Less than three months ago at platform hearings in
Salt Lake City, I asked the Republican Party to lift the
shroud of silence which has been draped over the issue
of HIV and AIDS. I have come tonight to bring our
silence to an end. I bear a message of challenge, not
self-congratulation. I want your attention, not your
applause.
I would never have asked to be HIV positive, but I
believe that in all things there is a purpose; and I
stand before you and before the nation gladly. The
reality of AIDS is brutally clear. Two hundred thousand
Americans are dead or dying. A million more are
infected. Worldwide, forty million, sixty million, or a
hundred million infections will be counted in the coming
few years. But despite science and research, White House
meetings, and congressional hearings, despite good
intentions and bold initiatives, campaign slogans, and
hopeful promises, it is, despite it all, the epidemic
which is winning tonight.
In the context of an election year, I ask you, here in
this great hall, or listening in the quiet of your home,
to recognize that AIDS virus is not a political
creature. It does not care whether you are Democrat or
Republican; it does not ask whether you are black or
white, male or female, gay or straight, young or old.
Tonight, I represent an AIDS community whose members
have been reluctantly drafted from every segment of
American society. Though I am white and a mother, I am
one with a black infant struggling with tubes in a
Philadelphia hospital. Though I am female and contracted
this disease in marriage and enjoy the warm support of
my family, I am one with the lonely gay man sheltering a
flickering candle from the cold wind of his family's
rejection.
This is not a distant threat. It is a present danger.
The rate of infection is increasing fastest among women
and children. Largely unknown a decade ago, AIDS is the
third leading killer of young adult Americans today. But
it won't be third for long, because unlike other
diseases, this one travels. Adolescents don't give each
other cancer or heart disease because they believe they
are in love, but HIV is different, and we have helped it
along. We have killed each other with our ignorance, our
prejudice, and our silence.
We may take refuge in our stereotypes, but we cannot
hide there long, because HIV asks only one thing of
those it attacks. Are you human? And this is the right
question. Are you human? Because people with HIV have
not entered some alien state of being. They are human.
They have not earned cruelty, and they do not deserve
meanness. They don't benefit from being isolated or
treated as outcasts. Each of them is exactly what God
made: a person; not evil, deserving of our judgment; not
victims, longing for our pity - people, ready for
support and worthy of compassion.
My call to you, my Party, is to take a public stand, no
less compassionate than that of the President and Mrs.
Bush. They have embraced me and my family in memorable
ways. In the place of judgment, they have shown
affection. In difficult moments, they have raised our
spirits. In the darkest hours, I have seen them reaching
not only to me, but also to my parents, armed with that
stunning grief and special grace that comes only to
parents who have themselves leaned too long over the
bedside of a dying child.
With the President's leadership, much good has been
done. Much of the good has gone unheralded, and as the
President has insisted, much remains to be done. But we
do the President's cause no good if we praise the
American family but ignore a virus that destroys it.
We must be consistent if we are to be believed. We
cannot love justice and ignore prejudice, love our
children and fear to teach them. Whatever our role as
parent or policymaker, we must act as eloquently as we
speak, else we have no integrity. My call to the nation
is a plea for awareness. If you believe you are safe,
you are in danger. Because I was not hemophiliac, I was
not at risk. Because I was not gay, I was not at risk.
Because I did not inject drugs, I was not at risk.
My father has devoted much of his lifetime guarding
against another holocaust. He is part of the generation
who heard Pastor Nemoellor come out of the Nazi death
camps to say, "They came after the Jews, and I was
not a Jew, so, I did not protest. They came after the
trade unionists, and I was not a trade unionist, so, I
did not protest. Then they came after the Roman
Catholics, and I was not a Roman Catholic, so, I did not
protest. Then they came after me, and there was no one
left to protest."
The... The lesson history teaches is this - If you
believe you are safe, you are at risk. If you do not see
this killer stalking your children, look again. There is
no family or community, no race or religion, no place
left in America that is safe. Until we genuinely embrace
this message, we are a nation at risk.
Tonight, HIV marches resolutely toward AIDS in more than
a million American homes, littering its pathway with the
bodies of the young - young men, young women, young
parents, and young children. One of the families is
mine. If it is true that HIV inevitably turns to AIDS,
then my children will inevitably turn to orphans. My
family has been a rock of support.
My 84-year-old father, who has pursued the healing of
the nations, will not accept the premise that he cannot
heal his daughter. My mother refuses to be broken. She
still calls at midnight to tell wonderful jokes that
make me laugh. Sisters and friends, and my brother
Phillip, whose birthday is today, all have helped carry
me over the hardest places. I am blessed, richly and
deeply blessed, to have such a family.
But not all of you... But not all of you have been so
blessed. You are HIV positive, but dare not say it. You
have lost loved ones, but you dare not whisper the word
AIDS. You weep silently. You grieve alone. I have a
message for you. It is not you who should feel shame. It
is we, we who tolerate ignorance and practice prejudice,
we who have taught you to fear. We must lift our shroud
of silence, making it safe for you to reach out for
compassion. It is our task to seek safety for our
children, not in quiet denial, but in effective action.
Someday our children will be grown. My son Max, now
four, will take the measure of his mother. My son
Zachary, now two, will sort through his memories. I may
not be here to hear their judgments, but I know already
what I hope they are. I want my children to know that
their mother was not a victim. She was a messenger. I do
not want them to think, as I once did, that courage is
the absence of fear. I want them to know that courage is
the strength to act wisely when most we are afraid. I
want them to have the courage to step forward when
called by their nation or their Party and give
leadership, no matter what the personal cost.
I ask no more of you than I ask of myself or of my
children. To the millions of you who are grieving, who
are frightened, who have suffered the ravages of AIDS
firsthand. Have courage, and you will find support. To
the millions who are strong, I issue the plea... Set
aside prejudice and politics to make room for compassion
and sound policy.
To my children, I make this pledge: I will not give in,
Zachary, because I draw my courage from you. Your silly
giggle gives me hope; your gentle prayers give me
strength; and you, my child, give me the reason to say
to America, "You are at risk." And I will not rest, Max,
until I have done all I can to make your world safe. I
will seek a place where intimacy is not the prelude to
suffering. I will not hurry to leave you, my children,
but when I go, I pray that you will not suffer shame on
my account.
To all within the sound of my voice, I appeal: Learn
with me the lessons of history and of grace, so my
children will not be afraid to say the word "AIDS" when
I am gone. Then, their children and yours may not
need to whisper it at all.
God bless the children, and God bless us all!
Good night... |
