On June 12, Orlando, Fla., was the site of the deadliest homophobic attack in recent history.
To call it by any other name would be to erase the reality and the identity of the people who died in Pulse nightclub that night.
These people — young, old, gay, lesbian, straight, transgender and bi — were doing what many probably did every weekend: go out for a dance and drink in a safe place, then head home to sleep off the hangover. This night, however, was the last night for 49 of them. They couldn't say, "See you in the morning." Their good night was silenced by the sound of a rifle that spewed hate and spilled their blood.
The pulse of Pulse nightclub stopped that night. But for me, as a black gay man who fled Nigeria for the United Kingdom because I was attacked for my sexuality, the news made my pulse pound harder. It brought me back to a time when I saw Orlando in my everyday life.
