Every day, alas, is AIDS day

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Gil L. Robertson IV, a syndicated columnist who writes eloquently and often about AIDS and the black community, has been urging me for weeks to read an anthology he's recently compiled called "Not In My Family: AIDS in the African-American Community" (Agate).



Unfortunately, I treated it like any other assignment. Why do something in a timely manner when you can procrastinate? I didn't get around to reading Gil's book until this past weekend. I should've started sooner. It's humbling to be confronted by the specter of one's own ignorance, especially when it is a subject as immense as AIDS and HIV.



"Not in My Family" is an eclectic collection of 50-plus essays, a poem, several rants and plenty of thoughtful meditations by notable, notorious and not-so-famous African Americans writing about AIDS.



Most people don't think a whole lot about AIDS. I know I don't, even though the disease has been an ever-present reality for millions of people since the first widely reported outbreak in 1981.



AIDS and HIV aren't the kind of subjects that come up in polite company, though they should. Polite company is overrated, anyway. Politeness is a euphemism for death.



As each essayist makes clear in his or her way, pretending that the AIDS virus is the kind of thing that only happens to those kind of people over there is a tragic fantasy. Everyone is at risk. AIDS is like global warming -- you can deny it, but sooner or later a drowned polar bear will wash up on your front lawn.



In contrast to the moving stories in "Not in My Family," I haven't experienced the kind of loss chronicled in Gil Robertson's book. It doesn't excuse my previous lack of curiosity, but it puts my ignorance into context. In my circle of friends and acquaintances, I've only known a handful of people who were vocal about contracting the disease. Outside of celebrities and luminaries, I can only think of one person I knew well who died from AIDS.



Like many people, I know of a few people who died under suspicious circumstances after a short illness usually identified as cancer. Perhaps they really died from AIDS and their families wanted to avoid the hassle of explaining it.



Because of the stigma associated with AIDS and HIV even in the post-Magic Johnson era, it's hard to know if the cause of death spoken of at a funeral bears any resemblance to what the attending physician would be compelled to say under oath.



Because our natural inclination is to deny the terrifying reality of death, there's a reluctance to probe grieving family or friends for details. This tendency to avert our eyes during a time of loss creates ideal conditions for artful evasions. It can be a morbid game.



Why, after more than two decades of wading through the world's population like a farmer wielding a scythe in a field of wheat, are AIDS and HIV still taboo subjects in communities that can least afford to ignore them?



Let's face it -- sexually transmitted diseases aren't sexy. Anything involving intravenous drug use, contaminated blood or homosexual activity is an especially bad conversation starter for folks who pride themselves on their residual piety.



Throw in references to the exchange of needles, bodily secretions and what society, religion and law define as socially aberrant behavior and you have a royal flush of taboo.



Meanwhile politicians are too cowardly to talk about one of the biggest scourges of our time. It's easier to leave the business of raising money and awareness to celebrity philanthropists like Bono and Elizabeth Taylor.



So much of the reluctance to talk about HIV/AIDS is rooted in the failure of our community and national politics to get beyond a rhetoric of prohibition and moral virtue.



In the case of the black church and other black cultural and political institutions, the reluctance to speak honestly and deeply about a plague that is killing and has already killed a disproportionate number of blacks is truly mystifying.



The spread of AIDS and HIV is the biggest public health emergency ever faced by blacks in this country, yet it barely registers a polite nod from folks who should be in the forefront of the battle against it.



The Rev. Al Sharpton and the Rev. Dr. Calvin Butts contribute two essays to "Not in My Family" that speak to this lack of honesty in the churches.



When many black ministers feel compelled to talk about the virus at all, they usually bring it up in the context of God's judgment on sexual promiscuity and "alternative lifestyles."



It's chilling how many preachers and congregants are willing to sling verses from the book of Romans as proof God hates gays and lesbians with such a holy passion that he sent a special disease into the world to kill them.



Fortunately, this situation is beginning to turn around as the magnitude of the crisis becomes evident to a generation of pastors and lay people tired of going to funerals.



As if to undermine black America's reputation for hard-heartedness when it comes to AIDS, the historic Mother Bethel AME Church in Philadelphia will host the second annual Black Church Summit Agenda (www.nbjcoalition.org/news/black-church-summit-agenda.html).



The March 10 conference is sponsored by the National Black Justice Coalition, a civil rights organization dedicated to confronting racism and homophobia within and outside of the black community.



The Rev. Dr. Michael Eric Dyson, a familiar name in progressive religious and political circles, is scheduled to lead workshops and discussions with prominent African-American clergy about many of these issues along with co-headliner the Rev. Deborah L. Johnson.



The NBJC has also scheduled a workshop on HIV/AIDS in the middle of the day. Why they've programmed the workshop against Dr. Dyson's midday talk is a mystery.



Dr. Dyson, who's a professor of humanities at the University of Pennsylvania, is a dynamic and charismatic preacher heavily steeped in the oratorical and intellectual tradition of Martin Luther King Jr. He's guaranteed to draw the lion's share of attention that afternoon on the strength of his preaching.



Still, scheduling a church workshop on AIDS during a busy conference is an indication that attitudes are shifting and that there is a new willingness among black church folk to address the crisis. Not all is doom and gloom.



Though Black AIDS Day isn't a "holiday" in the traditional sense, the organizers hope to raise awareness of the toll AIDS is taking on the black community.



"There's a need [for a book like this]," Gil Robertson said yesterday. "As a journalist, I thought we really needed a comprehensive dialogue about HIV and AIDS in our community, and no one else had done it."



Robertson's brother has lived with HIV for 25 years, a situation he writes about in the anthology's first essay. "It started off as me wanting to help other families by sharing our stories," the Atlanta-based writer said, explaining how the book came together.



"It's typical of what many families go through. We wanted it to be relatable to as many people in the community as possible. That's why there are so many voices in this book."



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