Last Sunday morning I met a friend at the boarded-up gas station
on Bannock Highway. We biked a 43 mile round trip trek to McCammon. The workout
took four hours as we visited, stopped for snacks and took in the green hills
that cradle our valley in June. I saw headlines about a shooting in Orlando
before the ride, but it wasn’t until I was home and reaching for ibuprofen that
the monstrous nature of the attack became clear.
I’m getting married to a wonderful woman this September.
She’s beautiful and smart and loves everything about me. OK, almost everything.
We took our engagement pictures this
week up Cusic Creek amidst the lush wildflowers, and last Sunday morning while
I was biking to McCammon oblivious to the desecration in Orlando, the photos
started coming in on my phone.
I expected to have the usual engagement questions last Sunday
afternoon: How’s my hair? Do I have a double chin? Do you think people can tell
I’ve gained 25 pounds in the last six months as I’ve struggled to balance my
diet and exercise plan in this prelude to step-parenthood?
But instead, we asked each other: Do we really want to
announce this in the paper? Are you sure we’ll be safe at an outdoor, highly
populated, public reception? Does the newspaper always print the names of
marriage licenses? Our wedding planning was interrupted with severe and
immediate concerns for safety.
I’ve heard people say “It doesn’t matter that the victims
were gay”, and in one sense, I appreciate that LGBT people are included in the
general classification of humanity and any loss of life is tragic. On the other
hand, it matters very much to me that the victims were gay because it highlights
why many of us still live in fear. When
any group you belong to is targeted, it takes on a different element of
meaning.
As I went back and forth between news stories and engagement
pictures last Sunday, I didn’t need to hear that my hair was fine, my chin was
singular and the extra weight looks good on me. I needed to hear much, much
more.
I needed to hear Pocatello Mayor Brian Blad speak at the
vigil at Caldwell Park acknowledging our humanity, and I needed to hear the
local Muslim Iman offer the kind words and prayers that he did.
I received an email from Idaho U.S. Attorney Wendy Olson. I
met Ms. Olson at a community conversation at City Hall a few weeks ago. After an
hour long conversation on building community trust between residents and the
Pocatello Police Department, a sign-in sheet was passed around to gather emails
and phone numbers. I didn’t expect her to use my email address for a personal
correspondence in which she began “I am reaching out to check in on members and
supporters of the LGBTQ community in various parts of Idaho in light of
yesterday’s horrific events at the Pulse nightclub in Orlando. While any words
I have are insufficient to describe the magnitude of the horror in Orlando, please
know that the U.S. Attorney’s Office in Idaho stands ready to support all LGBTQ
persons in Idaho.” I didn’t realize until after I read those words, but I
needed to hear them this week.
I
also had an exchange with Pocatello Police Chief Scott Marchand. He asked for
ideas and discussed ways to build, maintain and strengthen the Police
Department’s relationship with the LGBT community. He also noted plans to have
officers at the Pocatello Pride event for both community interaction and to add
a touch of security so people can enjoy the event. I needed to hear that this
week.
Some of the most poignant words I needed to hear this week came
in a speech from a self-proclaimed “balding, youngish, middle-aged, straight,
white, male, Republican politician with all of the expectations and privileges
that come with those labels.” Utah LT
Gov Spencer Cox choked on a heartfelt apology for his past treatment of LGBT
individuals; talked of his anger, sadness and confusion over the attack—words
I’ve used to describe my own feelings; and he called for “less politics and
more kindness.” Great words for any audience.
I know actions are needed in response to the many facets of
the Orlando shooting, but actions begin with thoughts and words, and perhaps my
favorite words that spilled out on social media were inspired by a stranger’s
viral post.
“I love you. I want you to be alive. I will stand with you.”
It doesn’t get more basic or simple than that. I don’t like to blanketly speak
for others, but I’ll go ahead and say that LGBT people needed to hear that this
week.
