At my 36 th birthday, HIV/AIDS had claimed a stunning thirty–six (36) men and women from my life and phone book. Back then I could recount each of their names, first and last as a way of keeping their memories close. They were both hetero and homo-attractional, both women and men.

Having lived alongside so many people living with this disease has been agonizing, and only semi-bearable through the elongation of the experience. To observe such great people of African descent make such healthy contributions to Black progress while persevering in health-related upheaval is to witness deep cultural strength.  It is a definitional abomination that Black public officials, entertainers, business people and other privileged folk– the spiritual, conservative, progressive, radical and true - rarely if ever mention their plight. This intra-race, faith-based desertion of an entire population of people instills veiled hostilities in our young, leaves loved ones suffering and resentful, and plants seeds of instability and vicious conduct in our neighborhoods. We see the ripple effects of this reckless abandon all around us.

While HIV/AIDS is ignored and stigmatized as a “gay” disease even now, the beloved community is devastating itself from the inside out. This cultural abandonment we are witnessing creates pockets of chronic emotional pain and long-term grief which then brings about self destructive behaviors linked to cancer, premature arthritis, diabetes, alcoholism and other drug addiction and violence.

Only the sick, shut in and mentally incapacitated can be excused for shrinking from our cultural responsibility to advocate for these millions of Black lives hanging in the balance. To not do so is to use silence as a weapon of genocide and-or lethal neglect against one’s own people. Particularly for those Black and so-called progressive public officials who are able-bodied yet mute, we should take a moment of silence ourselves - giving them the benefit that they know not what they do.

I use these dazzling masks in honor all of my acquaintances, friends and loved ones and people I have yet to meet living with HIV/AIDS. While you all advocate and motivate, struggle for fairness, understanding, good medicine, and a rational investment in a cure - you stand firm like oak trees all at the same time. These images lift up my memories of my ancestors, with their sleek chocolate faces and their – now - slightly harder to remember names. They took with them their talent and charm, their love for community, their support - and they took irretrievable pieces of my sistah’ heart.