The AIDS Generation
BY PERRY N. HALKITIS, Ph.D., M.S.
The last year has been one of enormous reflection for me. Within a year’s time I will reach my 50th birthday. As this milestone approaches, I find myself immersed in the memories of my adult life — my young adult life — as I prepare to transition into a point at which I will be eligible to join AARP.
I am not sure why these thoughts of legacy occupy my mind. Perhaps it is because after the death of my partner Robert Massa in 1994 (and thereafter a series of toxic and absurd boyfriends who served nothing more than to distract me from Robert’s death), I finally allowed myself to feel the loss and pain — enabling me to find my soul-mate, my husband Bobby, whose life with me offers me this great luxury of reflection.
Perhaps it is simply developmentally appropriate and a rite of passage of any adult emerging into middle age. Perhaps it is because I reach this milestone at a moment when we recognize the third full decade of AIDS. You see, I was 18 in 1981 — 30 years ago.
Over the course of the last several months, I have grappled with the writing of a manuscript to honor the gay men of my generation who lived through the destruction and devastation of the early days of AIDS. The writing process has been emotional and fraught with struggle. I have come to understand and accept that struggle, and believe that if I share the ideas of this work-in-progress, that act will allow me to proceed with this tome and honor these men.
So here, as we approach World AIDS Day, I share some thoughts with you about my generation of gay men, as described in the title of the manuscript, “The AIDS Generation.”
I know no adult life without AIDS. Infected or not, I and all of the gay men of my generation are long-term survivors of this disease — because we were all greatly affected by AIDS as we, entering into adulthood, tried to avoid the end product of this pathogen: an end to our existences in the prime of our lives. Yet like a subset of these men who became infected early in the epidemic and remain vibrant and healthy 30 years later, all surviving members of my generation are battled scared — but resilient and stronger individually and as a whole for having endured the plague years. It has been said that Americans who served in WWII are the greatest generation. I say that my generation — the generation of gay men who came into their own in the 1970s and 1980s and were decimated by AIDS — are the bravest generation.
I know it because I lived it.
The story of AIDS is not a simple one. In recent years, it has been drilled into our heads that AIDS is disease that affects all Americans. Epidemiological trends certainly suggest that the virus has no boundaries and that countless others who are not gay men have become infected. Yet despite the prevalence of AIDS in all segments of the population, the epidemic in the United States has always been — and still is, and likely will continue to be — a primarily gay disease. To date, 1.2 million cases have been recorded in the U.S. (although most estimates indicate the number of those that have been infected is likely closer to two million).
In the 30 years since the first cases were reported by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, over 50 percent of those who have died are gay men. For surveillance purposes in these reports, we are labeled as men-who-have-sex-with-men (MSM). It is a term I despise, since it denies our sexual identity and gives greater voice to the minority of HIV-positive MSM who are not gay. Of those currently infected and living with the disease, 50 percent are gay men — and gay men (mostly young men of color) account for over 50 percent of new infections detected in any given year. This far exceeds the two to five percent of the population that we constitute. As I write this book, 550,000 cases have been noted among gay men, associated with a quarter million AIDS-related deaths.
I am not sure why these thoughts of legacy occupy my mind. Perhaps it is because after the death of my partner Robert Massa in 1994 (and thereafter a series of toxic and absurd boyfriends who served nothing more than to distract me from Robert’s death), I finally allowed myself to feel the loss and pain — enabling me to find my soul-mate, my husband Bobby, whose life with me offers me this great luxury of reflection.
Perhaps it is simply developmentally appropriate and a rite of passage of any adult emerging into middle age. Perhaps it is because I reach this milestone at a moment when we recognize the third full decade of AIDS. You see, I was 18 in 1981 — 30 years ago.
Over the course of the last several months, I have grappled with the writing of a manuscript to honor the gay men of my generation who lived through the destruction and devastation of the early days of AIDS. The writing process has been emotional and fraught with struggle. I have come to understand and accept that struggle, and believe that if I share the ideas of this work-in-progress, that act will allow me to proceed with this tome and honor these men.
So here, as we approach World AIDS Day, I share some thoughts with you about my generation of gay men, as described in the title of the manuscript, “The AIDS Generation.”
I know no adult life without AIDS. Infected or not, I and all of the gay men of my generation are long-term survivors of this disease — because we were all greatly affected by AIDS as we, entering into adulthood, tried to avoid the end product of this pathogen: an end to our existences in the prime of our lives. Yet like a subset of these men who became infected early in the epidemic and remain vibrant and healthy 30 years later, all surviving members of my generation are battled scared — but resilient and stronger individually and as a whole for having endured the plague years. It has been said that Americans who served in WWII are the greatest generation. I say that my generation — the generation of gay men who came into their own in the 1970s and 1980s and were decimated by AIDS — are the bravest generation.
The story of AIDS is not a simple one. In recent years, it has been drilled into our heads that AIDS is disease that affects all Americans. Epidemiological trends certainly suggest that the virus has no boundaries and that countless others who are not gay men have become infected. Yet despite the prevalence of AIDS in all segments of the population, the epidemic in the United States has always been — and still is, and likely will continue to be — a primarily gay disease. To date, 1.2 million cases have been recorded in the U.S. (although most estimates indicate the number of those that have been infected is likely closer to two million).
In the 30 years since the first cases were reported by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, over 50 percent of those who have died are gay men. For surveillance purposes in these reports, we are labeled as men-who-have-sex-with-men (MSM). It is a term I despise, since it denies our sexual identity and gives greater voice to the minority of HIV-positive MSM who are not gay. Of those currently infected and living with the disease, 50 percent are gay men — and gay men (mostly young men of color) account for over 50 percent of new infections detected in any given year. This far exceeds the two to five percent of the population that we constitute. As I write this book, 550,000 cases have been noted among gay men, associated with a quarter million AIDS-related deaths.
Many of my generation entered our teens and young adulthood in the 1970s and 1980s with a sense of confidence and zeal due to the efforts of our predecessors: The Stonewall Generation. They spent years hiding their identity, then demanding their rights and easing the path for us. We also had the energy of the Civil Rights and Women’s Rights movements to support us. This is not to say that we came into our own with ease and without fear. Many of us still remained closeted throughout our high school years, living with the constant fear of being found out to be a faggot. Still, the promise for sexual freedom and sexual expression existed within our grasp. Little were we to know that we would become the AIDS generation, and that within a decade this deadly disease would destroy our physical, emotional and social lives. I know this, because I am part of the AIDS generation.
Perry N. Halkitis, Ph.D., M.S. is Professor of Applied Psychology, Public Health, and Medicine and Director of the Center for Health, Identity, Behavior & Prevention Studies at New York University. He is currently working on a new book: “The AIDS Generation.”
Perry N. Halkitis, Ph.D., M.S. is Professor of Applied Psychology, Public Health, and Medicine and Director of the Center for Health, Identity, Behavior & Prevention Studies at New York University. He is currently working on a new book: “The AIDS Generation.”
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