Why isn't London lighting up for Orlando?

[Cleo1303]

All over the world prominent landmarks were lit up in rainbow colours to show respect and solidarity for the victims of the Orlando massacre and their loved ones.

After the Paris and Brussels massacres London lit up the London Eye, the National Gallery, the London Eye and other landmarks. Why aren't we doing the same for Orlando? Is it because they were Americans, or is it because they were gay?

When awful things happen, it can make you feel very alone, thinking you're the only person in the world thinking like you do. Gestures of solidarity can make a big difference to people's feelings, and feelings matter.

After the 9/11 silence a few days afterwards, an American tourist wandered into our shop almost literally reeling with emotion about the gesture of solidarity. I will never forget his vulnerability nor his gratitude.

Please don't lobby anyone. All the people who could would or should get involved in lobbying with you or responding to your lobbying will be liaising to review and improve security for Pride London. That is a better and much more important use of their time.

To return to the op, perhaps because Paris and Brussels are right on our doorstep and we feel more of a kinship with European neighbours than the US. It's sad what happened over there but I think it probably had more to do with America's gun laws than international terrorism. There are mass shootings over there practically every week. So sorry for the victims of course as always, so let's see Donald Trump turn his rhetoric to tackling gun violence rather than banning Muslims.

We've already clarified that the op was talking out her arse Lion. There were things lit up, people showing solidarity and support. She was talking mince.

Those pengujns are really funny.

I keep coming back on this thread just to see the penguins

I saved the .gif

Fully intend to use it on a regular basis, too...

Now that things have thoroughlly calmed down ...

I'm with MrsHathaway. There is something quite comforting in having feelings of grief shared with others and acknowledged. The feelings that come up can be intense and overpowering. They may not be identical to those of other people but there is still something powerful in realising you are not alone, or abandoned. I found myself remembering the nail bomb attacks in London and remembering that I felt I inhabited communities and identities that were not loved and cherished by the wider (national) community at that point.

Many, many years ago, I was walking home one night and came across a woman, keening (I mean that) next to a memorial for a colonial masssacre. She had set up a shrine, with candles and flowers. Her grief was intense. And she seemed so very, very isolated. I suspect her grief coiled through her life. I hope her moment of mourning helped her - and helped her to control her grief. I have no idea because she exuded a really powerful sense of isolation, so I didn;t approach her, or talk to her. I often think of her, and hope that her life isn't undone by her sadness. i suppose that is a fear I have - that grief you have to bear utterly alone can undo you.

I can only hope that public, visible support helps people. It's all you can hope, really. Of course it's limited. Of course it risks shallowness and appropriation. But all you can hope is that it is worth that risk.

WTAF

I thought I was standing in a crowd of 10,000 people holding a vigil in Old Compton St last night including the Mayor of London, complete with released balloons and the London Gay Men's Chorus singing.

It must just have been an exceptionally busy rush hour

The way things are going we're going to need more lights.

And it's going to take more than lights.

People will need to be braver than ever at the Pride march this weekend.

But the Penguins are awesome.

But were there lights Laura. If there weren't lights it just wasn't enough of a vigil. Tut

For those complaining about public grief, and virtue-signalling and so on, this was shared on Facebook earlier

Earlier today, a friend remarked: "I don't understand. The way you are reacting, it's almost like you knew someone in the club."

Here's the thing you need to understand about every LGBT person in your family, your work, and your circle of friends:

We've spent most of our lives being aware that we are at risk.

When you hear interviewers talking to LGBT folks and they say "It could have been here. It could have been me," they aren't exaggerating. I don't care how long you've been out, how far down your road to self acceptance and love you've traveled, we are always aware that we are at some level of risk.

I'm about as "don't give a shit what ANYONE thinks" as anyone you'll ever meet... and when I reach to hold Matt's hand in the car? I still do the mental calculation of "ok, that car is just slightly behind us so they can't see, but that truck to my left can see right inside the car". If I kiss Matt in public, like he leaned in for on the bike trail the other day, I'm never fully in the moment. I'm always parsing who is around us and paying attention to us. There's a tension that comes with that... a literal tensing of the muscles as you brace for potential danger. For a lot of us, it's become such an automatic reaction that we don't even think about it directly any more. We just do it.

And then... over the last few years, it started to fade a little. It started to feel like maybe things were getting better. A string of Supreme Court decisions. Public opinion shifting to the side of LGBT rights. Life was getting better. You could breathe a little bit.

What happened with this event is pretty dramatically demonstrated by how Matt and I are reacting to it. Matt came out fairly late, during the golden glow of the changing tide. He's never dealt with something like this. It's literally turned him inside out emotionally because all that stuff he read about that was just "then" became very much "NOW". For me, I've had some time to adjust to the idea that people hate us enough to kill us. Matthew Shephard was my first real lesson in that. So this weekend was a sudden slap in the face, a reminder that I should never have let my guard down, should never have gotten complacent... because it could have been US.

Every LGBT person you know knows what I'm talking about. Those tiny little mental calculations we do over the course of our life add up... and we just got hit with a stark reminder that those simmering concerns, those fears... they probably won't ever go away. We'll never be free of them. Additionally, now we just got a lesson that expressing our love could result in the deaths of others completely unrelated to us. It's easy to take risks when it's just you and you've made that choice. Now there's this subtext that you could set off someone who kills other people who weren't even involved. And that's just a lot.

That's why I'm personally a bit off balance even though (or because, depending on how you look at it) I live in Texas and was not personally effected by this tragedy. Don't get me wrong: nothing will change. I will still hold my husband's hand in public. I will still kiss him in public. We'll still go out and attend functions and hold our heads high.

But we will be doing those mental calculations for the rest of our lives. Those little PDAs you take for granted with your spouse. They come with huge baggage for us. Every single one is an act of defiance, with all that entails.

So do me a favor. Reach out to that LGBT person in your life. Friend, co-worker, or family. Just let them know you are thinking of them and you love them. That will mean the world to them right now. I promise you.