What Black gay men lost due to the AIDS crisis

Sex was always intimidating for me. As a teenager, when most boys were exploring new sexual feelings, my body responded the same way, yet my attractions were toward other men. I had no examples, no guidance, and nowhere to discuss these feelings. My only resources were a pamphlet from my godmother describing teenage sexual curiositywhich suggested same-sex attraction was often a passing phaseand my mothers hidden copy of The Joy of Sex. There was also a mysterious plastic disc I later learned was a diaphragm, and magazine spreads in GQ showcasing hypersexualized men. Public figures like Greg Louganis at the 1984 Olympics and Gene Anthony Ray on Fame fueled my awareness of male beauty and desire.

Alongside these early attractions, the media constantly highlighted fear. AIDS was portrayed as a plague, particularly within the Black church and broader society. The U.S. government remained mostly silent until 1987, when President Reagan finally acknowledged AIDS as a major public health threat. In 1985, as a freshman at Hampton University, I witnessed the death of Rock Hudson from AIDS. This moment made the epidemic real, terrifying, and deeply personal. For a young Black gay man, coming out felt like a potential death sentence. My teenage years were a balancing act between survival and authenticity.

Sex became a cautious, high-stakes game. Anal intercourse was off the table. Now, at 58, I am a long-term survivor of HIV, diagnosed in 1997. Thanks to modern medicine, I maintain an undetectable viral load, meaning I cannot transmit the virus. Yet stigma persists. Dating while HIV-positive often involves immediate rejection or awkward tension, despite the scientific reality of zero transmission risk. Being honest about my status requires vulnerability, and navigating the persistent misinformation can be demoralizing.

In response to these challenges, I founded Native Son, a community and platform to empower Black queer men. The organization addresses the gap left by the AIDS crisis, which decimated a generation of Black artists, mentors, and leaders. Native Son fosters mentorship, support, and celebration of Black queer lives, offering a safe space to honor legacies and nurture resilience.

At the first Native Son Awards in 2016, I publicly shared my HIV status for the first time. This was essential for leading a community authentically. That same weekend, I told my mother after keeping it hidden for 19 years. Her love transcended prejudice and offered me immeasurable support.

World AIDS Day serves as a reminder of the 44.1 million lives lost to the epidemic and a call to engage in open, honest conversations about HIV, particularly in Black communities. Black people are disproportionately affected, making up 39% of HIV diagnoses while representing 12% of the U.S. population. Among Black gay men, one in two may face an HIV diagnosis. Black women account for half of HIV diagnoses among cisgender women, and Black transgender women experience infection rates three times higher than other groups.

HIV is preventable and treatable. Communities can heal, break the cycle, and support one another. Native Son exemplifies this potential for care, empowerment, and resilience.

Emil Wilbekin is the Founder of Native Son, an Assistant Professor at the Fashion Institute of Technology, journalist, and content creator. Voices shares inspiring personal stories and perspectives from the LGBTQ+ community and allies. Email feedback to [email protected]. Views expressed are those of the authors and do not represent The Advocate or its parent company, equalpride.

Analysis: Navigating HIV, Stigma, and Community Resilience

The personal account shared by Emil Wilbekin underscores the complex interplay of sexuality, health, and societal stigma for Black queer men. His narrative highlights how early exposure to both desire and fear shaped his sexual development, set against the backdrop of the AIDS crisis in the 1980s. The delayed governmental response and pervasive societal stigma created a high-risk environment, particularly for young Black gay men.

Wilbekin's experience illustrates the ongoing challenges of living with HIV, even in the era of effective treatment. Despite maintaining an undetectable viral load, the stigma surrounding HIV persists, affecting dating, social interactions, and mental health. His account confirms that scientific progress alone cannot eliminate the social and emotional consequences of the epidemic.

Native Son, the organization founded by Wilbekin, addresses these gaps by creating mentorship, support, and celebration of Black queer lives. The initiative exemplifies how targeted community engagement can counteract historical neglect, foster resilience, and empower individuals facing systemic and health-related challenges. World AIDS Day serves not only as a memorial but also as a call to action for awareness, prevention, and honest conversations about HIV within disproportionately affected communities.

Overall, Wilbekin’s story is both a cautionary and hopeful reflection: it highlights the enduring impact of stigma while demonstrating how intentional community-building can mitigate harm and nurture survival, empowerment, and pride.

Sources:

• What the AIDS crisis stole from Black gay men