THE PULSE NIGHTCLUB MASSACRE: A LIE AGREED UPON
- lhpgop
- Jun 13
- 6 min read
Pulse: The Sanitized Massacre
How Power and Profit Exploited a Night of Terror in Orlando
In the early morning hours of June 12, 2016, forty-nine people were killed and fifty-three more wounded in one of the deadliest mass shootings in U.S. history. The setting was Pulse, a popular Orlando nightclub known as a cultural hub for the city’s LGBTQ+ community.
Within hours, the tragedy was being framed in national headlines: a radicalized Islamist had attacked an innocent gay safe space. It was, the story went, a pure act of terrorism and hate.
That framing was politically useful for many. It was also not the whole truth.
Over the following weeks, key facts about the club’s operations, the shooter’s personal psychology, and the political management of the crime scene were quietly buried. Local and state actors shaped the public narrative to fit their interests, aided by national organizations and a compliant media. In the years that followed, the very families and survivors most impacted by the massacre would find themselves betrayed again — as the tragedy was monetized through a privately controlled memorial foundation that spent millions while providing little direct aid to those left behind.
This is that story.
I. Pulse: The Club Behind the Image
To the broader public, Pulse was quickly enshrined as a pure LGBTQ+ safe haven. In reality, Pulse was a profitable, politically connected club operating with well-known regulatory gray areas.
Owned by Barbara Poma, wife of Orlando real estate developer Rosario "Rosie" Poma, the club built its revenue model around popular 18+ Latin Nights that drew younger crowds — a fact not emphasized in the post-shooting narrative. While 18+ nights are legal if alcohol is restricted to those 21 and older, Pulse had a documented history of complaints about underage drinking and attendance, and had received warnings from city authorities prior to 2016.
Survivor accounts and local reporting describe routine drug activity inside the club, including cocaine and GHB use — issues typical of Orlando nightlife but inconvenient for the city’s tourist-friendly image.
“Everyone knew what Pulse was really like,” one local DJ told Orlando Weekly shortly after the shooting. “It wasn’t a charity. It was a business, and some of the things that happened there were quietly tolerated because they brought in money.”
Pulse also maintained a close relationship with local law enforcement through a common practice in Orlando’s club scene: hiring off-duty Orlando Police Department officers as private security. This system created an informal layer of protection, as on-duty officers were less likely to pursue aggressive enforcement against clubs employing their colleagues.
Barbara Poma and her family were also well-connected in city politics and tourism circles. These relationships would prove crucial in shaping how the tragedy was later presented.
II. The Shooter: A More Complex Profile
Omar Mateen was almost immediately labeled an Islamic terrorist. In a 911 call during the attack, he pledged allegiance to ISIS — a fact highlighted by law enforcement and media outlets.
But within days, a more complicated picture emerged.
Multiple witnesses, including survivors and club regulars, told reporters they had seen Mateen at Pulse several times before the shooting. Kevin West, a local man, reported having messaged with Mateen on Grindr for over a year. Others described him as a familiar face at the bar, sometimes seen alone drinking.
FBI investigators initially acknowledged this information. For the first 48 hours, there were public mentions of Mateen’s possible sexual identity conflict. His ex-wife also described him as abusive, controlling, and confused about his sexuality.
Yet by the end of the first week, those aspects of the profile began disappearing from official statements. The narrative hardened: ISIS-inspired terrorist attacks LGBTQ+ community.
Former FBI agents speaking on background later suggested that the agency had not conclusively verified Mateen’s Grindr usage or established a complete pattern of his prior visits — but also acknowledged that political and public relations considerations were shaping how the information was presented.
III. The Governor Moves
Within 24 hours of the shooting, Florida Governor Rick Scott arrived in Orlando. Standing with local leaders, he pledged full state resources and support. The Florida Department of Law Enforcement (FDLE) was embedded into the investigation almost immediately.
This was not an unusual step on its face. But the depth of FDLE involvement — particularly in managing the crime scene and shaping public messaging — raised questions.
FDLE’s internal documents, later obtained through public records requests, show that the agency coordinated closely with:
The Governor’s office
Orlando city PR officials
Representatives from the emerging onePULSE Foundation
FDLE also took on roles not limited to technical forensic support. It participated in message planning and narrative alignment, ensuring that public communications focused on Islamist terrorism rather than the club’s operational issues or the shooter’s complex psychology.
At the time, Rick Scott was widely expected to seek a U.S. Senate seat — a campaign he would officially launch in April 2018. His handling of Pulse allowed him to project a law-and-order, anti-terrorism image, while protecting key political relationships with Orlando’s business and tourism elites.
The interests aligned: the city needed to safeguard its brand; the Governor needed a national-security profile; and LGBTQ+ advocacy organizations wanted a clear martyrdom narrative free from complicating factors.
IV. The Sanitized Narrative
By the second week after the shooting, early mentions of Mateen’s sexual identity conflict vanished from FBI and FDLE public statements.
Media coverage, initially broad, narrowed to the simplified story:
Pure Islamist hate crime
Innocent LGBTQ+ safe space attacked
A national moment of unity and mourning
Questions about the club’s licensing issues, drug activity, and underage attendance were ignored. Survivors and families who attempted to raise these concerns found little support from the city or major media outlets.
One Pulse survivor, speaking anonymously to Orlando Weekly, said:"It felt like there was a story we were allowed to tell, and another one we weren’t. If you talked about how things really worked at Pulse, you were told you were hurting the community."
Local journalists described quiet pressure from both city officials and LGBTQ+ organizations not to pursue certain angles. National outlets, eager to align with the dominant narrative of unity and resilience, largely followed suit.
V. The Second Victimization
In the aftermath of the shooting, Barbara Poma founded the onePULSE Foundation — ostensibly to build a permanent memorial and support survivors and families.
The Foundation quickly raised over $20 million through corporate donations, celebrity endorsements, and grassroots campaigns.
But as years passed, survivors and family members began asking where the money had gone.
Public filings showed that over $15 million had been spent on:
Architectural design fees
Consultants
Public relations and branding
Executive salaries
Less than $2 million had gone to direct survivor and family aid.
Plans for a Pulse Museum featuring a gift shop and VIP donor experiences sparked outrage among victims’ families. Some organized under the banner “Community Coalition Against a Pulse Museum,” accusing Poma and the Foundation of exploiting the tragedy for personal and political gain.
"They’re building a tourist attraction on our loved ones’ graves," one family member told local press.
In 2023, under mounting pressure, the City of Orlando purchased the Pulse site for $2 million, ending onePULSE Foundation’s control over the land. However, the Foundation retained millions in remaining funds — to be spent on scholarships and “educational programming,” rather than direct support for those most impacted by the attack.
VI. Who Benefited — And Who Lost
The Beneficiaries:
Rick Scott secured a strong law-and-order image and went on to win his U.S. Senate seat in 2018.
Orlando city leaders protected the city’s tourism brand and avoided scandal over policing failures.
Barbara Poma and the onePULSE Foundation built personal and financial capital from the tragedy.
National LGBTQ+ organizations leveraged the narrative for political and fundraising advantage.
The Victims:
49 dead.
53 injured.
Families misled and marginalized.
Survivors forced to watch their suffering become a brand.
Epilogue — Telling the Real Story
America’s political and media elites have learned to sanitize tragedy for profit. The Pulse shooting became a national symbol — but not an honest one.
The public deserved a full accounting of:
The club’s operations.
The shooter’s true motives.
The political manipulation of the narrative.
The misuse of charitable donations.
The families and survivors deserved more than a PR campaign. They deserved truth. They deserved justice.
We owe them that still.
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