I knew him.

We were not friends, but the friends we each ran with moved within the same circle. I knew his twin sisters as well, with the same familiarity. We went to the same junior high school, took no classes together, we were both in a few school plays, and went to some of the same parties and concerts. We were both young, then.

I read his obituary 25 years ago.

I hadn’t seen him in years. I switched schools and had no idea where he was headed. Not until I read the newspaper. His family provided an update of where his life had taken him, up until his time of death.

The obituary also said he died of AIDS.

Those were brave words to include in an obituary a quarter century ago, especially in the rather conservative prairie city we grew up in.

Working as business writer at the daily newspaper and, moved by the honest words of a loving family, I wrote an editorial column about the young man, and about AIDS; about what I knew about the stigma and stereotype surrounding the disease. The column received mixed reaction with many, many angry responses, but some very positive. I also received a phone call from one of his sisters, and then spent a morning with her, talking about her brother, her family, and the disease itself. Ultimately the topic of the day was love.

Outside of the already-published column I knew there was a deeper story and, in between the regular news cycle, spent the next six months of 1991 researching and writing, enough to produce a seven-part series entitled Living With AIDS.

The body of work covered not only the medical, practical, and educational sides of a disease the world was just coming to understand, it included the compassionate side of a couple and a family with first-hand knowledge of how the invasive disease rips a body apart. The series angered some, enlightened many, and rewarded me with a major Human Rights Journalism Award.

December 1st is World AIDS day. It came and went this year and, to me, doesn’t seem to be all that it once was. Yes, you will listen to a few extra features in the media, but AIDS no longer grabs the headlines like it had in the past.

You don’t see the red ribbons on lapels as often as you used to. The charities and organizations founded over the years still exist, and are very active, but they have blended into the societal landscape and no longer stand out as they once did.

A lot has changed over the decades. A lot has been accomplished. AIDS and HIV (the virus leading to AIDS) are still major sexually transmitted diseases, but not the STDs they were 25 years ago.

It is not the same Sexually Transmitted Death.

Since its discovery in 1981, according to the World Health Organization, more than 25 million people have been killed by HIV/AIDS. It is estimated more than 34 million people are living with the disease worldwide, the majority in sub-Saharan Africa. Some news sources indicate even higher numbers.

The statistics are numbing.

There is still no cure for AIDS, but ongoing research has produced drug treatments which no longer just alleviate pain or arrest symptoms. Life is now sustainable, and can be prolonged, for those exposed to, or living with, the disease.

Just last week a major vaccine trial was announced. There have been animal trials previously, and other attempts at vaccines, but this trial provides greater hope than ever before.

This kind of hope never existed for the young man I once knew.

I thought about him last Thursday. I even went through now-yellowed copies of some of the stories I had written so long ago. Yesterday I read the letter the man’s partner wrote to me while I was working on the series. This was a man with whom I spent an entire afternoon on the phone as he shared his stories, and tears, about a man he loved. Together they shared everything, including the same death sentence.

During the months I spent working on the series, this young man’s partner, his sister and brother, and father, opened their lives up to me, offering opinion, reality, support, and a reason for doing what I was doing.

It was a defining period of my career where I learned more about the human condition, and how even the slightest hope keeps people alive. My eyes were opened as a journalist, but more as a human being.

Warning signs, dashboard indicators, red flags,
continual reminders of what is ahead, or
what follows at breakneck speed. Too fast; 
too busy, too confused, we yield not to the signals,
but push ahead, our direction, our intention,
our destination more important
than anyone else. Even suspended in traffic,
all four lanes, our refusal to allow others in
is more than stubbornness. Sharing neither
caution or common courtesy, we will not alter
or acknowledge our route.
To do so is to admit less power, or that we may
have lost our way. Distance and time
the only measure of where we are going, or
how we will get there. We navigate the commute
between the reality we live with, and that
which is expected, our individual emissions
contributing to the noxious fumes we ingest. Daily.
Driving forward, but not ahead, running on empty,
through a cracked windshield we see, or believe,
nothing will harm us. Road rage, we curse
under our breath. or shout foul-mouthed insults
at those behaving as we are, refusing right-of-way.
To anybody. Self-motivated or selfish,
it makes little difference at any speed. We fail
to notice a world that passes us by. Look,
perhaps a shoulder check. It may take a glance
in the review mirror to remind us life is precious.
Slow down. Pay attention. Let others in.
 

©2016 j.g. lewis

Turn it off. Weary the mind. You’ve had your say
now allow time for those working, or trying, and
believing there may still be opportunity, perhaps
prosperity. If allowed. Can the dream still exist?
More and more it becomes less and less important.
I will not listen; or cannot, a more apt description,
to the incessant ignorance spilling from your lips.
My ears bleed, my heart aches, among this crush
of bigotry, inequality and blind trust misplaced.
I put on my headphones commanding ear-splitting
silence to shut out the numbing narcissistic diatribe
with its women-hating violence. You’ve said all that
you needed to get what you wanted, you bullied,
and prophesied, and threatened and taunted. Now
perpetuating insult with that firm hypocritical
stance, adding insult to illusion, capitalizing on
chance. It’s less about being chosen, and now
what you choose, because my motherhood issues
are a far cry from your motherfucking truths.

It’s a moon, only a moon; one of many moons
in this incomprehensibly immeasurable universe, but
it is the Moon we know. It is the one we identify with.
Burning more brightly than it has in decades,
people are talking like they’ve never before noticed.
Light reflecting, radiance filling the space
that is our darkness. It has always been there.
We all stare up. We wonder. You never wonder
like you do under a full moon. In awe of the light,
we seek out contentment
but do we consider what it illuminates?
Not all of it is good.
There is far too much bitterness, and shouting.
All this blame and shame. It is ugly and unnecessary,
fodder for gossip and hatred, and worse.
Nightfall is a blessing, as much as a curse. The issues
that separate us are still there at dawn.
Many times we use the blackness as an excuse to
ignore what is not always visible. We close our eyes,
hoping our problems disappear. They wait for morning,
perhaps magnified. It’s brighter, harder to ignore
what you forget, or neglect, or abhor.
Is there a message in the Moon, all this light, and
what it might be saying? It comes at a time
when we need to listen, and take a closer look
at all that surrounds us. The Moon
casts its gentle wisdom; it does in any phase.
It does not have to be full to have a purpose.
The courage is there. Always. Chose to see what
needs to be done, what has to be said. Shine on.

©2016 j.g.lewis

 

 

My page is blank. My mind is numb.

There is not much to say today. I, at least, have very little to contribute to the topic of the day

Perhaps I am a little shocked, or stunned, but know I shouldn’t be. I have said (not loudly and not to a lot of people) that Donald Trump could become the next president of the United States of America. I’ve said it a couple of times, at different times, throughout the campaign.

Even yesterday I was not dismissing the possibility. I even said it out loud.

I made the statement as an observer, as one who has watched and observed politics for many years. Election campaigns are often baffling, but made for some of my most exciting days in my former newspaper career. Much of the time I hated the politics, but enjoyed the race leading up to an election. I loved the challenge and I was energized by the chase.

I’ve only had the experience of covering Canadian politics. We do things differently here. American politics, for me, has more been entertainment or a chance to learn about issues on the global scale.

The USA. has been, is, and will continue to be, a major force in how this planet functions.

I respect that.

And I respect what happened yesterday. I have to respect what happened because I believe in democracy and I believe in the right to vote. Majority rules. The people have spoken.

So I respect the principal, but find it hard to respect the results.

Yes I think it’s sad, and I don’t at all like it, and I believe those people who voted the way they did were not even considering what would happen in the coming days, months and years. I’m not sure if they realize how bad it will get before their America can be great again.

Do they not remember the collapse of the financial markets in 2008? Do they not remember the devastation of the global economy? Do they not remember the recession that followed?

What happened in 2008 (it wasn’t that long ago) was an economic crisis that was born in the USA and it devalued currencies across the globe. The United States took it the worst, and recovery took much longer than expected. Has the country even recovered?

I haven’t recovered. I know what happened in 2008 affected me personally, and not just financially. I know some of my plans, dreams, and goals were lost in the last economic meltdown.

I know we must all be prepared to lose even more whether we live in the USA or not.