In November 2023, I sat at a bar in Colorado Springs. Survivors of the Club Q mass shooting had gathered with friends and supporters for a night of remembrance before the one-year anniversary of a night that forever changed their lives.
There were drag performances, laughter, tears, and memories shared. I sat at the dimly lit bar, having been invited by one of the survivors I interviewed for a story on the shooting. When I first got there, an activist from Denver who had become a dear friend to many of the survivors took me aside before I even walked in.
“Who are you with?” they asked, protectively. I told them I worked for The Advocate, and I assured them I was just observing, getting contact information from folks, and wouldn’t record what was said inside the bar.
I drank with them.
I danced with them.
I listened to them.
Mental notes were taken, but something that kept piercing through my mind even then was that this is what journalism should be. It connects. It reveals. It honors. It reopens wounds to let them air out.
I wrote in my oft-forgotten notes app: “An observer reaching for the impossible idea of objectivity will never be privy to this. So, they lack the story. It’s listening and talking and being.”
Queer media — reported by, reported on, and involving LGBTQ+ people — is needed more than ever. It’s a journalism that goes beyond superficial attempts to see the world in binaries and instead accepts the nuances and variety of people and their stories. It’s why we’re asking you, our readers, for your direct support.
