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When I told my partner Bill I felt compelled
to write something for World AIDS Day but that I wasn’t sure I had
anything fresh to say on the subject, he seemed quite entertained.
“YOU never run out of something to say
or write,” he said. Bill was kidding—well, at least mostly—but the
truth remains: It has gotten harder and harder to write something
stirring and worthwhile for the worldwide day we share to commemorate
those lost to AIDS and to rally hope for an end to this pandemic.
In some ways it seems there is little new
information to relate. I know that is an overstatement—that we have
had some great advances in terms of pharmaceutical developments,
understanding of treatment, advocacy expertise, and so on—but it is
nonetheless a statement reflecting the mood of many. As we progress
through the early part of our third decade with HIV, it seems
prevention, education, and treatment advances are still outnumbered by
setbacks and bad news. Young gay men are infected at a rate that is
unacceptably high. Women and minorities suffer disproportionately
compared to the larger population. Economic and sociopolitical
structures prevent adequate education and treatment of people with HIV
in this and other countries. Some of those other countries want to turn
a blind eye toward the pandemic and the people it affects directly;
still, too many countries sincerely want to stem the onslaught, and they
are begging for help from more privileged countries around the globe
(our country, in particular). And, while there are many great efforts
toward providing help, we can’t get there fast enough and we can’t
do enough.
I also know that my seeming inability to
think of new and inspiring messages about the war on AIDS is due in
great part to battle fatigue. Although, as a gay man, my personal space
was miraculously untouched by the pandemic during much of the 1980s, I
ended the decade as caregiver to my partner. He lost his battle in early
1991 and I barely had time to take a breath before becoming part of a
team that cared for my best friend, who also soon thereafter lost his
battle with AIDS.
Then another friend was lost and another,
and so on. I began writing more about AIDS (it was therapeutic; it was
what I could do). I began giving time and, when possible, money to AIDS
service organizations. I began writing more letters of advocacy,
sometimes shaming politicians and bureaucrats who don’t do enough
toward control of HIV. Sometimes I wrote to praise the brave souls who
truly want to stop this modern plague. And I am doing so much less than
other people—particularly those who work in AIDS care professionally
or who are directly supporting a friend or family member who is dying
from HIV-related illness. I know there are folks who are doing more and
who are much more tired than I am.
They carry on and do what they can for at
least one of the same reasons I do: We don’t have a choice.
In the days just after my partner died, a
well-meaning friend-of-a-friend said, “How can you go on?” I
remember being as irritated as I was touched. While I appreciated the
sympathetic inquiry, I found it a little inane too. After all, you can
either let a catastrophic loss destroy you, or you can pick up the
pieces, push yourself forward, and pledge to do all you can for others
in similar circumstances—if for no other reason than to keep alive the
memories of other wonderful souls lost to AIDS.
For this year’s World AIDS Day,
December 1, I hope you will remember those we have lost and reflect on
those who are at risk, and find the inspiration you need to do your part
in whatever way you can. Because, in the words of pioneering HIV
activist, educator, and publisher Sean Strub, “Until no one has AIDS,
we all have AIDS.”
Andrew Plant, an Atlanta-based writer, is
Editor at Large for A&U, a national non-profit magazine focusing on
AIDS. Beginning in 2003, he begins a column for Hepatitis Maga-zine on
HIV/Hep C co-infection. He can be reached at AtlantaWriter@mindspring.com.
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