This haunting thought immediately popped into Brian Nunez’ head when he first learned of the shooting massacre in Orlando: That could have been me.
The 23-year-old McDonough resident is a gay Latino like many of the people who frequented the site of the terrorist attack, a nightclub that calls itself Orlando’s Latin Hotspot. A native of the Dominican Republic, Nunez is also an immigrant as were some of those killed. Generations of people like Nunez have faced homophobia, discrimination and even violence in the U.S. Now, they are reeling from the strong possibility that their sexual identities made them the targets of the largest mass shooting in this nation’s history.
More than a half a dozen gay and lesbian Hispanics in Georgia who were interviewed by The Atlanta Journal-Constitution shared a wide range of feelings — from fear to anger — in the wake of the attack. They emphasized that they have made substantial progress toward equality under the law, highlighting last year's U.S. Supreme Court ruling that legalized same-sex marriage. But they also pointed out the violence in Orlando happened amid lingering fights in several states over legal protections for them and transgender people. Most are mustering the courage to not let the slaughter push them into hiding.
“I have to look over my shoulder,” said Nunez, a U.S. citizen who works as a legislative aid in Georgia’s state Capitol. “Even though I’m afraid for my life, I am not going to hide who I am because I feel like that’s what … the homophobes want.”
‘A safe haven’
On Sunday, Omar Mateen entered Pulse nightclub with a semiautomatic handgun and assault rifle around 2 a.m. and opened fire. He killed 49 people and wounded another 53.
The massacre is also underscoring the vulnerability of gay Hispanic immigrants, both those with and without legal status in the U.S. They can have fraught relationships with police and even their own parents, who may hold conservative religious views and reject their homosexuality. To their children, gay nightclubs are sanctuaries where they can find acceptance, said Jerry Gonzalez, a U.S. citizen of Mexican descent.
“Particularly in the Latino and immigrant population, it is difficult to be open about who it is that you are,” said Gonzalez, the executive director of the Georgia Association of Latino Elected Officials. “And many immigrants have gone to these places as sort of a safe haven to be able to be fully who they are and be accepted for who they are.”
Franklin Vides of Atlanta emigrated a year ago to the U.S. from El Salvador, a Central American nation where he said machismo makes it difficult for gay people. He obtained his green card last year after marrying a Georgian who served as a Peace Corps volunteer in El Salvador.
“My impression was: ‘Now, this is going to be worse for us as an immigrant people and gay people,’” he said of the shootings in Orlando. “I thought we here in America stopped being the target. I know that in El Salvador we are still the target. When you talk about gay pride in El Salvador, it is like talking about gay pride in the 1980s in the States.”
Like Nunez, Vides said he won’t let fear stop him from living his life.
“But I will always be careful,” said Vides, a landscape and interior designer. “Next time you step in a club or a bar, you have to look at where are all your exits.”
‘They are just that terrified’
Michael Knoblock, a gay U.S. citizen of Panamanian descent who lives in Atlanta, said he will probably stay away from gay clubs for now, at least until they improve safeguards.
“A lot of my Hispanic gay friends — a lot of them who are also drag queens — they are terrified to go outside now,” said Knoblock, a Georgia State University student and a tour guide. “They are putting in extra efforts to try to butch themselves up so that nobody can tell in public that they are gay because they are just that terrified. I have friends who haven’t left the house since Sunday.”
Some news reports suggest Mateen acted out of homophobia. Mateen’s father told NBC News that his son got angry when he saw two men kissing in Miami a few months ago. Other news reports say Mateen used gay dating apps and previously attended the Pulse nightclub in Orlando, perhaps to scout it for his attack and maybe because he was struggling with his own sexuality.
But gay people aren’t the only ones who were affected by the killings, said Paulina Helm-Hernández, a longtime immigrant and gay rights activist from the Atlanta area. Straight people, she pointed out, also go to gay clubs. A lesbian who emigrated to the U.S. from Mexico, she rushed to Orlando with some friends this week to attend a vigil for the victims and offer support for their loved ones.
“Our friends come with us to the gay clubs,” said Helm-Hernández, co-director of Southerners on New Ground, an advocacy group for gays and immigrants. “Other folks see that as another place for community building and solidarity and joy. It is not just us who frequent those places.”
‘Everything changes now’
Nightclubs have been ratcheting up security since Sunday. Martin Ramirez helps manage the Sanctuary Nightclub in Buckhead, a Latino favorite that caters to gay customers on Saturday evenings. Ramirez — a Mexican native who along with his husband runs an organization that helps gay Latinos — said the club is boosting its security.
“I am still in shock,” said Ramirez, who has friends who live in Orlando and who have been to Pulse. He said he will be keeping an eye out for trouble from now on when he goes out. “Everything changes now.”
Authorities are now scrambling to help the Orlando victims and their families. But misunderstandings and language barriers can complicate relationships between police and immigrants, particularly those without legal status, said Osvaldo Flores, who was raised in Union City after he was illegally brought from Mexico to the U.S. as a young boy. Deportation, he said, is a nagging worry for immigrants living illegally here.
“It is a common fear — the language barrier, the understanding about the process of deportation and detention,” said Flores, who has received a special reprieve from deportation. “It is something that they are unsure of and would rather hide and try to get by as long as possible. It is sort of like working on the clock and knowing (deportation) might happen but just not knowing when.”
Flores said his parents were supportive when he came out to them as gay in December. In contrast, Nunez had a difficult time disclosing his sexual identity to his Catholic parents about three years ago, though he said things have improved between them since. Despite the tragedy in Orlando, he remains undaunted.
“I am not going to try to hide who I am just so I can make you happy or comfortable with my sexuality. That is your problem. I am proud,” he said. “I hid already too long in the closet to go back just because of the actions of a crazy person.”
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