The opening ceremony begins, as is customary, with a welcome by the traditional owners of the land on which we’re meeting, the Irukanji people. The Irukanji get their name from one of the local poisonous jellyfish, the tribal elder tells us. Watch out for Irukanji, the old woman warns, or he might sting you.
It seems like suitable way to begin an HIV conference. Continue reading
Compared to ASHM, the NAPWA conference is cut from a very different cloth. This year’s conference brought together about 200 people, most of them living with HIV, from all around Australia — gay men, women, indigenous people, heterosexuals, recently infected and old warriors like me. It’s the only event on the calendar that brings together so many positive people from so many different walks of life and the positive energy that creates is a wonderful thing to be part of. Continue reading
The first full day of the ASHM conference. ASHM is the main HIV/AIDS medical conference in Australia, held once a year for the last fifteen. Most of the attendees are doctors and medical researchers. It has the usual drug company promotional stands offering free gizmos and geegaws of various kinds (it’s a great opportunity to stock up on sticky notes), batteries of intensely complex presentations on the scientific and medical aspects of HIV, and a smattering of community representatives and media, of which I am one. Continue reading
After spending the day idling about in Brisbane, including a visit to the amazingly good suburban bookshop-and-sushi combination that is Riverbend Books, just down the street from A&A’s home, we’re off to Cairns. Even at 6 p.m., the heat and humidity hits us like a medicine ball to the belly as we step off the plane — it doesn’t look like we’ll get much use out of most of the clothes we’ve brought. Continue reading
We’re off to north Queensland tomorrow for a couple of weeks. I’d like to say that we’ll be lying about on beaches like the one above, soaking up the sun,enjoying the nightlife, and drining out of cocnut shells, but it’s a working trip for both of us. We’re going to two AIDS conferences — ASHM and NAPWA.
At least we get to do this together.
I’ll post from time to time while we’re away but obviously there won’t be too much time to do that (and, unless you’re fascinated by the corridor chatter at medical conferences, the posts could be a bit dull compared to my usual sparking repartée).
We will have a few days post-conference R&R at a semi-luxurious homo resort at the end of the trip, so it’s not all work and no play.
See you in a couple of weeks.
Sometimes I wonder whether having AIDS, working in AIDS, writing about AIDS, reading about AIDS, living, breathing, sleeping, eating, drinking and dreaming AIDS is such a great thing, especially when I wake up feeling so weary of it all, as I do this morning.
I’ve been working hard lately and, while working hard feels good, sometimes (i.e. now) it feels like the future stretches out as an unending series of unfinished tasks, like footsteps, one weary step following the one before, towards–
Towards I don’t know what. Continue reading
Being diagnosed with HIV is a badge of recognition of being truly gay,” she said. “There is a sizeable number of young gay men new to the gay scene, exploring their sexuality but wanting to belong. HIV is seen as a bonus.
—Melissa Parker of London’s Brunel University, in this 365gay.com report.
I’m surrounded by idiots.
The Cancun round of WTO shenanigans is just around the corner. It’s shaping up to be a crash-or-crash-through moment for the fair trade movement. This press release from the European AIDS Treatment Group explains some of the urgent issues affecting people with HIV/AIDS in developing countries: Continue reading
Amid a smokescreen of incense, one of the new bells of St James Anglican Church, dedicated to the memory of those who have died of AIDS, was rung for the first time yesterday.
The bell, the fourth of the King Street church’s eight, is inscribed with the legend “Nomine – let their names ring out”, and plays the note D.
My city of Sydney,
I miss the warmth of you.
Miss the heart of your people,
That little church steeple in Woolloomooloo.
Tonight is my last night as a Sydneysider, at least for now, and it’s hard not to feel a little melancholic. Continue reading