“May 19 is National Asian & Pacific Islander HIV/AIDS Awareness Day and World Hepatitis Day. This blog post is one of a series on the impact of HIV and Hepatitis B in Asian & Pacific Islander communities. As A&PIs, you may not believe that you are at risk for these diseases, but you are. Follow our posts throughout the week for different perspectives and stories from our community.”

HIV/AIDS is no longer a “gay white man’s disease.” Globally, the epidemic has struck down an entire generation of future leaders, movers and shakers, especially in developing countries. In the United States, the severity of epidemic has been tempered. Nationally, infection rates have remained steady and in some areas have dropped noticeably. Today, HIV/AIDS is touted as a chronic but “manageable condition.” But beneath the thin veneer of medical triumphalism, the disease has mutated and found more vulnerable pastures, disproportionately affecting communities of color, transgendered folks, women and the elderly.  As a queer youth of color, how do I reconcile the complications that arise from the intersecting and, often times, contradicting conflation of racial identity, sexual orientation and HIV-status? How can I in good conscience stand by idly when up to one-third of Asian & Pacific Islanders (APIs) do not know their HIV-status, and thousands more are unable to get lifesaving medical treatment?

Testing positive has proved to be one of the most difficult moments in my life. It was a time filled with shame and weighed down by questions of how, when, and even more elusive, why. These questions continue to follow me to this day. Coming to terms with one’s status may be a lifelong process, and some will undoubtedly have more difficulty than others. But for me, an HIV-diagnosis engenders some uncertainty, and with uncertainty often follows fear.

I secretly fear for my family. I fear others will judge or shun them while my HIV-status is mine alone to bear. I fear losing future job prospects, finding housing, the unknown long-term effects and the financial impact of antiretroviral therapy and of matters of the heart, finding a partner that will love me in spite of my status. On a more fundamental level, I fear that my status will come to limit who I am.

Personal experience has shown me that the one often overlooked component of HIV/AIDS education and prevention is stigma and I have seen first-hand how it impacts APIs. HIV-positive APIs not only have to navigate a cumbersome, time-consuming and expensive healthcare system; most of them must live a life of silence, fearing becoming social pariahs should their family and friends ever find out about their sexual orientation and/or HIV-status. The lack of community resources and resolve will only continue to marginalize individuals who identify as queer, a woman, transgendered and/or a drug user. We as a community can do better. We must strive to be better.

You do not have to be HIV-positive to feels stigma’s detrimental effects. The fear it creates erects higher barriers to testing and treatment. It speaks to the lack of culturally and linguistically competent health care professionals. It maintains the monolithic and static perception of an Asian/American. It highlights our collective failure to truly foster dialogue and create healthy and safe spaces where we are able to explore and develop not only our identities, but our sexualities. Stigma is one of the primary factors that explain APIs’ abysmally low testing rates, when in reality APIs make up a startling amount of newly diagnosed cases, especially in San Francisco.

Stigma does not arise in a vacuum. It is born out of our fear of the unknown. It feeds on our unquestioned prejudices. It reproduces through our silence and hesitation to act. All of us living on the margins deal with prejudice in all of its flavors: racism, sexism, ableism, trans/homophobia, xenophobia and etc, but it is how we choose to respond to ignorance that determines our character. We, as a community, can continue to turn a blind eye and cast blame and judgment on individuals living with HIV/AIDS. But the disease won’t flinch and it won’t hesitate, much less retreat. It will continue to affect our family members, our friends and our lovers. It will remain a poignant reminder of our failure to act.

I speak in the collective “We” because we are inextricably bound to one another through our common humanity. I speak in the collective “We” because we are someone’s keeper, whether as a sibling, guardian, lover or friend. I speak in the collective “We” because I believe we are capable of unbelievable compassion, love and solidarity.

The struggle continues and we must do our part.

William founded the United AIDS Project, a youth-led movement to combat stigma. He currently works in San Francisco.