Sometimes the build-up of pressure is just too much. You see it in nature – the force of two tectonic plates converging along a fault line. Shuddering out earthquakes, forcing up mountains, causing volcanoes to scream and spew lava down themselves.
Society is just the same. Simmering tensions boiling over into road rage, an angry exchange, knives drawn in the street.
Opposing forces shunting against each other so violently, eventually something gives. Someone gives.
And so it has been with Orlando. Islam against homosexuality.
Forty nine dead. Fifty one injured.
And the shock waves of this human earthquake spread fast. The ground whipped out from under the feet of a hundred sleeping mothers, some clutching phones, still listening to their frightened children’s last, terrified messages.
How much longer can we continue to deny a fault line has been drawn? On one side Islam and Muslims defined by it. On the other the LGBT community, defined by their right to love as they please.
Over the last two days, the deference of the liberal Left to Muslims over the LGBT community has been excruciating to watch. Unable to reconcile the two causes they champion, they have an awkward inconvenience they dare not face. An ex-wife at a wedding, acknowledged with an invitation, but sat at the back, facing the air-con unit.
Predictably they have chosen Islam.
And don’t tell me the ‘acts of a few extremists do not represent Islam’, because I am sick of hearing it. Every time another Islamist takes down a club, knocks out an airport or wipes out the subway, we are supposed to embrace Muslims and spread the love.
Obama saunters off a golf course and refuses to even acknowledge the role of religion in the debate. Hillary Clinton wants to be clear Islam is not the enemy. But that’s precisely where she is wrong.
As I wrote just after Paris:
And here we are, less than three months later, doing exactly that. A hashtag #lovewins, a logo, vigils in public squares all over the world. Reaction to terror now has a global format to which, in the absence of an actual solution, many of you adhere.
But I am not a sheep in this. We need a solution. And for that we need to be honest enough to face the cause. Because the elephant in the room, the blatant reality in a world turned queer is obvious: Islam is the problem.
A backward religion which does not tolerate the rights of gays is the problem.
Do not allow yourself to be distracted. This is not about guns. If it were, after 9/11 we should have banned aeroplanes.
It is not about the mental health of the gunman, his ex-wife, his apartment or his job, whether he was a loner or a budding footballer or a self-loathing gay himself.
And it is certainly not about terror against the West as a whole.
As much as the UK writer Owen Jones and I are sworn enemies, I can understand why he stormed off an interview on Sky News when no one would acknowledge this was a hate crime against the gay community. A professional self-publicist on the sofa with him said ‘you don’t own this horror because you are gay’. She was certainly trying to own it for her own advancement.
Owen is caught on a human fault line partly of his own making – he writes for the Guardian and is a cheerleader for Labour who prioritise Islam over the LGBT cause far closer to his own hurting heart.
The problem becomes clear when you look at the gunman’s pro-Taliban father, an utter b****** of a man – who released a video saying all homosexuals must be punished just hours after his son slaughtered 49 people in the club.
Over time, I’ve watched the pressure plates slowly creeping towards each other. I’ve been no-platformed from every university with a strong Islamic Faith Community. Students staged a walk-out at a talk I gave on campus at Brunel, a London university which cheerfully hosted Islamic extremists and bans Israeli goods on campus.
And I have watched British state services and broadcasters prioritise Muslim culture over our own, turning a blind eye to the blatant homophobia it embodies, with a Muslim mayor now removing images of bikini-clad women from our own underground. Stand by for adverts for burkinis.