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Omar Delgado, a first responder at the Pulse nightclub mass shooting in 2016, still grapples with the nightmare. As shots were fired then, Delgado quickly moved bloodied victims outside. As he took cover, the firing continued. There were lifeless bodies everywhere. One of the survivors he helped was Angel Colon, who was shot six times. The two made headlines everywhere. I even interviewed them back then.

But despite Delgado's heroic actions, he was fired from the Eatonville, Florida police force the following year after developing post-traumatic stress disorder from the massacre—six months before his vested pension. He filed a lawsuit against the department, and he was eventually granted disability retirement, which was 42% of his $38,500 salary. Nowadays, former officer Delgado can't believe what our world has come to. In some ways, he says, things have become progressively worse.



Protesters are breaking windows, igniting fires and vandalizing properties in Minneapolis over the killing of George Floyd, who is a black man. A video surfaced of him struggling to breathe while the knee of a white police officer was pressed against his neck. You can hear Floyd repeating "I can't breathe," also voicing that he's about to die. Finally, when the officer released pressure, you can see Floyd's limp body on the pavement. He was pronounced dead at the hospital. "It's horrific. He couldn't breathe. It's not like he was tugging or fighting. It was extremely unnecessary," says Delgado. "My heart goes out to the family and his friends. To see that situation, it's just really, really bad."

Delgado wants people to know that not all officers are like Derek Chauvin. He believes those four officers that day put a bad name to the badge. "As a former police officer, and I'm Puerto Rican, it's frustrating and it's sad. But I wish people would not think every officer is the same way," he says. "I know there are officers out there right now who are thinking, 'I have to get up, I have to put this uniform on. I have to serve and protect, but you know what? I'm going to get shit for it because of them.'"


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Delgado mentions most things had to do with race when he was an officer. When they would call in, the first thing asked was the ethnicity of the driver. "I don't know why they were doing that. They always wanted to know. But why? I never understood," he says. "It really didn't matter what race they were."

During training, Delgado was always taught to subdue and contain the suspect. Once the person was in cuffs, the officer gauges if the individual is a threat. Sometimes they'll kick or spit, but Delgado doesn't believe there is ever a time an officer should use brutal force if a suspect is contained. "In my opinion, what should that officer have done? Once [Floyd] was on the ground and already contained, the officer should have picked him up and put him in the car. He shouldn't have been on him like that. It's absurd."

But Delgado feels training only goes so far. "We are in 2020 and I don't think it will ever get better. It hasn't happened yet. There will always be that persona of police brutality or injustice or something you think an officer should have done it differently. I still would love to know what [Chauvin] was thinking that moment. It doesn't make sense. And sadly, the man lost his life."
As for the other officers, Delgado thinks the "brother in blue code" may have applied here. "Those three other officers did not come to their senses and say, 'Enough is enough.' "There is this thing where they have the officer's back no matter what. But look what happened. They lost their jobs. They could have said, 'Stop, enough,' he says. "They didn't. It's terrible."

He admits that the brother in blue code of always having the back of another officer is a real thing, but common sense is more important. "Some officers don't have it. It doesn't look good. Those are the ones who shouldn't be officers," he says. "There was no need to be the tough guy, the macho man. The officer probably thought if he backed down, he would show weakness. Having weakness out on the streets as an officer is bad. But they should have shown brotherly love and professionalism. How many poor black people are treated like that on a daily basis? How many poor white people are treated like that? It happens a lot. This should be an eye opener."

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After the 2012 Trayvon Martin case, where an unarmed, black 17- year-old was shot and killed in Sanford, Florida, Delgado believes that's when police officers got a really bad reputation. The ensuing trial in 2013 acquitted George Zimmerman of second degree murder, which sparked national debate around gun violence and racism. "All these officers were then beating up black people. I couldn't believe it," says Delgado. But then the Pulse shooting occurred, he says, and people looked at the officers as heroes, and put them in a better light. Now, he believes, things have come full circle. "But that doesn't mean people should be looting, trashing and destroying other people's property," he says. "Why are they doing it? They're upset. They should be. I get it. But why damage other people's property that has nothing to do with it? I don't think that's the right way to voice an opinion."

Delgado isn't shy to voice his own opinions either. "It shouldn't be about race, but it's hard to paint that picture when you see what you see. But right away, everyone wants to put a title on racism," says Delgado. "Yes, it is a white officer and a black victim, but that's what makes it look like race. But if it's the opposite, do they ever smash out the race card? Are they in a hurry to pull out the race card if it was a black officer and a white victim. Would they? If it was hispanic, or asian, or another race? To me, it's a crime on an individual and a person."

Delgado was also labeled as a racist while he was an officer in his predominantly black town in Eatonville. "I've never been somebody who plays the race card. My grandfather was blacker than black. My mom is whiter than white. I never saw color. If you look at the history of Puerto Ricans, we are mixed with a whole bunch of people and race. People used to say, 'You're racist.' And I'd say, 'Really? I'm Puerto Rican.' Then I was fine," he says.

But people were quick to put labels on him, telling him that he was racial profiling. "I would say, 'Are you serious?' The whole town is almost black!'" he quips." Second of all, if I pulled that vehicle over, I sometimes can't tell who is even driving, since the windows are tinted. I pull over a vehicle at a high rate of speed. People are quick to lash out. But it doesn't mean I'm going to treat anyone differently. I'm going to treat everyone with the respect they deserve."

The best word to describe how Delgado is feeling lately is numb."I know how bad the world is through my own experience, witnessing all of it first hand. What gets me is that people are not learning from what's going on. You would think after all these incidents that have been happening, there would be more training to officers."

But the real question is how do things change?

"There are a lot of black chiefs of police out there. Do you start off at the top and give them more jobs? I don't know if officer [Chauvin] acted that way because [Floyd] was black. What I do know is the way that officer acted was totally unacceptable. He was wrong at every level," he says.

Delgado believes officers aren't protecting only whites or only blacks. They are protecting the community. When things like this happen, he realizes that the public has a difficult time trusting police again. "That is the most challenging part. You respect the profession because you know what they are there for, but when the profession fails you, that is a tough pill to swallow. I don't have all the answers, but I do know things need to change."

On June 12, 2016, the worst mass shooting in U.S. history took place at Pulse, a prominent LGBTQ nightclub in Orlando, Florida.

The tragedy rocked the entire country (and world). But it was especially devastating to the Orlando community.

Photo by Gerardo Mora/Getty Images.


It was a day that won't soon be forgotten in central Florida.

More than four months later — and just two miles down the road from where the atrocity took place — the NBA's Orlando Magic dedicated its season opener on Oct. 26, 2016, to those who lost their lives this past summer.

"I couldn’t be more proud of this community,’’ said Magic CEO Alex Martins of Orlando's coming together in the months since. "I will be shocked if there’s a dry eye in the audience tonight."

Brandon Jennings, who played for the Orlando Magic last year. Photo by Maddie Meyer/Getty Images.

Performer Brandon Parsons sang “Forty-Nine Times,” a heart-wrenching song dedicated to the 49 victims of the shooting.

“Tonight, we honor their lives, the heroes who emerged that early morning, and a healing community that showed the world love always conquers hate,” the team's announcer told the filled stadium.

A rainbow-colored banner, printed with the number 49 and all the names of those who were killed, hung from the rafters.

Photo by John Raoux/AP Photo.

"It will be our way of making sure that we don’t forget those who lost their lives in this tragedy," Martins said of the colorful banner.

Players' warm-up shirts sported a rainbow heart and the #OrlandoUnited hashtag, paying special tribute to those affected.

Orlando Magic player Elfrid Payton. Photo by John Raoux/AP Photo.

Magic fans used the #OrlandoUnited hashtag on social media to share how the pre-game events went far beyond basketball.

Since June, the Orlando Magic have stood with other local athletic groups in solidarity with Pulse and the city's LGBTQ community.

In the aftermath of the shooting, the Magic — along with Orlando City Soccer Club and the Orlando Solar Bears ice hockey team — funneled millions of dollars into the OneOrlando Fund, which is aiding victims' families and survivors during their time of recovery.

Between the Magic organization and the DeVos family, which owns the team, $500,000 was given to the charitable fund.

Photo by Gerardo Mora/Getty Images.

Last night's dedication was particularly moving because it showed a pro sports team proudly standing alongside the LGBTQ community.

That's big.

Homophobia and transphobia in sports are still very real, especially in the U.S. That's why groups like Athlete Ally are so critical — they combat the various forms of discrimination queer men and women face in locker rooms and on athletic courts everywhere.

Retired NBA player Jason Collins. Photo by Alex Goodlett/Getty Images.

It's an injustice many athletes, like retired NBA player Jason Collins, know all too well.

"I want to do the right thing and not hide anymore," Collins, who was the first NBA player to come out as gay in 2013, said of his decision to live openly. "I want to march for tolerance, acceptance and understanding. I want to take a stand and say, 'Me, too.'"

In Florida, #OrlandoUnited has proven to be so much more than a catchy hashtag.

It's reflective of a community that gets why we all hurt when one group hurts. When one family mourns, we all bear the pain.

And when we heal together, it shows why no amount of hate — or bigotry, or some warped idea of morality — can prevent love from conquering hate.

Photo by Manel Ngan/AFP/Getty Images.

On June 12, 2016, 20-year-old Patience Carter was shot in both legs during the shooting at Pulse nightclub in Orlando.

The Philadelphia-area woman was on vacation with friends when they decided to visit the popular gay nightclub. One of her friends, Akyra Murray, was killed in the attack. The other, Tiara Parker, survived a gunshot wound to the stomach.

Patience Carter is overcome with emotion after speaking to the media from Florida Hospital. Photo by Joe Raedle/Getty Images.


Like many of the Pulse shooting survivors, Carter faced a long and painful recovery. Additionally, she faced mounting medical bills.

More than 50 people were wounded during the attack that claimed the lives of 49. Carter was taken to Florida Hospital along with 11 others.

The average medical costs for a gunshot victim come in somewhere around $20,000. As a student, it's not like Carter just happens to have tens of thousands of dollars in disposable income laying around.

I guess some people didn't see this post on my Facebook when I posted it a few days ago, so here it is. Truth As long as God knows the truth, as long as the other survivors know the truth, as long as the surgeons, and nurses who helped save a countless number of lives know the truth, as long as the police officers who risked their lives to save ours know the truth, As long as the majority of the world that sends their love and support knows the truth, As long as the strong members of the LGBT community know the truth, As long as I know the truth... I can find some peace to heal, I can find some peace to learn how to walk again, I can find some peace to want to live on, Laying here in my bed, bullet holes in my legs the size of nickels, As numerous people spin my words, the media can be very insensitive, and fickled I'm a real person, Tiara Parker and Akyra Murray are real people, and this pain is real, We all laid on that cold bathroom floor together, and the people that suffered through the hours with us, know how we feel. #OurPainIsReal #Pray4Orlando

A photo posted by Patience Carter (@patiencecarter) on

In a major act of generosity (and great news), local hospitals have announced that they won't be billing victims of the shooting.

Both Orlando Health health care network and Florida Hospital have indicated that they will not look to Pulse survivors for reimbursement. Even better, this includes follow-up care as well.

Hospital staff listen as Patience Carter speaks to the media. Photo by Joe Raedle/Getty Images.

"Orlando Health has not sent any hospital or medical bills directly to Pulse patients, and we don’t intend to pursue reimbursement of medical costs from them," Orlando Health told ABC News.

Between what Orlando Health can gather in the form of state and federal funding, insurance, charitable donations, and more, the organization hopes to offset some of its own costs — which, over the course of survivors' lifetimes, could go well into multimillions of dollars.

As seen in the wake of the Boston Marathon bombings, the price of surviving a terrorist attack can be pretty steep.

In 2013, more than 260 people were injured in a bombing attack near the finish line of the Boston Marathon. More than $30 million was donated to funds meant to help victims. Still, for many, it's not enough, resulting in a lifetime of debt not covered by insurance or crowdfunding.

Generosity and kindness are wonderful things. It's just worth remembering that when considering the holes in our current health care system. Without generosity and kindness, people in need can get swallowed up in medical bills through no fault of their own. It's adding insult to literal injury.

Boston Marathon bombing victim Erika Brannock arrives at the sentencing of accused bomber Dzhokar Tsarnaev. Photo by Scott Eisen/Getty Images.

In the case of the survivors of the Pulse shooting and in Carter's case, the medical bill situation has worked out for the best, thanks to the generosity and compassion of two health care organizations.

Even so, we should all keep pushing for a health care system in which we don't have to rely on hospitals or strangers for help.

Health care really is a right. We need to start thinking of it that way.

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Frank Ocean penned an emotional letter on homophobia that everyone should read.

Frank Ocean's letter is both heartbreaking and a necessary read.

Has anyone seen Frank Ocean lately?

Fans have been anxiously awaiting new music from the 28-year-old singer/songwriter and rapper, but it’s very clear that Ocean has been using his time to attack some bigger issues.


What are you up to, Frank?

In a heartfelt letter published on Ocean’s personal Tumblr, the artist penned some tear-jerking words about growing up in a homophobic environment.

He also discussed transphobia and his heartbreak about the Orlando massacre:

"I read in the paper that my brothers are being thrown from rooftops blindfolded with their hands tied behind their backs for violating sharia law. I heard the crowds stone these fallen men if they move after they hit the ground. I heard it’s in the name of God. I heard my pastor speak for God too, quoting scripture from his book. Words like abomination popped off my skin like hot grease as he went on to describe a lake of fire that God wanted me in. I heard on the news that the aftermath of a hate crime left piles of bodies on a dance floor this month. I heard the gunman feigned dead among all the people he killed. I heard the news say he was one of us. I was six years old when I heard my dad call our transgender waitress a faggot as he dragged me out a neighborhood diner saying we wouldn’t be served because she was dirty. That was the last afternoon I saw my father and the first time I heard that word, I think, although it wouldn’t shock me if it wasn’t. Many hate us and wish we didn’t exist. Many are annoyed by our wanting to be married like everyone else or use the correct restroom like everyone else. Many don’t see anything wrong with passing down the same old values that send thousands of kids into suicidal depression each year. So we say pride and we express love for who and what we are. Because who else will in earnest? I daydream on the idea that maybe all this barbarism and all these transgressions against ourselves is an equal and opposite reaction to something better happening in this world, some great swelling wave of openness and wakefulness out here. Reality by comparison looks grey, as in neither black nor white but also bleak. We are all God’s children, I heard. I left my siblings out of it and spoke with my maker directly and I think he sounds a lot like myself. If I being myself were more awesome at being detached from my own story in a way I being myself never could be. I wanna know what others hear, I’m scared to know but I wanna know what everyone hears when they talk to God. Do the insane hear the voice distorted? Do the indoctrinated hear another voice entirely?"

In 2012, Ocean changed the dynamics of the hip-hop community forever by opening up about his own sexuality before releasing his Grammy-nominated album, "Channel Orange."

Ocean's discussion of falling in love with his male best friend — an unrequited love addressed repeatedly throughout the album — was a first in the hip-hop industry, ruffling the feathers of some of his fellow rappers and listeners.

Artists like T-Pain insisted that Ocean wouldn't find fellow musicians willing to collaborate with him, and some of Ocean's fans declared they were done with his music.

Frank Ocean performing during the 2014 Bonnaroo Music Arts Festival in Manchester, Tennessee. Photo by Jason Merritt/Getty Images.

But Ocean has, in fact, collaborated with many top artists since then. He has several awards under his belt too, including two Grammys.

Rappers like Jay-Z have supported Ocean too, and while hip-hop is notoriously known to push out anti-gay lyrics, many listeners are asking for increased inclusivity in the genre thanks to Ocean's honesty.


Frank Ocean performs at the 2012 Oya music festival in Oslo. Photo credit by Vegard Grøtt/AFP/Getty Images.

With transphobic bathroom bills floating around several states, the recent massacre in Orlando, and staunch opposition to LGBTQ rights around the world, Ocean's words matter.

His honesty and transparent pain are needed in the hip-hop industry now more than ever.

Hip-hop artists like Ocean should continue to express themselves in a way that is inclusive of marginalized groups.

Most recently, rapper Kid Cudi not only slammed homophobia in U.S., but he also vowed to implement change in the hip-hop community, showing us all how to put action behind our words.

While many of us are still waiting anxiously for Ocean to bring more awesome music to the charts, it's been incredible to watch him truly express himself in written words too.

Thanks, Frank.