Why I Wear a Red Ribbon

People often ask me why I wear a red ribbon, or why my Yahoo and Pogo avatar's are displaying red ribbons. Some people ask the question simply to find out what the ribbon means, but other people are really asking a hidden question: they wonder what experiences in life have moved me so that I would want to wear a red ribbon, a visible reminder to all, of the continuing battle against HIV and AIDS. I wonder sometimes, if unknowingly, they are asking whether or not I have HIV or AIDS. I do not have HIV or AIDS. I don't wear it because I'm gay. I wear it because I can!

I am still alive, still able to carry the message about the reality and urgency of AIDS and how HIV can be prevented. I carry this message for those whose voices can no longer be heard but whose presence can be felt. What message, you ask? I carry the message, to all who will hear and listen, that HIV/AIDS is both FATAL and PREVENTABLE.

I carry the message that persons living with HIV/AIDS are "persons" first and foremost:

. Persons who have families and loved ones,

. Persons who have dreams and hopes and fears,

. Persons who laugh and cry,

. Persons who deserve the same respect as you and I.

On June 4, 1996, my good friend Manny died alone in a makeshift tent in which he was living. Manny was 23 years old, homeless, and living along side of railroad tracks in a makeshift tent. Manny had been suffering from AIDS for nearly a year. I met him one day as I was walking down the railroad tracks where I often walked and listened to my music. We became friends and we shared our life stories with each other. I brought him food and blankets and we spent a lot of time playing cards and sitting by the river's edge.

When I learned about his having AIDS, I walked with him to the local counseling center where they provided AIDS counseling and support. He was set up with free counseling and free medical help. We filled out applications for Medicaid and welfare benefits. We were working on finding him a place to live. Things were beginning to look upward for Manny. Then one day when I went to sit with him, he was feeling really depressed and was refusing to receive any help. I could tell that his medical condition was worsening and that he was getting weak. I could hear the bone-chilling sound of fluids collecting in his lungs as he struggled to breath. When I left him that day, I called the counseling center, which in turn, called the police and ambulance for Manny. Still, he refused to go to the hospital. They left him there near the railroad tracks that night. The very next morning I learned that they had found a young mans body by the river.

I know that Manny had no funeral or memorial service and that he was buried at the Mayflower Cemetery. Still today, I wonder where his grave is. There is no marker. There is no remembrance for this 23 year old young man. His family never came to claim him. I suppose he is among the thousands of other "unclaimed" in the back of that cemetery.

Manny had family in Texas who had disowned him after he came out as a homosexual to his parents and community there. He traveled North in hopes of starting a new life. But, that dream of a new life was cut short when he was diagnosed with AIDS. He was fired from his job as an orderly at a local nursing home because of his disclosure to his boss that he had AIDS. At that time, he was just beginning to experience the devastating symptoms of his disease. He became homeless and lost his health insurance. He was beaten up by other homeless individuals and street people when his homosexuality and disease was exposed. He became isolated and rarely wandered out onto the streets, staying in his makeshift tent most of the time. He told me of many instances when people would not go near him or touch him, other than to beat him. I could see his pain through his eyes. I could see his lonely soul through his eyes.

When I wear the red ribbon, I am demonstrating my compassion for people living with HIV/AIDS, my determination that those who have already died from AIDS will not be forgotten, my support for the ongoing efforts of all AIDS service organizations, my respect for the dedicated caregivers, and my desire to educate others about how to stop the spread of this terrible and devastating disease.

I can think of many reasons to proudly wear the red ribbon, and these reasons have names and faces:

Manny, a friend who I could confide in with my most personal problems and who gave me a reason to fight the good cause;

Louise, who while living with HIV herself, helped counsel and comfort those dying from AIDS;

Dale, the man who cared for his companion who for many years was suffering from AIDS;

Ryan White, whose underlying courage showed the world that AIDS might sap his strength but never bend his spirit;

And my dear friend Wayne who has been an AIDS activist and educator to our young people over the years and who is a courageous, inspirational, and strong HIV survivor today.

As long as my red ribbon gives someone the opportunity to ask me a question about AIDS, or gives someone the strength to go through another day encouraged by this small sign of support and solidarity, then its message is very clear, the red ribbon simply means that I care.