The Vancouver Initiative for AIDS Innovation

I did not want to buy a Product Red. What was the sense in fighting one global ill (HIV/AIDS) by feeding others (over-consumption, environmental destruction)?
I did not want to watch an Oprah special on "AIDS in Africa," brimming with clichés and looks of pity for the "poor Africans" from the middle-class American audience.
I did not want to hop on the trendy Bono AIDS bandwagon. I was tired of self-promoting Western celebrities. Where were the voices of people actually affected by the virus?

Most media coverage of AIDS seemed shallow, reminiscent of the colonial-era "white man's burden" – enlightened Westerners saving the diseased Africans from themselves. Though intellectually I knew of the gravity of the epidemic, I wanted nothing to do with humanitarian campaigns that reinforced inequality and paternalism.

Enter Stephen Lewis, former UN special representative for HIV/AIDS in Africa. Unwillingly, I went to hear him talk at the University of British Columbia in 2006. "Oh, great," I thought when he come on stage. "Just what the world needs – another white man talking about AIDS in Africa."

A white man talking about AIDS in Africa he was, but of the colonial mentality he was not. One of the first things he said was that his job should be done by an African woman, not a white man.

His account was heart-wrenching and bloodcurdling. Passion spewed out of every syllable, shaking me out of my complacent cynicism. His words seized me, rattled me, made me cry out in indignation. For the first time I sensed the human face of the epidemic, the havoc it was wreaking, the struggles of those infected and affected, the injustice of it

Stephen Lewis's message was simple – HIV preys on the most marginalised. We have everything we need but the will to halt this epidemic. And we are running out of time. If we do not do everything we can, our generation will be judged as the one that let a catastrophe spiral out of control, killing innocent millions.

But what was my role? I was a privileged white Canadian woman whose chances of contracting the virus were less than 0.3%. Who was I to rally against something that seemingly did not affect me?

Then I looked at Stephen Lewis, a man using his white privilege wisely, by galvanising other privileged people into action.

I came to understand something that revolutionised my thinking: solidarity.

In 2007 on an exchange year at the University of Cape Town, I came to feel the epidemic, its incessant, insidious intrusion into every aspect of life, making the sick sicker, the poor poorer, the marginalised more marginalised.

But I also found resistance. Students, activists and academics were taking a stand, shouting and screaming and making their message heard and felt. I joined a protest by the Treatment Action Campaign, famous worldwide for its righteous struggle against the South African government's denial of the HIV crisis.

Bright "HIV Positive" T-shirts were everywhere, worn by HIV-positive and HIV-negative people alike – solidarity and anti-stigma in one powerful garment. I found one and sported it, diving into the festivities whole-heartedly, despite not knowing the songs and dances.

It was a feast of liveliness: the most beautiful, musical, participatory protest I'd ever experienced. Anti-apartheid songs were reclaimed and reignited, to signify how little had changed for the marginalised masses since apartheid ended in 1994. South Africa seemed to have gone from one uncaring government to another.

We sang and danced. The life-force of the protest defied the mortal effects of HIV/AIDS. It challenged the inaction of an out-of-touch government.

The message was clear: Africans were not taking AIDS lying down. They were not waiting for the "white man" or international bureaucracies to save them. They were informed, empowered, determined, and the best thing white folk like me could do to help was to stand with them, not on their behalf. To educate people at home, to pressure the Canadian government to increase its meagre financial commitment to global AIDS.

This challenged me to take a look at what was happening in my own backyard. Travel can make you reflect on your home. Involvement in AIDS activism in South Africa made me reflect on the epidemic in Vancouver.

While working at Panos Canada I learned about the nature of HIV/AIDS in my own city. I became acquainted with its host of community-based HIV/AIDS groups, many servicing the Downtown Eastside, one of the poorest districts in Canada.

Challenging the traditional practice of sending “experts” from the “developed” world to help “developing” countries, Panos brought 10 Haitian HIV activists, doctors, nurses, counsellors and community leaders to Vancouver in November 2008. This project – The Haiti Exchange – was based on mutual respect and equality, on recognition of the sameness of struggles in the developed and the developing worlds.

Differences in social, economic, political and historical conditions exist, certainly. But we are fighting the same fight for health and justice.

HIV/AIDS isn’t an African problem, a developing world problem or a gay problem. Its a problem for all people sharing this earth. Each of us has the power take a stand. And even more power if we stand in solidarity with others.

Amandla! (Power!). Ngawethu! (It’s the people’s!)

© Orla Adams