National Black HIV/AIDS Awareness Day is more than an occasion to acknowledge the disproportionate impact of HIV on Black communities; it’s an opportunity to recognize each individual as a complex being, with unique journeys and identities that extend beyond the confines of race, sexuality, sexual history or status.
I want you to see me as more than a Black, queer man living with HIV; I am far more than my status, body, or sexuality. I have worked a lifetime to break free from the stigmas and stereotypes placed on me by society and from within my own community, and I have learned that reducing individuals to statistics undermines the depth of their experiences.
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This realization first formed from the fear of misunderstandings, judgment, and the unknown, standing outside our local LGBTQ+ club in Houston in the fall of 2008. The prospect of an HIV test was daunting, coupled with the uncertainty of seeking help for what I perceived as a struggle with sex addiction. Introduced to sex years earlier, the act was always a strange dichotomy of emptiness and passion that left me feeling lost and yearning for affection outside of the use of my body. But I knew I could no longer keep these fears to myself. That night, I finally worked up the courage to speak with a community health worker, hoping to be heard.
Despite their best attempts to comfort me, the experience, unfortunately, left me feeling even more disconnected from my own identity. I was told the ways in which I approached sex were completely normal. Based on stereotypes of young men’s insatiable sexual appetites, the assertion was that my experiences were typical for a man. Being grouped in this way only made me feel more alone, despite receiving non reactive results.The conversation did not address the deeper yearning for intimacy that extended beyond mere physical connections.
Years would pass, and the feeling of being inadequate wouldn’t subside as I tried to explore my sexuality, as well as my personal identity that for so long had been hidden from myself and those I loved most. Raised in a black family that loved me for who I presented to be, and growing up in a Christian Missionary Baptist church, I sought healing, safety, understanding, and direction through religion and prayer.
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But this was, once again, a solution that seemed to work for everyone but only parts of me. Acceptance for my whole being remained elusive. Fitting into spaces designed for fragmented aspects of myself, I found a fleeting sense of fullness in exploring sex but faced the emptiness of returning to the role of a strong, masculine Black man.
In 2013, becoming the statistic — the “one” fulfilling the projection that one in two Black men who have sex with men will contract HIV — served as a stark reminder that I hadn’t received the help needed to break free from stereotypes and societal expectations. I decided to change my life, uplift, and protect myself, recognizing that the dark doesn’t destroy the light; it defines it, as Brene Brown says.
My journey led me to a leadership role at The Normal Anomaly Initiative, Inc., where I realized that I am not just a source of light but part of a collective illumination. Through programs like Positives Organizing Wellness and Resilience, I witnessed the transformative power of community spaces that fostered expansive conversations and empowered Black queer individuals living with HIV.
if we want to end the epidemic of HIV, we have to take a moment to recognize a person beyond just their status, body, or sexuality.
Coming in contact with our clients and guests who interacted with our Black Queer Center for Liberation taught me that the community needs spaces to explore, have expansive conversations, and be seen and heard as the unique individuals they are. What I received from leading that program was hope for the future of HIV. I experienced Black women feeling included and valued, Black men being vulnerable enough to share on an intimate level, and Black trans women’s voices not being an afterthought but at the forefront of change.
As we aspire to move from an HIV epidemic to a world without HIV, focusing on intentionality is as crucial as innovation. Participating in the testing and trials for injectable HIV treatments is my individual commitment to shaping the future of HIV treatment, aiming to overcome generations of medical trauma in the Black community. My unique involvement implores the medical community and the discourse around HIV to recognize each person impacted beyond their intersections of desirability or disparity.
One of the many things we say at The Normal Anomaly is that we want to see the forward mobility of Black queer persons; to that, I say if we want to end the epidemic of HIV, we have to take a moment to recognize a person beyond just their status, body, or sexuality. You are more, and your story matters.
Jordan J. Edwards is a Program Director at The Normal Anomaly Initiative, Inc., where they are having the Grand Opening of Houston’s only Black LGBTQ+ drop-in center on March 15, 2024, during Black Queer Advancement Festival Week. Learn more about his work and the Black Queer Advancement Festival at www.normalanomaly.org/BQAF.