The Lesser Pandemic: A recipe for Disaster

Approx. prep and cooking time:

Start prepping and recognizing the ingredients for a global disease in 1981, but then stay silent and wait four years in the US to formally recognize an epidemic already ravaging minority, or “lesser” communities. Many lives could have been saved, including those of good friends, if the epidemic had not been allowed to cook for so long before action was taken.

Servings:

Quantity vs. Quality. If quality of government response is good and appropriate, the quantity of deaths can be minimized. Since the beginning of the epidemic, WHO reports globally the “serving size” is 42.3 million deaths from HIV.

Ingredients:

-Shared IV needles

-Blood to blood transmission

-Unprotected sex

-Tranfusions

-Breastmilk

- Other human fluids that contact mucous membranes

- Misinformation about how it spread and who it infected

- Not even publicly mentioned by President until 1985; by then already 5,000 Americans had died, mostly gay men

- Lack of information to the cause of the disease

Cooking Instructions:

Slice, chop, puree. Place in oven and bake until a knife inserted in the middle comes out clean

June 1981. The first cases are reported: five otherwise healthy young gay men who have Pneumocystis carinii pneumonia (PCP) die in Los Angeles. What unfolds after is the perfect storm of events: inattention and misinformation from the government, and a virus that spread like wildfire. First found in the gay community, my community. Knife inserted. It felt like a wound. Friends talked in whispers about who may or may not be infected… how were they the lucky ones that tested negative? Some in our circles tested positive, but had no symptoms? There was prejudice, bigotry, and moral high-ground to be hurtled at those already sick and dying. Partners and spouses of those sick and wasting away in agony could only hold them close and watch, knowing it was likely their turn next.

January 2020. First US case of Covid. We knew immediately: airborne, wear masks, keep six feet apart. Free test kits arrived in the mail. Guidelines for disease control, no indoor gatherings. We all knew the rules. Familiar, but not. The millennial generation, thinking this 21st century pandemic is unique, unprecedented, grows up largely unaware of the lesser pandemic. Lesser in size… and of lesser value.

Bring to a boil

The anger and hurt of a government who waited to see if this was more than a “gay disease” before taking action, before looking to find a cure. Demonstrations, activism, a national quilt with the names of the dead… a boiling point for our nation.

I went to the clubs with my gay male friends, and was wary of their encounters. Hot steamy dance floors. Sweaty shirtless men grinding. Even meeting new people seemed dangerous at the time. I braved the humid sticky cramped bathrooms at the club to grab fistfuls of safe sex packets, always in short supply. Back on the dance floor, stuffing condoms in my friend’s pockets as they gyrated frantically, hands in the air, hands on each other. Trying to forget. On the surface nothing had changed, we laughed with friends, hugged, spilled drinks on the floor. But we hesitate to kiss, share our cocktails with strangers. We were young enough to know what this pandemic was and how deadly it could be before we were legally allowed into the clubs. We mostly stayed safe. We tried to make good choices.

Test for Doneness

Testing: for COVID, free and widely available. Early in the pandemic, after recovering from what felt like a long, lingering cold I had pushed through to attend college classes, I decided to get tested. No questions were asked, no listing of partners or potentially risky behaviors….no judgement. Within a day I got results: antibodies present. My runny nose and congestion had apparently been Covid, but my body had already moved on, healed. In contrast, there had been stigma attached to getting HIV tested, and the results took days. Days to silently admonish oneself as you waited for results. Results that could be a death sentence, life changing.

Season to Taste

A co-worker became sick. My first-hand taste of the prolonged agony inflicted by the virus. Even before Ken presented symptoms, people avoided him at work. He was told to stay home, offered extended sick leave. He lived by himself. I rallied a small group of friends and co-workers to form a team and get pledges for a benefit walk to find a cure. I was told my workplace wasn’t allowed to support “political” causes and would not make a corporate donation. Apparently innocent people dying was too “spicy” for them, the walk seemed distasteful to management. We, the “gays,” had become targets for all the fear and miscommunication around the virus, and hate rhetoric escalated. Society wanted us to be put in our place, learn a lesson from this deadly disease. Instead we became radicalized, fought back. A newly formed Queer Patrol roamed Seattle streets near the gay clubs and bars at night, making sure our community got home safe. By day we performed sit-ins and marched arm in arm along Broadway with signs: Silence = Death, pictures of loved ones needlessly lost. I remember crying, but mostly being angry. I remember too many names, too many pictures. We needed to make ourselves visible because of this invisible disease. I made a date to visit Ken at home. He died alone, suddenly, before I could see him.

Serve Cold

It is chilling how differently people were treated when it came to the two major pandemics I experienced in my lifetime. With Covid 19, the public was made aware as soon as the first case of the virus was found in the U.S. Free tests, free vaccines that were produced in record time… masks handed out at all indoor establishments and medical centers. Information blasted across all media outlets, the CDC gave regular news briefs. In contrast, the lesser pandemic wasn’t even properly named until over a year after its first infection.

At first, the disease was called all sorts of names relating to the word 'gay'. It wasn't until midway through1982 that scientists realized it was also spreading among other populations. Our government decided they would finally need to address the situation. Even today, it continues to have a disproportionate impact on racial and ethnic minorities, and gay and bisexual men. Approximately 39.9 million people were living with HIV worldwide at the end of 2023. More than 700,000 people in the U.S. have died from HIV-related illnesses. In September of 1982, they finally had a name: Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome (AIDS).