South Florida LGBTQ Leaders React to Club Q Shooting

South Florida LGBTQ leaders say they are devastated, yet not surprised by the mass shooting at the LGBTQ club in Colorado given the recent rise in anti-LGBTQ rhetoric across the country.

“We’ve seen fearmongering after fearmongering against drag queens, trans people, and against our community as a whole,” says Maxx Fenning, president of Prism, a local nonprofit dedicated to expanding access to LGBTQ-inclusive education. “This idea that we’re predators and are out for your kids is extremely harmful. When we have this sort of influx of verbal hate, it is almost inevitable that it leads to violence in real life.”

Minutes before midnight on November 19, a man in body armor armed with a semi-automatic rifle entered Club Q in Colorado Springs and started firing, killing five people and wounding 17 others. The LGBTQ club was set to host an “all-ages musical drag brunch” the following morning in honor of Trans Day of Remembrance, a day to memorialize the lives lost due to anti-transgender violence.

The 22-year-old accused shooter was arrested and is facing possible first-degree murder and bias-motivated crime charges. Though his defense attorneys in recent court filings indicate their client is nonbinary and uses they/them pronouns, a neighbor alleged the accused shooter “hated” the LGBTQ community and frequently used homophobic slurs.

Erica Jayne Friedman, associate director of Florida International University’s Pride Center and member of the ballroom House of Milan, was already in mourning before the shooting occurred in preparation for Trans Day of Remembrance. Friedman organized a vigil on November 28 for students and staff to share condolences and points of action.

“I had the same sinking feeling that I had during Pride Month in 2016, compounded by the fact that I was already in mourning to reflect on the hundreds of lives lost worldwide due to anti-trans violence,” Friedman recalled of the Pulse Nightclub massacre in Orlando. “Safety is never guaranteed, especially for us marginalized and minoritized peoples.”

Friedman, who uses they/them pronouns, compared the camaraderie of Club Q to the since-closed Merlin’s gay bar in their college town of Binghamton, New York around 2007 to 2008, where they performed as a drag king.

“It was a haven for self-expression, community-building, exploring who I was,” they said at the vigil. “I can’t imagine that part of my life being interrupted by such hate and violence.”

Fenning tells New Times he is worried about the safety of queer spaces in South Florida, especially after this shooting and the array of anti-LGBTQ policies and rhetoric spearheaded by Gov. Ron DeSantis. This includes the passage of Florida House Bill 1557 also known as “Don’t Say Gay,” or Parental Rights in Education Bill, the removal of hormone replacement therapy from Medicaid, and the filing of a state complaint against restaurant R House in Wynwood alleging its popular weekend drag brunch exposes children to sexually explicit activity.

“A lot of these places that we regarded as a sort of home for our community are no longer safe,” Fenning adds. “I don’t think that any state has become as infamous for anti-LGBTQ rhetoric this year as the state of Florida.”

At least 34 transgender and gender-nonconforming individuals were killed this year, according to the Human Rights Campaign’s annual report, including Kelly Loving and Daniel Aston, victims of the Club Q shooting.

In the wake of the tragedy, the Yes Institute took to social media to remind local LGBTQ youth that the organization is “here to talk.” The institute works to “prevent suicide and ensure the healthy development of all youth through powerful communication and education on gender and orientation.”

“Just [with] bad news after bad news [for] somebody who’s already in mental distress, I am worried. What about our safety net?” Joseph Zolobczuk, executive director of Yes, tells New Times. “We hear from therapists because we work and train and refer a lot of our youth, parents, and families to mental health therapists. They are all overbooked.”

Hialeah-raised drag queen Karla Croqueta emphasizes how she’s used her position as a more butch-presenting queen to defend herself and others while performing.

“You just have to be thick-skinned and rough around the edges in order to get by, and I say that in a very privileged way,” she says. “I have a very tough exterior, so even within our queerness, some of us have privileges that others don’t have access to; and we have to use it to be outspoken.”

Croqueta calls on others to do the same to help prevent tragedies like what happened at Club Q from reoccurring.

“I’m not going to let someone’s drastic views on the community hinder my livelihood,” she says. “Someone else wants to see me dead, but I don’t want to see me dead. Bitch, I want to see me alive.”

The queen adds that voting is not enough to make substantial change. She urges community members and allies to contact legislators with concerns to protect the community.

“Go sit in a community meeting and talk to Becky who grew up in a world where queer people didn’t even exist, quote-unquote, and now she lives in a world where her neighbor is trans,” Croqueta says. “If your grandfather says some racist or homophobic shit, call him out on it, but do it patiently.”

Some suggest increasing security in queer spaces, such as pat-downs of patrons upon entry, or stricter validation of IDs. However, Croqueta argues this could put some at greater risk of discrimination and physical harassment, especially for trans people with a gender marker on their ID that differs from their physical appearance.

“The issue is that this creates a different kind of space, like, yes, there needs to be security, but we’re not only getting killed inside of the clubs. Trans women and queer femme people walking through the streets are being harassed every day,” Croqueta tells New Times. “I have multiple friends that are trans and when we go out, it happens everywhere in every situation.”

Friedman offers a glimpse of hope and encouragement to those in fear of being openly queer in public spaces.

“Tears, sorrow, hopelessness, and despair are all very normal feelings to have in the aftermath. We must also let those feelings be temporary,” Friedman says. “Hate, ignorance, and fear have been used for thousands of years to disappear queer people from existence, and it has never worked.”