Four Letters of the Alphabet Soup

The language of binary gender roles never sat well with transgender rights activist Vann Michael. With no words to accurately convey his identity, he set out to carve his own path. 

Out, Queer, Lesbian of Color! If there was an injustice happening I was there - with my signs, petitions, and a reporter’s hat ready to blow the whistle, organize, and begin making a difference in the lives of women, and in particular women of color. Bonding with my comrades, influencing policy changes, and creating visibility for people of color was a part of my fiber, my history, my identity. 

Secretly, when the feverish rallies, high energy planning sessions, and  passionate nights were over, I felt like something was missing. I was still empty.  I could not quite understand what I was feeling.  I hadn’t discovered the words for a person like myself.  I felt disconnected at my core, still attempting to lead a productive life. I found myself at a crossroads. I was weary from getting in and out of relationships, struggling to express my inward knowing outwardly.  I became curious to understand what the T in LGBT meant.  Let’s face it, I had already grasped the meaning of the Q but never really looked at what the term transgender really meant.

Queer is just the tip of the iceberg. I was never sold on the binary rules set forth by society, the ‘a man loves a woman and a woman loves a man’ storyline did not make sense to me.  But through my queerness, I was better able to recognize who I am. After careful reflection, and a deep conversation with the Universe, I realized that I am a man.  So when I envisioned myself with a male gender identity expression, there was a feeling of satisfaction, a partial filling to the emptiness I had experienced for too long.

Now that I have started to physically transition, something magical and scary has happened all in one breath:  I began to see me - I mean, really See Me. The me I denied existence because no one could fathom that someone like me existed.

I am here, but am I still Queer?  I know that I am not a lesbian because I am not a woman. Within society’s construct of gender, I am now a straight black man.  Yes, that’s it! Walking in my new shoes I attempt to break them in – but again, I find the “straight black man” a bit too narrow and a bit too flat.  Who am I?  I cannot possibly have made a mistake in living my truth.  I stepped back again to take inventory of what my inner self was telling me. My hands were tied into assuming the position of female because of my birth sex and the way society conditions us to understand sex, gender, and orientation.  As if a laundry list of attributes can accurately foretell someone’s gender identity: female genitalia, assigned female, check!  If only it were that simple.

Now, through an investigative process of self-discovery, I stand as a Transgender Black Man.  I am becoming satisfied with my outer self, as it coincides with my inner being.  The more aligned I feel, the more confident I become.  The veil slowly lifts and I am able to clearly see all of me.  I learn that I do not have to ‘role play’ or pretend to be someone I am not. I am able to explore my maleness.

Although I am afraid, I have also come to slowly accept my attraction to men. Now a new question will come: What is the purpose of transitioning just to be with a man?  How do you date men who are cisgender, who may not have experiences with men like me?  When the world sees me, they see a Black man.  What happens when they find out that I love men?  How will the HIV rate affect me?  Communities of color have long struggled with the LGBTQI community. I have walked into four of those letters, and from what I have experienced - the ‘G’ is the most dreaded!  

I am a Black Man by Trans experience. I am Queer and I have come to love other men.  My process has been less burdened because Black Transmen, Inc. has provided a safe space for me and other like me to fully come into myself with support through mentorship, advocacy, and education.  Learn more about Black Transmen, Inc. at http://blacktransmen.org. You can support Transgender Students access higher education by donating to the Black Transmen, Inc. Scholarship Fund at http://blacktransmen.org.

Adonis Tchoudja on Fighting HIV among Male and Transgender Sex Workers in Cameroon

In a place where sex work is illegal and homosexuality is criminalized, Adonis Tchoudja leads Aids Acodev Cameroon in the fight against HIV among male and transgender sex workers

My name is Adonis Tchoudja, and I am president of Aids Acodev Cameroon. Created in 2009 by a group of young sex workers, Aids Acodev Cameroon was born out of a demand for HIV services tailored to the needs of male and transgender sex workers.  Aids Acodev Cameroon stands for Aid to Underprivileged and Vulnerable People in Cameroon (Aides Aux Couches Défavorisées et Vulnérables au Cameroun in the original French).

Sex work is currently considered illegal in Cameroon under Article 343 of the Penal Code. Under this statute, engaging in sex work can land a person in prison for up to five years. A climate of secrecy and stigma leads sex workers to endure abuse and violence from clients, pimps, and even law enforcement. Punitive laws make access to HIV services extremely difficult. The prevention and care services for sex workers that do exist in Cameroon focus entirely on female populations.

In Cameroon, all sex work must remain hidden because of Article 343, but male sex workers must deal with another law as well - article 347A, which criminalizes homosexual practice. Due to this, male and transgender sex workers find themselves neglected and doubly marginalized. Because of Articles 343 and 347A of the Cameroon Penal Code, it is impossible to find justice in the face of sexual abuse. Sex workers need legal protection.

For transgender sex workers, the risk of danger and abuse is often greater. Transgender sex workers are usually forced to live in hiding. If a transgender sex worker is caught by police, the punishment becomes more severe once the police realize the sex worker is transgender. During sex acts, transgender sex workers often must hide their sex – and many times sex workers are beaten by their customers. We must enlist the help of “Protection boys,” men who wait behind a door and intervene whenever a sex worker needs help.

I have worked on a number of projects since taking my position as president of Aids Acodev Cameroon in 2010. Aids Acodev Cameroon runs an education night patrol that visits brothels, bars, nightclubs, restaurants, and massage parlors. We are also active on online dating sites, and we conduct talks on HIV prevention and care in the homes of sex workers. We also hope to gain acceptance from Cameroon’s religious community. It has been very difficult to mobilize and receive adequate funding for Aids Acodev Cameroon, so support from the ever-prospering religious community in Cameroon could open many doors for us. We are currently looking for funds to start a drop-in center for counselors and colleagues of female, male and transgender sex workers.

At Aids Acodev Cameroon, we are interested in building coalitions between different sex worker organizations, but this can be challenging. Most organizations only work with female sex workers and often have a moralistic, even evangelical belief system that does not represent Aids Acodev Cameroon. Many times these organizations are not run by sex workers. However we do maintain a strong partnership with the organization Acfili and we are currently in the process of working with them to build a national network of sex workers.  We are also allied with Danaya So in Mali and Awa in Senegal.  Aids Acodev Cameroon is also a member of the Francophone African Network of Sex Work Projects, and since 2011 we have been a member of the Global Network of Sex Work Projects (NSWP).

With help from our allies and with our own hard work, we hope to shed light on the human rights needs of male and transgender sex workers in Cameroon. We demand rights, respect, and tolerance for the male and transgender sex worker community.

Selected Works of Original Poetry and Painting by Omar Baños

Poet, artist, and activist Omar Banos provides original poetry and artwork for the MSMGF Blog this week. Omar has worked in HIV prevention and AIDS treatment education for over a decade, with special focus on MSM organizations in Latin America.

*Conjugado / Inflection

                                     

                                 Tú y yo en la plenitud que nos desnuda                                     
En esa forma tuya que me envuelve
En el deseo mío que te encierra
En mi mano, en mi boca, en mi alma.

Empezamos el acto y descubrimos
Que yo igual que tú, soy más que un cuerpo
Inerte que pretende comer tu
Carne.  Soy alma, fuerte que te vive.

Todo este espacio, esta pasión terca  
Nos amarran las manos, nos dibujan
Con polen las cadenas del deseo
Y nos dejan jugar con nuestra esencia.

Tú y yo más allá de esa forma
De cintura, de pies, de uñas blancas
Conjugamos la esencia que radica
Debajo de tu ombligo y el mío:

Tu semen conjugado con el mío
Se perdían perfumados  sobre el fuego
Debajo del silencio premature
Detrás de caricias y gemidos
En esta plenitud desesperada.

Mi semen conjugado con el tuyo,
En esta forma mía que te atrapa,
Se hicieron cataratas de amapolas
Se hicieron fugaces pretensions
De promesas de amor, de pena y muerte.

You and I in the plenitude that undresses us
In your own way of wrapping me
In my own desire that enshrines you
In my hand, my mouth, my soul.

We start the act and discover
That I am, like you, more than an inert body
That pretends to eat your core
I am a soul, a strong soul that lives you.

This entire space, this stubborn passion
Tie our hands up, draw
The chains of desire with pollen
And let us play with our essence.

You and I beyond the shapes
Of waist, of feet, of white finger nails,
Inflect the essence that lives
Under your navel and mine:

Your semen inflected with mine
Got lost, scented atop the fire
Under the premature silence
Behind the touching and moaning
In this desperate plenitude.

My semen inflected with yours,
In my very own form that seizes you,
Became waterfalls of poppies
Became fugacious pretensions
Of promises of love, heartache and death.

Cuando dormías / Asleep

 La noche pasó entre tus besos y los míos;
Nos encontró desnudos el ocaso;
Nos descubrió la luna entre sábanas,
Cuando radiante erguías tus labios
Buscando el precipicio de mi cuerpo,
Cuando quise hacerte mi existencia.

Por eso puedo verte como ayer:
Dormido con tus labios de estupor,
Entre abiertos, que esperan lo vivido.
Tanto tiempo caído, tantos pétalos! 
Puedo acariciarlos con mi índice,

Hacer líneas perfectas en tu piel,
Labrar tu sangre fresca con la mía,
Y arrancar tu alma de la muerte.
Aquel fue nuestro último desnudo.
Ya no más ilusiones en la lluvia

De este perfecto invierno que nos moja.
Llegó el beso y la piel que se desviste
En aquella baranda de aquel viejo
Apartamento húmedo de sabia.

Y me doy cuenta que tus besos y tu olor
Son tan distantes como el sur y el norte.

Pero a pesar de todo me quisiste
Hicimos el amor y existimos.
Despedida amor.  Te he vivido.


The night proceeded between your kisses and mine
The dusk found us nude;
The moon discovered us between the sheets
When you erected your lips radiantly,
Searching for my body’s precipice
When I wanted to make you my existence.

That is why I can see you like yesterday:
Asleep with your lips of stupor
Barely open, waiting for what has been lived.
So much fallen time, so many petals!
I can caress them with my index finger,
Make perfect lines on your skin,
Carve your fresh blood with mine
And tear your soul off of death.
That was our last bareness.
No more dreams under the rain

Of this perfect winter soaking us.
The kiss arrived, so did the skin undressing itself
On the rails of the old
Sultry apartment.

But you still loved me none the less
We made love and we existed.
Farewell love.  I have lived you

Fauno / Faun
For Adolfo

De un soplo me inventas el mundo
Con un caballo sin alas galopas
Desde el pecho del mar hasta mi bosque
Lleno de nombres, formas, sombras mágicas.

Yo las encuentro, las veo, las toco
como un enigma blanco me galopas
Y te voy descubriendo maravillado
Porque tus ojos verdes son marrones
Y tus labios de ámbar son de miel.

Tu música, el silencio, el desconcierto
Y el cuerpo de tu cuerpo en el mío
Van encontrando voces y siluetas
En las cosas mundanas como el sexo.

Galopas alto, firme, elegante
Y del caballo sin alas te bajas
Con esas cosas tuyas de encanto
De un sueño, de un fauno, de un hombre
Que te persiguen con espadas mudas
Y me buscas así, con manos verdes
Con tu flauta de plata en tu espalda.

Y de nuevo galopas y cantas y sonríes
Antes de hacerte humano en mis labios
Antes de darme el mundo de un soplo.

You create the world with a waft for me
and gallop with a wingless horse
From the sea’s chest to my forest
Filled with names, shapes, mystic shadows.

I find them, I see them, I touch them
you gallop me like a silver enigma
and I am marveled, uncovering you
Because your green eyes are brown
And your amber lips are of honey.

Your music, the silence, the bewilderment
And your body’s body in mine
Are finding the voices and the silhouettes
In the earthy things like sex

You gallop high, firm, elegant
And you dismount from the wingless horse
With your own gripping possessions
of a dream, of a faun, of a man
that chase you with taciturn swords
and you search for me, with your green hands
with your silver flute on your back

and you gallop, and sing, and smile again
before becoming human in my lips
before giving me the world in a waft.

*Poems originally written in Spanish. English translations were provided specifically for the MSMGF Blog by the author.

We can change this

Jeremiah Johnson is an HIV case manager and peer counselor whose activism was instrumental in getting the Peace Corps to change their discriminatory policy regarding HIV status. Today, Jeremiah weighs in on his hopes for a better future for people living with HIV around the world.

January 11th will mark 5 years since I was diagnosed with HIV. Since then, I have undergone a transformative journey filled with highs and lows, peaks and valleys. Yet though it all - through every single challenge I have faced as a gay man living with HIV - I have had tremendous support. I had a father who was brave enough to stand by me even when he didn't understand me. I had friends who loved me when the negativity from others and from within myself felt like it would crush me. I had a loving and caring doctor who patiently listened to all my questions (even the ones I was afraid to ask) and helped me get on life saving treatment.

It is thanks to them that a situation which could have broken me has instead empowered me. I am stronger and more capable than ever before to fight for my rights and the rights of other people like me.

But, for me, it was very dark before the dawn. Before I could step into the light, I felt alone in the shadows, trying to find my way by myself. When I was diagnosed with HIV, I was halfway across the world; far away from my family and friends and serving as a Peace Corps volunteer in Ukraine. After serving for 16 months with 11 months to go, I was offered an HIV test as part of my mid-service medical exam. I took the test, not expecting that it would come back positive, and not knowing how much it would change my life. 

That was how, thousands of miles from home, I found out that I had HIV. The virus that was at the center of so much worldwide discussion was inside of me - just under the surface of my skin. I knew the facts: I knew that I could live a normal life so long as I had medication,  but still I felt despair in my heart. Every negative thing I had ever heard or thought about the virus or those who carry it seemed to suddenly flourish in me, and I internalized it. The shame, the fear, the despair all grew in and around me. I needed help, and I desperately needed support. But, even more than that, I needed empowerment. I needed to finish the last year of my Peace Corps service and prove to myself that my diagnosis would not define me. I decided, even in the dark haze of my diagnosis, that I would not retreat and not back down. I needed more than ever to feel valuable, to feel loved, and to feel powerful.

But instead of finding what I needed, I found opposition, isolation, stigma, and discrimination. Shortly after my diagnosis, I was contacted by Peace Corps administration and told that I would have to leave Ukraine - that the laws there would not allow me to complete my service. When I later asked them if I could finish my service in another country with less oppressive laws, I was told that I could not continue as a volunteer. According to them, being HIV positive meant that I could not fulfill my duties as a volunteer and that they would be unable to take care of my medical needs in a developing nation. It did not matter to them that I was physically just as strong as ever, or that all I needed was regular blood work and possibly treatment to keep me strong. It seemed that Peace Corps saw me only as a burden - as a liability that needed to be returned home immediately.

The loss I felt was tremendous, and the obstacles ahead of me felt insurmountable. Instead of support, I was surrounded by people who seemed ready to get rid of me. Instead of empowerment I had been shown just how little worth I had. Instead of love, I felt despair - deep and profound and all encompassing. Behind me I saw only loss:  The loss of the work I was completing in Ukraine,  loss of the hopes I had for the projects started in the small town where I had been stationed, the loss of the friends I had made and the students to whom I had taught English, and finally, the loss of my perfect health. In front of me, I saw fear - the fear of being forced to tell friends and family why I had returned home, the fear of unexpectedly having to find a job and a place to live, the fear of finding a doctor and confronting my new diagnosis.

It took a friend - an amazing person in my life - to remind me that I was not powerless and that I was just as valuable as ever. In my darkest moment, my friend lifted me up so that I could see the path forward- so that I could see my way back from the brink of destruction. It is because of that support that I felt strong enough to contact a lawyer about my dismissal from Peace Corps. That lawyer then connected me with the American Civil Liberties Union, who took my case and helped me challenge the legality of what Peace Corps had done. From there the support around me grew - as I felt more empowered, more friends and family rallied to my side and gave me the love I needed to fight the negativity that was invading my life. I found a job where I could be out about my HIV status. I found a doctor who treated me as a peer and gave me confidence in managing my own health. Things still felt dark, but the warmth around me let me know that night was almost over - that I was headed back to a better place.

Just six months after being kicked out, the dawn came. The Peace Corps stopped defending their policy and announced that volunteers with HIV would be able to continue their service uninterrupted. It was a victory not only for the rights of volunteers living with HIV, but also for me, personally. It showed me that no matter what others said about me, I could stand up to anything so long as I had support. With the help of my friends, my family, and my doctor I would not only survive - I would thrive.

It hasn't been all smooth sailing since that time. It is never easy to be part of such a highly stigmatized group of people - but with every bump and every fall, I have had a network of people to help catch me- to help me find my way back to where I belong.

The support that helped me fight back against discrimination is the kind of support that every single person living with HIV should receive. Every. Single. One. I don't care how they got HIV, where they live, who they love, what ethnicity they are, how much money they have, or what gender they are.  We all deserve to be loved, embraced, and empowered. We should all have the right to access the best medications that don't produce side effects. We should be protected by our governments, not prosecuted by them. We should all have healthcare from nonjudgmental doctors who treat us as equals. We should have friends and family who stand by us and help us continue to reach for our dreams. We should all be treated as amazing, beautiful, sexy, and very capable individuals. We should all be treated as more than a virus.

But right now for the 34 million people living with HIV there is no guarantee for support, no guarantee for love, no guarantee for safety, and no guarantee for medical care. Right now there is so much work that must still be done to protect the rights, dignity, and dreams of HIV positive individuals. And we can't wait because right now millions of people still need life-saving treatment. Right now, 45 countries still have laws that undermine the rights and well-being of people living with HIV. Right now millions of people, human beings just like you and me, are dying every year because medications are too expensive, too inaccessible, too far away. Right now the dreams of millions of people living with HIV must take a backseat to fear: fear of violence, fear of financial insecurity, fear for their health, fear of being rejected, fear of being alone.

We can change this. You and me. We and our friends. We can raise awareness through social media. We can write our legislators. We can learn what efforts are being made to stop injustice and support them. We can empower people living with HIV with our words and never make them feel limited - never clip their wings. We can demand that governments, international organizations, pharmaceutical companies, medical doctors, AIDS service organizations, and HIV prevention organizations place the wellbeing and quality of life for people living with HIV above ALL other priorities.

Support and justice is obtainable for all those with HIV, but we must all work together to demand for change.  It will not be given freely. We cannot keep the status quo; we must look at existing systems, organizations, and policies with new eyes and learn to question what can be better. We will have to think outside of the box and ponder what makes people living with HIV feel like victims, feel helpless, feel stupid, and feel abandoned. We will also have to consider our own role in the stigmatization of people living with HIV. How do we speak about HIV when we think no one around us is infected? How do we deal with the possibility that a sexual partner might be living with HIV? How do we truly and honestly feel about people who are HIV positive?

How do we change ourselves? How do we change the world to be a safer, more empowering place for people living with HIV? How do we stop stigma and discrimination?

Today, 5 years after my diagnosis, I am thankful that I feel safe, strong, and healthy. I dream of a day when all people living with HIV can feel the same way.

Jeremiah is currently a 2nd year MPH student in the sociomedical sciences department at the Mailman School of Public Health. Diagnosed with HIV in 2008, Jeremiah has firsthand knowledge of the impact that stigma and discrimination have on people living with HIV.  Since his success in changing Peace Corps' discriminatory policy on HIV, Jeremiah has continued to raise awareness for the detrimental impact that stigma has on the spread of HIV and the lives of those living with the virus. Most recently, he spent two years in northern Colorado working as a case manager and prevention specialist at the Northern Colorado AIDS Project. There, he learned that there is still much work to be done to improve the quality of life for people living with HIV.