7.14.16 Editor’s Desk

One month in, one tiny month of racing around inside of our minds and outside of our offices, trying to make sense of a senseless tragedy that killed 49 people, and you would think that the callouses would be maturing. They aren’t.

Our resolve is getting stronger, but our lives – and those lives of the revelers left in the aftermath of one night’s insanity – are still numbingly drifting in the theoretical ether, thereafter. June 12 stopped the clock in many ways. June 12 smacked us into action. June 12 made us angry. June 12 made us cry. The victims of the Pulse massacre will never be forgotten, nor will the indelible and shadowing trauma of that very early Sunday morning in which our friends were trapped and killed and maimed.

We’re not here to harp on things or to bathe in misery. We’re here to make a difference. Myself, I spent some time with my husband and a couple of friends from Washington, D.C., this weekend trying to put our best feet forward and climb out from the morass of tears and regrets. But even still – even still – the two trips that I took this weekend to Pulse, the scene of the crime, have been riddled with tears and uncertainty and flowers and pictures and the faint sound of nothingness. We have been violated as a community. We don’t stand for that around here. America won’t stand for it either.

In the ensuing weeks beyond the massacre, we have witnessed other violent explosions that have cost the lives – at least those publicly reported – of seven people caught in a racial divide. We have seen protests, sit-ins, petitions, love, outreach and an almost maniacal perseverance in Central Florida. This will never be forgotten. We are all one people: black, white, brown, gay, straight, Asian, Indian, American, bisexual, transgender – warm blooded people.

We’ve also seen the memorials set up around the community wither in Florida’s summer heat where the tears almost evaporate on their own accord, just waiting for the next wake-up call to make something, anything, happen. I was just asked by a sister LGBT newspaper, “How are you guys holding up?” The fact is, we haven’t had much time to even look up, much less hold ourselves in any vertical position. Watermark isn’t a large paper, but it is a group of strong, talented, empathetic individuals. There have been tugs and fights and rancor, but that’s because we’re a family living on a shoestring to try to keep the message clear: We are not going anywhere.

Two things I want to note at the prelude to this week’s issue. One, our beloved Jamie Hyman who has served Watermark as an ally, editor and electronic media guru for more than seven years is embarking on a new journey with her family to the U.K. Jamie’s been an asset to this company in so many ways, a rock on which we’ve leaned when solid rocks were most needed, even before I joined one year ago in the haze of marriage equality. We hope we can make it without her. We know she can make it without us! So, cheers to a bright future and a bright woman.

I also would like to encourage you to read through writer Greg Stemm’s cover piece on the turmoil happening in Uganda against LGBT individuals and the efforts being made by Floridians to create a sort of “underground railroad” to free people from the fetid devices of their cruel government. This story has been a long time in the making, and we figured that a little hope might temper down some of the horror in your – and our – hearts. It’s about individual people and the coalitions they form making a difference. We’re more than happy to be party to that kind of selflessness.

Throughout the issue you’ll find beautiful distractions and angular issues that relate directly to the plight at hand. You’ll find political commentary on planks in platforms and the curing of the great Sanders-Clinton wound. In coming weeks, we’ll be delving deeper into the aftermath of the Pulse tragedy and its subsequent unrest nationwide. We’ll be talking to law enforcement about ways forward that include the LGBT community, even celebrate the LGBT community. For now, though, let’s all take a minute to breathe, figure out how to help people who need us the most and shine so bright that it hurts.

Thank you, Orlando, for holding it together so well through the vigils and parades and protests and tears. This community, if anything, is creating a shining legacy to the 49 people who died and the 53 who were injured in our own downtown. It’s been a whole month? That’s what we keep saying to ourselves as we scrape the ink from our fingernails. We’re not done yet. Not even close.