Our Oral History Interview with Curtis Wadlington is now indexed and text-searchable at the African American AIDS History Project! Thanks to generous support from the Chris Webber Memorial Fund, we have been able to move forward with making the interviews for this project more accessible and usable through the Oral History Metadata Synchronizer. Thanks to Maria Santiago for her hard work indexing this interview—we’ll have more indexed interviews to share with you soon!
Today marks the thirteenth annual National Black HIV/AIDS Awareness Day, a grassroots effort to bring AIDS awareness into African American communities that is supported by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. You can find the official website here. If you watch the video for our Kickstarter campaign below, or at the project page, you’ll see that Pernessa Seele traces the history of events like these to the Harlem Week of Prayer for the Healing of AIDS that she started in 1989. If you want to find out what’s happening near you, the official site has a handy map, which you can find here.
by Dan Royles
I am sad to report that Curtis Wadlington, a longtime human services specialist and AIDS activist, passed away on August 9th. I was lucky enough to interview Curtis a few months before he passed, and he was extremely generous with his time and memories, letting me scan a slew of personal documents related to his work on AIDS education with Blacks Educating Blacks About Sexual Health Issues (BEBASHI) and the Philadelphia school system. During our interview, he made it clear that his Baptist faith compelled him to devote his energy and talents to helping disadvantaged people reduce their risk for contracting HIV, and to give comfort to those living with and dying from AIDS.
I feel extraordinarily lucky to have met Curtis before he passed, and to be able to add his story to this project. There is an urgency that goes along with oral history, a need to capture voices before they are gone, that goes double for this project. In the future, Curtis’ words will be available at the Urban Archives of Temple University to anyone who wants to study his work, or simply be inspired by his example, and that meant a great deal to him. David Fair, another interviewee, has generously shared his eulogy from Curtis’ funeral, which I’ve posted at the African American AIDS History Project. Philly.com and the Examiner have also posted obituaries detailing Curtis’ lifetime of advocacy and activism. Rest in peace, Curtis. You are already missed.
by Dan Royles
PBS recently aired Endgame: AIDS in Black America as part of its documentary series FRONTLINE. Viewers unaware of just how prevalent HIV and AIDS are in black communities may be shocked to learn that today half of new HIV cases in the United States, including two-thirds of those among women and 70% of those among youth, occur among African Americans, who make up only about 13% of the national population. These numbers are nothing new. As filmmaker Renata Simone makes clear, when doctors initially identified AIDS among gay men in 1981, they built a case definition for the new disease around the opportunistic infections presented by those first patients, inadvertently precluding many women, who suffered from different ailments, from receiving AIDS diagnoses. By the time that the Centers for Disease Control added female-specific infections to the case definition in 1993, the severity of the AIDS crisis among women had been undercounted for twelve years. Given that black women account for the majority of women with HIV and AIDS in the United States, the underrepresentation of women with AIDS led epidemiologists to underestimate the severity of the disease among African Americans as well. Moreover, as white gay men became the public face of AIDS in popular media accounts of the epidemic, many African Americans came to see the epidemic as one that would never affect them personally.
In Endgame, this sense of insulation from AIDS comes across most poignantly in the firsthand stories of women contracted HIV through unprotected sex with boyfriends or husbands who either did not know or did not disclose their own HIV positivity. However, Simone also gives voice to a wide range of experiences of AIDS among African Americans. Viewers hear from HIV positive gay men, a social worker illegally distributing clean syringes in Atlanta, young adults who contracted the virus in utero and now are coming of sexual age, as well as a host of public health experts, doctors, preachers, and activists.
Simone connects these individual stories to broader the broader social, cultural, and political forces driving the AIDS epidemic in black communities. For example, viewers see Alabama educators discuss their commitment to the state’s abstinence-only sexual health curriculum and then meet Marvalene, a young HIV-positive woman who explains that the textbook for her wellness class in high school showed only pictures of an African child and an emaciated white gay man in its discussion of AIDS. Viewers also hear from HIV-positive black gay men of different ages who trace their drug use and risky sexual choices to the various degrees of homophobic rejection they faced at home, school, and church. Failed education and homophobia represent only two nodes in a dense web of interrelated factors that underpins the racial disparity in HIV/AIDS in the United States, which Simone ably elucidates through interviews with longtime researchers and activists such as Robert Fullilove of Columbia University, Phill Wilson of the Black AIDS Institute, and Dázon Dixon Diallo of Sisterlove, Inc.
Putting the epidemic in historical context, Fullilove testifies to the economic dislocation that many black communities faced in the 1970s and 1980s, which fueled a growing drug trade as a source of income for black men who couldn’t find jobs in the licit economy. The explosion of crack in particular during the 1980s left many infected, as users (particularly women) hard up for a fix turned to sex work to satisfy their habits. Blaming crack for urban crime rates, lawmakers passed harsh sentencing laws for possession and distribution of the super-addictive drug, landing many black men in prison, where sex among inmates is common but condoms nearly absent. Upon release, they return to communities experiencing gender imbalance due to the disproportionate incarceration of black men, in which women feel disempowered when it comes to negotiating monogamy and safe sex, in part because there are so many fewer men than women. Two interviewees from late in the documentary hit the nail on the head. Dr. Lisa Fitzpatrick argues that the structural factors driving the epidemic demand structural solutions, while another interviewee describes AIDS as a “string” running through the fabric of black communities, highlighting the lingering racial inequalities in American society.
Both women are right, although like the statistics on AIDS in black America, their arguments are nothing new. For much of the epidemic, AIDS activists of color in particular have used AIDS as a means by which to draw attention to persistent issues of inequality in their communities, often putting issues like access to housing, education, and basic medical care at the forefront of their efforts. As Jennifer Brier has argued, they sometimes couched their work in an international context, advocating for global justice in the epidemic by addressing the structural inequalities faced by African Americans and people throughout the global south alike. As Bambi Gaddist of the South Carolina AIDS Coalition tells Simone (though in a different context), “I’m in Africa right now. As a state, I’m there. Sometimes, my staff feels like we’re there. Every time we test another young person positive, we’re there.”
Though Simone spends a great deal of time and care laying out the context for the disproportionate impact of AIDS on black America, in the film she gives very little attention to the political response of African Americans to the epidemic. In an early oral history for my own dissertation on the political culture of black AIDS activism, an informant lamented that to read what has been written on AIDS politics, one would think African Americans let the disease “steamroll over” their communities, and to some extent Endgame reinforces that myth. However, the supporting materials, including an excellent timeline, on the FRONTLINE website begin to flesh out that history of activism.
Also absent from Endgame are the voices of HIV-positive straight black men, save for Magic Johnson and the “bornies” who contracted the virus before birth. Otherwise, they appear (or rather do not appear) as duplicitous off-screen figures who fail to protect their female partners, or in the case of incarcerated men, as possible vectors of infection once they re-enter their home communities. Even the inmates who do appear on screen are shown speaking only to a doctor, who in turn addresses the camera in discussing their potential for spreading the epidemic further. Representations like this arguably do more harm than good. Making a serious dent in AIDS numbers means empowering everyone who is affected to openly talk and engage in safer sex, and that means straight men as well as women and gay men.
Altogether, Endgame is a thoughtful and emotionally powerful examination of AIDS among African Americans that does justice to the complexity of the epidemic and the challenges that lie ahead in the fight to stop it. It’s worth reiterating, however, that the disproportionate impact of AIDS on black communities–and black women in particular–is nothing new. Nevertheless, it seems as though almost every piece of reporting on HIV/AIDS among African Americans trumpets similar statistics as though they were some new revelation about the “changing face of AIDS.” Is this simply the persistence of the disease’s initial framing as “gay cancer,” as Simone suggests, or does it speak to a more pervasive inattention to the inequalities in American society that continue to drive the epidemic? The real endgame here seems to be that to real get to the heart of the problem, we need to address some very deep structural problems in the United States, and that kind of change doesn’t come easily.
Read more: Kenyon Farrow has a more critical review of Endgame on his personal site. Right after the documentary aired, Gawker put up cash to find out who gave HIV to Magic Johnson. Not to overuse a tired phrase, but if that’s the big question you took away from this film, you’re doing it wrong.