I realize that is a very provocative title I've place there for this piece. Let me say up front that I have not lost my ever-loving mind and now am an advocate of racism. Ummm, no.
Let me explain...
Last evening I watched the film, The Normal Heart. The film, adapted from the play of the same name by Larry Kramer who was also the screenwriter for the film, chronicles the early days of the AIDS pandemic (1981 - 1984) and how it affected and impacted the lives of the gay male population, in the case of this particular film--gay men living in New York City. I had never seen the film before although I was deeply aware and conscious of the play it was adapted from.
Watching the film re-triggered a memory I have repressed off and on for many years.
When what we now know of as AIDS first hit the scene in the USA (1981) I was in the seminary studying for the Roman Catholic priesthood. I continued this study for the next several years, as AIDS began to ravage a community I was a member of. At that point in my preparation and study for the priesthood I was living a completely celibate life. Additionally, I continued my celibate practice for some time after I left my study for the priesthood. When I left, I initially moved back to my hometown and State, Lexington, Kentucky. I had come out to myself and to a very select group of friends, all of whom also ended up being gay, when I was sixteen years old, in that same place--Lexington, KY.
I returned to Kentucky in the very late 1980s. By the time I returned, AIDS was finally making its way into Kentucky, as it essentially began in the gay male communities on the coasts and slowly (and then more and more rapidly) began moving into the interior of the country.
When I returned to Kentucky I re-established many friendships I had with gay men who were friends the last time I had lived in Kentucky approximately eight to ten years earlier. Naturally, all of these men were very sexually active now. This was a time of very intense sexual liberation in the gay male community. The majority, though not all of these men were white.
I can remember various orgies that several of these white gay men friends attended where it was subtlely and sometimes not so subtlely implied that I was sort of, kind of not welcomed to attend because someone who was going to be involved was uncomfortable with a black guy being a part of the orgy. Nothing was ever directed said to me. Often what would happen is that I would be at one of these guys homes laughing, joking, and having a great time and then suddenly things would get weird. People would get quiet, starting nervously looking at their clocks, and start making preparations to leave without ever precisely mentioning to me what was going on. I learned to simply take this as a cue that it was time for me to leave.
I'm not at all sure I would have wanted to participate in such a thing at that particular time in my sexual development anyway. I truly don't know. I wasn't a prude or anything. However, I was not nearly as free as I became some years later. I do however, definitely remember this really funky and awkward thing in my friendship with this particular set of white, gay, male friends in Kentucky. I never separated myself from these friends. We continued to hang out and be real friends. I was also much less sophisticated about racism then than I am now. Don't get me wrong, I knew that racism absolutely played a role in this funky thing regarding me never being invited to participate in these orgies. However, once again, I was not nearly as liberated about such things I as I became a few short years later, Often, these orgies included the presence of "really hunky" guys from out of town, often from much larger cities. It was always intimated that it was one of these out of towners who were opposed to my participation rather than one of my friends, although I don't remember that ever being explicitly expressed to me. And at any rate, my friends never objected, even if that were the case. It was a very awkward aspect of my friendship with this group of white, gay friends, which numbered approximately ten to twelve men. I had even gone to high school with a few of them. Many years later, practically on his death bed, one of these friends, one of these men admitted to me what I had always suspected, indeed had always known. It was both a relief and horrible at the same time.
Everyone single one of these men is now dead. Every single one.
I believe the last person died around 1994. I remained friends with every single one until his death. I attended the funerals and memorials of almost every single one. All died from complications related to AIDS. Every single one. I am absolutely positive that every single one of these men was infected by the same person--someone visiting from out of town who was a participant in one or more of those orgies, and maybe even one of the ones who specifically did not want a black man being a part of "the action." I know I'll never be able to prove that. And I'm fine with that.
This whole thing is just one of the many funky, strange, weird, outrageous elements of my life as a black, same gender loving men who is part of the generation and community that AIDS hit the hardest when it first came onto the American landscape. So many different emotions connected to so many of those episodes. So many different emotions...
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