So let’s say you surprise yourself by falling in love with your closest friend. And let’s say his name is Steve, and you’re HIV-negative but he’s HIV-positive. You’re not sure why you’ve fallen in love with him after all this time. But this tale takes place just before the era of miraculous drug cocktails, and his T-cells are not so great, so you know it’s partly because you need to cram the long lovely future of the sweetest friendship you’ve ever had into the two or three years he probably has left. Plus, he’s a wonderful guy, and he loves you, too.
He’s terrified that he’ll infect you, much more afraid than you are. You want to do as much as possible within the bounds of what you consider safe. But he doesn’t want you to suck him even a little; he doesn’t want to penetrate you even with a condom. In the last year he won’t even let you kiss him, really kiss him, although his doctor has told him that the KS lesion on the roof of his mouth poses absolutely no risk to you.
When his health finally collapses, you clean his diarrhea off the sheets and floor and swaddle him in diapers against his will. When he falls into a coma, you lie next to him every night and jerk off amid the scent of looming death. Your orgasms are great. You hold his hand as his last breath slips away and then his mouth drops open and foam bubbles out. They take him away but you can’t let him go yet, so you don’t change the sheets for two days, and you masturbate some more.
Let’s say all this happens when you’re just turning 40, and those last two years have been the happiest and the most miserable of your life. You don’t really date or have sex for the next 12 months, but finally you start going out again. You don’t know much, but you know two things: You’re determined to stay negative. And you won’t swear off sex or love with HIV-positive men.
This astounds straight friends. They don’t understand it. Your mother doesn’t understand it. Aren’t you afraid? they ask.
You roll your eyes. Of course you’re afraid. But here’s what you’ve learned about being a negative gay man in San Francisco in the year 2000: In your body and your mind, fear and desire will forever be joined. Your challenge is to figure out how they can coexist in relative peace. Straight friends haven’t had to learn these things. So they ask you again, wide-eyed as children: How can you have sex with positive men? How can you risk your life like that?
You don’t know how exactly to answer. You don’t know if they want epidemiological data about infection rates and medical details about modes of transmission, or some grand statement draped in the wisdom of the ages, since maintaining an active romantic life amid an epidemic are far beyond anything they could imagine.
You try to make it clear that you don’t think of it as risking your life. You explain that of course you take precautions. They just sigh or shake their heads. Sure, you say, it would be great to meet another negative guy, fall in love, enjoy an unencumbered sex life and live happily ever after — or at least until you break up. But that’s an ideal that isn’t happening at the moment.
Your gay friends all face the same dilemma, although some make different choices. You know negative guys who won’t go out with positive ones, no matter how appealing. And more than one positive guy has told you that he’s uncomfortable going out with you because you’re negative. But that solution disturbs you.
It feels like what the gay press dubbed it a few years ago: “viral apartheid.” To screen out almost half of your available dating pool — among them lots of great, sexy guys who may stave off illness for decades with ever-more-powerful generations of drugs — seems too cold and calculating to you. And it feels like a betrayal of the man you loved, whose presence in your life, despite his early death, was a wondrous gift.
So here you are, almost 20 years into this. You’ve wrestled all along with the cumbersome precepts of “safe sex” and have somehow established your wobbly place on the continuum of sexual risk — what you will do sometimes, what you can’t live without doing, what you can’t believe you did and have vowed never to do again.
Your straight friends are still looking at you. They’re still perplexed. They want a tight little formula for avoiding risk completely. But you know you have no wisdom to share, just your fears and how you navigate them. And those fears shift with each new study of transmission, each rumor about forthcoming wonder drugs, each emotional connection you make.
It’s a complex tango. This is not the 1980s, when the disease plucked its victims at random. Back then you never knew who would be next, and all the news was bad; if you didn’t run into someone for a while, you figured he was dead. You set your limits and lived within them.
But now you don’t know what to think. The arrival of powerful pharmaceutical treatments makes being infected seem much less of a death sentence. Then reports of harrowing side effects and drug-resistant viral strains make it seem as bad as ever. The exhaustion from 20 years of maintaining safe-sex standards undermines your resolve. Attending another memorial service strengthens it.
You know you’re not the only one who’s confused. And when you talk to friends and read reports in the gay press, you realize something deeply troubling is happening out there. You hear about men who have tossed away their Trojans, and about the frightening new statistics from the San Francisco Health Department. New HIV infections in the city have risen from about 500 a year in 1997 to between 750 and 900 this year, with most of that increase among men who sleep with men. Some dispute the figures, but you know the general trend is up. And you know it must be going on in other cities, too.
Some guys have made a conscious decision to “bareback” — to have anal sex without condoms. Others just slip up in the dark urgency of the moment. Some are positives screwing other positives. Some are negatives screwing other negatives. Though the AIDS prevention crowd would prefer that they discuss their status before they have sex, lots of guys just make assumptions based on what their partner is willing to do. Many guys figure that if someone of unknown status is willing to penetrate them without a condom, he couldn’t be positive. Others figure that if someone of unknown status allows himself to be penetrated without a condom, he couldn’t be negative. Sometimes, they’re right; other times, of course, they’re wrong.
You’re obsessive and depressive, but not impulsive. You’ve always had a tough measure of self-control, even when drunk or stoned. So you don’t bareback and don’t intend to; you haven’t been fucked without a condom since the Dark Ages back in 1984 — by Tony, the spry little elf who taught your Spanish class when you spent a month in Barcelona.
You’d fled the States to take a breather from AIDS. You slept with Tony after a night of sweat and dancing. You were too tired or too smashed or too excited to say no. You justified the risk after the fact, by telling yourself that AIDS was not yet a problem in Spain — even though you knew Tony had lived for a while in San Francisco. He died a few years later. Was he already infected when he had his way — when you let him have his way — with you? You assume so, but who knows?
Since then, you’ve done your best to be careful. You’ve had more sexual partners than most heterosexuals could imagine, but on the gay scale your numbers are probably somewhere in the middle. And yet you still don’t ask whether someone’s positive or negative before you decide to mess around with them. Demanding to know feels intrusive to you; it’s something to discuss on the second or third date, not right away.
This “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy shocks many straight folks. But you figure, Why bother asking? Suppose someone tells you they’re negative. Does that mean they tested negative two years ago? Six months ago? Last week? Besides, you know they could be lying. So you patiently explain to straight friends that you assume everyone is positive and restrict your activities accordingly.
But here’s one thing you don’t tell your friends: If a guy does say he’s negative — even if you’re not convinced you can believe him — you relax a bit more. Sometimes you even search for evidence. Like when that burly guy with the killer laugh took you home from the bar, and you peeked in his medicine cabinet and unzipped his toiletries bag looking for HIV drugs.
You found no drugs and made an assumption, but the joke was on you. He told you, after it was all over, that he was positive. Did that make you anxious? A little. Had you done anything you could possibly regret? No. But knowing the worry is pointless doesn’t always banish it.
Sometimes, of course, you can just tell. You go to the gym and see men with sunken cheeks and thinning butts. The HIV drugs they take have redistributed their body fat. But many are still sexy, and you go home with one of them, the tall, angular man with talented hands and the devil in his eyes. You wonder how he looked before. You imagine him with a full-fleshed face and redwood legs. And the touching is textured and lovely, and of course you do nothing risky, and you mean to call him soon. But you don’t. And he doesn’t call you either. Maybe he could feel how your body tensed when your desire strained against your self-imposed limits. Or maybe, as with Steve, the infinitesimal risk of infecting you worries him too much. Or maybe it has nothing to do with AIDS at all.
The fear you feel is not a constant. When the guy you’re with strokes you here and you kiss him there, it disappears for an hour or two. But sometimes, when it’s all over, you lie there and fret as details tumble through your mind. Did his uncondomed dick slip too close to your butt? Did you go down on him too enthusiastically? Did his sperm splash on your paper cut? For you, pleasure and fretting are a zero-sum game. If you had a great time, you fret less. If it was just OK, you fret more. It doesn’t make sense, but does anything about sex or love? And you keep testing negative, so you must be doing something right.
These ruminations and calculations have droned on for so long now that you almost don’t notice them. It’s been that way since AIDS first hit your life about 200 years ago, and the doctors couldn’t even say for sure that kissing was safe. Frank, your boyfriend at the time, had swollen glands. You both knew it was an early sign of what was then called GRID — gay-related immune disorder. You were terrified and tried to keep his tongue at bay.
But you couldn’t survive without kissing, or at any rate didn’t want to. So you kissed. You thought, what the hell. And the fear drowned in the pleasure. For the most part.
You cherished the pleasure because you remembered how much you despised your body’s yearnings as a kid. Other teenagers fumbled in the back seats of cars and made out at drunken graduation parties, but it took you years to ease into the rhythm and flow of desire.
You remember, when you were 22, the first time you set foot in Man’s Country — a New York bathhouse on West 15th Street. The place took your breath away — nine floors of naked men doing all the things Jerry Falwell could never have imagined. You wanted to indulge and did, but gingerly. You were squeamish. You shed that quality in fits and starts, but by the time you were ready to shed it for good, the epidemic had blossomed. And it was too late. You ached for what you thought you might have missed, but it was too late.
After that you sometimes found it hard to get hard. You felt like your body was bound tight in Saran Wrap. A few of your friends didn’t have sex for years. Others did whatever they wanted and managed not to worry about it. You weren’t sure if they were liberated or insane. You and Andy, your next boyfriend, attended a workshop designed to “eroticize” safe sex. You read porn stories centered around condoms and tried to trick yourselves into believing that putting latex on each other could be an exciting part of the evening’s events.
It didn’t work. Condoms were not sexy to you. They’ve never been sexy. Nothing will ever make them sexy. No matter how much you experimented with different brands, you couldn’t feel anything with them on. Some guys didn’t seem to mind, but others had the same complaint. Still, for the better part of a decade, people generally obeyed the primary rule: No intercourse without latex.
Blow jobs were another matter. Doing it with condoms was like sucking on a garbage bag. You missed the taste of rubbery flesh, the trail of tongue on naked shaft. Everyone knew it was safer than anal sex; how much safer they couldn’t tell you. So you stopped doing it for years. But eventually you found that, like kissing, you couldn’t do without it. Apparently nobody else could, either; you can’t remember the last time you or anyone else donned a condom for oral sex. You know the risk is real, but you’re also sure it’s tiny, because otherwise everyone you know would be positive by now.
You’ve still maintained some blow-job limits. You won’t do it for a long time, and you won’t swallow anything. You stop if you taste much pre-cum, but for really sexy guys you’ve made exceptions and gone on for a few minutes more. You interrogate your periodontist about all the dental work you’ve had and what state your gums are in now. You try to remember not to floss beforehand. And somehow you’ve learned to live with it all.
Because you figure sucking is a lot safer than other things you do. Like crossing the corner at Market and Noe Street — the most dangerous intersection in San Francisco, where a pedestrian got killed last month. Like hang gliding off Fort Funston, which you haven’t actually done but intend to someday. Like reporting from Russia and whipping around in decrepit Aeroflot planes flown by possibly vodka-laden pilots. Your family worries about that, but you don’t. You figure if you can do that, you can indulge your oral desires.
It’s funny, the tricks your mind plays. You parse the fine points of every encounter and constantly make little deals with yourself. If you don’t know the guy’s sero status, you’ll push things a little further than if you know he’s positive. You hope, since he looks healthy, that he’s negative, though you know it’s absurd to make that judgment. You tell yourself that, if he’s positive, whatever meds he takes must have pushed his viral load down to undetectable levels. You hope, if his viral load is down, that it reduces the risk of transmission. The doctors and researchers think that’s so, but you know no one knows for sure. You decide to believe it anyway. You hope that the condom doesn’t break, and so far it never has. You hope he listens when you tell him not to come inside you, even with the condom on.
You think negatives being penetrated without condoms is nuts, but you’re a little nuts yourself so you sort of understand it. You’re horrified that people are still sero-converting, but it horrifies you more that the last time someone asked to fuck you without a condom you ached to say yes. It horrifies you how much the edge of danger appealed to you. How much you wanted sex to be, once more, just sex; not barriers and planning and limits and control, but skin and lust and spontaneity.
Maybe some of those who do say yes are depressed because their lover and five best friends have died. Maybe, being young and having never seen anyone waste away, they confuse being gay with having HIV — as if infection is a mark of adulthood or community. Maybe they’re so worn out from years of restraint that something inside them breaks. Maybe they thrill to flirt with the forbidden. Maybe they don’t believe HIV causes AIDS. Maybe they think if they get infected, they won’t get sick for 10 years, and then new drugs will save them.
Maybe they’re in love and have an overwhelming urge to merge.
Can anyone but gay men understand this? Probably not. Still you want to tell your straight friends to think about performing the sexual act they love the most with the person they love the most, and then imagine never experiencing that again for the rest of their lives. You want to tell them that everyone — straight or gay or somewhere in between — takes risks all the time, and risks the lives of others, and finds ways to justify it. The other day you were driving to the airport on the freeway in your clunky old Toyota and kept within the speed limit. Everyone else zipped and whizzed right by you. Were they putting you more at risk for serious bodily injury than the HIV-positive man you had sex with the night or week before? Or the guy whose sero status you didn’t know?
You think they were. But would they see it that way? You doubt it.
So that, in the end, is your dilemma. You need to touch men and make them feel good, and so do most of the gay men you know. You tangle with each situation and do what feels most comfortable — or rather least uncomfortable. You know the only way to avoid risk completely is not to have sex at all. You also know that’s not possible.
You’ve heard straight people say that gay men must have some sort of death wish. And at times, when you plumb your own dark depths, you almost agree. But then you wonder at how passion still thrives, in you and your friends and other gay men. And you feel awed at how heroic it is, and how strong you have to be, to sustain heat and desire after so many years of illness and decay. You believe you’re brave to want to touch anyone at all. But you’re not really sure.
As a lens to explore the complex and deeply fraught relationship between Africa and the West, the AIDS epidemic is as revealing and disturbing as it gets. Born in colonial Africa and discovered in gay America, the devastating rise of AIDS has been fueled in no small part by the clash of cultures that played out over the past 130 years or so between Africa, Europe and the U.S. — and the rivers of resentment those conflicts have sown.
“Tinderbox,” an insightful new book from a journalist and an AIDS researcher, tells the story of the epidemic from its birth in colonial Congo — where it lingered undetected for decades — to its sudden spread around the globe in the 1980s, to its status today as the object of a global public health war directed from Washington and Geneva and targeting Africa, home to some 70 percent of all AIDS cases today.
Narrating this disturbing tale are Craig Timberg, former South Africa bureau chief for the Washington Post, and Daniel Halperin, an epidemiologist, AIDS researcher and former advisor to the U.S. government’s anti-AIDS program. Timberg met Halperin in the middle of his five-year stint as the Post’s Johannesburg bureau chief and the two began exploring questions that had bothered Timberg since his arrival in South Africa.
Timberg, now back in Washington as the Post’s deputy national security editor, spoke with Salon about the book.
Perceptions about the origins and spread of AIDS have changed over time in fascinating ways. First, it was seen as a gay disease. When it was detected in Africa, people assumed it came from the West. Over time, scientists showed it originated in Africa, a notion rejected by many Africans but in keeping with Western notions about third-world diseases. You show in the book that AIDS arose as a result of sweeping changes in social structure brought to Africa by European colonialism. Describe its origins.
Scientists have known for more than a decade that the version of HIV that has caused almost all cases of AIDS is virtually identical to a virus common in central African chimpanzees. That’s not controversial. The location of the transmission was determined by a group of scientists who narrowed it down to chimpanzees living in southeastern Cameroon by collecting their feces, detecting the virus and comparing it to other strains collected elsewhere. Michael Worobey from the University of Arizona and his team mapped the genetic structure of pieces of HIV from all over the world, looking at the extent of mutations between them. They were able to make assumptions about how many years it would have taken to produce these changes. The time frame puts you close to the turn of the 20th century for the original virus, the ancestor to all modern HIV.
How was the spread of AIDS to humans linked to colonialism?
In southeastern Cameroon, at the exact moment scientists now believe HIV entered the human population, you had steamships going up rivers that never had steamships before. You have porters who are virtually human pack animals carrying ivory or gear for colonial companies through dense forests. One of those porters would have been the first human to contract HIV. It looks like HIV goes from the chimp population into a hunter who cuts himself while butchering a chimpanzee for food. It then spreads in a localized way along these porter paths and colonial trading posts and eventually comes down river on a steamship into Kinshasa, then called Leopoldville, the first major city in that part of the world.
And that leads to what you call the Big Bang – when HIV explodes and moves out of the Congo.
That’s right. A single spark emanating from southeastern Cameroon works its way to colonial Leopoldville. But HIV doesn’t spread fast on its own. It needs particular conditions to race through a population and Leopoldville had them. It was big and growing fast. It had a high concentration of men working in factories, separated from their wives and girlfriends. It had an emerging population of sex workers and transport to get people back and forth. Gonorrhea, syphilis, chlamydia spread like wildfire; HIV doesn’t but starts to spread along railroad lines, porter paths and rivers during the early and middle part of the 20th century. When scientists look at the genetic structures of different types of HIV they all seem to have come from a single piece of ancestral HIV that existed in Leopoldville at the beginning of the 20th century.
So HIV lingered in small numbers of people but doesn’t exit this area. When researchers go back to blood samples collected during the 1976 outbreak of Ebola virus, they find HIV.
Yes, so in the middle part of the 20th century about 1 percent of adults in major population centers of the Congo had HIV. Before they died, they developed symptoms of other familiar maladies—pneumonia, tuberculosis, wasting. It wasn’t obvious there was a new epidemic loose in the land until gay men in the United States started getting sick in the early 1980s. Before that, it didn’t spread far and it didn’t spread fast. The reason seems to be that in colonial Congo, the majority of adult men would have been circumcised and circumcised men are much less likely to contract HIV and pass it on. It’s only when HIV makes its way out of the Congo River basin to other places more hospitable to its spread that we get a true explosion.
Many people assume AIDS must be a disease of poverty. But you argue that wealth, modern transportation and economic development were key factors that allowed AIDS to break out.
When I first went to Africa as a correspondent in 2004, I carried this question with me: Why is HIV so severe in some places and not in others? Logic said: Africa, poverty, poor medical systems — there had to be a connection. But when I started traveling to different countries I discovered that most truly outrageous hellholes — places with warfare and incredible poverty — didn’t have much HIV. Other places with modern transport and sophisticated economies had a lot. When I met my co-author, Daniel Halperin, it began to come together. I saw that while being poor and having HIV is certainly a very bad thing because you’re more likely to die when you can’t afford medicine, some degree of economic activity actually makes you more vulnerable. When the epidemic starts spreading widely in some African societies it’s in the cities. Wealthier people — doctors, teachers, politicians, singers — get HIV in completely disastrous numbers. Some of that has to do with access to resources and multiple sexual partners.
You begin with a chapter on the city of Francistown, Botswana, an affluent place with a horrendous HIV rate. What struck you about Francistown?
I drove to Francistown for the first time in 2006 and it felt like driving into anywhere, USA. I could buy a hamburger at Wimpy’s, order a shot of espresso. There were cafes and ATMs. Yet it had this horrendous HIV rate. Among women in their 30s, two-thirds were infected. The picture of poverty before HIV didn’t add up. When you scratch the surface you begin to realize that other factors — human movement, transport, sexual behavior, circumcision or lack of it — are decisive in how the virus spread.
You describe the AIDS belt, an area in southern Africa at the very heart of the African epidemic. What are the characteristics that made it, as you call it, a tinderbox?
There’s a giant swath of the continent that starts at the southern end of Sudan, goes down through east Africa to South Africa and out to the sea where you have this combination of sexual networks and low rates of male circumcision. Together they produce the tinderbox. Two centuries ago most of Africa had polygamous societies in which the richest, most powerful men had multiple wives. In contemporary Africa, in part because of that tradition and in part because of the ravages of colonialism and migratory labor, many men and women have more than one sexual partner over the course of a week or month. But to be part of the AIDS belt, you need one more thing: low rates of male circumcision. The people who migrated down the Nile River basin from Sudan never had circumcision as part of their tradition. In the southern part of the continent, it was a tradition pretty much everywhere until about 200 years ago when some ethnic groups began to give it up. In those places you see HIV rates of 10, 15, even 25 percent.
Why is circumcision effective and why was early evidence of its power missed?
A man’s foreskin is unusually vulnerable to HIV; the skin is thinner, softer and more easily penetrated by HIV and other pathogens. When it’s removed, the remaining skin is rougher and more resistant to infection. That makes no difference if you’re a gay man who is the receptive partner in anal sex. But the African epidemic is spread predominantly through heterosexual sex, particularly vaginal sex, and circumcision is crucial. Circumcised men are at least 70 percent less likely to get HIV. This science first began to appear in the mid-1980s.
That’s three decades ago!
That’s right. That data seemed to offer this miraculous new insight. But the global public health community was deeply uncomfortable with the subject. It took another 20 years to come up with evidence so definitive they accepted it. Peter Piot, one of the central characters in the AIDS response, was part of that research team. Yet during all the years he was head of UNAIDS he was not enthusiastic about this science. To be fair, establishing correlation is not the same as establishing causality. And it’s a pretty serious thing to contemplate altering men’s penises if you’re the global health community.
One area of culture clash between global health agencies and Africa is over condoms. What happened?
People who had watched AIDS in the U.S. were mindful of the way condoms seemed to slow the spread of HIV there and especially in Thailand, where the epidemic was transmitted mainly in brothels. It was hard for those officials to understand how different the African epidemics were. In several places, Africans were saying, “Hey, our best chance for surviving is for people to have fewer sex partners at a time.” But Westerners had condoms on their minds. The U.S. government and other organizations made a huge bet on condoms and reasoned that if you could just get enough of them to people in vulnerable places you could reverse the epidemic. Instead, reported usage of condoms in some African societies went to rates far higher than anywhere else but HIV also went up. That puzzled people until it became clear that people were using condoms with prostitutes or one-night stands but not in long-term relationships with their husbands, wives, boyfriends or girlfriends. And that’s how HIV is most likely to spread.
Uganda emerged in the early days of the epidemic as a place that took effective action, changed people’s behavior and lowered HIV transmission.
In 1986 a new government took over and confronted the facts of AIDS. They knew it was fatal, they knew it was incurable, they knew it was spread by sex, and they knew a lot of people already had it. So political, religious and cultural leaders focused on changing the sexual behavior that was at the core of HIV’s spread. The most famous terms for this was zero grazing, a metaphor that worked well in an overwhelmingly agrarian society. When leaders said zero grazing, Ugandans understood at an intuitive level that having sex with your primary partner is much safer than having sex with a primary partner and others. If a large number of people make a relatively small change in their number of sex partners it can make a massive difference in the spread of HIV. That’s what happened in Uganda and hundreds of thousands of lives were saved.
Why were the powers that be in global health so reluctant to focus on behavior change?
The global health infrastructure was uncomfortable talking about differences in sexual behavior. That’s a shame because a sexually transmitted epidemic is by definition spread by sex. To understand why it’s worse in some places than others you have to dive into some inherently uncomfortable questions about a very private matter.
Yet there was historical evidence here that changing behavior made a difference. San Francisco closed the bathhouses and it helped. In New York, behavior changes led to lower rates of anal gonorrhea in the early days of the epidemic.
Those changes were instituted within coherent communities. Gay men advocated the closing of bathhouses and made the choice to have fewer partners or use condoms. In Africa that process was hampered by the slowness to accept that AIDS was real and the fact that people are understandably resistant to being told what to do by a large and powerful outside force. Many of these societies need our financial aid, our technical assistance to do things that matter to them, including improving public health. The tension over how much to listen to outsiders while not wanting to be told what to do has troubling consequences that have infused the world’s response to AIDS in all sorts of ways.
What lessons do you draw from the way the epidemic has been addressed in Africa?
The overriding lesson is that sex matters. Those of us who care about people getting this terrible disease can’t be squeamish in discussing sexual behavior because we’re afraid of how it makes us look. The research has to be good, the messaging has to be forceful and clear. It’s not enough to tell people to use condoms all the time because the evidence after more than 30 years is that people don’t, not often enough to be truly decisive. We also have to be willing to engage in questions about how many partners people are having, we need to tell people that from the viewpoint of sexually transmitted infections, anal sex is more dangerous than vaginal or oral sex. These things are uncomfortable to talk about. At the same time, if we take seriously the moral question of trying to prevent as many infections as we can, we can’t be frightened of these subjects.
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KISUMU, Kenya – Thirty years after the discovery of AIDS, scientists believe for the first time that they now have the tools to beat back the deadly virus.

The evidence is found in HIV prevention research conducted here on the shores of Lake Victoria and in several other parts of sub-Saharan Africa, long the epicenter of AIDS. The most notable research discovery stems from the HIV Prevention Trials Network 052 clinical trial, a U.S.-funded, nine-country study that found early treatment reduced the risk of HIV transmission to an uninfected partner by 96 percent.
The 052 results – announced to a standing ovation in Rome at the International AIDS Society conference in July – was one in a line of recent breakthroughs, including the benefits of male circumcision to prevent infection, and smaller conceptual advances in an HIV vaccine candidate as well as with microbicides, or gels used by women to stop transmission.
But the gloomy global economic situation, and recent scale-backs in HIV funding around the world, have cast great doubt as to whether policymakers will take advantage of the combination of new prevention tools to fight AIDS.
This collision of scientific advances vs. economic realities also comes at a heightened political moment of the U.S.’s own making: Secretary of State Hillary Rodham Clinton earlier this month called for an “AIDS-free generation,” and the United States’ actions on AIDS will be in the spotlight during next July’s International AIDS Society conference in Washington, D.C., which is being held in the U.S. for the first time in 22 years due to the Obama administration’s decision last year to end U.S. entry restrictions on people who have HIV. The conference is expected to attract more than 25,000 people from around the world.
President Obama is expected on Thursday — World AIDS Day — to talk about his administration’s next steps on AIDS, following Clinton’s speech. This would be his first major speech on AIDS as president; he has remained largely silent on all global health issues. Even when Obama announced a bold new Global Health Initiative, the White House put out only an eight-paragraph statement.
“The terrific science in the last year is coming up against the fiscal constraints,” said Chris Collins, vice president and director of public policy amfAR, the Foundation for AIDS Research. “It is going to take choices. That is the big challenge for policymakers in the next couple of years: How to get above the day-to-day politics here and use the resources as strictly as possible. We now need to hear our president articulate his policy action plan for an AIDS-free generation.”
Several sources within the Obama administration said in interviews that Clinton’s speech at the National Institutes of Health was at least partially spurred by the realization that next year’s AIDS conference will shine a spotlight on the U.S. commitment to fighting the virus, both globally and domestically. The idea was that the United States will be able to report back to the conference on its plan of action globally, while also speak about ongoing research in several U.S. cities about the most effective ways of finding those who are infected and then putting them on treatment.
In the meantime, Obama’s top scientists are urging that the research discoveries to prevent HIV transmission are put to use. The one in the forefront is the best known of all: Dr. Anthony Fauci, director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases, who has advised U.S. presidents since Ronald Reagan on how best to address AIDS.
“All of a sudden we have a convergence of prevention approaches, which includes treatment as prevention, and that really validates the concept of combination prevention,” Fauci told GlobalPost in an interview earlier this month. “There is now an enthusiasm and an excitement if we can implement some of these scientific advances, we can have a major impact in turning around the trajectory of the epidemic.”
Fauci said that future modeling of the AIDS epidemic shows that if prevention tools are effective and if fewer people are infecting others, a precipitous fall in HIV infections could follow. Then, he said, the whole arc of the epidemic could crumble.
“When we can get the incidence of HIV down enough to turn the trajectory of the pandemic, it will assume a momentum of its own in diminishing HIV,” he said.
“That’s because the fewer people who are transmitting infection and the more people who are trying to protect themselves from infection – those are the two arms of the problem – that diminishes the pool of people capable of infecting the other people.”
A UNAIDS report released last week concluded that the global expansion of AIDS treatment has made a significant difference in terms of saving lives and almost surely in preventing infections. It estimated that new HIV infections were reduced by 21 percent since 1997, and deaths from AIDS-related illnesses decreased by 21 percent since 2005. It also found that 6.6 million people were on life-extending antiretroviral treatment in 2010, an increase of 1.35 million from the previous year.
Given the findings of the 052 study, scientists and researchers said that the more people who are put on treatment, the more infections will be averted. The experts said that funding isn’t the only issue. Another key one is making sure the prevention strategy matches the specific epidemic in a country.
“Funding is not enough today and probably will never be adequate,” said Robert Hecht, a principal and managing director at Results for Development who has done extensive modeling on what will happen in various scenarios with AIDS funding.
He continued: “What will be important is getting some of these countries to recognize that if they don’t have all the money they need, they need to target programs for the high-risk groups. If you had to choose, say, between a few more dollars for sex education in the schools, or spending it more to reach gay men, or injecting drug users, the countries would be better to use it in the latter programs.”
In Kisumu, the principal city of western Kenya, with a population of roughly 500,000, the 052 trial was stopped in May because it was working so well that researchers felt it was no longer ethically defensible to keep a control group on placebos. Dr. Lisa Mills, the principal investigator for the western Kenya part of the study, and chief of the HIV Research Branch at KEMRI-CDC (a long-time collaboration between Kenya and U.S. researchers), said the Kenyan government already had started people earlier on treatment, but she and others hoped that more funding would allow for another expansion.
“The modeling shows that the amount of funds used for treatment would be much lower by 2015 if you started earlier,” Mills said. “And 2020, there would be a huge savings. There is an increase in start-up costs, but with the costs of the drugs gradually dropping, more efficiencies in treatment, and a reduction in new infections, including pediatric infections, all those add up to fewer people on treatment” in a few years.
Mills said that in fighting AIDS, like other epidemics, “the real issue is when you turn off the tap,” referring to stopping the numbers of new infections. “When you have fewer and fewer new people getting infected every year, turning off the tap starts to happen,” she said.
Kayla Laserson, the director of KEMRI/CDC Research and Public Health Collaboration, said the AIDS research is part of a multi-pronged global health research agenda aimed at finding new drugs, vaccines, and diagnostic tools for a host of diseases. “We have the 052 trial here, but we also have the malaria vaccine trail, and the site for a TB vaccine trial, and many others,” she said. “We see how we make an enormous impact because the results from the community we serve are all around us.”
In the nearby village of Ematsayi, Peter Owiti Omotsi, 39, a father of five, is one of thousands of people in the region now on antiretroviral drugs to fight AIDS. He started treatment in 2008. His wife was HIV negative at the time of his diagnosis, and she has remained negative, he said. Omotsi said the drugs, plus changes to improve the nutrition in his diet, have made him much healthier.
“These drugs work,” he said. “I believe before I die, I will see my grandchildren. Without these drugs, that probably wouldn’t happen. But I have some years to live now. I can at least be proud of my grandchildren.”
In the months and years ahead, the U.S. government will need to make decisions on whether to expand AIDS treatment in the United States as well as around the world to people who are infected but are not acutely ill from the disease. No one is making any promises yet. But no one doubts either that the range of prevention approaches now available, taken together, create a new, powerful weapon to halt AIDS.
“In the last year or so, we have enough scientific advances so that we can start to see some significant turnarounds in the trajectory of the pandemic,” said Fauci, the longtime U.S. AIDS researcher. “But it’s not going to happen alone. We’re going to need a lot more host-country involvement, we’re going to need other donors, we’re going to need to be more efficient in what we do with the resources that we have. Now is a critical time in the history of the AIDS pandemic.”
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Recently, an elderly woman in Mississippi was left alone on the curb outside a hospital emergency room. The woman didn’t have a medical emergency. She’d been dumped by the nursing room employees who had learned that she had HIV, according to a lawyer at the Mississippi Center for Justice to whom she was eventually referred.
Mississippi’s neighbors have been known to thank God for Mississippi — when your state ranks 48th or 49th in just about every sad statistic about health or poverty in America, it’s nice to know you’ll always look better than someone. The state’s indicators for HIV and AIDS are about as horrific, although the 9,546 people in the state reported to have the virus probably aren’t particularly grateful about it.
The state has the highest new infection rate and greatest percentage of people living with HIV in the country, and by many measures, the least interest in helping them. Elsewhere, HIV/AIDS has become manageable with anti-retroviral therapy, but a Mississippian with HIV/AIDS is almost twice as likely to die than the average American with the virus; HIV-positive African-Americans in Mississippi are ten times as likely to die from it than their white neighbors. African-Americans are only 37.5 percent of the population, but represent 78 percent of new HIV infections. Meanwhile, an abstinence-education statute forbids even programs offering information about condoms to demonstrate how to use them, but does include a requirement to mention the anti-sodomy laws still on the books.
Combine racism and political indifference to poverty with homophobia — there’s been a rapid rise in infections among young men having sex with men in the state — and you’ve got a public health disaster that state politicians mostly ignore, or worse. ”I’ve been called a nigger and a faggot by state legislators right in the Capitol,” Alonzo Dukes, executive director of the Southern AIDS Commission in Greenville, Miss., told Human Rights Watch for a recent report. One of the few advocates for people living with HIV, state Rep. John Hines, says in the same report, “Legislators in Mississippi don’t see it as a public health crisis; they see it as a punishment for an unhealthy lifestyle.” The state contributes only $750,000 towards HIV/AIDS programs, out of a budget of $4.9 billion.
In other words, there’s very little to prevent employers and housing providers from discriminating against people with HIV, especially because the state doesn’t have any anti-discrimination laws and Mississippi also ranks 49th in funding civil legal services for the poor, according to the state’s Access to Justice Commission.
Even those who can afford a lawyer might have trouble. “I’ve heard stories of even lawyers turning clients away when they have AIDS,” says Marni von Wilpert, a fellow with the Mississippi Center for Justice. “People think they can get it from handshakes or hugs.”
Human Rights Watch also indicted the state for “punitive, stigmatizing, and discriminatory policies that undermine efforts to reach the population’s most vulnerable to HIV … leav[ing] people with HIV/AIDS without treatment at rates comparable to those in Botswana, Ethiopia, and Rwanda.” Advocates report hearing stories of public health officials showing up at workplaces and homes without any regard for confidentiality — terrifying in small rural communities where the stigma of HIV is brutalizing.
Robin Webb, executive director of A Brave New Day, which provides support services to people with HIV/AIDS, says this fans long-standing mistrust of government medical services in the African-American community going back to the Tuskegee syphilis studies. “The government actually plays out that whole Tuskegee scenario when it becomes a punitive force. The way they handle public health is all about authoritative punishment.” They are also terrified of what will happen to their lives if their infection is discovered. ”The No. 1 punishment is to kick people out of the church,” says Webb. “These are the people who talk about Jesus and the lepers.”
One MCJ client, admitted to the hospital for seizures, woke up to discover the doctor had informed a relative, in violation of medical privacy laws, that the patient had AIDS. ”People are not going to seek care if they think everyone in their family is going to find out,” says Von Wilpert. Meanwhile, Von Wilpert says, the state has chosen only to distribute free AIDS drugs at limited Department of Health locations. “People are traveling two or three counties over to even get the drugs,” she says — or not traveling at all.
The good news is that advocates believe they have an ally in the state’s new STD/HIV director, Nicholas Mosca. Von Wilpert and her colleagues are launching a new medical-legal partnership program, as well as an office in the hard-hit Delta region. Webb, who grew up in the Delta but lived in New York during the AIDS crisis and subsequent activism, says he’s trying to import that language of empowerment and self-management to his home state, and try to undo the shame and stigmatization. “I think most of us realize that diseases, especially lethal diseases, love secrets,” he said.
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