But just as importantly, says Burgamy, they’ve bolstered the sense of support that LGBT people feel from their communities. The policy changes of recent years have brought practical changes to the lives of people who want to visit their loved ones in the hospital, or add their partner to their health insurance. As images come in from vigils held around the world, and as people in the queer community have sought each other out for support, the reaction she’s seen has been: “‘Not only am I not going back in the closet. An insistence on showing up at Denver PrideFest this weekend. But she says she was also surprised to see another thread emerge in many of her conversations: A sense of empowerment. Sarah Burgamy is a Denver-based clinical psychologist who specializes in helping clients with challenges related to sexual orientation and gender identity.īurgamy says that in the last few days, she has talked to clients who describe profound sadness, as well as fear and anxiety, from the Orlando shooting. Gay and lesbian youth in Colorado, according to a state survey, are four times as likely as heterosexual students to have considered suicide, twice as likely to be bullied and four times as likely to say they have missed school because they feel unsafe.ĭr. Ten percent had actually attempted suicide within that year, compared with 1 percent of the overall population. A One Colorado report from 2014 found that 36 percent of transgender Coloradans had contemplated suicide in the past year, compared with 4 percent of the overall population. The experience of rejection has fostered resilience in the LGBT community, says Montez. Both he and Ramos are Latino.Įighteen percent of LGBT people of color in Colorado have experienced anti-LGBT physical abuse, according to a survey conducted by One Colorado, compared with 16 percent of LGBT whites. “Gay and lesbian people of color face higher rates of violence and discrimination, because we live at that intersection of not only dealing with racism but also dealing with homophobia,” adds Montez. Or they may be subjected to harassment for something as basic as showing identification that doesn’t match their gender identities, said Daniel Ramos, One Colorado’s deputy director. They may be immediately identifiable as trans and fearful of violence from strangers. “The transgender community faces concerns the minute they walk out of the home, particularly transgender women and women of color,” Montez says. Some in the community experience it more acutely than others.
The driver rolled down the window and yelled a homophobic slur. Just recently, he recalled, a car pulled up next to him as he was walking down the street in Denver. The threat of rejection-to the point of harassment and violence-is a source of simmering stress. Later, in a phone conversation, Montez elaborated. “For too many of us, worries over safety are a daily occurrence,” he said. He said he had been asked many times that day to address the issue of whether the shooting made people in the queer community feel unsafe. Montez was one of a handful of speakers who addressed the crowd in Cheesman Park. It also came as a reminder to some that violence is a constant threat. The mass shooting came after years of progress in the LGBT fight for respect, equal rights and protection under the law.
Some of that is just the toll of knowing that it could have happened here, that any one of us could have been in a club like that on any given Saturday.” “I’ve felt personally and physically exhausted.
“Our staff is walking around in a haze,” says Dave Montez, executive director of the LGBT advocacy group One Colorado.
A full rainbow stretched across the dusk sky, and then ceded to more rain.įor many in Colorado’s LGBT community, the attack at Pulse nightclub felt personal. On Monday night in Denver’s Cheesman Park, thousands gathered for a vigil mourning the 49 people, most of them gay and Latino, who were killed during Sunday morning’s massacre at an Orlando nightclub.