a metal pipe and pointed it toward me, mimicking a machine gun, I thought to myself: “Am I safe?” And the answer was “no.”

As a community, we must grieve those who have lost their lives to the hatred, violence and intolerance that spurred this attack. We must hold in our hearts every queer person who wonders how they will face the world in the morning. We must support one another every day the way we do in the face of tragedy. We mustn’t let the voices of hate turn us against other marginalized people. We must love one another the way only we can. We must survive.

Maggie Campbell

director of communications and development, Health Equity Alliance

Bangor