There have been theatre and opera performances streamed live over the internet before, but until now the famous Broadway stages have been off limits. That will change June 30th, when BroadwayHD streams She Loves Me to customers not in a movie theater…
Hitachi-LG Data Storage is set to launch their newest USB 3.0 portable DVD writer, the GP65NB70. Measuring 141mm x 136.5mm x 14mm and weighing 200 grams, this slim and lightweight DVD writer (Black & White color options) is equipped with a USB 3.0 connection interface, M-DISC DVD/CD support and a 750KB of buffer memory.
Supporting Windows 10, Windows 8.1, Windows 8, Windows 7, Windows Vista (32/64bit), Windows XP (SP3 or higher) and Mac OS X (10.7.5) operating systems, the GP65NB70 promises to provide write speeds of up to 8x for DVD+/-R SL, 8x for DVD+RW, 6x for DVD+/-R DL, 6x for DVD-RW, 5x for DVD-RAM, 4x for M-DISC and 24x for CD-R/RW.
The Hitachi-LG GP65NB70 will be available from mid-June for unannounced price yet. [Product Page]
The post Hitachi-LG’s Upcoming GP65NB70 USB 3.0 Portable DVD Writer appeared first on TechFresh, Consumer Electronics Guide.
UQ Communications hits back with their new mobile Wi-Fi router, the Speed Wi-Fi NEXT W03. Measuring W120mm x D11.4mm x H62mm and weighing 127 grams, this pocket-friendly Wi-Fi router has a 2.4-inch 320 x 240 color touch panel, a micro-USB port and a 3000mAh battery, and supports up to 10 simultaneous connections via dual-band IEEE802.11ac/a/b/g/n connectivity.
Performance-wise, the Speed Wi-Fi NEXT W03 provides maximum downlink and uplink speeds of up to 220Mbps and 10Mbps in WiMAX 2+ or 150Mbps and 25Mbps in 4G LTE. Available in orange and white color options, the Speed Wi-Fi NEXT W03 will begin shipping from July 1st for unannounced price yet. [Product Page]
The post UQ Speed Wi-Fi NEXT W03 Mobile Wi-Fi Router appeared first on TechFresh, Consumer Electronics Guide.
If I had to choose one phrase to sum up America’s efforts against terrorism since 9/11, it would be that lay definition of mental illness, doing the same thing over and over expecting different results.
Following 9/11 we had to go after the terrorists in their dark lairs. So we did, in Afghanistan, then Iraq, then Libya, then Yemen, then by militarizing Africa, the Iraq again and then Syria. We’ve been bombing and invading places in the Middle East continuously since 9/11, every day expecting different results.
Literally days after 9/11, it was felt that the problem was the government did not know enough about what was happening inside the U.S. vis-vis terrorists, so the vast capabilities of the NSA and FBI were pointed inward. From a relatively modest start, we advanced to Snowden-esque levels where every phone call, every email and every GPS-tracked move of everyone is monitored, every day expecting different results.
When it seemed we did not have the intelligence and enforcement tools needed, we created a new cabinet level agency, the Department of Homeland Security. That quickly grew into one of the largest bureaucracies in America. We created terror fusion centers, staffed up at the FBI and CIA, every day expecting different results.
Orlando Shooter Omar Mateen
And that of course brings us to Orlando Shooter Omar Mateen, whom the FBI stalked for 10 months, interviewed twice and then ignored. Through that we learned that there are some 10,000 FBI terrorism investigations open, with new cases added daily as Americans are encouraged to see something and say something. The New York Times tells us tens of thousands of counterterrorism tips flow into the FBI each year, some maybe legitimate, others from “vengeful ex-spouses or people casting suspicion on Arab-Americans.”
The flood of leads is so relentless that counterterrorism agents hung a section of fire hose outside their offices in Northern Virginia as a symbol of their mission.
Intelligence Surge, or a Surge of Intelligence?
So having missed the Orlando shooter, the Boston Marathon bombers, angry white anti-abortion shooters here and there, the answer is obvious. We need more FBI resources (Hillary Clinton has already called for an “intelligence surge”), of course every day thereafter expecting different results.
It is almost as if by trying to track every branch, leaf and dirt clod in the forest we are missing the trees. By running down every panicked tip (can you imagine how many calls have come in since Sunday in Orlando?) as a CYA exercise, we get bitten in the YA part over and over.
By imagining we can track everyone and then sort them out, we are leaving outside the door the discussion of just why terrorists seem to keep attacking the U.S. Could it have something to do with our scorched earth policy in the Middle East?
By becoming terrified of every brown-skinned person and Muslim in America, we are leaving outside the door the discussion of how throwing innocent people off planes, maintaining secret no-fly lists, spying on whole communities, and giving national-level media platforms to every nut job that wants to rant about what they don’t know but hate anyway about Islam might be helping “radicalize” folks here at home and abroad.
And certainly never admitting that our culture of easily available weaponry might play a role shuts down any useful discussions about gun control.
I am sure it is reasonable to expect different results by tomorrow.
— This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.
“You gonna wear heels?” she shouted from beside the stereo in the back of the darkened studio. Her brown eyes locked into mine in the mirror.
Pausing to think, I pursed my lips together. “No, I think I’ll be barefoot. In stockings,” I called back, nodding my head to myself as I envisioned the fishnets, the garter belt.
Curled into a tight ball on the floor several feet in front of her, I was just small enough to fit under the beige, folding chair that hovered above me like a protective shell.
I really don’t feel like doing this, I thought to myself, as I breathed in the familiar smell of sweat, lodged deep in the wood beneath me. With it, I remembered the countless hours I had spent in similar studios since just after I was old enough to walk. Instantly, the part of me that knew how to let my body find the dance flicked ON.
The music started. I flopped onto my back, grabbed the chair legs behind my head, and shot my lower body out along the floor.
Hold up, they don’t love you like I love you
Rolling onto my side, I pressed my hands into the floor and slithered out from beneath the chair in one, two, three pushes.
Slow down, they don’t love you like I love you
Freed from my chrysalis, Beyoncé’s voice boomed and my body birthed a fierceness that pounced me onto my stomach.
Back up, they don’t love you like I love you
Chest rising like a cobra, I threw my head back.
Step down, they don’t love you like I love you
Pushing my hips back to my heels, I SLAPPED my hands to the ground.
Can’t you see there’s no other man above you?
Standing up, I shot my arms and legs out into wide “V’s” as I leapt through the air.
What a wicked way to treat the girl that loves you
Landing, breathless, with a triumphant smile, I turned to look at her.
She cut the music, threw her hands to her open mouth, and then slid them down her arms with a shiver.
“I have chills,” she gasped. “You nailed it! In one minute, you went from A to Z. From victim to heroine. I love it.”
Only an hour earlier, I had slumped into her dance studio, eyes swollen, heart heavy. An unexpected wave of grief (I had been doing so well!) had washed over me that afternoon, reducing me to a slobbering, thrashing heap on the couch.
Dancing was the last thing I felt like doing, but I made myself go. I had to go. The audition for the burlesque performance was next week, and I was determined to be there.
Since I had never danced burlesque before, I had booked a private dance lesson to help me choreograph the required 1-minute routine.
I wanted to dance to “Hold Up,” from Beyoncé ‘s album, Lemonade, because of a text a girlfriend had sent me one Sunday evening, several weeks earlier.
“You HAVE to watch Beyoncé’s new visual album, Lemonade! It’s on HBO. Trust me. You’ll really resonate with it.”
For the next hour, I laid in my new bed, in my new apartment. My purple MacBook air sat open on my lap. Back propped up against an impromptu headboard of stacked white pillows, I watched Beyoncé bash car windows with a baseball bat; sprawl over a chair and spread her stockinged legs with lustful longing; and, make-up-less in a black hoodie, stare blank and broken at the camera. Over the course of twelve songs, she expressed the full range of the feminine heart.
I couldn’t sleep that night. Inspiration tore through me. Feeling my strength and fire in a way I hadn’t in months, I scribbled page upon page in my journal. Sweet relief! I finally felt me again.
I had been in my own real-life chrysalis for the past four months – since an early-February night at the start of this year when my life, and my heart, shattered into a million different pieces.
While chopping sweet potatoes and kale for our dinner, my fiancé and partner of five years – whom I thought was the love of my life and my very best friend – told me that he had been intermittently cheating on and lying to me for the past two years, beginning just before we got engaged.
During the excruciating months that followed, I let life strip from me the very things that I held most dear: our relationship, the vision for our life, our home, our dog, and, hardest of all, my sense of self.
In the first weeks especially, I stopped recognizing myself. Usually a very self-reliant, independent woman who relishes her solitude, I couldn’t be alone, for the shock I felt was so great it sent me into an immobilizing panic.
Many told me that’s what it’s like when someone you love dies unexpectedly: there one minute, gone the next. I was always texting, talking on the phone, or sitting on a couch with one of my girlfriends or sisters. They tucked me into their beds, drew me baths, brought me meals, and took me on walks. My former partner also helped to hold space for my process during those early weeks.
On a near daily basis I sobbed on the phone to my mom, “I don’t know how I’m going to get through this. I don’t know how I’m going to get through this,” and sincerely meant it.
She always replied: “Sara, you are going to get through this. I promise. But right now, all you have to do is get through today. Let’s talk about how you’re going to get through today.”
All those seemingly interminable one-day-at-a-times have led me to this day, four months later. A day when I feel ready to tell my story.
As a public figure, my life becomes my work. It’s my path to share the pieces of my personal journey with the world as a means of helping others.
This is the greatest initiation of my life so far; and I know it’s a process that I will continue to digest and learn from. I intend to share more of the wisdom I’ve gleaned from all of this in the future, as I’m ready.
(And, it has to be said: I fully acknowledge that, just prior to all of this, I had published my second book about the Heroine’s Journey and a woman’s path to transmuting life crises into initiations. At the time of writing it, I would have never guessed the far deeper dimensions at which I’d now have to embody those teachings.)
I’m revealing this to you today not to be the “expert” who has everything figured out, point fingers, play the “Poor Me” tune, perpetuate male-bashing, or perseverate on the past. I offer it in service of our healing through truth telling. I offer it to presence myself in my new life. I offer it to restore congruency between my personal and public lives. I offer it to give a fresh voice and perspective to a wound that countless women have suffered throughout time.
Over the past months, I’ve had to fight really hard not to skulk, silent and ashamed, on life’s sidelines; for the insecurity and humiliation I felt was massive. I kept wishing that I could turn to another woman in the spotlight who shared my experience and had spoken up about it publicly. Yet I quickly saw that we don’t have many empowering role models for women expressing the anger, grief, and wisdom that emerges from weathering relational treachery.
While I know that there are as many ways to handle a situation like this as there are women on this planet (and the path I’ve chosen through this is the right one for me and my former relationship), I wanted to feel like I was “normal” for feeling what I did. Above all, I wanted some validation and hope for where I was heading.
When I watched Lemonade, I knew things were shifting. It’s as if the Goddess Herself spoke to us through Queen B, showing us a new way forward. Through her brazen lyrics and uncensored creativity and embodiment, I felt hope that there’s room for me, and for us, to triumph after heartbreak in a way that wasn’t available to our mothers.
I didn’t want to hold onto to this pain for years. Remembering that resentment is a lazy form of grief, I vowed to myself that I would feel everything I needed to feel, express everything I needed to express, own what I needed to own, learn the lessons I needed to learn, and let go until the fire in my heart only burned Love, clean and true. I vowed that I would move on. Not part way. All the way.
To do this, like Beyoncé, I had to turn lemons into lemonade by making empowered meaning out of, what was to me, the horrific and the unfathomable.
As I choose to see my experience as a gift from the Divine Mother to help me become the woman I’m here to be. I began to view it as an answered prayer, from the deepest, most secret recesses of my heart.
When I paused and looked at what I’m being forced to learn, and the woman I’m being asked to become through this process, I knew this was what I had signed up for. I knew this was mine to take on. This allowed me to say a full-hearted, “Yes,” to a betrayal that spliced all the way through my core and, at times, felt like it would destroy me.
Until now, I’ve never sensed much of a connection to Kali, the Hindu goddess of death, transformation, and destruction. Black-faced and clad with a necklace of skulls, she scared me. I thought, “She’s for other people, but not for me.” Yet, through these months, I have felt her steady presence, like a cloud of black smoke always hovering around me.
With her near, I’ve come to understand that it’s because I am so deeply loved that all of this transpired. I now see that I was stuck and living out of alignment with my core self. Since violence is an essential part of the creative process, only brute force could shake me free of a life and identity that had become wrongly fixed and stagnant so that I could be set on my true, life path.
Owning my story includes expressing my despair, frustration, grief, shock, and anger about the betrayal, while also learning to see myself as the source of my experience.
While the immense love between my former partner and I is realer than real, we’ve both been looking closely at the shadow dimensions in our union, for every relationship has both, in equal measure. Through this, we’ve come to recognize the many ways that we reenacted the pain from our childhoods. Despite how conscious we both are, and the tremendous amount of work we put into ourselves, our spiritual practices, and our relationship, the depth of our commitment to Awakening and love for one another brought these shadow elements to the surface, in order for us to heal them – first together, and now, separately.
During these past months I’ve done that through reckoning with how I withheld and lived a limited expression of my love; ignored red flags; overrode feeling myself and truly seeing another in order to control life and achieve a specific outcome; clung to immature, fairytale fantasies about relationships; escaped emotional/relational pain through isolation and overworking; didn’t express my honest needs out of fear of being abandoned; devalued myself by settling for less than I deserved or desired; and relived old, family traumas. As a result of this, I lost much of my spark and passion for life, increasingly becoming a painfully dimmed down version of myself.
The biggest work for me continues to be around healing and deepening my relationship with my inner wisdom, especially since that is the foundation of the work that I do with other women. Looking back, I see that my intuition was accurately guiding me all along, but I trusted external guidance over my own. I received signals through my body and dreams about what was going on (that contradicted what I was being told). As a result, I came to believe that I was incredibly jealous and neurotic. While that was confusing, painful, and damaging, I now have a fierce respect for my intuition and how in tact and potent she actually is.
This crisis forced me into the heart of my deepest, core wound; and it offered me no escape from it. The only way out, I knew, was in and through. There was/is no relief other than feeling it fully and being alone with myself. No book, conversation, teaching, activity, substance, or healing session could lessen my pain or heal that wound. They could only support me in being strong enough to face it. Then, only my own, ongoing love and presence could begin to heal it.
There have been many hours, and many days, when I’ve simply had to get back in bed, pull up the covers, hug my teddy bear, cry, and feel my pain. As scary as it can be, the only way to digest it, I’ve found, has been to meet and feel it directly. Over, and over, and over again.
While I’ve suffered a lot, I have so much to be grateful for. No lives were lost. Although my body is still recovering from the stress and trauma, I am in good health overall. I have an amazing support network of friends, families, healers, and teachers/mentors; and this experience has brought me much closer to them. I live in one of the most conscious, beautiful places in the world. I’m blessed to have built a business that both allows and requires me to step back and undergo these inner journeys.
Out of necessity, this process gifted me with the opportunity to tap into my full strength and capacity. I got the chance to call on all of me, and to surrender more deeply to the highest plan for my life. I’m amazed at the goodness that continues to unfold as a result of this.
Today I’m writing to you from my new home (that I adore). I’m looking for a new dog. I’m dating. I still intend to get married and have a family. But, first and foremost, I’m marrying my Self, abiding in the truth that I’m whole with or without any of these things.
I reside in the stark recognition that true security can only be found in embracing uncertainty; and safety can only be sourced from being true to oneself. I respect and love myself and this precious life more fiercely than ever. I trust my ability to fall apart completely, allowing an intrinsic order within to put me back together.
And I fall to my knees in gratitude for the unprecedented joy that’s blooming in this unbreakable heart.
Thank you for sharing this journey with me. May we always know how deeply we are loved.
Read the original post at www.TheWayoftheHappyWoman.com
— This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.
I was invited to speak at one of Orlando’s largest and most progressive employers, Lockheed Martin for their ERG PRIDE Month. Despite the heinous violence our community was enduring this week, it was decided to proceed. As I was leaving I was handed this powerful letter written by David Tod Boudreaux.
An Open Letter to The Pulse Shooter
It is not much more than 72 hours since you walked into Pulse Orlando and opened fire. You took 49 young lives right in front of us – in our backyard. People who were playing, laughing, and loving. People who had so much to offer the world – to you.
Omar, you don’t know this, but the painful irony of your actions is that the people you gunned down would have invited you into our world and called you friend if you had let them. They would have played, laughed, and loved with you. That you and others like you couldn’t see that is perhaps the most tragic aspect of this event. But we move on.
Perhaps you were trying to instill fear in us, but you failed. We will not fear. Did you think the GLBT community would capitulate? You picked the wrong community for that. We have faced the hate as a community that eroded your soul for as long as we have been on this earth – much longer than you. We have learned that your hatred does not define us.
We define ourselves, and long before ISIS and your skewed worldview became prolific, we chose to carry the banner of love. That can never be taken away. You should know – you tried. I only wish you had lived to see how miserably you failed. We are the GLBT community. We do not run. We do not cower. We do not break. You may have taken 49 lives and injured so many more who are fighting for their lives at this very moment in our hospitals… but their ambition, their spirit, their love will, as it always has, live on in all of us. We will be stronger for it – for them.
If you thought you could teach us a lesson, you were wrong. There is no lesson in this that we have not already learned. We are a community that has been forged in fire. We choose love always as our response.
Perhaps you were trying to stoke the flames of war – create such animosity toward your cause that we would lash out and exacerbate the global crisis that continues to plague humankind, but you failed. Do you think we will cry out against Islam? Against Afghanistan?
The thing about us is that we are not an ethnic, religious, or political group – we are everyone. We are Islamic, so you can’t make us hate Islam. We are Afghan, so you can’t make us hate your home. We are Jewish, and Buddhist, and black, and white, and Latino. We are European and Asian, we are Christian and atheist. We are your brothers and sisters, even if you don’t know us. We are mothers and fathers. We are sons and daughters. We are everywhere – from every walk of life that humanity has created. We are here to stay, and we will not hate. We are too busy loving. Loving each other, loving those who are gone, and finding within ourselves the courage to love even those like you.
You see, we know from personal experience that hate will destroy us and love will save us. You simply cannot erase that fact with an assault rifle, and we will not acquiesce to your demands. We will show the world what it means to love.
I wish you could have seen the world stand still and bow their heads in prayer for our well-being. I wish you had seen the thousands of our neighbors who stood in line for hours to give their own blood to help your victims. I wish you had seen the very humanity you attempted to snuff out, overflowing from every corner of The City Beautiful, this great state, and our beloved country. I wish you had seen our nation – your nation – get it right in the wake of your sad, misguided acts.
As early as a decade ago I cannot say that I am sure we would have seen the same reaction to what you did, but you didn’t kill 49 young men and women a decade ago, you did it now – and America has come so very far. Our allies, our friends, outside the community who support us, encourage us, love us – they stepped up, too. They didn’t let this be an attack on the GLBT community, they acknowledged that this was an attack on us all. You see we are a part of them as they are a part of us. We are One Orlando, One America, One Community.
Just a day after your rampage, and where are we? Yes, you will find some of us still with tear-stained faces. You will find some of us still trying to make sense of what seems like a changed world. You will find some of us are gone. And you will find the rest of us holding them always in our hearts, running with their banner, and never ever letting hate prevail over the love in which we have fought our entire lives to live. You picked the wrong target. While you may have wounded us, we respond with love and action.
For ourselves, for our friends who became your victims, for future generations, for humanity.
Saint Francis of Assisi said “All the darkness in the world cannot extinguish the light of a single candle.” You tried, but the destruction you brought only fired up more candles shining bright across this world.
We stand in solidarity. We are gay. We are lesbian. We are bisexual. We are transgender. We are straight. We are all the people who have ever had to fight for love and acceptance. We are allies. We are Pulse. We are Orlando. We are America. We are humanity. We are love. And we will win.
May you rest in more peace than you found in life, and may the families and friends of your victims find solace and comfort in the outpouring of love from the entire human race.
— This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.
“The fact that it took place at a club frequented by the LGBT community I think is also relevant,” said President Obama after the unspeakable tragedy in Orlando, when a gunman killed 49 people and injured 53, the worst mass shooting in U.S. history. The identity of the victim has been either dimly acknowledged or not acknowledged by two groups – Republican leaders and Muslim imams.
The pattern of many GOP politicians muting the identity of the victims is in sharp contrast to their dogged attacks on anyone, particularly President Obama, for not mentioning the “Islamic” identity of the perpetrator. By one report, not a single congressional Republican who tweeted about the Orlando shooting mentioned the obvious identity of the victims. Neither has the Rick Scott, the Governor of Florida where the shooting took place. Many, if not most, GOP leaders have spent their political careers fighting to deny LGBT people their due civil rights. Sympathizing with the people they have been bashing is a bridge too far for many.
Muslim imams and scholars, in general, have condemned the mass shootings in Orlando. But I am struggling to find even one who acknowledged and empathized with the identities of the victims. Noted scholar Yasir Qadhi on Facebook talked at length about the unfair expectations levied on the Muslim community, which he defines as “the problem of being a minority under pressure.” But conspicuously missing from his post was any mention of the actual victims of this tragedy. This is especially troubling because what unfolded in Orlando serves as a potent reminder that the LGBT community is also a minority group “under pressure.” They too are imperiled by the unjust treatment of minorities that Qadhi is denouncing. In foregrounding the menace that is Islamophobia and brushing past the salient reality of homophobia, Qadhi ignores the bitter truth of why this tragedy happened in the first place.
Another leader, Zaid Shakir, who just a few days ago led the memorial services for Muhammad Ali a person who strove mightily for the human dignity of all people, in his Facebook post failed to condemn the bigotry or spare a single sentiment of solidarity with the only subgroup in America who today suffers from legalized discrimination.
Not naming the primary identity of the victims is not just an omission; it adds to the oppression. Erasing their identities from the narrative reinforces a bigoted society’s desire to erase their existence. It is as callous as saying that 9-11 is an act against all humanity while discounting the fact that Americans were targeted simply because of who they are. Or saying that the murder of three Muslim students in North Carolina was just another mass murder when it was obvious that the identity of the victims played an important role in their deaths.
Tragedies are often crossroads of choice. We can allow ourselves to retreat into the comforts of our preconceptions. Or we can question the norm and seek to carve a better path. In Orlando, the Muslim community chose the latter. They rallied not only to distance themselves from the ideology of the perpetrator but more importantly, to express solidarity with the LGBT community. Muslim groups banded together in a coalition to raise funds for the victims and have pledged to handover those funds to Equality Florida, a pro-LGBT group. Last time I checked, their efforts have raised over $60,000 from over 1000 supporters.
In a recent interview on CNN, a local Muslim leader Rasha Mubarak, underscored camaraderie between the Muslim and LGBT communities while sending her heartfelt condolences to the families and loved ones of those killed or injured. And yet, the group she represents, the Council on American-Islamic Relations (CAIR), has been notably silent on the many initiatives for LGBT rights, from marriage equality nationally to civil rights protections for LGBT people in local human rights ordinances. Groups who demand equal accommodation of Muslims at workplaces do not yet have policies protecting against the discrimination of LGBT people in their own organizations, oblivious of the civil rights of LGBT Muslims.
In the face of violence in the name of Islam by deranged lone wolves and the demonization of Muslims by unhinged demagogues, American Muslims will continue to struggle against Islamophobia. In this struggle, the LGBT community will remain a valuable ally. Many LGBT leaders have courageously reminded people that in their moment of anger and anguish they should not turn against Muslims, who are, in a smaller way, also victims of this tragedy.
And yet, Muslim leaders have shown a shocking indifference to LGBT rights. LGBT Muslims are often shunned at local mosques. Pressure is put on them to “convert” away from their natural homosexuality. American Islam has to be rooted in American pluralism. American Muslim communities have to find their own voice and, as the stories surfacing from Orlando highlight, in many cases they are. I hope that the tragedy at Pulse compels the rest of the community to recognize that we must serve as partners and allies with all Americans in our common struggle for equality. We must embrace our common humanity.
— This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.
Content warning: homophobia, transphobia, racism, violence
This week, we watched homophobia, transphobia, and racism lead to its inevitable conclusion: the murders of forty-nine queer and trans people — most of them queer and trans people of color — at a gay nightclub, Pulse, in Orlando, Florida. In the aftermath, I watched bigoted politicians like Donald Trump brag about flying flags at half mast, label the massacre a tragedy while simultaneously refusing to vote on a bill that would protect queer people, and ignore the racism involved in the murders while vowing to ban all Muslims from the United States.
But there was something else that bothered me about the reactions of many well-intentioned activist friends: #SayTheirNames.
The hashtag arose from the murders of trans women of color. Its goal is to raise awareness about the media’s erasure of genderqueer, racially diverse narratives. Naturally the hashtag again arose after the massacre at Pulse as the names of the victims were released, and I saw dozens of posts listing the names of those killed:
Edward Sotomayor Jr., 34 years old; Stanley Almodovar III, 23 years old; Luis Omar Ocasio, Capo, 20 years old; Juan Ramon Guerrero, 22 years old; Eric Ivan Ortiz-Rivera, 36 years old; Peter O. Gonzalez-Cruz, 22 years old; Luis S. Vielma, 22 years old; Kimberly Morris, 37 years old; Eddie Jamoldroy Justice, 30 years old; Darryl Roman Burt II, 29 years old; Deonka Deidra Drayton, 32 years old; Alejandro Barrios Martinez, 21 years old; Anthony Luis Laureanodisla, 25 years old; Jean Carlos Mendez Perez, 35 years old; Franky Jimmy Dejesus Velazquez, 50 years old; Amanda Alvear, 25 years old; Martin Benitez Torres, 33 years old; Luis Daniel Wilson-Leon, 37 years old; Mercedez Marisol Flores, 26 years old; Xavier Emmanuel Serrano Rosado, 35 years old; Gilberto Ramon Silva Menendez, 25 years old; Simon Adrian Carrillo Fernandez, 31 years old; Oscar A Aracena-Montero, 26 years old; Enrique L. Rios, Jr., 25 years old; Miguel Angel Honorato, 30 years old; Javier Jorge-Reyes, 40 years old; Joel Rayon Paniagua, 32 years old; Jason Benjamin Josaphat, 19 years old; Cory James Connell, 21 years old; Juan P. Rivera Velazquez, 37 years old; Luis Daniel Conde, 39 years old; Shane Evan Tomlinson, 33 years old; Juan Chevez-Martinez, 25 years old; Jerald Arthur Wright, 31 years old; Leroy Valentin Fernandez, 25 years old; Tevin Eugene Crosby, 25 years old; Jonathan; Antonio Camuy Vega, 24 years old; Jean C. Nives Rodriguez, 27 years old; Rodolfo Ayala-Ayala, 33 years old; Brenda Lee Marquez McCool, 49 years old; Yilmary Rodriguez Sulivan, 24 years old; Christopher Andrew Leinonen, 32 years old; Angel L. Candelario-Padro, 28 years old; Frank Hernandez, 27 years old; Paul Terrell Henry, 41 years old; Antonio Davon Brown, 29 years old
But why do I feel a tinge of guilt saying their names?
A post by one of my activist friends, Sam, in the aftermath of the murders caught my attention: “My thoughts are with all the LGBTQ folks who were outed to their families and friends last night by being injured or killed in the shooting.”
And Sam’s post hit me because I realized then that not only were all the victims from the Pulse shooting outed to their families, but outed to the world. While some murdered in Orlando were public about their sexualities and gender identities, not all of them were, and certainly most weren’t public in an international-news-story sense.
One of the sacred things about gay clubs like Pulse is the protection they’re supposed to offer for queer and trans people trying to be themselves. In a world that’s hostile to queer and trans people, particularly queer and trans people of color, being out simply isn’t always possible. After all, being out exposes people to homophobic and transphobic violence. I’ve been out as lesbian since founding an organization in 2011, and I found myself the victim of a hate crime at Columbia University last year.
As all of us who are queer or trans know, coming out is extremely personal. The backlash in the queer and trans community when people are “outed” by others is normally fierce. But somehow, all bets are off in the aftermath of Orlando, which is ironic because the murders occurred due to the homophobic, transphobic, racist hatred many of those staying in the closet are trying to avoid.
On one hand, I understand the need to recognize people as individuals, as human beings who lost their lives in a horrific hate crime, whose narratives as (predominately) Latinx queer and trans people are being erased by Islamophobic, politically-motivated rhetoric. On the other hand, I question if naming those killed is still a violation of privacy, us hijacking the narratives of those murdered for our own agendas.
So should we #SayTheirNames? Should we leave it up to families and friends to name their loved ones publicly, if they so choose, instead of making that decision for them? I honestly don’t know.
We’re in uncharted territory, not in terms of mass shootings or even brutal murders in gay clubs, but in the cisgender, heterosexual outrage after a hate crime. But as a queer person, one who chose to out herself and had to live with horrific consequences, I struggle to #SayTheirNames. The intention behind the hashtag is to preserve the humanity of the victims, but I can’t help but wonder: maybe, just maybe, is us controlling their representation by outing them stripping them of their humanity even more?
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I’m still reeling from the tragedy in Orlando. Powerless, frightened, sickened, frustrated, and devastated. These are all words that aim to describe how I feel. But there are no words to truly convey how the surviving victims and their loved ones feel. My heart simply aches for our country.
Where is our future headed?
We know the facts. That this was the deadliest mass shooting in U.S. history. That 49 were killed and 53 more were injured. That the killer easily obtained an assault rifle despite his history with the FBI. That there have been 141 mass shootings (more than 4 people involved) in 2016 already.
But what makes a tragedy so tragic is the fact that the consequences leave us with a hole that no statistic, justification, apology, speech, vigil, or prayer can fill. How many more holes can our country take before we are so fragile we crumble?
Many people question why one would choose to bring a child into such a scary world. To me, as a mother, that answer is simple. Each and every child is a hope for our future. Each boy and girl has the potential to create change – every little act of kindness as the potential to domino into a life altering change.
As a mother, I look into my innocent baby’s eyes and hope that he will be one of the good ones. I hope that he will always choose love. Hope is a powerful weapon. But it takes more than hope. It takes action – from us all.
Love is not a singular activity. In order to bring change we must act together. As a society we must love one another, help one another, accept one another.
Teaching acceptance, kindness, and love start at home. As a mother I aim to teach my children these basic moral codes. I promise to tell and show my children how to choose love every day.
But we are more than our singular homes. One day our children will leave our homes and the power to teach goodness will not be solely in our hands as parents. These principles must continue to be taught in our schools, our places of worship, and our places of work. It takes all of us. Not just parents, not just teachers, not just leaders. The power to bring about change takes all of us. Straightforward concept, right?
Yet, we are failing. Why is such an easy task, to be kind, accepting and loving, so hard to achieve?
As a mother I promise to never stop searching for that answer. I promise that in every step I take I will choose love. Together I believe we can move forward to peace, I won’t let go of that hope.
You can read more at Katie’s blog: A Beautiful Little Adventure or follow along on instagram.
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Today, instead of being with us, you are thousands of miles away.
Again.
It’s not your fault, and we don’t hold it against you. We always knew this life wouldn’t be easy, but no matter what we are still a family, and nothing; not time, distance, or the United States Navy can ever take that away from us. We may celebrate a lot of holidays via technology, or a couple of days in advance of the actual date, but that doesn’t really matter to us anymore, does it? We’ve been doing this too long now to shed a tear over stuff like that. Does it mean we are numb to it? No, I don’t think so.
I think it just means we’ve learned to truly cherish the time we do have together. Any time is good time, right? Dates on a calendar…well, they have their meaning. But the days I truly care about are the ones when I hear your keys opening the front door. Those are the days that I really pine for.
I write a lot about motherhood, but today, I want to write about you. Not just because it is the day in which millions of people celebrate the people in their life named Dad, Daddy, Poppa…but because your sacrifice deserves to be written about.
I see it in your eyes, before you have to leave us. It’s a mix of disappointment for having to leave once again, and a determination to come back to us safely. Never do you complain about having to go, we both know that wouldn’t change a thing; but I know you dream of a day where you never have to say goodbye again.
I know this because I dream of it too.
I know it hurts you when she cries after we Skype. Or when she asks, “Where’s papa?” and I have to tell her your’e “at work”. Without fully comprehending it, she is just now learning what goodbye means. She doesn’t know how you talk to her from my phone or laptop, she just knows that her Daddy is inside that box. Don’t be sad when this happens honey, she loves you. You are her Papa. Her hero.
Even through Skype you can make her smile so bright, showing us that mouth that is now full of teeth. She wants to play hide and go seek with you and makes you count down while she burrows under pillows, peeking her head up just enough to reveal those smiling eyes. And even though you can’t chase her, it’s your turn, “you count!”, she says.
Our youngest is still too small to know how important you are yet, but she will one day. Until then, she is just content learning the features of your face and smiling that gummy smile.
As for me, I have learned that I am not me without you. When you are gone, I am like superwoman they say, but really- I am just keeping my head above water till you return. Every day something happens that reminds me that though I can take care of the kids by myself, I don’t do it because I want to, I do it because I am called to. The kids need their father and I need my husband.
No matter where you lay your head tonight, know that you are with us, and we are with you. I love you more than words can describe, and I am so thankful that we get to share in this blessing called parenthood. Many years before we had our daughters, I knew you were the Father I wanted for them. I have always known you would be a great Dad and you prove it to us every single day. I know that without a doubt, you put us before you put yourself. I know there will be many more holidays like this to come, where you are “there” and we are “here”, but I also know that there will be many more days, moments, and memories that we will share together to make up for them.
Thank you my love, thank you for everything. Happy Father’s Day.
This post was adapted from the original post on A Navy Wife’s Life.
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This is site is run by Sascha Endlicher, M.A., during ungodly late night hours. Wanna know more about him? Connect via Social Media by jumping to about.me/sascha.endlicher.
