Laguna holds Orlando victims in memory with candlelight vigil

Two counties named Orange united from across the country Sunday night because of violence and hate.

Roughly 2,500 miles separates Orange County, Fla., site of the Orlando mass shooting at a gay club, and Orange County, Calif. , home to Main Street Bar & Cabaret, the last gay club in Laguna Beach.

Because of the strong gay history in Laguna, Sunday night’s candlelight vigil symbolized more than the Orlando gun violence. The massacre added the hate element, which by varying degrees never seems to completely go away in the psyche and life of the LGBT community.

The embraces between men — and women — brought eerie flashbacks to the AIDS epidemic of the 1980s and ‘90s when vigils took place more regularly. It’s as if there was a collective “not again.”

The prejudice, discrimination, persecution and violence are still the first base instincts among many, it seems. And it crosses boundaries — well beyond discrimination against gays.

That’s why representatives from groups like the Anti-Defamation League, Human Rights Campaign and the Laguna Beach Police Force all spoke, offering words of unity and support.

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Mayor Steve Dicterow delivered a brief speech about how he faced prejudice when he grew up in New York. As a short, Jewish boy, he said he was taunted regularly and it forced him to confront societal questions at an early age.

“How to have empathy? How to have sympathy? How do we cope with it? How do we move forward?” he said. “I don’t have the answers to that. I could either become a coward and hide, or I could fight back. And I always fought back.”

Laguna Beach Police Detective Larry Bammer said the city has some of the most “LGBT friendly officers in the world,” and reinforced the department’s mission to protect all citizens.

Dan Slater from the Human Rights Campaign board of governors reminded the packed audience that “love conquers hate.”

“We’re here to confirm the hate and bigotry … that spawns this type of violence in our country,” he said. “It’s so tragic.”

That was not an endorsement. It was the sober acknowledgement that we are where we are.

Hate is hate, which breeds violence.

Rabbi Peter Levi was just appointed as the Anti-Defamation League’s director of the Orange County/Long Beach regional office last week, so the vigil was not something he expected on his schedule.

“Sometimes we have to stand together in horrific situations,” he said, encouraging the crowd to focus on “hope and promise.”

After the official eulogy and candles, Levi added with a smile (and chuckles from the audience) that “if you ever need a same-gender wedding, let me know.”

Aside from the occasional levity, it clearly was a somber event. It was also somewhat awkward.

In other words, because of the instantaneous nature of the Internet, news like this – and its connection to unique communities – becomes an immediate virtual extension. For better or worse, we mourn tragedies that just a few decades ago we may never have known occurred.

We have become global satellites of grief.

School children are slaughtered. So teachers and parents hold vigils across the country and vow solidarity.

Government workers are slaughtered. So civic leaders and volunteers hold vigils.

The list of groups and victims is becoming a morbid, random who’s who of sadness and frustration.

These violent blueprints that unfold in nightclubs, schools, restaurants and public buildings have become the red stains on our culture that will never go away.

So during the vigil on Sunday, as I looked around at the sullen, blank expressions, I saw yet another group, the LGBT community, that is now on the list – and has been on many lists throughout history.

These groups are the building blocks to others, connected like ethereal threads on the Internet through mutual friends, colleagues and acquaintances. Combined these connections make up our humanity.

Moving forward, there will always be a personal link to a tragedy, no matter how far away, because ultimately, there is nothing out there that can be walled off.

It is just us, composed of both virtual and tangible emotions.

And right now, we make real the things and people we value in places like Orlando, San Bernardino, Paris, Newtown, Oslo, Aurora, San Diego and so many other normal places across the world.

They are normal only until they are not.

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DAVID HANSEN is a writer and Laguna Beach resident. He can be reached at hansen.dave@gmail.com.

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