The History of the AIDS Epidemic in Black America.
Marking the 30th year of the epidemic brings to the surface so many powerful and conflicting emotions for me personally that I find it difficult to make sense of them all. I’m acutely aware of how lucky I am and how improbable it was when I was infected that I would be alive today. But here I am, the personification of what can happen when people with HIV have the love and support of family and friends and the care and treatment we need.
Hundreds of thousands of Americans living with HIV are alive today because of scientific breakthroughs. This milestone provides a moment to reflect and give thanks. Yet I’m also mindful of all that has been lost. More than half a million people have died of AIDS in this country. Worldwide, the death toll is over 25 million. They aren’t here to witness the end of the epidemic’s third decade. I remember Reggie, Marlon, Essex, Belynda, Rory, Roger, Craig, Brandy, Sylvester, Assotto, and the countless friends, loved ones and cherished colleagues gone too soon. No amount of scientific advances will bring them back, but their memories comfort me when I’m feeling lonely and inspire me to keep fighting until it is over.
Thirty years since the first official report of AIDS among six white gay men at UCLA medical center in Los Angeles, I’m also buffeted by conflicting emotions regarding how much we have failed to do. I’m mindful of the extraordinary opportunities we now have, but also beset by concern that we won’t do the right thing.