Twenty years. The plague called AIDS has encountered few speed bumps on its way to devastating the lives of millions of people around the world. The current drug regimes work for some but are inaccessible for many—however, they have slowed the devastation at least for some people in the U.S. In the 1980s and early 1990s, the obituary pages of gay newspapers were filled with the fallen. In Chicago, we experienced the plague up close and personal, and lost thousands from our ranks. We still continue to lose people. We still have people who face the horrific side effects of AIDS and the medications that come with it. We still have people who lose their jobs, are harassed, and feel isolated because of HIV and AIDS.
This Memorial Day, as the world remembers those fallen in war, the GLBT community remembers those murdered in the ongoing war against AIDS and homophobia. The early years of AIDS were unnecessarily burdened with the dual role of fighting ignorance and disease. The plague could have been slowed, but the highest leaders in this nation turned the other way, even from their own gay friends. Church leaders preached and condemned when they could have been showing compassion. The disease was stereotyped as gay, white and male. Family members, friends and employers conspired to hide the disease from the obituary pages of mainstream newspapers, and it was often left absent even at funerals and memorial services, similar to how cancer was once treated.
I remember attending so many funerals where AIDS was never mentioned, much less homosexuality. Where partners were shunned by the family of the deceased. And sometimes, gay friends held separate memorials just so the true life and spirit of their loved one would be remembered. The service for dancer and choreographer Joseph Holmes in the mid-1980s was an example of an opportunity lost. A packed South Side church heard nothing of Holmes' sexuality or what killed him. He was a Black gay man whose life was "straightened" for the masses, but whose death could have been an important signal of times to come in the Black community, both gay and non-gay.
The gay and lesbian community knew quickly that help was not coming soon. The community, in part taking its cue from the 1970s women's health movement, decided to build a movement from the inside. Huge institutions were created, and grassroots activism sprang up. In Chicago, ACT UP played the role of outsider, pressing for increased funding and drug access, while large organizations such as Open Hand, Chicago House, Howard Brown Memorial Clinic ( now HBHC ) , AIDS Legal Council, Project VIDA and the AIDS Foundation of Chicago helped serve the needs of people living with HIV and AIDS.
Those needs still include food, housing, medications, and help in fighting discrimination. People are still fired in the year 2001 for living with AIDS. People still go hungry and homeless, and many can not afford the treatments that are available.
And, in 2001, people are still dying of complications from the disease. The war is not over. As AIDS enters its third decade, as millions are impacted, the road ahead is still long and difficult.
June marks the 20th anniversary of the first diagnosed cases of what would become known as AIDS. This Memorial Day, we pay tribute to the thousands of Chicagoans we have lost, and to those living now with HIV and AIDS. We also pay tribute to the millions of people around the world who are fighting for their survival every day. And finally, we pay a special tribute to the caregivers, some who have been on the front lines every day for 20 years, for their amazing spirit and dedication to helping others. They are the reason we can keep hope alive.
In this issue, we have listed the names of just a few of the Chicagoans lost to HIV and AIDS. We welcome submissions of more names ( please include verification of death with a death certificate or obituary published in a newspaper ) to email outlines@suba.com or fax ( 773 ) 871-7609.