Category: Gay Men’s Health Crisis

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Wearing the ribbon, day 7

Last week I said that, in response to the death of Michael Brown, I was going to wear black and white ribbons for the next 100 days and some people asked me to give updates. So here’s my first.
A little recap–I wanted an an outward sign not only of my sadness over what happened in Ferguson, Missouri, but also of my recognition of my white privilege and my hope that people I encounter would treat me with the same respect and courtesy if I were black.
 A little logistical update–Making the ribbon is trickier than it looks. Since I’m kind of klutzy, it took few days to get it to not look like a sorority pledge ribbon. Now it’s got that little loop we’re so used to seeing in different colors. According to the internet, it’s called an awareness ribbon, so I’m thinking of it as my white privilege awareness.
And so far that’s exactly what it’s turned out to be: MY awareness. When I first wore it, I felt as if I was wearing a sign and I rehearsed how I wanted to talk about it. But, actually, almost no one has asked me about it. 
I, however, have thought about it a lot. Every day when I pin it on, I am aware that I am  making a public statement about my identity. I feel as if I’m pinning on my whiteness and all the societal implications that go with it, including things I take for granted that others are routinely denied. Even if no one else comments or notices or has a clue why I am wearing it, I know. 
Back in the 80s, as a volunteer with the Gay Men’s Health Crisis, I took part in a session where we were asked what we considered the single most fundamental part of our identity. Surrounded by people whose answer was “gay,” I realized I never thought about “straight.”
Likewise, this weekend I attended an opera festival where, at at one point, I sat near a woman who was very obviously once a man. Although she wore long hair and lively pink nail polish, her body language was painful–guarded and uneasy. Even in this bucolic setting among  this very specific group she looked as if she felt at risk. And I thought about the privilege of not thinking about going out in public identified as “other” in people’s eyes–and about how many categories of “other” people are made to feel. 
I am hoping against hope that Ferguson will provide a turning point. I am hoping even as I see the horrifying comments and hundreds of thousands of dollars pouring forth in support of the officer who shot Michael Brown.  Every day the news dashes my hopes. But still, I am hoping and I am wearing my ribbon.

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Elizabeth Taylor, AIDS Crusader

Maybe you don’t remember what the early 1980s were like in AIDS history. The briefest timeline: July, 1981, the first New York Times mention of a strange illness affecting gay men; September, 1985, President Reagan finally mentioned AIDS publicly for the first time in response to a reporter’s question. There was no cure, only prevention and there was public squeamishness about using the words that could educate enough to save lives.

It was a time when landlords evicted sick tenants, when funeral homes refused to handle the bodies of those who had died of AIDS, and when hospitalized AIDS patients had their meal trays left on the floor outside their rooms. Each year brought frustratingly few answers and rising numbers of deaths.

In this atmosphere Elizabeth Taylor spoke out. She was brave, she was relentless. She raised money, she raised awareness. She appeared in public with AIDS patients, touching people who had been pronounced untouchable.

At the time I lived in New York and was a volunteer for the Gay Men’s Health Crisis. It was a remarkable time. Among all the hateful things that happened, I also saw astounding courage. I knew people whose willingness to respond was nearly unimaginable. There were others I did not know personally whose humanity shone like a beacon in those dark times. I will never forget them. Elizabeth Taylor was one.

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December 1: World AIDS Day

Tomorrow is World AIDS Day. Again. The epidemic first identified in 1981 has now claimed over a half a million lives in this country, over 25 million worldwide.

Little was known about its cause or treatment in those first years. The one definitive thing that was established early–prevention–was silenced by the Reagan administration, which was more concerned about offending its supporters on the religious right than about doing right. By the time the word AIDS passed President Reagan’s lips in 1987, more than 36,000 Americans had been diagnosed and 20,000 had died.

Meanwhile, activist groups like New York’s Gay Men’s Health Crisis and ACT UP, and AIDS Action Committee in Boston were founded. Their mission was prevention–spreading the very explicit word on condoms–and service to those who were HIV-positive. I was a volunteer with GMHC and those days were unforgettable. Nothing went on there that was small; everyone was a hero. I remember the people I knew there with huge admiration.

Here in the Boston area there is an exhibit of part of that early political struggle around AIDS education, prevention, and care. “ACT UP New York: Activism, Art, and the AIDS Crisis 1987-1993 is on view until December 23 at the Carpenter Center for the Visual Arts, 24 Quincy Street in Cambridge.

I will be spending time there on World AIDS Day there, honoring the astounding courage shown by so many and remembering that silence still equals death.