HIV and the AIDS epidemic have a rather studded history in my mind. I remember a series of random news stories or moments here in the UK, where the crisis pierced popular culture. There was Monolith, that alarming and divisive public heath ad voiced by a chastening John Hurt in the 80s. In the UK's first purpose-built HIV/AIDS unit at Middlesex Hospital, Princess Diana made headlines worldwide in 1987 as she confronted a vile stigma head-on with one gloveless handshake.
Then there's basketball superstar Magic Johnson, who revealed he was HIV positive in 1991, the same year that the imperious Freddie Mercury confirmed he had AIDS before succumbing to bronchial pneumonia the following day. Eastenders' Mark Fowler made his own unforgettable announcement in the Vic a few years later. Over in Hollywood, Tom Hanks won an Oscar for playing a closeted lawyer in Philadelphia in 1994. (There are other on-screen depictions, however, as Simon McCallum covers in Sight & Sound.)
Yet despite several of these flashpoints having a British focus, in my life and more broadly in history, HIV and AIDS have been viewed predominantly through a US male lens. That's why the podcast series We Were Always Here is such a revelation. Anchored by social justice campaigner Marc Thompson, who lived through the horror, loss, fear and uncertainty of that first decade as a young black man in Brixton – a "creeping fog" that engulfed daily life overnight and soon felt like a death sentence – each episode presents a very candid and personal reflection on these events.
We hear untold stories from marginalised voices including Winnie Sseruma (an HIV activist originally from Uganda who found out she was HIV positive while applying for an internship in the US), journalist Arnold Gordon who set up helpline Blackliners from his flat, Angela Namiba (originally from Kenya who recalls the importance of support groups after learning of her positive test in her mid-20s), as well as Thompson … and his mum in Ghana. SOFIA Forum director Sophie Strachan's perspective is also very revealing. The sexual health advisor and activist was diagnosed with HIV while in prison.
Having a good story to tell is one thing. But there is so much content out there that HOW you tell that story is equally important if listeners are going to commit. The main draw is our host Thompson – a compelling storyteller, articulate and incisive in his recollections and interviews, yet compassionate in his stewardship of the collective story and often affecting when he lends personal insight.
Listen to the clip above and you will quickly grasp how ostracised gay people felt in those early years and how kindness was hard to come by. Produced by Broccoli, each episode is concentrated and concise yet there's room to breathe and contemplate, stimulated by Hana Walker-Brown's evocative sound design. There were revelations aplenty. The scale and speed at which the epidemic ravaged communities, for instance, as well as the demographics. In 1986, the ratio of male to female HIV cases was 1 to 33 in the UK. By 1989, it was estimated that women accounted for one-third of cases worldwide. In 1987, more than 72,000 cases of AIDS had been reported to the WHO. They estimated that five to ten million people with living with HIV worldwide.
In 80's Britain you had endless vilifying headlines about the "gay plague", S28 of the Local Government Act forbidding local authorities from "promoting" homosexuality or the teaching in schools of its acceptability "as a pretended family relationship:", and that damning tombstone ad with its Gregorian chant about divine judgment (as episode Don't Aid Aids uncovers). All this in addition to the rejection that many experienced in their families and neighbourhoods.
This TV Eye 'Aids & You' special from 1985 shows how confused the response was to the epidemic in the UK, the lack of funding for cohesive guidance, proper testing, and counselling. Also, how long it was taking to get the message across that gay men weren't the only ones at risk. In fact, it was only when concern for heterosexuals reached a critical mass that the government took action with public health announcement in March 1986 – around five years after the first death from AIDS. Drawing parallels with COVID, we see a familiar debate: how to balance liberty and personal responsibility with public health at large.
An "Aids: The Last Chance" special on This Week was also broadcast in 1986, shifting the focus to promiscuous singles in London, needle-sharing drug users in Edinburgh and hemophiliacs. An audience poll showed an overwhelming majority for compulsory screening and identity cards to stop a projected one million people from being infected by 1990. Central London is described as a "lost cause" by one medical professional. And yet there is clear resistance to public health ads around contraception, both in the TV poll (moral panic?) and among singles that are interviewed (liberty above all). The mooted guidance on sexual contact will make you cringe. Again, little thought for gay people feeling the full force of this "plague".
Amid the callousness, negligence and indifference, it was left to local community organisations such as Positively Women and Landmark Aids Centre in Tulse Hill to be the first response. They addressed practical issues, everything from advice on housing to childcare to providing a square meal, but their impact on mental health and the emotional side was equally important.
These were safe spaces, communities of resilience where those adrift and suffering could find connection and acceptance, like self-love guru Louise Hay's Hayrides in the US. Marc's experiences at Landmark empowered him to "turn the chair around" and co-facilitate volunteer support sessions. It was a way for him to process his own HIV. Going from "that boy to that man will always be my proudest achievement," he tells us.
What a contrast here in 2021, 40 years on from the first recorded death from AIDS. Of the 94% of those people diagnosed with HIV in the UK. 98% of them are on treatment. Preventative medication PreP (Pre-exposure Prophylaxis) is now available for free on the NHS (though it did take legal action to get there). We Were Always Here is an incredibly moving prologue to acceptance and meaningful change. Although its subject matter is challenging at times, I came away with a renewed faith in the human spirit and our ability to give a damn about each other., even strangers. Give it a go.