How do we feel when the patrons of the Pulse Club in Orlando are shot? And are there any lessons we can learn from this tragedy?
Any misfortune that occurs in the world gives us a chance to become more human. When we experience compassion, we feel our belonging to another person. We mentally put ourselves in his place and live through difficult moments with him. Sometimes the suffering of others is unbearable for us and we drive it away from ourselves. But if we find the strength in ourselves to feel it, to experience compassion, this feeling unites us: we are all people, we are all mortal. I’m thinking about Mina Justice. She corresponded with her son Eddie, who was taken hostage, in the minutes that turned out to be his last. «He’s coming. I will die». To know that your son may die and you cannot help him in any way is almost unbearable to even imagine.
Will the attack in Orlando change us? I think it depends on us. For those who saw the news about the death of «representatives of sexual minorities», this event will not change anything at all. For those who saw the news that people died, this event gives a chance to become a little more human. To feel that what unites us all is life and death, love and loss? – much stronger and deeper than our differences in culture, language or sexual orientation. This is exactly what a simple phrase means: «I am Orlando.»
“Compassion, if it is not ostentatious, is not a sign of social or sexual affiliation. It’s a sign of belonging to humanity.»
Sympathy for “strangers” is a very painful topic. We often look back at each other: is it right that we now sympathize? Sometimes we even reproach each other: why did you sympathize with this, then, but not with this? Maybe you are not like that, “not ours”? But compassion, if it is not ostentatious, is not a sign of social or sexual affiliation. This is a sign of belonging to humanity. No more. But no less. Compassion for gays does not make a person gay. Compassion for a killer does not make a killer. Compassion and love are what we often lack in everyday life. And we do not think about it until some terrible event happens, which could not happen if we were all a little more human in relation to other people and to ourselves. “If I speak with the tongues of men and angels, but have no love, then I am a ringing brass or a sounding cymbal.” (1 Cor. 13:1)
New details are coming out today. Omar Matin, who shot the club’s patrons, worked as a security guard. He was 29. He was married. He visited the mosque and even made a pilgrimage to Mecca. His strict father named Siddiq believed that the Almighty should punish homosexuals. Omar’s friends say that Siddique called his son gay. Omar did drop in for a drink at that ill-fated Pulse Club from time to time. And once he saw two guys kissing on the street and was furious. And one day he went to a club with an automatic rifle. We don’t know for sure if Omar was gay. But we know for certain that this possibility worried him greatly.
Some people think that all homophobes who hate gays and lesbians are closeted homosexuals. In fact, this is not at all the case. Approximately half of heterosexuals at least once in their lives experienced attraction or romantic feelings for a person of the same sex, but remained heterosexual. Most homophobes are not homosexuals, but people who are very afraid of being homosexual, because once their parents were very afraid of this. It is difficult to imagine a father or mother who is indifferent to the sexual orientation of their daughter or son. After all, the life path of their child depends on this — just as it depends on his or her character, abilities, choice of profession. But if we truly love our children, we love them not because they live up to our expectations. Their abilities, profession, orientation, character are important to us, but all these details are secondary to what is truly important.
Brenda McCool grew up in Brooklyn. At the age of 49, she overcame cancer twice and raised eleven children. She also loved to dance. That evening she was at the club with her son Isaiah. When Omar began to shoot, she managed to say to Isaiah «Get down» and stood in front of him. She did not have time to think about her life priorities: she simply loved her children very much. Their lives and happiness were the most important thing for her. And for Siddiq Matin, the most important thing was that his son kept the commandments of the Koran and did not turn out to be gay. These parental expectations are important. But when they become the only thing that matters, it leads to suffering for both parents and children. If Siddique were a little more like Brenda, if he had a little more empathy and love — who knows, maybe Omar, Brenda, Eddie and 47 other people would be alive now.
1 N. Weinstein et al. «Parental autonomy support and discrepancies between implicit and explicit sexual identities: dynamics of self-acceptance and defense», Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 2012, № 102.