French Fries on the Ground

This is a piece I wrote for our monthly JVC Newsletter:

He walked into my office one afternoon, looking handsome in his slacks and dress shirt. We had met once before and had chatted on the phone a couple of times, as he kept me posted on the latest news in his life. Just 12 days older than me, I find I can connect with him on a different level than I can with my other clients. All he wants is to be independent; to go to college and get a degree; to go to work each day and leave smiling, knowing that he is doing what he loves. Yet, here he was - twenty-two years old and HIV positive, living with his grandparents, working part-time, longing to be back in the Army where he felt he belonged. That afternoon, though, all of his fears and longings seemed to have disappeared. He walked a little different and seemed to hold his head a little higher. When I asked him what had changed, he told me, with a huge smile, that he had moved into his own apartment and had bought a new car, after having saved since he left the Army. Excited for him, I gave him a high-five and told him how happy I was that he was happy. We chatted for a while about his life, his family and then about my life and my family. As our time together came to an end, he asked me to walk outside with him to see his new car. We turned the corner into the parking lot, and there it was: a "new" 1998 Subaru hatchback. We walked towards it and as I looked inside, he said, "Don't look at the french fries on the ground!"

The funniest sentence carried so much meaning for me. All the baggage seemed to melt away. I was no longer looking at a twenty-two year old afraid of never being his own person. I was no longer looking at a young man scared of dying. No. I was looking in the eyes of a friend who will not allow HIV to define who he is.

Working with clients my own age has been one of the biggest struggles for me this year. With each 20-something that walks into my office, the faces of my friends, cousins, and classmates flash before my eyes. I spent most of my senior year of college researching how students view HIV/AIDS, and found that many are educated about the epidemic, but few believe that they could become infected. My clients once thought that, too, until that fateful day when they walked in to receive the results of their HIV test and were told that it came back positive. The fear in their eyes when they come into my office is real. One client once asked me, "Am I going to be ok?" These new friends of mine have taught me so much and it is in their fear that I find beauty; it is in their joys that I find my biggest reward. When they realize that HIV does not have to define them, that they can define themselves - God has shown me something beautiful. Life is not about how much money you make or what people think of you. Life is about learning. Life is about the journey. Life is about realizing that we form our own paths and we define our own lives. HIV positive or HIV negative - all that matters is our love of self. That is what I learned on that day when I was told not to look at the french fries on the ground, and I am forever grateful to that twenty-two year old friend who taught me.

Unite the Fight

AIDS Walk and Ride, an annual fundraiser that benefits the agency I work for as well as other agencies that serve those living with HIV/AIDS, took place a week and a half ago. I was pretty excited about it, after having missed AIDS Walk New York for the first time in four years. I was looking forward to seeing how many people would show up and how much money would be raised. I was also curious to see how the event is run, especially when the only thing I have to compare it to is AIDS Walk New York - an event attended by tens of thousands of people and raises over $1 million dollars annually for agencies in NYC. Maybe I wasn't too pumped about having to be at the registration table at 5am, but I was excited nonetheless.

I didn't know what to expect as I drove to the area where the event would be held. I was kind of holding my breath, afraid that very few people would show up. North Carolina is a pretty conservative state and Wake County is growing more conservative as the Tea Party moves into its government. When it comes to HIV/AIDS, this state seems to have been swept up in the abstinence-only sexual education movement of the George W. Bush era. The funding necessary to save the lives of those living with HIV across this state is short. The AIDS Drug Assistance Program (ADAP), a program that assists those who are uninsured and living in poverty by providing them with the HIV medications necessary to save their lives, has a waiting list. This is something I had never heard of in NYC or in Connecticut. And now, even with a recent study stating that HIV medications not only save lives but can also help prevent the transmission of the virus, things don't seem to be changing down here. As I drove to the event before sunrise that Saturday morning, I didn't know what to expect. Part of me actually expected to see protesters like I did at PRIDE Day in Durham back in the fall. HIV/AIDS is stigmatized, as it has been for the past 30 years, and the generally conservative environment of the South makes it even more difficult to talk about the epidemic - and thus to prevent further transmission of this virus.

Cyclists began to arrive at the registration table, 89 in total. Each had registered to ride either 30, 60, or 100 miles. With each person who approached the table, I felt my heart soften a little. I do not know the stories behind each of these riders and I don't know their reasons for choosing to ride in our fundraiser. What I do know is that there was a clear passion among the crowd. As I glimpsed out at the group preparing to start their long rides, I was overcome with emotion. Team LLAMA, Team VIIV, and Team Tarhealers all stood there proudly with their race shirts. There had been a bad accident that morning on I-40 between Chapel Hill and Raleigh, so many of the team members from the Tarhealers were arriving late, as they are from UNC. It amazed me when one of the young men approached the registration table to say that the other riders could take off but the Tarhealers would wait until each of their team members arrived to start their ride. Riding together; riding in solidarity. 

A few hours later, many folks began arriving to the Children's Garden to register for the walk and to visit our festival. Things had settled down a lot after the riders left, but after a couple of hours, tons of people were arriving. People of all races, genders, sexual orientations, and ages were coming to walk for the cause. They were all coming to show their support for the fight against HIV/AIDS. I was blown away when we literally could not keep up with all the people coming to the registration table. I was baffled - amazed that hundreds of people were showing up to walk. I saw some of my clients, which made me so happy and proud. They were there to stand up for themselves and their friends, to say that HIV will not define them, and to show that they could not be stopped, that they would fight until the end. The people just kept coming, too. Every time I looked up, there were more people in line to register. Sure, not everyone had raised money to support the work of agencies like mine. But that did not matter to me. What struck me was the number of folks who had shown up; who had decided that HIV/AIDS is an issue they care about; who made up their minds to walk in solidarity with those that have been lost to AIDS and those who are living with this virus. There was this one group of people who all had a shirt on with the picture of a man on it, below which were listed the dates of his birth and his death. On the back it said, "AIDS may have taken your body, but your spirit lives on through each of us." 

That's when it became real to me. The negativity in my mind disappeared. There were no protesters there to stop us. And even if there were, it wouldn't have mattered. The political battles were put aside. All that mattered in those moments was the reason why everyone was there - to continue the fight; to show others that HIV/AIDS is a cause worth fighting for; and to walk with those living with the virus and in honor of those that have been lost. As the pair of empty shoes was brought on stage and we all paused for a moment to "Remember those lost, those living, and those we need to protect," tears began to fill my eyes. My passion was fueled even more by the hundreds of people gathered there that Saturday. It was a great reminder that there are many people willing to fight to end this epidemic, willing to keep their heads held high, even willing to open up their minds. This state may be conservative and a lack of understanding surely exists, but in those moments, none of that mattered any longer. I was proven wrong and that was the greatest thing I have learned here in Raleigh. There is hope - hope that this epidemic will come to an end and that one day, there will be no more names to add to our lists.

The Gift of Silence

When we left for our Ignatian Retreat last weekend, I kept thinking to myself, how the heck am I gonna be silent for 48 hours? How can I possibly be around people - my friends, for that matter - and remain silent? (For all you doubters....somehow I made it through.) And then, of course, there were the other questions directed more at the spiritual aspect of the retreat...is God going to speak to me? Am I actually open to hearing what God might say? A week after returning to Raleigh, I can honestly say that silence is a blessing and that weekend was a gift.

So often, my days are pretty busy running around, meeting new clients, talking to old clients, chatting with my roommates, and such that I rarely have time just to sit back and relax. I love my work and I love the young women I live with - don't get me wrong - but sometimes it is so nice just to be able to stop, listen to the birds or the rain coming down and simply reflect on all that life has been. This year, as you all know, has been amazing for me. It has provided me so much opportunity for growth, has shaped my worldview, and allowed me to think more deeply about justice, peace, and faith. Our retreat last weekend provided me with the chance to be with myself, to be with my thoughts, to reflect on where I've been and where I'm going, and to talk with God about how my work is His work. Some of you may think I'm a quack for talking about God in such a way - as though He is right there with me and I can engage Him in conversation. I used to think that, too, but much of this year has been a continuous dialogue with God - maybe not a dialogue in the sense of two people talking to each other using words, but a dialogue nonetheless. 

On April 28th, I lost my first client to AIDS; the first person I've lost to this epidemic. When I found out that he had died, I was shocked. I had just seen him at the beginning of April when he came in for financial assistance because he had lost his job. He didn't seem sick to me; he seemed very much like himself aside from the fact that he was upset over being let go by his employer. I don't know if I was most bothered by his death and not having recognized that he was ill, or if I was bothered by the fact that I never reached out to him in the time that I knew him. He always struck me as an angry person, someone who often seemed mad at the world. Because of this, I selfishly avoided him a lot. I didn't want him to bring me down, and I didn't want to fuel his fire in any way. So I tried to keep my distance. This was often pretty easy because he would come to the pantry pretty late in the day, when I could just let him go back there himself. I didn't want to get caught up in his anger, and I didn't want him to take it out on me, like I've had clients do in the past. I rarely gave him my time; I rarely took the time to listen or to simply chat about whatever, like I do with so many clients. Leading up to the retreat, I really felt like I had turned my back on him...and now he is gone.

During the retreat, two phrases were on repeat in my mind: Harden not my heart and Do not be afraid. Along with those phrases was one other word: Forgiveness. I have struggled with forgiveness for such a long time - a Cavaliere through and through. When I was a kid, my dad had a "list" upon which he would place the names of establishments that had some how ticked him off. If I wanted to go to Pizza Hut, for example, Dad would say, "No way. They're on the list." Forgiveness. What does that even mean? And why is it playing through my head over and over as I sit in silence. Every Sunday at mass, when I say the Lord's Prayer, I find myself saying "Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who have trespassed against us," a little bit softer than the rest of the words. In my silent reflection and in my prayer, I was able to finally recognize a breakthrough for myself...

Forgiveness is not so much about accepting the apologies of those who have hurt you. Forgiveness isn't about fixing relationships or getting past the hurt or the anger. Forgiveness is about letting go of the bitterness. Forgiveness is about moving forward and continuing to love. Mother Teresa says, "Non-forgiving can destroy you for life. We keep thinking of that word that sister said but we need to acknowledge our sin, to be able to forgive." Forgiveness is about forgiving ourselves; it is about recognizing our own faults. So much of what I have learned this year is the importance of making myself vulnerable: to hurt, to heartbreak, to grief, to a lack of understanding, to anger. In the silence, God reminded me of the connection between love and forgiveness. I know that I cannot fully love God, others, or even myself, until I have forgiven.

The day after returning from retreat, I found out that a client I care deeply for is growing more and more frail with each passing day. His sister, who has cared for him for the past 7 years, came into the office recently seeking assistance financially and emotionally. I spoke with her for a long time in the pantry as she told me about her brother's current suffering and about her own struggles. As he lives in pain, though, his light shines through and gives her hope and strengthens her faith. I went to visit them with Ms. Jeanette a couple of days later. When I saw him, I first noticed how his legs have deteriorated. He easily weighs less than I do, and his legs are so frail, they look like they may crumble right under him. But, his light continues to shine through. We all talked and talked about all kinds of things - family, food, faith. As Ms. Jeanette and I got ready to leave, John looked up and started talking about his faith. He told us how he longs to have someone to study the Bible with and to talk to about his sins. He said that he believes some of his sins have not been forgiven and he cries so much over that. Ms. Jeanette said that tears are a symbol of repentance. I could see it in John's eyes and hear it in his voice. He was saying, "I cannot leave this Earth until I have forgiven myself. I cannot let go until I have forgiven."

My time in Raleigh has shown me so much about the world and exposed me to the reality of the social injustice that exists in our world. With each person I meet, I learn more about myself because with each person, God is showing me something. In silence, I truly thought that God was leading me to forgiveness, but it was not until hearing John talk about forgiveness that I really knew that I am ready. I am ready to let go; I am ready to move on; I am ready to forgive myself and move forward with my life. The silence was a gift and a blessing, but I could not have found the beauty in the silence without the experiences I have had this year.

Washing Of The Feet

It is rare that I write about my faith on my blog, but I am realizing more and more how my passion for social justice goes hand in hand with my faith and my beliefs. This became incredibly clear at Holy Thursday mass, when I was overcome with emotion as I heard the Gospel, watched the washing of the feet, and reflected on the things I saw and the things I heard this week after the tornadoes ripped through my city.


During the day on Thursday, my co-worker Donna came into my office to update me on the destruction she had seen in northern Raleigh that day. We talked about the feeling of speechlessness that overwhelms us each time we see new damage or even drive down the same streets. I had yet to see any of the damage in the northern part of Raleigh because I never travel up in that particular section of the city...hence my focus in my last post about southeast Raleigh (my section of town). As Donna talked to me about what she had seen - roofs off of big commercial properties, large trees down everywhere, trees snapped in half - I was once again left without words, unable to describe how I was feeling. The word that kept running through my head was "why"...why such destruction? Why such pain? The feelings came and went as the day went on until Kristin came into my office a couple of hours later. She had just visited a client of hers who lives in the trailer park where three boys were killed during the tornado last weekend. When she walked into my office and began to tell me about what she saw, I could see that she was visibly shaken by the sights. She pulled out her camera and began to show me the pictures she had snapped while she was there - huge trees literally snapped like toothpicks, trees smashed right through trailers. Speechless again, I just stared at the photos, unsure how to respond, unsure of how I was feeling...confused, startled, scared, feeling my heart break for those affected by the storms. Kristin looked at me and said, "I'm going to bring my client food later today if you want to come." I knew that I had to.


As we pulled up to the entrance of the trailer park, I saw cars parked on both sides of the street and some tents set up just outside of the entrance. Volunteers were cleaning up after handing out food to the families in the neighborhood. A police officer was patrolling the entrance so that only people who needed to be in the area were there. After Kristin showed the police officer her Wake County ID, we headed into the trailer park. I quickly caught sight of some of trees that had fallen, but the devastation was not yet clear to me. We visited Kristin's client for a few minutes, bringing her new food from the pantry because her food had spoiled after being without power for five days. After the visit, Kristin drove me around the trailer park. Her client's trailer had been unaffected by the storms, and most of the trailers directly surrounding her home were unharmed - maybe a broken window here and there, or some siding that had come off, but nothing devastating. We drove a little bit and then I started to see the real devastation. Entire trailers were ripped to pieces with trees right through them. There is no way these trailers can be repaired. Families have lost everything. I looked at those homes and all I could think was, that was someone's life...and now it is all gone. I saw a bed cut right in half. I saw clothes everywhere. I saw the insulation of a home wrapped around a tree. Entire lives...gone. How can they rebuild? Mostly immigrant families living in deep poverty...how will they rebuild?


That night at Holy Thursday mass, a powerful feeling came over for me as Fr. Ray read the Gospel and then got down on his knees and washed the feet of 12 parishioners. For those of you who do not know, in the Gospel of John (John 13:1-15 to be exact), John recounts the story of Jesus getting down and washing the feet of his disciples. An act that servants would not even perform for their masters, Jesus sat before this disciples and washed their feet. The Bible says that Jesus said to them afterwards: "Do you know what I have done to you? You call me Teacher and Lord; and you are right, for so I am. If I then, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another's feet. For I have given you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you." Fr. Ray stood before us and helped us to understand this part of scripture, explaining that Jesus has provided us an example. Jesus is not necessarily saying, "Go forth and wash the feet of all the people," but he is telling his disciples to go forth and do as he has done...be one with the poor, the sick, the marginalized, and spread his message. Or as St. Francis once said, "Preach the Gospel, and if necessary, use words." Jesus says it himself...when I die, do not let me die. Continue to live in the example that I have set for you. As Fr. Ray washed the feet of the 12 parishioners, I cried and cried. This year has been a spiritual journey for me in so many ways. I have come to be able to articulate my faith in a new way and have realized how my spirituality and my passion for social justice go hand-in-hand. Jesus left an example for me...be Jesus for others. Spread the compassion. Look at the people of the world and recognize that we are all brothers and sisters; one people; one humanity. As such, we must all work together to bring about peace on this Earth. We must give to each other in order to bring about a reign of justice. It is together that we can bring about a better world, a peaceful world, a just world.


It is so fitting that I visited the trailer park on Holy Thursday. When I heard the Gospel that night and watched as Fr. Ray followed Jesus' example and washed the feet of my brothers and sisters, it was then that I realized how powerful of a sight I had witnessed in the trailer park devastated by the tornado. Among the destruction and my own feelings of helplessness, I witnessed something beautiful. Compassion. Hope. Through the devastation I saw volunteers everywhere. Helping to inspect homes, giving out food and clothes, working to cleanup...around each corner, there they were. I saw neighbors helping neighbors and strangers helping strangers. Brothers and sisters working together. Men and women following Christ's example and "washing the feet" of their fellow people.

"In a spirit of thankfulness, 

we wash each other's feet, 

uphold each other's lives. 

In a spirit of joy and praise, 

we serve each other now, 

at the table of the Lord."

Serving You

This Is My City.

As most of you know, this weekend was a scary one here in Raleigh. Severe storms ripped through central North Carolina, producing tornadoes - one of which touched down less than a mile from my house. Hanna and I were at the YMCA, hoping to workout at the same time the thunderstorms came so as not to drive through the rough rain. Never did we think that within five minutes of our being there we would be evacuated into the locker rooms because of tornado warnings. Who would ever think that there would be a tornado in Raleigh, NC? NOT ME....or any of my roommates for that matter. As we watched the meteorologists track the storms on TV in the locker rooms and told Samii and Kate to do the same, they began to talk about a possible tornado in the downtown area. That surely scared us and once the storms passed and we couldn't get ahold of the girls at home, we rushed home to make sure everything was ok. Thankfully, all was in order back at our house and in our immediate neighborhood (aside from the giant tree up the block that was ripped in half).

Once the initial fear disappeared, we decided to drive through town to see what really happened and if it was as bad as we had originally heard on the TV before we lost power. As we drove down Martin Luther King Jr. Blvd, the impact of the tornado and severe storms became instantly clear. All of the streetlights were out; huge oak trees had been completely uprooted and had fallen into the street; small trees had been snapped in half; big green highway signs had been destroyed; trees were resting on houses; the roof of Shaw University's student union had been blown right off and windows in the residence halls were blown out. We drove through the neighborhoods closest to ours, feeling so blessed that we were ok and that the tornado had missed us. The fear vanished but was replaced by other powerful emotions, namely sadness and anger. On one of the busiest streets in the city, all of the streetlights were without power. Some of the heavily traveled intersections had police officers directing traffic, while others were without traffic control. It was at these intersections that the anger and lack of understanding began to take over. Rather than treating these intersections as 4-way stops, people were breezing through them without regard for oncoming traffic. Each time a car would stop at the intersection, taking the precaution of avoiding an accident, a car from behind would beep. How could people be so impatient at such a time? Did they miss the news that this neighborhood just got hit by a tornado? It was impossible that they did because on the same street we were driving on, there were trees everywhere, destruction that was clearly evident. I couldn't (and still cannot) understand how people could breeze right on through as though they had the right of way, when, in reality, getting to our destination should not be the most important thing on our minds. 

Without power, we were completely out of the loop, unaware of how much damage there was aside from what we had seen right after the storm. We had no idea that people had died or that there was another neighborhood in north Raleigh that was equally as destroyed as the one in the southeast section of town. On Sunday, we drove through southeast Raleigh once more on our way to the ordination of my old supervisor. Her church is smack-dab in the middle of one of the toughest neighborhoods in town. A place where poverty is ingrained, this section of Raleigh happens to be one of the areas most devastated by the tornado (the same neighborhood described above). My anger from the previous day turned to sadness as I began to witness the devastation to the neighborhood. Entire roads were blocked due to fallen trees and fallen power lines. Many houses had trees inside of them. There was still no power. Cars were smashed. The next day I talked to my co-workers about how they had been impacted by the storms. My boss' neighborhood is  a mess. Another colleague's mother's home is devastated. I instantly began calling clients that I am close with to see if they were ok. It was then that I realized the impact the storm was having on the most impoverished part of Raleigh.

With each call, I heard the fear in voices of clients who live in southeast Raleigh. Fear because their food had been spoiled due to the power outage. Fear because they don't know what to do about the damage. Fear because there is no money to rebuild. Dwayne told me that he was still without power, that he had no food, that his neighbor's truck was destroyed. Jabbar told me his mom's car was literally sitting on top of another car and that he had no more gas in his truck because he had helped her get the insurance agent and run other errands. These are just two of the stories. My hear broke and continues to break as I realize the impact this tornado is having on those who already struggle each day. Why did the tornado have to hit that neighborhood of all places? Why did it have to devastate a section of town that is already devastated by poverty? The things that I know I take for granted each day are the things these people need most but are struggling to get in such a time of need - food, gas, money to rebuild. I keep thinking that if the tornado had struck a little further west, the devastation would still be bad but rebuilding might take less time. Those who already have so little have now really lost everything. Why southeast Raleigh?

I never would have thought I would be able to say I made it through a tornado - and maybe I can't really say that now. But I have definitely realized how those feelings of invincibility are a part of who I am. I have never witnessed a natural disaster...sure we have blizzards back home and pretty bad thunderstorms from time to time, but I've never seen a tornado, never been through a hurricane, never felt an earthquake, never seen a wild fire. Every day on the news, I witness the sad stories of homes lost to fires (like in Texas right now) or entire cities destroyed from earthquakes (like in Haiti). But here I am...in Raleigh, NC...seeing it with my own eyes. A tornado ripped through one of the most impoverished areas of the city and many have lost so much. This is my city. This is my life. These are my clients, my friends, my brothers and sisters. What can I do to help? What can I do to ease the pain? I feel blessed that this city and county are responding to the tornado in such a positive way and I hope that I can lend a helping hand somehow.

Take A Deep Breath

I sat on the Metro North heading downtown to Grand Central Terminal, looking out the window at the city that I have loved for years. It felt so good to be back home, but this time, things were different. As I gazed out the windows on the 20 minute ride from Fordham into Manhattan, I felt like I was looking through a new pair of eyes. The neighborhoods that I had passed by hundreds of time on that very train now looked different to me. I began to notice the trash outside the high rises in the Bronx and Harlem. I started to see the broken windows of the apartments. It was as though I had on new glasses that showed me reality - a reality that, though I was aware of while living in the Bronx, I seemed to have ignored to a certain extent. This feeling sums up my entire visit back to NYC.


After working day in and day out with those most affected by social injustice in our country, I am really beginning to see how my perspective has adjusted, shifted, and even changed. Listening to the stories of my clients and their struggles with unemployment, poverty, homelessness, and HIV/AIDS has forced me to confront reality. When I hear a client tell me that she cannot pay her electric bill for the month because she had to go to New York to bury her mother, my heart breaks. When I hear another client share the story of his inability to visit his son who lives less than hour away because he cannot afford the gas, my heart breaks. I have learned this year that I need to take that heartbreak and delve deeper. Why is it that so many people struggle from day to day to make ends meet? Why do those living in poverty find it so difficult to escape? Why are those living in poverty so much more likely to become infected with HIV/AIDS? Why are middle class neighborhoods clean and poor neighborhoods strewn with garbage? 


My visit to NYC helped to re-energize me, as it reaffirmed my passion for the fight for social justice. Spending time with my mentors and friends helped to remind me of where I come from and how I got involved in this fight to begin with. Watching Dr. Naison's passion as he told his class about the Vietnam War was one of the most powerful experiences I've ever had in a classroom. As he was nearly brought to tears - tears of anger and sadness - my heart broke a little more but the vigor in me was inspired to keep pushing forward. At the GO! Gala, I was reminded of how my passion was sparked. As we listened to the former director of GO! talk about the program, I realized how my experiences in Nashville changed the course of my life forever. Building relationships, taking risks, embracing difference, recognizing new things, and opening yourself to heartbreak - these are tenets I live by now, not just ones that I experienced in 2 week long projects in Tennessee. This is how I learned how to confront the world. This is how I learned about reality. By making myself vulnerable and opening myself to struggle, I have been able to experience the world in ways that many people will never have the chance to experience. 


The greatest lesson I will take away from my time back in my favorite city, though, goes a bit deeper than remembering the little moments that helped create my passion. During Paul Francis' last words at the GO! Gala, he talked about things that we, as alumni, can continue to do to support Global Outreach and its mission. The first thing he asked of us is that we continue to share the GO! story, that we never cease to share our experiences with others - so that some day someone else will be inspired to take up the fight. As he reminded us of the importance of telling our story, he began to talk about his time at this year's JVC East orientation and, in his own way, mentioned how he saw me instantly sharing my story of GO! with my new friends. I began to cry as I realized he was talking about me, not because he chose me as an example but because I stopped and listened. And in that moment, I heard God say to me: "This is where you are supposed to be. Never give up. Do not be afraid, I am with you." The next evening at 9pm mass, I had another God moment as Fr. Florio gave his homily to kick off Ignatian Heritage Week at Fordham. Fr. Florio began his homily with the words, "There are none as blind as those who refuse to see." It was as though God, once more, was reaching out to me, reminding me that I have been called to do His work here on Earth. I am here to help others see, to see the reality, to look beyond the comfortable, to make oneself vulnerable to the point that she, too, will return home looking through a new set of eyes.


Walking through the streets of New York City, I began to realize how much I miss the big city feel, but how much I appreciate life in Raleigh. The slower pace, the kindness of the people, the openness of each individual. As I walked with my friend, Nick, we looked up at the buildings and we watched dogs run around. He said to me, "I am in no rush. I have every other day to rush." That's when I knew that JVC has changed me. That's when I knew that I now see through a new set of eyes. Life is not about success, or money, or power. Life is about being. My visit home to NYC reminded me that sometimes I just need to stop, take a deep breath, and BE. Sometimes I just need to stop and appreciate the beauty of the world.


As I rode the Metro North from Fordham to Grand Central Terminal and I passed the dilapidated high rises and streets covered in trash, I couldn't help but wonder how I had missed that for four years. It's amazing how the experiences in my life have changed my perspective so much that those were things I saw this time around. 

The Cycle

The other day I finished reading Adrian Nicole LeBlanc's book Random Family: Love, Drugs, Trouble, and Coming of Age in the Bronx, a great book recommended to me by Dr. Naison this past summer. Focusing in on the Tremont area of the Bronx and a family that lives there, LeBlanc really dives into the everyday struggles of living in poverty - the violence, the substandard living conditions, the lack of optimism for a better future, the cycle of poverty, and the drugs. While reading, I noticed a lot of underlying themes that really made me think about new approaches to preventing the spread of HIV and other STDs.

By looking at youth growing up in the Bronx, LeBlanc writes about how sex is almost like a currency in impoverished communities. Sex has little to no moral or intimate value. Sex is a way to get what you want. Girls sleep with guys because they need someone to but diapers for their babies or because they need help with something. Youth become sexually active as early as 10 and 11 and many young girls are getting pregnant by 16, if not younger. I was thinking a lot about my thesis while reading this book. While I was planning out my thesis, a classmate had offered up the suggestion that I look deeply at the HIV statistics in the 10458 zip code - Fordham's zip code - and dive into comparing that with the culture at Fordham. Though that is not the route that I eventually took in my thesis, reading LeBlanc's book made me do this in a less detailed way.

Often times when people talk about the prevention of HIV, they focus on a few specific ways on how to stop the spread of the virus, all of which revolve around one thing: education. Prevention education typically discusses what HIV is, how it is spread, and how to protect oneself from infection. I remember my days in East Hartford where we started talking about AIDS in 6th grade. Our education was exactly as described below: this is what it is, this is how it's spread, this is how to protect yourself. We never talked about much more than that. We never discussed condom negotiation or relationships. Most school districts around the country don't talk about more than the basic facts unless they are mandated by the state government to do so. 

Prevention, though, is about more than the most basic of education. This is clear in the way that LeBlanc writes about sex in the Bronx among young people. We have to look at the culture of those who are most at risk for becoming infected with HIV if we are to really work to prevent the spread of this epidemic. It is very apparent that the basic education is not working because sex is an everyday part of life for those living in poverty - it is all around them. Think about it: a mom got pregnant at 16 and gives birth to her first child; this child grows up without being exposed to a different way of life and is very likely to get pregnant at 16 and give birth to her first child. Sex is all around - sexual abuse, casual sex, sex for money, sex for drugs. How do we take this culture and understand it to the point that we can make a significant impact on the way sex is viewed? We cannot effectively prevent the spread of HIV until the culture of life in poverty is understood, and that culture is worked with in order to educate. Not just that...education must go beyond the basics. Comprehensive sexual education is a must in all schools, especially those in communities most at risk for infection. We must talk about more than transmission! We must talk about SEX.

In my time at the Alliance of AIDS Services - Carolina, I have worked mostly with folks in their 40s and 50s. These are the clients I have established relationships with - the ones who come to the pantry the most, who I see often. Something I've noticed, though, is that many of our new clients, especially those being bridged into services, are much younger - my age. Our assistant director of prevention was talking the other day about a 19 year old female who they just diagnosed. Young people are still the age group with the highest infection rates...across the country. What can we do about it? I wonder that everyday, and I really think that Random Family gave me some deeper insight. Until we really look at poverty and the culture of those living in poverty, we are going to keep doing the same things, and those methods are not working. Sex is still seen as having little value. Fatherhood is not valued. Pregnancy is not seen as the end of the world. Life in poverty is not life in the middle class. Until we look more deeply, the cycle will continue...