TOO OBVIOUS TO IGNORE

on compassionate and furious anger

An introduction to the multi media, multi collaborative project by Tim Barrus and The Smash Street Boys, JUST BEFORE THE CURE.

Larry Kramer has been called many things. Saint, heretic, reactionary, divider, the savior of gay men as well as the end of gay life as we know it. But above all else, the author of The Normal Heart and The Destiny Of Me, who also founded both Gay Men’s Health Crisis and ACT UP has been called two things most often.

One is angry.

The other is compassionate.

A tad contradictory, you may be thinking? On a first read, perhaps. Though I would argue that they are not mutually exclusive. In fact, in many ways they are proportional, and on occasion can be synergistic. The reason Larry Kramer is so angry, is precisely because he is so compassionate.

Not willing to accept being ignored, left to die, and treated less than human, he simply could not, and would not accept it. Yes, that manifests as anger, but it is also a deeply compassionate response to humans in crisis. In large part, because of this mans anger and compassion, we have policies, anti viral drugs, HIV organizations; in short, all the necessary elements to deal with HIV.

The subject of this introduction, Tim Barrus, is a man I have long thought strikingly similar to Larry Kramer. In my way of referencing both of those men, their writings, and their histories, that is a compliment of the highest order.

Tim Barrus did not simply wake up one day and decide he would surround himself with street youth who did sex work. If one is looking for a relatively relaxed and stress free retirement, I think we can agree that would not be your first choice. Tim is involved with this work because he can’t look away. It is simply not within his moral construction to avert his gaze.

As an author, Tim has a history that is both rich and complicated. Editor of the leather magazine Drummer for over five years, he has been widely credited with creating the LeatherLit Writers series. A celebrated author of several novels, his work entitled Genocide is considered one of the earliest contributions to what we now call AIDS literature. He has been the recipient of numerous awards, including the PEN/Beyond Margins award. His work, The Blood Runs Like a River Through My Dreams, was a text I studied in depth during my MFA program. It is also a work that, depending on who you talk to, can be a point of controversy. The veracity of which is entirely dependent on what element of the inner circle of New York editors one may be hearing it from. My point in mentioning this, is to indirectly showcase Tim’s motivation. He is not here for his health. He is not doing this work for the friends he made at the big publishing houses.

They are not meeting for Martinis.

Tim is here and writing this work because he believes the youth he is involved with matter. He’s been there. Personally, he shares more of a similar history with these boys than one might think. He knows their struggles, their horrific background stories, he knows all of it. That is why he can’t, and doesn’t, look away.

Which brings us to anger.

Would any other response be warranted? Could you see the things he describes, day in and day out, and have any justifiable response besides anger?

The reality he is immersed in mandates anger. Why? Because in our culture it is okay to forget about children.

Well, some children.

Not ours, not yours, not the ones down the block. But we can forget about the children we don’t, or won’t see. The ones who have fled abuse, the ones who are being sold, the ones who experience rape as a normative occurrence, and the ones who have literally been given up.

Left behind.

It doesn’t take a leap of imagination to understand the extent of the HIV problem in at risk youth when you combine what you know about HIV transmission, with the daily reality of these children.

Let’s just leave that for a moment.

Despite popular opinion to the contrary, what these kids need is not overly complex, and it is not rocket science. If you assume all they require is HIV treatment, then you have not been paying attention. If you have no home, if you have to eat from the streets, and if your body is traded and sold as meat for the taking, treating your HIV is not within your realm of experience to even consider.

Something I find instructive when approaching muddled and frequently complex or competing ideas, is a concept I learned in medicine as a flight medic. Whenever I dealt with a medical crisis that had me confounded and stressed, not sure of my options or best direction, I would return to something we call first principles. The questions you ask when the shit is hitting the fan, you are at a loss as to what is occurring with your patient, and if you don’t figure it out immediately, it will be too late.

Simply, it is a return to basics ... First principles.

What do we know?

What do we think?

And most importantly, what are we missing?

If we go back to first principles, then act accordingly, more often than not the problem will be solved and the patient will live. But it requires being direct, and it requires being able to hear what one may not want to hear. Then it requires action on things one may not like or want to admit.

As a culture, we know what the problems are. We know what they need, and we know how to do it.

So instead, I want to deal with the what are we missing question. Or in this case, perhaps the question should be, who are we missing? Since 1996, the advent of HAART therapy, if you had HIV and were able to be followed in care, able to afford the medications, and able to sustain that often complicated process, your chances of surviving HIV were huge. And still are. Great, isn’t it?

No, not not by a long shot. Not when you realize that the above best case scenario is only describing 20% of all people infected with HIV in North America.

For the rest, it is literally 1985 all over again. If you are HIV positive and not on meds, you WILL die of AIDS. We know that.

We also know that success in managing the virus on a medical front (ie treatment), means very little if it only applies to those who have the resources to afford it, the structure to sustain adherence, and the benefit of a healthy supportive network to see them through the inevitable rough spots.

Thus, “who are we missing” really does become the point.

Because we are missing the most vulnerable; the same ones that are usually never served, and often harmed, by public health policy.

Sex workers.

New immigrants.

Racialized minorities.

Tans men.

Trans women.

Gay youth.

Gay men, often over age 40 who have lived through the first wave and are now becoming infected.

Victims of domestic abuse.

Homeless youth.

First nations communities.

Incarcerated populations.

And those marginalized due to poverty, substance issues, or mental health conditions.

That, is a clear picture of HIV in North America today.

Now, let’s look at the who is missing question from an entirely different angle.

Has anyone noticed a specific theme here?

Such as who is not being impacted by HIV? Please ask yourself, who is missing in the above picture? The answer should be patently obvious.

Straight. White. Heterosexual. Men. With no other risk factors.

Feel free to disagree. Unless of course you truly believe that HIV is an issue that the above demographic is truly concerned with. If you have ever doubted that oppression and marginalization have anything to do with power, there’s your answer.

The “why” behind everything above? That is a much deeper and darker question.

Just Before The Cure, the work Tim has created, is many things. Part fiction, part poetry, part non fiction, part photo journalism, part personal narrative, and a whole lot of other parts. It is all of that as much as it is none of it. It is all those things coming together to create a literary work that speaks directly to the human pain and suffering that we as a society are letting happen.

The authenticity and integrity of this work would be absent, or rightfully suspect if it was simply made about a subject. Instead, it is made about, and by, those it attempts to portray. The brilliance of the work is the entire project collaboration by Tim Barrus and The Smash Street Boys. Finally, the “hard to reach” have a voice. Their own!

Just Before The Cure is not an easy read. It is challenging, often deeply disturbing, it can be harsh, and at times, uncomfortable to hear. Listen to that! Things make us uncomfortable for a reason. The worst thing you can do is tune out or stop reading.

This work is a painfully honest depiction of raw, human truth. The good, the bad, the evil and the indifferent. It is as much us as it is as these boys. Warts and all.

Please have the courage to look, absent averted gaze, and the resolve to do something that makes a difference. Write about it, talk about it, educate yourself some more about it, challenge what isn’t true, interrogate your assumptions, advocate for policy change, leverage your privilege for someone else who has less, ask questions, become involved, shall I go on?

Though for something you can do, today … the next time you encounter someone from a group I mention above, stop for a moment and give some thought to what I say below.

The ability for this disease to be contained, is always analogous to the potential one has to see their life having worth and meaning.

And then respond accordingly.

It’s that simple.

If we treat people as less than human, what’s the point in even trying? And allowing kids to exist on the street, allowing them to be sold as property for ones sexual pleasure, or pretending you just don’t see them, is to deny their humanity. We can all do something, or say something that we haven’t yet done and attempt to change that.

For now, what you can do is read Tim’s brilliant and prescient work, Just Before The Cure. Please read it in it’s entirety.

The link is below.