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by Chris Bell
I would like to share three
stories, more specifically, one story involving three people.
Billy, Danny and Chris. Similarities? All three were college
students. They were all gay men. And they were young, very
young and living with HIV.
Billy Vance*
I must confess I don’t
know much about Billy other than he grew up on a farm and
majored in Biology. He also enjoyed writing poetry and after
graduation, he applied to a graduate program in Creative Writing.
Billy knew he didn’t have the best qualifications for
the program because as a Biology major, he’d only taken
a few English classes. Nonetheless he had often been told
his poetry was “pretty good,” so he was hopeful.
Much to Billy’s delight, I would imagine, he was not
only accepted into the program but awarded a fellowship as
well.
When Billy met his professors
and fellow graduate students, he confided in a select few.
I have AIDS, I imagine Billy stating. Not only that,
I’ve had it for several years now and quite honestly
I don’t know if I’ll be around long enough to complete
my Ph.D. Despite this realization, or perhaps because
of it, Billy focused solely on his studies and his writing.
He did little, if anything, to draw attention to his seropositive
status. So when he grew sick a mere four months after his
arrival and stopped attending classes, most of his professors
and fellow students didn’t know why. Indeed, it was only
right before Billy died—a few days before the dawning
of spring—that most people found out.
Danny Brown*
While Danny was in
college, he seemed content. He joined the Black Student Union
and was elected President for two years. He pledged a fraternity
and was elected its President as well. He was the student
selected to break ground for the university’s multi-million
dollar Black Culture Center. Danny was arguably one of the
more well-known, well-respected students on his campus. But
Danny had a secret. He was gay, and he found it extremely
difficult to reconcile this fact with the person he wanted
to be.
At some point in his academic
life, probably his junior year, Danny tested positive for
HIV. He told no one. Instead, he withdrew from the university,
transferring to another school a few hundred miles away. When
Danny felt comfortable, he told his mother and sister about
his diagnosis. They offered their support. Not long after,
Danny told his partner about his status and suggested he be
tested. When Danny’s partner learned he was also positive,
he became convinced that Danny had “given him” the
disease. He retaliated by beating Danny with a skillet.
One night, Danny received
a phone call around midnight. After a brief conversation,
he borrowed his sister’s car and disappeared into the
night. By sunrise, he hadn’t returned. A few days later,
the police found the abandoned car on the side of a highway.
There were blood stains in the driver’s seat.
Weeks passed; months passed.
In a large city with a police force well-versed in missing
person’s cases, the mystery of Danny’s disappearance
could not be solved. Finally, a year and a half after he vanished,
two hikers and their young children discovered a skull in
the woods six miles from where the car had been abandoned.
It was Danny’s. His murder remains unsolved.
Chris Bell
During my undergraduate
years, I experienced a growing awareness of self, including
the realization that I am gay. As I came out, I was intrigued
by the seemingly nonplussed reactions of my close friends
and family. While some of them were surprised, others were
not. Regardless of their reactions, they all accepted me without
reserve. I have always cherished that sense of acceptance.
I graduated from college
a few weeks after my 21st birthday and began graduate school
shortly thereafter. I had no qualms about being openly-gay
in graduate school and experienced few, if any, negative repercussions.
Halfway through my Masters coursework, I tested positive for
HIV. As I sat in the student health center, pretending to
listen to the doctor’s counseling, I reflected on my
life, particularly my undergraduate years, where people accepted
me uninhibitedly. Since the people in my life had demonstrated
their acceptance of me as an openly-gay person, I figured
they could accept me as an openly-HIV-positive person. Thus,
I knew I would tell others about my diagnosis; I just didn’t
know how or when.
Ironically, fifteen minutes
later, I had an impromptu conversation with the president
of the school’s Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual and Transgender
(GLBT) student organization, the Triangle Coalition (Tri-Co).
I decided to come out as positive to Tri-Co in the hopes that
they would realize that, despite our tendency to think otherwise,
HIV is a real facet of our lives. A few days later, the editor
of the school newspaper, recognizing me as an AIDS advocate
in the campus community, requested a quote for a story she
was writing on college students’ attitudes towards HIV/AIDS.
I informed her that I’d tested positive a few days before.
After embracing me, my editor friend stepped back, then asked
if she could make me the focal point of her story. I said
yes.
Consequently, nine days after
my diagnosis, the university community picked up the school
newspaper expecting to peruse coverage of that weekend’s
football game. (This was, after all, Homecoming weekend at
a Big 12 school.) Instead, the cover story was an in-depth
explication of my HIV diagnosis. During the following weeks
and months, I discussed HIV/AIDS issues with numerous classes
and student organizations. To my surprise, countless strangers
stopped to thank me for my frankness. In addition, several
students informed me that reading the story had inspired them
to get tested.
That’s my part of the
story.
Billy, Danny and Chris. Differences?
First, the admittedly biased way I told the story. You may
have also guessed it by now, but just in case you haven’t,
you should know that the three of us attended the same university
at the same time. The most striking difference to me is that
two of them are dead and one is alive. Interestingly, the
one who is alive is the one who, it could be argued, took
the most palpable strides in speaking about HIV, the one who
readily wore the scarlet letter “A.” But that doesn’t
make him the hero of the three.
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AIDS Advocacy on college
campuses
People have asked me: Why
did you do it? Why would you choose to reveal the intimate
details of your health status to the university community?
In retrospect, receiving a positive diagnosis was a surprise
for me. I hadn’t been that shocked since 1980 when I
learned Darth Vader was Luke Skywalker’s father. But
in addition to the surprise, I viewed my diagnosis as a prime
opportunity to:
Confront the apathy.
On my campus, efforts at HIV prevention and education were
largely overlooked. People simply did not want to contemplate
the issues. One of the primary reasons for my openness was
the desire for people to consider the ramifications of their
lackluster attitudes towards HIV/AIDS. I knew I could do this
by putting the proverbial face on the disease.
Break the silence.
No one talked about it. For instance, when Billy Vance died,
nothing was done; not in the immediate sense anyway. I remember
walking through the English Department, hearing people discuss
their upcoming comprehensive exams and the like. Not a word
about the fact that one of our own had died. I’ll never
understand how those individuals could treat Death so cavalierly.
Counter the ignorance.
It amazed me, as I undertook my speaking
tour, how many students didn’t know how HIV is contracted
and spread; how many of them viewed AIDS as a “gay disease,”
and this almost three decades into the pandemic. Speaking
out provided me the opportunity to correct the misinformation
and prejudice, and, as previously stated, it galvanized some
students to seek testing.
Top 10 Things You Can
Do to Fight HIV/AIDS at Your College or University
10. Get tested.
Everyone has an HIV status. You should know yours. How can
you be comfortable not knowing?
9. Integrate HIV/AIDS
issues into your classes. Write
about it in English. In your Sociology and Women’s Studies
classes, discuss why women are disproportionately infected.
Bring it up. Yell out “WHEN ARE WE GONNA TALK ABOUT
AIDS?!”, sit back down and see what happens. (And
please, drop me a line and let me know.)
8. Students should
get tested. According to the Centers
for Disease Control and Prevention, college-aged adults have
one of the most prevalent instances of HIV infection in the
US.
7. Beware of AIDS propaganda.
How many times have you attended a “red ribbon”
event where an HIV-positive person materializes as the talking
head, then disappears, never to be heard from again.
6. Get tested.
Make sure your school provides venues for students, faculty
and staff to get tested. Not only that, work to break the
mold of HIV testing. For instance, I went back to my school
a few months ago to visit friends. While there, I learned
that students are not obligated to go to the health center
for testing. They can be tested in their residence halls and
fraternity and sorority houses as well. In addition, the school’s
Black Culture Center, Women’s Center and GLBT Resource
Center have teamed up to offer monthly testing. During the
month I visited, the Women’s Center had run out of tests,
providing sixty in one day.
5. Volunteer at the
ASO of your choice. AIDS service
organizations are always on the lookout for good volunteers.
Spend some time at one and bring the knowledge back to your
school via a program or training.
4. Get tested.
It’s easy.
3. Protect yourself.
HIV/AIDS is preventable. You don’t want it.
2. Get tested.
It’s free.
1. Move beyond the
“red ribbon mentality.”
It’s become a ritual for colleges and universities to
present HIV/AIDS programs to commemorate World AIDS Day. At
these programs, the audience proudly dons the ubiquitous red
ribbons in a show of solidarity. Then, when the program concludes,
they promptly discard them. This blasé, here today, gone
tomorrow attitude is indicative of the “red ribbon mentality.”
Might I suggest you do the unexpected by moving beyond this
mentality. Coordinate a program that does not coincide with
World AIDS Day or rely on disposable symbols to convey empathy.
Realize that people living with HIV/AIDS live with the disease
365 days a year. Develop programs and curriculum to reflect
this. By doing so, you may find that beyond the red ribbon
lies the true call to activism.
I’m considering
returning to school next fall. In doing so, I inevitably think
of the trinity Billy, Danny and I created. Moreover, I can’t
help thinking we weren’t the only ones; that at a university
with a student population numbering over 20,000, there would
have to have been more than three HIV-infected people. I’ll
never know who the others were, nor is there any particular
reason why I should.
But I knew Billy and Danny.
They weren’t just faces in the crowd. Danny once sat
in my living room watching music videos. For four months,
I passed Billy in the hallways of the English Department.
He died on my 23rd birthday. Because of this inextricable
link I feel to Billy and Danny, they remain in my thoughts.
For me, this story never ends.
* Billy and Danny’s
names have been changed.
Chris Bell receives email at tooferbell@yahoo.com
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Chris
Bell