ArcaMax

Whatever you call it, this was the deadliest attack on LGBTQ people in U.S. history. And even 3,000 miles away in West Hollywood, the tragedy had a dramatic effect on my brother and his friends.

"It was paralyzing," he said. "And yet, for many of my straight friends, life went on. Most of them didn't reach out, and say: 'Hey, how are you doing? Are you OK?' Maybe they didn't even realize the significance of what had just happened."

So, I asked, does it have to be some public declaration of support?

"No!" he snapped. "It doesn't have to be public. It can be private. Send a text. Reach out to a friend, and check on them."

Fair enough. I dropped the ball. It didn't occur to me, when the Pulse massacre happened, that something that happened so far away could be so traumatic to my brother and other gay Latinos.

So now I wonder: Can straight people still be true allies to LGBTQ family and friends, even if we can't fully identify with their struggle?

I sympathize with what my brother must go through. But I can never truly put myself in his place.

I bet the same goes for many other LGBTQ allies. Their support is superficial. They "like" a gay pride meme on Facebook, or buy a rainbow cookie at a coffee shop. They probably think: "I'm a good person. I'm not homophobic. I support gay rights." And that's good enough.

But it's not good enough. These days, Americans are running low on empathy across the board. I think that's because, by and large, we're too self-absorbed and too focused on our own lives.

LGBTQ allies need to learn what the community goes through -- not just for one month but throughout the year. We need to understand how unfair life can be to those who feel they can't be open about who they are -- and whom they love.

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