My activism journey began in the summer of 1997, when I learned about preventing the spread of HIV. I happened to walk past a booth at the county fair where a man, who ultimately became a lifelong mentor and friend to me, asked if I'd like to attend a training about how to have safer sex. Back then, misinformation about sex and sexuality was rampant at my high school. There were juniors and seniors who had no idea how people become pregnant—or, more specifically, how they might not get pregnant! Since authority figures were neglecting the straight kids, it goes without saying that the existence of queer kids like me was never even acknowledged.
There wasn’t much to do in Alamogordo, so I agreed to participate in the training. I learned how to assess risk for myself, and even how to make all kinds of decisions about sex, drugs, and alcohol. I was taught both how to say no and how to be safe if I decided to try something. What began as a way to kill time that small town summer grew into a passion project for me. I began sharing what I learned with others. I worked to ensure that young people had equitable access to high-quality sex education, condoms, and treatment for sexually-transmitted diseases. I was even punished for providing my peers with accurate information and daring to give condoms to people who were sexually active.
Even though I was the only queer kid out there providing all of this sex education to straight kids, I was undeterred. I saw how important it was for everyone. At the end of the day, both straight and queer kids grow up and learn together whether any adults want to acknowledge the spectrum of sexual health or not. My experience doing this outreach definitely helped solidify what I already suspected—that I’m gay. Once I realized so clearly that I was queer, I felt an even deeper connection to sexual health because I learned about the AIDS epidemic and its history in my community. I had no idea prior, which speaks to the erasure of gay and bisexual men in addition to being an epic sex ed failure.
This World AIDS Day, I feel forever grateful for my high school experience and how it helped me grow into the young activist I was destined to be.
Sadly, our country is still lacking in quality sex education for young people, and it hurts everyone—not just queer and trans kids. For us, it is especially dangerous to cede our sex education to pornography and pop culture references. There are countless complexities and nuances we must understand in order to lead sexually healthy lives.
Over the past 20 years, I have been blessed to observe and experience the incredible progress that sexual health advocates have made, especially in treating and mitigating the spread of HIV.
Back in 2003, I got my first job at Equality New Mexico, where leaders in my community were doing this work. My youth activism taught me that systems and policies save communities. I dreamed that one day our community wouldn’t be solely responsible for saving ourselves.
Now, in 2024, as a result of tireless advocacy efforts and battling to secure dedicated public funding, we have made great strides toward managing the epidemic that once ravaged a generation of queer and trans elders, poor people, and people struggling with drug addiction—disproportionately impacting people of color. PrEP, the medication that reduces transmission rates, is widely available. According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, in 2022 more than one-third of people in the U.S. who could benefit from PrEP were prescribed it, and expanding access is considered a major public health initiative. Unfortunately, access is still racially biased, with CDC estimates indicating that 94% of white people who could benefit from PrEP have prescriptions, compared to only 13% of Black and 24% of Latinos who could benefit.
This is a moment when we should be doubling down on outreach efforts to communities where PrEP could be lifesaving, but HIV-prevention is one of many public health initiatives that will be threatened under the second Trump administration. If we don’t continue to aggressively pursue the goal of comprehensive, medically-accurate, and culturally-appropriate sex education for all students, then the gains we’ve made will undoubtedly regress and racial disparities will exacerbate. We simply cannot eradicate the HIV virus (or HPV and any other life-changing conditions) if we don't teach people about them.
While we don’t know with certainty yet what will specifically be targeted, we do know that with the federal government signaling plans to make massive cuts over the next four years, states will have to carry the burden. It will be up to us here in New Mexico to be prepared for cuts to programs that supply PrEP and other sexual health treatments, for pandemic-era measures to be dismantled, and that our state government will be strained as it works to ensure the best outcomes for all New Mexicans—including queer and trans kids who are learning how to be out in the world.
To allow vulnerable communities to slip back into high-risk HIV environments would be a major public health failing, as well as moral malpractice. On World Aids Day, it is important to celebrate how far we have come, but we cannot pretend that our progress is secure and in position to continue. We can't stop. Regardless of the political circumstance we face, now still has to be the time to double down on community health and safety.
AIDS claimed the lives of hundreds of thousands of people in the 1980s and 1990s, but it devastated queer and trans communities in particular. Nearly an entire generation of gay and bisexual men was lost, robbing those of us who were coming-of-age access to mentors. We grew up without seeing examples of what life could be like, to love oneself, to care for oneself, and to be in community. The emotional impact of that cannot be overstated.
The country’s poor response to the AIDS epidemic was effectively a way to disappear and eradicate us. Those of us who survived are testaments to the strength of our communities. We have always been here and we always will be; we will persevere in the face of threats to our public health programs.
We cannot pretend, however, that none of us will be lost along the way. It’s literally life and death for our most marginalized. That is why it is so crucial for groups like Equality Mexico, our partners, members of the New Mexico LGBTQ community and our allies continue to fight.
This World AIDS Day, I ask us to pause and remember—then recommit to that fight.
