06.30.16 Editor’s Desk

06.30.16 Editor’s Desk
Billy Manes
Billy Manes

As the whole world stares at Orlando through teary eyes after the terrible incident at Pulse that took the lives of 49 vibrant people, stellar individuals from our community, we are in the process of decompressing. If you can only imagine the absolute horror that comes with both the truths and items of speculation about a mass murder in your community – and let us not forget the many more wounded – then maybe you can fathom how far our growing need for a surface, or a horizon, really is. This issue is about finding our footing, about finding our way out.

When I was 28, I worked the door of that very same venue, although it wasn’t called Pulse then; it was a little Italian restaurant called Dante’s, a sort of ramshackle venue for amazing jangle-pop-folk-rock Orlando musical talent. It wasn’t gay; I was, but that didn’t matter to anyone. I was just there out front taking in cash for events, hair akimbo, mind alight.

But everything has changed now. Orlando, as a relatively young “city” in the post-Disney days, wasn’t necessarily prepared for an AR-15 in a suburban local bar on a Latin night. I haven’t slept or eaten correctly in two weeks, although I’m lucky I even have the opportunity. This has been an exercise in plate tectonics of the societal sort; it has made us all potential victims, made us all afraid.

Since that terrible evening, I’ve walked several routes. I have been in international media trying to explain that Florida is not a hotbed of hate, that we deserve our freedoms, that this was a hate crime, even if there might be some hot-potato terrorism rumors still being processed. I have also been locking myself in my dark bedroom as often as possible, because I cannot believe my world has come to this. I have been shaken, scared and knocked down by this. But, just like with Orlando, that kind of defeatism isn’t going to stick.

You know what else happened in the two weeks since this unspeakable crime? More than 200,000 people gathered in St. Petersburg for St. Pete Pride. I rode on the Watermark float and I worked our booth. I stared into the eyes of children, kids who still have hope, and I said, “We love you.” Here in OUR Pride month, we have nothing to be ashamed of.

If you’ll allow me, these are the words that husband Tony Mauss wrote about this just days after the tragedy, and they are words I hold in my head like palatable truths. They are more than I could have mentioned, and that’s why he’s my legal fucking husband.

“During the last four days I have been asked not infrequently if I was afraid. If I was afraid that what happened at Pulse would also happen to me. My immediate emotional response is … My entire life … But I’m not putting this here to say that. I’m putting this here to talk about my REAL FEARS in the wake of the slaughter…

My real fear is that in a few more days this will be over. That the national news will have wrapped this up in a tidy narrative that will not only cease the dialogue about the deeper more insidious issues that birthed this precise eruption of violence, but will appease the guilt and negate the culpability of those who perpetuate their own particular malfeasant brand of hate.

My fear is that we will remove the actual violence from the event… That he will no longer be that man with that gun, but “a shooter”; an ephemeral idea; easily categorized as the general fears of the countless extrapolated dangers of being alive. That those who have died will become mere names; emotional sound talismans we dial up from our collective psyche to reassure ourselves that we indeed engaged, that we did something, that we FELT IT, that this ‘feeling’ was enough.

My fear is that the mechanisms that manifested this definitive act of insanity will be once again be placated by our own unwillingness to actually engage in the very real day to day, long term conversations about the nuances of this soul wrenching tragedy.”

This needs to stop. We should not be afraid. We must be vigilant. The gun lobby, the religious lobby, the hate lobby won’t win this time, even if an Esquire reporter tells me in an interview, “The worst part is nothing will change.” Oh, it better.

Here at Watermark, we love you all and we try so hard. But this has been one of the most trying moments of our lives. If you need anything from us, ask. There are many resources developing out there. And if you want to know how to process grief, read the cover story of this issue. It may save you some pain. Thanks from the Watermark team. We will get through this.

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