Pride Guide 2004 GAY PEOPLE'S CHRONICLE

A-25

Pride and AIDS: Remember what we are fighting for

by Earl Pike

Cleveland-Twenty-three years into the AIDS epidemic, it's easy enough to articulate what we're fighting against: An estimated 75 million HIV infections around the world since 1981. Over 20 million already dead, leaving 14 million orphans. An actual reduction in life expectancy due to AIDS in 51 countries. Less than 2% of the world's people living with HIV having access to life-extending antiretrovirals. 1.5 million people already diagnosed with HIV in the U.S. since 1981, with over 500,000 already dead.

Disproportionate impacts: Four out of seven new cases of HIV in the United States are among African Americans; women now represent nearly a third of all infections; one-half of all new infections in the United States occurring among young people under 25 years of age; the devastating impact on LGBT communities over 23 years-years filled with loss and sorrow and frustration and rage. Thirteen thousand cases in Ohio; 4,000 cases in northeast Ohio. The poverty that accompanies AIDS; the fear and prejudice; the homophobia and racism; the lack of access to health care; the silence.

What we're fighting against is a terrifying and overwhelming catalog. It hasn't stopped for over two decades. It won't anytime soon. What's harder is remembering what we're fighting for.

In April the AIDS Taskforce of Greater Cleveland held an open house for the beginning of the Beyond Identities Community Center, a program for LGBTQ African American, Latino(a), Asian/Pacific Islander, and Native American youth.

BICC is located about ten blocks from the AIDS Taskforce, in a warehouse district. It's nothing big or fancy; there are a few offices, a computer lab, a meeting room, a kitchen. The carpet's old and heavily worn; the furniture is begged and borrowed. There's a simple sign on the door.

For weeks before the open house the youth and staff of BICC had been painting, moving, cleaning, adorning the walls with posters and images, making BICC a home. There are safer sex posters, there's a poster of Che Guevara, images of hip hop artists and cultural heroes and youth icons.

At the open house itself, I had no idea what to expect. Everything had been planned and organized by BICC youth, and every once in a while, I'd heard a mundane update: something about the lease, acquiring a donated desk.

But when I walked in that evening, I was stunned. There were 75 African American and Latino LGBTQ youth, packing every room, every corner. Five or six young people were on computers, three of whom were

crowded in front of one monitor, watching The Closet, a new DVD series about African American LGBTQ men and women and their lives. People were laughing and talking and connecting; the music was playing; the line formed for cheese and crackers.

Jamale Willis,

the MC for the open house and a mentor to BICC, tried bravely to pull everyone together for the program, and finally, the presentations began.

In turn, youth came forward to talk about what the center meant to

Earl Pike

them, and share their gifts with each other. A drag number got the crowd clapping, and dollar bills waved in the air. A young man, with a gorgeous voice, sang a gospel song; the room was hushed. Prodigy and Robert Brown and others shared poetry, and the rhythms and cadences and messages were electric. Someone else danced; and then, another song. L. Michael Gipson, the coordinator for the project, shared a little bit about plans for BICC, and passed out awards to youth in the LifeArt program, and to youth who had gone the extra mile in getting BICC ready.

Sometimes and you can't ever really plan for such a thing—an event has a feeling that's impossible to describe. That night, it was that feeling: connection, support, optimism, family, community. Queer kids being queer kids, creating something new and different and safe, building something that sustains, a culture. You had to be there--it was that feeling.

Driving home I kept thinking about a line from the poem Prodigy read something like, "I found poetry and it kept me alive." When he read it, I thought: How wise, how wise.

That's what we're fighting for: the poetry, the dance, the music; the energy and hope and dogged bravery that keeps us alive, sustains LGBTQ communities and cultures, preserves the best measures of our best dreams. That's what we're fighting for: safe spaces; family in all its forms and expressions; the connections and mutual support that keep us healthy and hopeful. That's what we're fighting for: not just an end to the horror of AIDS, but the nurturing communities that will sustain us during the fight, and inevitably, invariably, outlast the epidemic itself.

Earl Pike is the executive director of the AIDS Taskforce of Greater Cleveland.

Optimism, hope and pride can also help stop AIDS

by Nathan Schaefer

Cleveland-I'm a 23-year-old gay man with a clear passion for rectifying social injustice. After graduating college, I decided to enter social work to funnel my passion into a meaningful area. This came with an obstacle: How and where can I make a difference?

Hesitantly, I chose to enter the field of HIV because of its direct impact on the gay community. I began interning at the AIDS Taskforce of Greater Cleveland last September.

When I started, my perception of the AIDS crisis was unduly despondent. The anticipated emotional outcomes were depression, hopelessness and frustration.

Admittedly, AIDS is a daunting concern and the available opportunities to provide assistance are very inadequate. However, submitting to this or choosing not to aid the struggle limits the possibilities for both intervention and empowerment.

After nearly a year at the Taskforce, I appreciate that while AIDS is a volatile crisis facing the gay community, considerable efforts can alleviate the damaging emotions I predicted. Such efforts simultaneously tackle

the issue itself and the related negative connotations.

I now realize that working with HIV is not depressing it's remarkably uplifting. The most detrimental emotions perpetuating the crisis are apathy and ignorance. Perhaps the best tactics to combat AIDS include optimism, hope and pride. This unconventional approach shows us how effective our thought patterns alone can be. The gay community has reframed the perception of AIDS, and this should an inspiration for everyone.

Too often, we discount our capability in the midst of systemic oppression or convoluted social problems. The response to AIDS is an excellent example of individual and collective competence.

The gay community has two lessons to learn from the AIDS epidemic. First, giving in to unconfirmed perceptions reinforces oppression. Second, we must take pride in our efforts. Seeing this, others will be able to more readily confront intimidating social issues.

Nathan Schaefer is an intern at the AIDS Taskforce of Greater Cleveland.

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