Welcome to the POZ Podium


The POZ Podium is a platform for opinions, insights, rants and raves from all corners of the HIV/AIDS community.

On the POZ Podium, we invite thought leaders and provocateurs to ponderand postulate the most pressing issues affecting people living withHIV/AIDS.

The opinions of POZ Podium contributors are theirs. They do not reflectthe opinions of Smart + Strong or POZ, and neither is responsible forthe accuracy of any of the information contained on the POZ Podium.

We encourage your active participation in the discussion.Please comment at the end of each POZ Podium. Wish to write for us orwant to suggest a topic? Contact news@poz.com.


World AIDS Day, marked December 1 each year, always elicits the full spectrum of my emotions. On the one hand, it is a day to mark the tragedies caused by a pandemic that has stricken people on every continent for nearly 30 years. On the other, it is an occasion to celebrate the successes that have been made in treatment and its delivery, awareness, prevention and survival.

Consider this: There are more people living with HIV on the planet today (an estimated 33 million) than there are laid to rest beneath its surface as a result of AIDS (more than 25 million). But while it’s wonderful that the survivor count outweighs the death toll, the number of people living with HIV/AIDS around the world continues to rise. And that’s certainly not cause to open the bubbly. That people are living with HIV is only marginally better than people dying from HIV.

So World AIDS Day is both a solemn and a painful one, and one on which to remember that we have already done much—and must continue to do more to improve the lives of people living with HIV/AIDS. On this day—the 21st World AIDS Day—and throughout the year, I remember and pay homage to those we have lost. And I use their memory, combined with the desire to help those who are still with us, to spur me on in my own efforts to fight HIV/AIDS.

When I was diagnosed, I never thought I’d see my 13th World AIDS Day. Like my birthday, each subsequent World AIDS Day is a day on which to cut another notch in my survival belt and sigh deeply knowing that I’m still here. With every passing year, my conviction that I—and we as a community of people living with HIV—will beat down this monster of AIDS strengthens. It hasn’t killed us, so we’re stronger, right?

The hardest part of fighting HIV/AIDS for me is the idea that we must up our collective ante despite a climate of AIDS apathy.

The truth is, people are sick and tired of talking, thinking and hearing about HIV/AIDS. Too many in the United States think that AIDS is over. Or that it’s “over there” as in, it’s a disease that only happens in Africa (Meanwhile, the HIV/AIDS infection rate in the District of Columbia is the same—or higher—than that of some African countries). AIDS fatigue is fueling the pandemic. Don’t get me wrong. I’m sick of AIDS, too. But I know that this is all the more reason to re-up our efforts. As much as we would like to dismiss it, it’s not going away until we banish it with scientific technology and behavioral changes. Ask any global AIDS expert and he or she will tell you that we can neither treat nor prevent our way out of this disease. The end of AIDS will come as the result of a trifecta of attacks. We will need to treat those living with the virus while we prevent future cases—and simultaneously we must hunt relentlessly for the cure in case options A and B fail to work or in case we can no longer afford to expend the billions of dollars required to administer delivery and care to all who need it. Few are willing to think about the cost to the world of treating 33 million people for HIV/AIDS. Let alone the cost of future cases. It’s just unthinkable. And yet, the cost to humanity of not finding the resources to treat all who need care is just as devastating.

As our country struggles with economic concerns and complex decisions about international military engagement (Afghanistan! Iraq! Pakistan?) and their expense, it is harder than ever to garner the political and financial capital we need to better fight the beast. And yet, even in this current political and economic climate, we have made significant progress. On October 30, President Obama signed a bill that extended the Ryan White CARE Program. The same day, the president announced that the travel ban for people living with HIV has been lifted in the United States, effective January 4. As a result, it was announced yesterday by Secretary of State Hillary Clinton that the United States will again host the International AIDS Conference in 2012, in Washington, DC.

Our country has always been the world leader in the fight against HIV/AIDS. During President George W. Bush’s two terms, we instigated the President’s Emergency Plan for AIDS Relief (PEPFAR). PEPFAR’s budget is currently at $48 billion; no other nation in the world has pledged such a sum to fight a single humanitarian cause. President Obama has pledged his ongoing commitment to PEPFAR’s efforts. He has also pledged to develop a national AIDS strategy to better allow America to fight HIV/AIDS domestically. The president reinstated the Office of National AIDS Policy in the White House, and its director, Jeffrey Crowley, has been actively leading an initiative to gather feedback from people living with and affected by HIV/AIDS from all over the country.

However, we still have no legislation that allows for needle exchange. And the restrictions in the current bill would mean that it would be virtually impossible to implement needle exchange programs in inner cities where they are most needed. We have more than 300 people on AIDS Drug Assistance Program wait lists. We do not have the most accurate data on who is living with HIV in America, and we have seen a terrifying uptick in the numbers of cases, and severity, of people living with HIV being criminally charged for wielding HIV as “a weapon”—even as a “biological weapon of terror.” New infection numbers indicate that African Americans, gay men and men who have sex with men (MSM) are disproportionately impacted by the virus. HIV/AIDS has become the No. 1 cause of disease and death in women worldwide. Nearly 34 percent of all new infections were in people under the age of 30, which speaks to our need to educate generations of young Americans who were deprived of lifesaving information about their sexual health. They must be given the social tools to enable them to make good decisions and to help them best navigate relationships in order to protect their sexual health.

Racial discrimination, homophobia and stigma are still enormous barriers to preventing and treating HIV/AIDS.

Hence, the spectrum of emotions I feel each December 1. There’s good news on the drug development and vaccine fronts. Great new energy. Promises from the president—some which have already been made good. Forward movement in policy. Champions in Congress (Waters. Lee. Himes. And others.). Great leadership in the AIDS world. Unflagging, massive, generous support (Gates. Clinton. Ford. M.A.C. Elton John. And others.). New heroes—and enduring ones. A sense that we can’t give up—and that we won’t—no matter how tired we are.

And there is also sadness that we have lost so many, and concern that if we don’t do more, faster, we will lose others.

I spend World AIDS Day like this: I get up and reflect with reverence on the enormity and depth of the problem. I let it terrify and overwhelm me. I acknowledge the desires I have to pretend it’s all a bad dream, to want to crawl back under the covers, to simply ignore that it’s here. And then, I sit quietly and let the tears come. And they wash my eyes, blurring a little the picture of a world threatened by AIDS. It seems a little less scary, through that watery haze. And then I take a few deep breaths and blink. And blink. Until my eyes are clear. And I think of one thing that I can do that might make it better. And that one thing is enough to get me out of bed and into my clothes. As I hurtle down the highway to my office, I count the dashes in the dividing lines of the road, knowing that if I count every one on the way from New Jersey to New York, I still won’t come close to the number AIDS has swept away. And I am driven onward by the idea that if I hurry up and get to POZ, maybe, just maybe, I will be part of something that will bring us a day closer to celebrating the end of AIDS and not just a day that reminds us we are still not winning this war.

This year’s World AIDS Day started with my rescuing a wild possum that had gotten into my chicken coop and spent the night with my barn cats. When I first saw him, I thought he was dead, but then I realized he was just, well, playing possum. As he cowered behind a box, blinking his strange swirly eyes at me in the early morning light, it occurred to me that he might be rabid. At first, I was scared to touch him. Then, I realized I was profiling him: A nocturnal animal out in day—but not by his own choice as I had accidentally locked him in there last night. I had no proof that he was infected and no indication that he wanted to hurt me. There was no reason to think he was disease-ridden. As we stared at each other, I felt a strange connection. Then, I realized we were two birds of a feather, so to speak. We are both feared because of ignorance and stereotypes. Possums and people with HIV are often seen as filthy. We are both creatures believed to be virulent carriers of disease. As his eyes pleaded with me not to hurt him, I saw something of my own reflection there. And I thought about how even as I will face many audiences this week to speak about HIV/AIDS and our need to fight the stigma around the disease, there will be a part of me that is fearful for how those who look upon me will perceive me and what they will do, or not do, to and with me, as a result.

Being cautious, I used a thick blanket to scoop up my furry friend and put him in the row of pine trees in the back of my farm. He seemed incredulous when I lowered the blanket to the ground and set him free. He scuttled away, pausing to look over his shoulder at me. Twice. The second time, he opened his mouth in a strange possum smile before disappearing into the weeds. And I knew exactly how he felt. To come so close to death, and instead, find myself in a pretty hay field, watching the sunrise on a new—World AIDS—day seemed miraculous. Or at least, worthy of a big smile. I hope today brings a smile to your face as well. May we all renew our commitment to the fight and find fresh energy to help the world see people living with HIV/AIDS as something to be rescued—not reviled.

Please be sure to read POZ’s special World AIDS Day supplement in The Washington Post here.