January 2023 Issue Breaking News

Club Q was known as one of the few queer gathering spaces in city of Colorado Springs. In late November, the safety and sanctity of that space was violently ripped away when a lone gunman entered the night club and opened fire, killing five and injuring another 18 patrons of the bar. 

Bystanders took the gunman down in a show of force and bravery the likes of which is rarely seen even from law enforcement when dealing with an active shooter. The murder of trans and other queer people in what was supposed to be a safe space, on Transgender Day of Remembrance, a day set aside to memorialize transgender folks lost to violence, has deeply wounded not only the queer community in Colorado Springs, but across the nation.

The Victims

Raymond Green Vance (he/him)

Vance was 22 years old and visiting Club Q for the first time that night with his longtime girlfriend. He and the rest of her family were there celebrating a birthday. The people Vance was dancing with included Richard M. Fierro, the man who subdued the suspected gunman, according to a Facebook post by his wife Jessica Fierro. 

“Unfortunately, he never left the club. Raymond was the victim of a man who unleashed terror on innocent people out with family and friends,” Vance’s family statement reads. “His own family and friends are completely devastated by the sudden loss of a son, grandson, brother, nephew, and cousin loved by so many.”

Kelly Loving (she/her)

Loving visited Club Q on the night of the shooting while on a weekend trip from Denver. As a trans woman, Loving had dealt with violence before. According to Natalee Skye Bingham, a friend of Loving’s, she had been beaten, stabbed, and even shot at in the past. 

The 40-year-old is survived by her sister, who released a brief statement: “My condolences go out to all the families who lost someone in this tragic event and to everyone struggling to be accepted in this world. My sister was a good person. She was loving and caring and sweet. Everyone loved her. Kelly was a wonderful person.”

Daniel Aston (he/him)

Aston was a bar supervisor at Club Q and was 28 years old. “He was the best supervisor anybody could’ve asked for. He made me want to come into work, and he made me want to be a part of the positive culture we were trying to create there,” a co-worker told press. 

Aston came out as transgender at the age of 14, and at the time of his death was living fully as his authentic self. Aston moved to Colorado Springs two years ago to be closer to his mother and father, parents Jeff and Sabrina Aston told The Denver Post. The club was a few minutes from their home, and after one of Daniel’s friends told them he’d been shot, they rushed to the emergency room—only to find he’d never arrived.

Derrick Rump (he/him)

Rump was a bartender at Club Q and was 38 years old. Patrons of the club remember Rump as kind, giving, and a deeply passionate member of his community. He loved to play classic Britney hits like “Toxic” and “Hit Me Baby One More Time” loud enough that you could hear it from the parking lot. Rump would often bring extra lashes or outfits for drag performers who needed them. 

“He is what made Club Q,” says Kayla Rene Cortes, a 26-year-old lesbian who has visited the bar for years. Without him, Cortes says the club is “never going to be the same.”

Ashley Paugh (she/ her)

Paugh was a patron at Club Q on the night of the shooting. She is survived by her extensive family, including her mother, father, siblings, and nieces and nephews, as well as her daughter, Ryleigh. Paugh is described as having had a big heart which she was able to show in her work with Kid’s Crossing, a nonprofit organization that houses children in foster care. 

“She would do anything for the kids—traveling all over southeastern Colorado, from Pueblo and Colorado Springs to Fremont County and the Colorado border, working to raise awareness and encourage individuals and families to become foster parents to children in our community,” her family tells the press.

The Aftermath

The city of Colorado Spring soon became host to a large memorial for the victims. Visitors include members of the LGBTQ community from across the state of Colorado, including Colorado Governor Jared Polis. 

“I think that first and foremost, we remember that five lives were lost. I talked to family members of the five. I’ve talked to those who were injured. But also, those who weren’t here. I had one friend I talked to who was here 10 minutes before the shooting. I know others who saw this as a safe space,” Polis says.

In the wake of the Club Q shooting, many night clubs and drag performances have begun bolstering security at events. Some nationally touring drag queens have taken to traveling with armed security and have positioned metal detectors at the entrances to performance spaces. 

OFM reached out to several community members for statements on the tragedy; this is what some of them had to say.

“In the miasma of emotions this has triggered in me, grief, anger, all of it, the one thing I’m not feeling is surprise,” says Pasha Ripley, co-founder of Parasol Patrol, a nonprofit organization that shields children from anti-LGBTQ protestors.

“I’m shocked at the loss of dear friends and family to so many. However, when you go out sometimes several times a week to libraries, bookstores, and event venues to family-friendly LGBTQIA+, and, BIPOC events and have to listen to grown adults who come to yell at children, it’s not a surprise this happened. They call us groomers and pedophiles because we want children to be able to go to a library to be read a book without hate speech and harassment.”

“To be honest, that wasn’t just a club. It wasn’t even just a safe place. It was a sanctuary. Places like Club Q aren’t just bars or hangouts. They’re sacred places where we don’t have to censor ourselves or be too careful about what we say or how we say it, or who we love or how we love them. It’s cliché, but they truly are supposed to be safe spaces in more than one way. The actions of one coward did more than kill our friends, although that in and of itself is way more than obscene. It was a violation of our emotions around feeling safe. It will take such a long time for us to heal. So many of us are afraid and rightfully so. But I think bravery is feeling afraid and going out and living our lives in spite of that fear,” Ripley tells OFM.

“I spoke about it some at a vigil at Lulu’s, left the stage, and was weeping. Someone with the saddest, sweetest smile tears running down their face came and embraced me. We cried together until we could catch our breath. Then they said, ‘I’m easy to tears, too. But do you know what Daniel used to say to me when I cried at Club Q? He’d take me by the shoulders and look deep into my eyes and say, ‘You know what? Damn your ugly when you cry!’’ We both laughed at that together and dried our tears together.”

“You’ll hear everyone say Club Q was a sanctuary, and they are right. For a very long time, Club Q was the only place in Southern Colorado where you could feel safe to be queer, and you were celebrated for it. The people who frequented Club Q never took that for granted. It was a nice escape from Denver when I was invited to perform there on occasion starting back in 2014,” Denver drag artist Lala Queen tells OFM.

“I never once felt like an outsider there because everyone always made me feel welcomed. I gained siblings at Club Q that I’ll carry with me the rest of my days, and my heart hurts for them. If there’s anything I know about the queer community of Colorado Springs, it is that they are strong, and they are resilient. Sending so much love to all my family and friends at Club Q.”