When I arrived in San Francisco 20 years ago, I found a ghost town ravaged by AIDS, unspeakable death, and grief. I was shocked as a sheltered person from the suburbs to experience such massive suffering and the difficulty of imagining myself and my friends growing old.
But I also discovered a community of angry, scared, passionate, loving queer people who knew that they were the only ones who could change this story in the face of government inaction and public indifference. These people are my heroes. They took to the streets and got arrested. They learned how to write legislation and lobby government. They saved lives because they knew no one else was going to do it.
Where did this community and where did this spirit go?
This past summer, Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger launched an unprecedented attack on the lives of people living with and at risk for HIV – including thousands of gay and bisexual men – by eliminating all state funding for HIV testing, housing, and care programs. These outrageous cuts come at a time when HIV increasingly affects gay youth, poor people, women, and people of color.
The result is obvious: more people will learn their HIV status in the emergency room. There will be more HIV transmission. There will be more homeless queer people. And there will be more people without lifesaving care.
What is the difference this time? With some exceptions, this community didn't fight back. We used to fight back hard. That is what saved lives. Why have we become so complacent about our health? Why don't we fight for gay youth to have the same health messages and opportunities for HIV testing that I got when I was their age? Why don't we fight to ensure that all people with HIV have care and housing regardless of income?
What does it say about us that we stopped fighting when HIV started affecting the most vulnerable and disenfranchised among us?
It gets worse. We have recently learned that the state's AIDS Drug Assistance Program is facing a looming financial crisis – with the possibility of thousands losing access to lifesaving HIV medications. Less than 100 people showed up at a rally to demand that the governor fully fund this program. Have we decided our lives are not worth fighting for?
While still a top priority, however, HIV is not the only health crisis facing our community.
There are other serious issues are rarely discussed among us. I want to talk about queer people I've known and loved who faced these health issues. These were people who gave me joy, taught me lessons, made me a better advocate and a better person. They are all members of our community who should still be alive today.
I want to talk about Martin Delaney, the founder of Project Inform. A brilliant man who spent his adult life saving the lives and giving hope to countless people living with HIV. One of those who truly can be called a hero in the fight against this disease. Marty retired last year and deserved to enjoy time for himself. However, a few months into his retirement, he was diagnosed with liver cancer caused by chronic hepatitis B. He died two months later at the age of 61.
I want to talk about Gil Turner, my partner from 1996-2001. It is impossible to describe Gil and what he did for me and my life in a short column. Eight years ago, Gil become violently ill and learned in intensive care that he had liver cancer and chronic hepatitis B. At that time, we barely even knew what this disease was. Gil was given six months to live and didn't even get that, dying at the age of 33 a few months later.
Finally, I want to talk about Danny Cusick. The only way to describe Danny is a "gentle warrior" – another fierce AIDS advocate but with the biggest heart this planet will ever know. Danny almost died from AIDS in 1995, but came back from the brink of death thanks to new HIV meds. But early this year, Danny died from hepatitis C and liver cancer.
Hepatitis B and C are killing gay men, particularly those who are HIV-positive. But we don't talk about this and we do little to educate one another.
The most disturbing part of all of is that I could talk about more people in my life who are gone. And I know that many of you have similar stories.
This is one of our tragic shared experiences as queer people. And this needs to stop.
All I want is what we all want – a chance to grow old with my friends.
This is worth fighting for.
We can change this story, but it won't happen until we prioritize our queer health along with our other important battles.
We can and should be leading the fight for health care reform and to restore the unconscionable cuts to HIV programs made by the governor. We must insist that not one penny is cut from ADAP.
We should ensure that queer people, particularly gay youth, have access to health information and prevention messages that can save their lives.
We will never be free and we will never be equal until all queer people have the opportunity to live a full and healthy life and we end our story of grief and broken hearts.
So – I ask – can we please start talking about it?
Ryan Clary is the director of public policy at Project Inform. This column was adapted from a speech he gave at Yerba Buena Center for the Arts' Soapbox Social on November 14.