Today marks ten years since the massacre at Pulse Nightclub in Orlando.
Ten years.
A full decade has passed since forty-nine beautiful human beings were murdered and fifty-three others were wounded in one of the deadliest acts of anti-LGBTQIA2S violence in our nation’s history.
For many of us, it does not feel like ten years ago.
We remember where we were when we heard the news. We remember the names, the faces, the stories. We remember the candlelight vigils, the tears, the fear, the anger, and the profound grief that swept through our community.
But we also remember something else.
We remember how the LGBTQIA2S community responded.
In the aftermath of Pulse, our community came together in extraordinary ways. LGBTQIA2S people, families, allies, faith leaders, advocates, healthcare workers, and neighbors stood shoulder to shoulder. We mourned together. We organized together. We cared for one another. We showed up for one another.
And in doing so, we reminded the world of something powerful: our greatest strength has always been our community.
We have had to rely on one another because history has rarely afforded us the luxury of complacency.
We survived criminalization.
We survived police raids.
We survived the AIDS epidemic while far too many leaders remained silent.
We survived discrimination, rejection, harassment, and violence.
And ten years ago, we survived Pulse.
Not because we were untouched by tragedy, but because we refused to let hatred have the final word.
As we remember this painful anniversary, however, we must also be honest about the lessons Pulse still teaches us.
Acts of violence do not emerge from nowhere.
The individual who commits murder is responsible for their actions. But societies create conditions. Political rhetoric matters. Religious rhetoric matters. Media narratives matter. The language we use about one another matters.
When LGBTQIA2S people are portrayed as threats, dangers, predators, or somehow less deserving of dignity and humanity, that rhetoric does not simply disappear into the air. It creates a culture in which prejudice is normalized, discrimination is excused, and violence becomes easier to justify.
The person who pulls the trigger commits the crime.
But the culture that dehumanizes helps make such violence possible.
That was true ten years ago.
And it remains true today.
Across the country, we continue to witness efforts to erase LGBTQIA2S people from public life, censor our history, restrict healthcare, limit our freedoms, and portray our very existence as something that must be debated rather than respected.
As President of the Human Rights Alliance, I see these attacks for what they are. They are attempts to marginalize an already vulnerable community. They are attempts to turn neighbors against neighbors. They are attempts to convince people that some human beings are less worthy of protection, dignity, and equal treatment under the law.
We cannot allow that to happen.
The answer to hatred is not silence.
The answer is education.
The answer is advocacy.
The answer is visibility.
The answer is community.
The answer is ensuring that every generation understands both the history of our struggles and the importance of protecting the rights we have fought so hard to secure.
Rights are never permanently won.
Every generation is called to defend them.
Every generation is called to expand them.
Every generation is called to stand against the forces of fear and division.
As an intersex and nonbinary person, Pulse has always felt deeply personal to me. Like so many members of our community, I know what it means to be told that who you are is somehow wrong, dangerous, or unwelcome. I also know
the extraordinary power of a community that refuses to abandon its own.
That spirit of solidarity carried us through Pulse.
It carries us still.
Today we remember the forty-nine lives stolen from us far too soon.
We remember their humanity.
We remember their dreams.
We remember their joy.
And we honor them not simply through remembrance, but through action.
We educate.
We advocate.
We organize.
We vote.
We build community.
We defend human dignity.
And we continue the work of creating a world where every LGBTQIA2S person can live openly, safely, authentically, and without fear.
Ten years later, our community is still here.
We are still standing.
We are still fighting.
And despite every attempt to diminish us, we are still choosing love over hatred, hope over fear, and community over division.
May we never forget the forty-nine.
And may we honor their memory by continuing the work of justice.
Always.
Love wins.
M. A. D’Arrigo
HRA Board President