Months After Pulse Shooting: 'There Is A Wound On The Entire Community'

On June 12, 2016, a gunman killed 49 people and injured dozens of others in what became the deadliest mass shooting in recent U.S. history. The Pulse nightclub, a popular space for the LGBT community in Orlando, Fla., was holding a Latin Night, and the club was packed with patrons both gay and straight, young and not-so-young, from the U.S., Puerto Rico, the Dominican Republic, Mexico and elsewhere. The massacre sent waves through the many intertwined communities in the city.

Over the last six months, these communities of Orlando — whether LGBT, Latino, Hispanic, religious, or more broadly — have worked in different ways to overcome the traumatic events of that day. Photographer Cassi Alexandra spoke to people across those communities that were touched by the tragedy, either through personal experience, loss of a loved one, or the impact on the city itself. These stories examine the recovery process this community continues to go through, including questioning the acceptance of violence as a country and discussing the damaging legacy of violent acts such as this.

Brandon Wolf grew up in a suburb of Portland, Ore., and has lived in Orlando since 2008. He went to Pulse that night with three friends — Eric Borrero, Christopher “Drew” Leinonen and Juan Guerrero.

“We made a break for the fire exit and just ran through the smoke,” Brandon says. “We didn’t look back and kept running from the building.”

Emily Addison and her 2-year-old son, Diyari, lost Deonka “Dee Dee” Drayton in the Pulse massacre.

“I can’t even begin to tell you how hard I prayed,” Emily says. “I wanted her to be in the hospital so bad, I didn’t care what kind of predicament she was in, because I knew I was going to take care of her. … But it didn’t turn out that way.”

Shane Young is chairperson of the Youth Council at Zebra Coalition, an advocacy group for LGBT+ youth in Central Florida. He and his mother, Trish Glad, live in Saint Cloud, Fla., where Shane attended three high schools before dropping out to study for his GED because of what he described as “terrible bullying” from students and staff members because he is transgender.

“Worrying if my kid was going to be alive when I picked him up at the end of the school day was horrible, and it was all the time,” Trish says. “Just kids threatening to slit his throat, and the police won’t do anything unless there’s actual bodily harm.”

Blue is a well-known figure in the LGBT community of Orlando and owner of The Venue.

“You can talk about gun control and you can talk about raising people with love and you can talk about ways that you would’ve changed upbringing … the world is a crazy place,” she says. “If I sat here and thought about all the ways that we could’ve prevented that I would probably be sitting here and speaking for hours. The fact of the matter is we have to look at what we’ve gotten from it and move forward with that.”