This is an interview on “life” with HIV that I did back in 1987 with “The Bulletin”. When I read it now, I cringe, as it seems so naive. The reporter, whose name I can’t remember now, knew absolutely nothing about HIV…or the gay lifestyle! As you can tell, his grasp of it was no better after talking to us, and editorial license is in full bloom, with distortions, misrepresentations, and fact twisting the order-of-the-day. However, the thinking of the time is evident if you read between the lines. At two years after official testing was introduced, none of us really expected to survive. It was party, party, party! At this time, I had already lost several friends. It was very scary times. Just part of my lived history now.
Tim Alderman (C) 2015
Category Archives: HIV/AIDS
Australian Gay Icons: Brian Patrick McGahen
McGahen, Brian Patrick (1952–1990)
by Phillip Black
This article was published in Australian Dictionary of Biography, Volume 18, (MUP), 2012
Brian Patrick McGahen (1952-1990), city councillor, social worker, gay activist and social libertarian, was born on 3 March 1952 at Camperdown, Sydney, elder son of Patrick James McGahen (d.1963), hairdresser, and his wife Monica Marie Anderson, née Pettit, both born in New South Wales. Brian was educated at De La Salle College, Ashfield, and the University of Sydney (B.Soc.Stud., 1974). At the age of 17 he opposed the Vietnam War; he refused to register for conscription and was convicted of sedition for advocating draft resistance. He joined the Eureka Youth League of Australia, the Communist Party of Australia and the Draft Resisters’ Union.
In 1974-75 McGahen was employed as a social worker and drug counsellor in the methadone program of the Health Commission of New South Wales. When the Australian Social Welfare Union was created in 1976, he was a founding member. After travelling overseas that year, in 1977 he was an organiser for the Chile Solidarity Campaign. Over the next three years he worked on projects for the State Department of Youth and Community Services. With Social Research and Evaluation Ltd in the early 1980s, he reviewed the New South Wales Family Support Services Scheme.
Sexual politics had emerged as a social force worldwide by the mid-1970s. McGahen found like-minded activists in the Sydney Gay Liberation and subsequently in the Socialist Lesbians & Male Homosexuals. In 1978 he was part of a collective that organised the National Homosexual Conference on discrimination and employment. He was chairman (director) of the Sydney Gay Mardi Gras Association from 1981 to 1984, providing the young organisation with structure, direction and vision.
Remaining a member of the CPA until 1984, McGahen stood unsuccessfully in 1980 as its candidate in the election for the lord mayor of Sydney. In 1984, having campaigned as a leader of the gay community against the Australian Labor Party State government’s failure to repeal anti-homosexual laws, he was elected (as an Independent) to the Sydney City Council for the Flinders ward. A member of various council committees, he served from 14 April 1984 until the council was dismissed on 26 March 1987. Policies were implemented to prevent discrimination against homosexuals in council services.
McGahen became a director of a Sydney home care service in 1986, hoping to extend the service to people suffering from acquired immune deficiency syndrome. He was also concerned about immigration rights for the partners of gay men. Throughout the 1980s he was a consistent advocate for a permanent gay and lesbian community centre, preferably a registered club. In 1989 he joined the Pride steering committee, became treasurer, and soon gained support to set up such a club.
In 1987 McGahen was diagnosed positive for the human immunodeficiency virus. He decided to show that his carefully considered choice of voluntary euthanasia could be achieved in a dignified manner. Never married, he died on 3 April 1990 at his Elizabeth Bay home, accompanied by five close friends, and was cremated. He had fought with determination and enthusiasm for what he believed in, often against great opposition. In 1986 a homosexual social group, Knights of the Chameleons, had made him the Empress of Sydney, and in 1992 he was inducted into the Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras Association Hall of Fame.
Select Bibliography
G. Wotherspoon, City of the Plain, 1991
R. Perdon (comp), Sydney’s Aldermen, 1995
Sydney Morning Herald, 17 September 1984, p 4
Sydney Star Observer, 6 April 1990, p 17
Sydney Morning Herald, 23 June 1990, p 69
McGahen papers (State Library of New South Wales)
Citation details
Phillip Black, ‘McGahen, Brian Patrick (1952–1990)’, Australian Dictionary of Biography, National Centre of Biography, Australian National University, http://adb.anu.edu.au/biography/mcgahen-brian-patrick-14206/text25218, published first in hardcopy 2012, accessed online 17 September 2015.
This article was first published in hardcopy in Australian Dictionary of Biography, Volume 18, (MUP), 2012
An Outsiders Overview of the HIV “Industry”
This year marks, for me, 33 years of living with HIV/AIDS…though now it is just HIV. I consider it a landmark, as back in 1996 I was admitted to Prince Henry hospital with chronic CMV retinitis, chronic candida, chronic anaemia, wasting syndrome (48 kg and going down), 10 CD 4 cells, and no immune system, and was not supposed to leave…at least not under my own steam. I did, thanks to advances in medications at that time, very aggressive treatment and a lot of will power. I don’t give a fuck how negative many HIV+ guys are about life with HIV. For me, this was the great singular event of my life, a pivotal point that resulted in life-altering decisions, a mental overhaul, and the knowledge that there was a hell of a lot more to life than HIV. It altered the course of my life, and for better or worse I have never looked back.
I was a speaker for the Positive Speakers Bureau for 12 years before realising that when you continually tell a story you start doing it by rote. The time came to opt out before it becomes totally meaningless. I have also written for “Talkabout” magazine (the flag ship publication of Positive Life NSW – formally PLWHA NSW Inc) for 15 years, as a features writer and a columnist. I also spent many years on the Publications Working Group. As a writer I see my role as not only to inform people, but to provoke debate, at times to be opinionated, to raise questions, to address abuses and unfairness and to be, when required, controversial. Unfortunately, my time with “Talkabout” taught me that to get published in a HIV publication you need to walk the safe road. To be controversial is to be tolling your own death knell. Mind you, this censorship has nothing to do with the editors who, in my experience, have been nothing but supportive. Community Health and a certain AIDS council provide funding to the magazine, so to poke your nose into sensitive areas will ensure your censure and non-publication.
As a HIV+ person writing about HIV issues I have always found my hands tied. I have written two extremely controversial articles on HIV Issues over the years. One, on Options Employment Services using HIV clients as a free work force in the guise of “work experience” was so watered down after threats of suing PLWHA, the editor and myself (I truly wish they had) that by the time of publication was a mere shadow of its original fiery tirade…despite the fact that I had evidence of this going on.The manager even took me aside and “suggested” that I quieten down my opinions as they were providing a service to the HIV community. Shortly after, they went broke and disappeared. The second article was amongst the best pieces I have ever written, and covered the controversial area of bug-chasing (HIV- guys who deliberately have unprotected sex with HIV+ guys in the hope of contracting HIV). The magazines working group deemed that by writing about bug-chasing I may have been promoting it amongst a certain sector of the community. Considering that the practice is well documented, is acknowledged and exists I failed to see how being informative about it was in any way promoting it…oh shit! I forgot that community health and certain HIV organisations wanted to keep their heads buried in the sand about the issue…and they held the purse-strings. Censorship is alive and well within the HIV community and always has been. Want to tell the truth about what is going on or want to expose something? Not on their watch!
But despite this I continue to write, though I keep it to the more nondescript these days. I do enjoy being published! Since moving to Brisbane I have been phasing out my writing for “Talkabout” (which after 15 years of being published in pretty well every issue, has gone unacknowledged by the organisation itself, though not by the editors), and have started writing for QPP “Alive”, the magazine of Queensland Positive People. Same story, different place as far as funding goes, I’m afraid. Nothing controversial will be coming out of here either.
33 years ago at the start of the HIV shit fight, people never questioned anything about treatments, definitions, philosophies, or courses-of-action. We were in crisis mode and anything was better than nothing. We let a lot happen that in more sane times, in more accountable times, would never have been allowed to happen. This far down the line it is time to start asking questions, time to demand investigations and redefinition into many aspects of treatment, time to look back at some of the historical record and say “we were wrong”, and set the record straight. I no longer allow my doctor, or the HIV establishment, or the drug companies to dictate my path to health for me. I follow my own path, which is dictated to by knowledge and experience. 11 years ago I made a decision to halve my daily medications, and dose myself once a day only. Considering the negative impacts of huge amounts of HIV medication on the body I decided to take a risk. Well, this far down the line my health has never been better (though diet and exercise also contribute to that), my viral load has remained at undetectable, and not only has my CD4 count remained stable, it has in fact risen considerably. In fact, on my blood tests all other readings – except CD4/CD8 – are within range. Considering the recent emphasis on drug regime “compliance”, and considering my own circumstances, I am forced to ask – controversially, naturally – if the compliance issue is being driven by HIV specialists, or by the drug companies who stand to make a fortune out of HIV drugs. I will leave that question in the air for you to mull over and answer for yourself. This is a personal opinion, and one I am entitled to.
With the release of the brilliant “Dallas Buyers Club” the truth about AZT is finally out there. Pressured by my doctor to go on it in the latter part of the 80s, it is the one decision of my HIV care that I regret. I had read the report from the “Concorde” study in France, I knew it was described as “Human Ratsac”, yet I still finally gave in, and witnessed the immediate decline of my health as it bashed my immune system into submission. Needless to say, the long-term affects are disabling, and were not worth the risk. I still hear those who work in the HIV “Industry” – as indeed it was and still is – banging on about how it kept the wolf from the door – it didn’t! It poisoned and destroyed our immune systems, and left us vulnerable to opportunistic infection! It effectively killed many of us. As a drug to assist with maintaining CD4 counts it was a total and complete failure! And I am not the only one to say so! Ask any one who survived AIDS their opinion on AZT! Minor control of HIV did not start AZT situation. How the FDA in America handled the AZT situation and allowed wed the drug companies to dictate treatment options, block other drugs put out by rival companies, and chose to ignore or acknowledge research from overseas was a disgrace.
Even now in 2014 ignorance lives on. I continually hear, read and see HIV being described as AIDS! It is NOT AIDS – it Is HIV or HIV+! For fuck sake get your facts right! HIV is a viral infection, and AIDS are as the initials infer – Acquired IMMUNE Deficiency Syndrome! They are infections contracted by a breakdown of the immune system! The two do not necessarily go hand in hand, and you can have one without having the other. People undergoing aggressive cancer treatments which knock the immune system around are left vulnerable to the same infections triggered by AIDS in the plague years. Drug addicts also.
There are – and I am not being unkind nor ungrateful – those who have worked in the HIV Industry for too long. They are burnt out, and out of touch. If you only wander in HIV circles, you will only know that singular perspective. These people are indoctrinated, lacking in vision, and single-minded in their approaches to HIV and its management. They are blinkered, and only ever spiel forth statistics and the same information that we have heard for the last 30-odd years. They seem incapable of acknowledging different perspectives, new ideas, or revisiting and re-evaluating the old philosophies and education. Without an insurgence of new blood, HIV is in danger of stagnating and just at a dead end. Their current publicity of “Ending HIV” is a fantasy, and they know it. As long as HIV is in Africa, and in countries like Russia and China where education is almost non-existent or played down, HIV will never end. Empty words to seem to appear to be doing something, is just a waste of money. The HIV Industry seems to be very good at this. Always about 2-years behind actual need – just look at the employment needs of AIDS survivors in 1997/98 – when services were introduced they were way off course. You can only have so many programs that teach you how to write a resume, or attend an employment interview. Every single return-to-work session I went to do talks at had the same people in them. They just moved from one group to another, never putting the teaching into action. Where was the advice for people who wanted to be re-educated, or start a business, or upgrade a hobby,or buy into a franchise? It was non-existent. These people were the ones who fell through the cracks for lack of support and services. This has always been an ongoing problem. Naturally, the lack of funding is always blamed – though enough money to pay huge salaries – when really it is a lack of foresight, and imagination. Of course, everything is now wrapped up under the umbrella of Community Health, so any hope of imaginative thinking is now out the window. Those who hold the purse-strings control everything. It is a sad state of affairs. Groups like “Positive Life” no longer acknowledge their roots, nor do they move in the directions set down by the original founders. They are out of touch with their memberships, are indeed losing them. In the race to save money they are dropping resources that keep everyone active within the group. Even Positive Speakers Bureau inductees are now told what to talk about, and bang on about the same old messages and sprout the same old statistics. The trouble is…no one gets sick any more, so there is nothing to talk about for an hour. Perhaps it has outlived its use.
If one has to be totally frank, service delivery, information and services are no better now than they were 20 years ago! In many cases, they are worse. One friend of mine complains of the lack if easy access to HIV meds, and he has to spend a lot of time travelling to obtain them. He also comments on how he and his partner feel isolated and-reclusive due to no social groups to mingle with, and the constant heed to continually go through your medical record every time you change providers. Pretty sad state of affairs considering he only lives in Canberra.
Being my 33rd anniversary of life with HIV, and with World AIDS Day approaching I have written a personal retrospective of that period hopefully for publication around that time. It is 2,500 words long…not a lot of words for 33 years. If you are interested, follow the link. Not quite as controversial as this!
Getting On With It! A 33-Year Retrospective of Life with HIV/AIDS
For information on the Concorde Trial – http://aidsinfo.nih.gov/news/5/concorde-trial
Tim Alderman
(C) 2014
Have I Missed the Joke?
This article was written in 2001, but the sad thing is that HIV quackery, cons and bogus inventions are still going on. There is no end to the lengths some low-life’s will go to to make money, and it is not just the HIV community they target. This is a few of the rorts going on back when this was written.
Type the query “HIV/AIDS+hoaxes” into the Yahoo search engine and see what comes back. You may be surprised to find that it will come back with 187 matches, and that is just for HIV/AIDS.
To follow all these links, or only to select a couple for investigation takes you into another world. You can look into fraud on a one-to-one basis by people who are simply unscrupulous, treatments and therapies that are on the verge of frightening, an underground antiretroviral drug trade, suspect complementary therapies, internet and email chain letter HIV/AIDS hoaxes, and urban myths.
The home page of the ‘Texas AIDS Health Fraud Information Network’ (TAHFIN(1)simply states that “The HIV epidemic has created business opportunities for many people. In many cases, people and companies pursue these opportunities with the sincere intention of helping while staying within the bounds of the law and maintaining fiscal integrity. The same motives can sometimes lead to harm even with the best of intentions. In some cases, the motive is to simply make a buck regardless of the consequences to those affected. The latter is what opens the door to fraud.” The Quackwatch site expands this further by saying that “The fact that HIV causes great suffering and is deadly has encouraged the marketing of hundreds of unproven remedies to AIDS victims. In addition, many companies in the ‘health food’ industry have produced concoctions claimed to ‘strengthen the immune system’ of healthy persons…many of the expert quacks in arthritis, cancer and heart disease have now shifted into AIDS” and that “…every quack remedy seems to have been converted into an AIDS treatment.”(2)
To explore all these areas, and the much vaunted question of ‘Does HIV cause AIDS?” debated on sites such as ‘Nexus’(3), ‘Is AIDS man-made?’ and the hoax of a new air-borne strain of HIV would require a lot more than the word allotment for this article.
The ‘cures’ observed on the Quackwatch site have included processed blue-green algae (pond scum), BHT (an antioxidant used as a food preservative), pills derived from mice given the AIDS virus, herbal capsules, bottles of “T-cells,” and thumping on the thymus gland. There is also Autohemotherapy – a worthless procedure in which a sample of the patient’s blood is withdrawn, exposed to hydrogen peroxide and then replaced. Add to this the entrepreneurs who have marketed covers for public toilets and telephone receivers with claims that this will prevent you from contracting the AIDS virus, and you have some idea of exactly what to expect.
Over at the “Educate-Yourself”(4) site, you will find yourself in for a real education. There are articles on ‘low voltage electricity’ to make HIV inactive. Dr Bob Beck designed the blood electrifier. The site claims to have seen laboratory reports and Institutional Review Board studies that seem to clearly support claims made by Dr Bob Beck that his blood electrification device has caused ‘complete spontaneous remission’ in literally thousands of AIDS patients, cancer patients, and chronic fatigue sufferers, to name just a few. There appears to be a lot of ‘claims’ and no documentation to support them. The two methods used to treat AIDS patients consist of either removing a small amount of blood, electrifying it then returning it to the body, or sewing a miniature electrifying power supply along with two tiny electrodes directly into the lumen of an artery. The small unit had to be moved every 30-45 days, as scar tissue and calcification occurred around the implant unit, and could lead to artery blockage. The site also reports that hundreds of HIV sero-positive patients have been converted to HIV sero-negative with the use of ‘Ozone Therapy’. “Help is available to AIDS patients right now but the medical establishment is ignoring it” the site informs us. It does state, however, that ‘no evidence for the claims exists in RELIABLE scientific literature.
On December 22, 2000 the FDA(5) issued a safety alert on unapproved ‘Goat Serum Treatment” for HIV/AIDS. This unapproved product, produced in goats as an antiserum against HIV/AIDS, was already the subject of a ‘clinical hold’ by FDA, prohibiting its use until previously existing safety questions are resolved. (Since researching this article, this hold has now been lifted, and the Goat Serum Treatment is undergoing clinical trials).
In 1999, the FTC (Federal Trade Commission)(6) issued a warning about bogus Home-Use Test Kits for HIV. The kits were advertised and sold on the Internet for self-diagnosis at home. The kits showed a negative result even when testing a positive sample. The kits could give someone who was actually HIV+ a false impression that he/she was not infected. Some of the ads stated that the World Health Organisation and the FDA had approved the kits for use.
As far as AIDS urban legends go, the one about ‘AIDS Mary’(7) is probably the most famous. The legend is that the morning after a one-night fling, a man walks into his bathroom and finds the words ‘WELCOME TO THE WORLD OF AIDS’ scrawled on the mirror in lipstick. The legend is also known as ‘AIDS Harry’ (obviously depending on who is telling the story), and it was begun back in 1986, and basically expressed the fears surrounding HIV/AIDS at the time. This legend was actually used as a defense in a criminal trial in 19908. Jeffrey Hengehold murdered Linda Hoberg after sleeping with her, then being told by her that she had AIDS. There was no evidence to support the allegation, as Hoberg had been cremated, and Hengehold had never tested positive. In a similar vein, a 1998 Internet urban legend stated that AIDS-infected blood is being injected into unsuspecting moviegoers and young people dancing in bars or at raves(9). Somebody’s (no name mentioned) co-worker went to sit in a seat at the cinema, felt a prick and found a needle poking up out of the chair with a note on it saying “Welcome to the real world, you’re HIV POSITIVE”. “It’s all false,” said Sgt.Jim Chandler, a Dallas police spokesman. “This has not happened, and we would ask people to stop forwarding this message to their friends because it’s creating situations where police departments and emergency personnel are having to respond to inquiries about this hoax.”(10) Other reports of needle sticks at bars and raves were investigated, and found to be false.
Even the seemingly innocuous world of email communication has not been spared its share of AIDS hoaxes. On the 7th December 1995, the following email chain-letter was sent to J.Beda(11) by several of his acquaintances. It had an email address at SYR.EDU, and in the SUBJECT: aids.
>For a class project, I was wondering if this could be passed on to prove
>a point. In my human sex class, we learned that if somebody has received
>the HIV disease, and they don’t know about it, they could pass it onto
>people who they don’t even know.
> Could you all pretend that I have HIV, and I gave it to you.
>Then could you pass it onto your friends? Let’s see if the entire
>email population could get infected by me alone.
> Please remember that this is a lab experiment. I have to say that I am not intending to offend any one in any way.
> By the way, don’t erase this or the forwards from your computer.
>
>Thank you
>Young Bradley
People pointed out the parallels between receiving this sort of email and having nonconsentual, unprotected sex with a knowingly infected partner. This is commonly known as rape, and potentially as murder. The recipient pointed out to the sender some of the faults of the project, not the least of which is that chain-letters are a BAD THING no matter what the cause. The project also had problems with its implementation in other areas. It never ends. When is the school project finished? It contains no instructions on where to look for more information. It contains nothing indicating who was responsible, or who to contact if there are problems. It does not offer any education on HIV/AIDS. Apart from anything else, sending out this sort of email is against the terms of service of every computer system ISP.
Generally, emails of this type take one of two forms: those that promise/threaten good/bad luck, and illegal pyramid-scheme letters that promise to make you lots of money.
The most recent scam is one to come out of Thailand, and notified to all TAHFIN(12) subscribers on 27th August 2001. It tells of 5,000 HIV-stricken people sitting a soccer stadium for several hours to collect a drug called V-1, a supposed cure for HIV/AIDS. Unlike conventional HIV/AIDS cures, it works on the digestive system instead of within the blood stream. The apparent food supplement is distributed free. There are a reported 755,000 AIDS patients in Thailand, which is one of the major reasons the scam has managed to succeed in a country where the average earnings are $2,000 per annum. Distributors are touting the cure as ‘an oral vaccine’. The Thai Ministry of Public Health tested the drug on 50 people, and found it to have no effect whatsoever, positive or negative. V-1s creators rebuffed Ministry officials who requested the drug be tested by the CDC in the USA. It is feared that soon V-1 will be marketed in other emerging nations who are being overwhelmed by AIDS, and have few resources. It is felt that if governments are put under pressure by the mass-hysteria these sorts of cures create, they will just allow nothing to be done to halt the distribution. Salag Bannag, the distributor of the little pink pill claims that over 100,000 people will have received the drug by the end of this year.
Now, we haven’t touched Low Frequency Sound, Induced Remission Therapy, Colloidal Silver, Bio-Engineering, T-Up or a plethora of other products available on the internet, and through quacks masquerading as practitioners. This article is not attempting to stop people trying alternative therapies. What it is saying is please be careful! Do not part with your precious money for anything unless you have investigated any claims thoroughly. Don’t be taken for a sucker. In Australia, any drug or item that is promoted for use by the general public must not only contain details about what the product actually does, but also what side-effects it can cause. The most blatant element of a lot of the products that are advertised on the Internet is that they only state the positive effects of the drug or devise, and that no side-effects are reported. This sort of situation should automatically make you think twice about the efficacy of a product.
In an attempt to tighten up legislation, and make people aware of their responsibilities when promoting drugs or gadgets, in 1998 the FDA proposed to issue new regulations pertaining to the dissemination of information on unapproved uses for marketed drugs, including biologics, and devices.
Of cause, this only becomes relevant if you are caught!
Tim Alderman
Copyright ©2001
1 http://www.tahfin.org
2 http://www.quackwatch.com
3 http://www.nexusmagazine.com
4 http://www.educate-yourself.org
5 http://www.fda.gov
6 http://www.ftc.gov
7 http://www.snopes.com/horrors/madmen/aidsmary.htm
8 Ibidem
9 Ibidem
10 Ibidem
11 http://pobox.com/~j-beda/chain-letter.htm
12 http://www.tahfin.org
Seeing In Time
This article – now edited – was written in 2001. I intended to sue St Vincent’s for causing my loss of sight by not testing me for CMV in 1996. I had been given a list if solicitors by HALC (HIV/AIDS Legal Centre), and had picked one out. It was pro bono, and I had several discussions with him. However, charges such as searches and photocopying etc were my responsibility and when the first bill for $1500 came in, I just had to drop it. 13 years on, the predicted retinal detachment has happened and a lot if other shit besides. I am now contemplating having my left, totally blind eye, removed and replaced with a prosthetic. What happened here was just an introduction!
I have come to realise, perhaps a bit late in life, that you spend far too much time bending in the general direction of things instead of sticking up for yourself and saying no, this is not what I want, or the way I want things to go!
I have decided to sue a local hospital. That I have chosen to do this has come as a tremendous shock to me, though those around me seem to have been waiting for me rectify what has been, for me, a life changing event.
By 1996 I had accepted that sooner or later, AIDS was going to get me. What I hadn’t counted on was that St. Vincent’s hospital was going to assist in my chances of survival! – and in the one ward they had where I always felt I would be safe – Ward 17, the dedicated HIV/AIDS ward.
It was a sudden change in health status that delivered me to the A&E department. I had collapsed outside my apartment building, gasping for breath, clutching my chest, thinking that a heart attack was going to beat AIDS to the crunch, or that PCP had finally caught up to me, as it seemed to do to all in my state. It turned out to be neither – I had a collapsed left lung, though being HIV, they moved me into Ward 17 after inserting a tube to keep the lung inflated. Most of us assume that we go into hospital to be cured of health problems, or at least receive a better standard of medical care to assist you to a slightly higher standard of health than you have when you enter. Well…I have to tell you it doesn’t always happen that way!
I firmly believe that some people go into health care because they truly believe in what they are doing. They truly believe they can make a difference, that they can benefit people who are ill or are disabled. These people are not professors of medicine, do not have a fancy examination room with a prestigious address, and are not heads of departments. The well-heeled medico’s who share these attribute have strings of initials after their names. They do ward rounds with a string of nose-in-the-air arse lickers and sycophants. St Vincent’s at this time had more than its fair share of the latter, and unfortunately, some of them were in HIV medicine!
Now, I don’t want to give the impression that I was just in hospital with a collapsed lung – it was more complicated than that. I was in the midst of changing doctors, so didn’t actually have a GP when I was admitted to Ward 17. My scripts for AZT had just run out, I had chronic anaemia, chronic Candida, and weighed in at about 50-something kilos. In other words, I was a very sick boy. Now, under normal circumstances, with a CD4 count of about 10, they would test and examine you for ALL AIDS related illnesses – PCP, CMV, MAC, neurological and psychological problems. For some unknown reason. Sure, they treated – and eventually repaired – the collapsed lung. They tested me for PCP – negative result – and gave me a blood transfusion, but that was it. No eye examination, no dietician, no occupational therapist – no, that’s a lie, I did have one session with an OT, and though she promised other sessions – she never quite madeit back.
So I lay there for 10 days, drifting in and out of sleep, as you tend to do when you are in this bad a condition, suffering in silence the daily ward rounds with a
professor who seemed more interested in prestige than care, with his little band of sycophants, who seemed to assume that this was what was expected of theM. No one seemed to particularly care, so I was thankful for friends, for without them I think I would have gone mad.
Death seemed pre-ordained at this time I felt I had outlived everyone else anyway, and that my time was drawing to a close. I had predicted 2 years when I quit work to go on the pension in 1993, and had managed 3, so in many respects I felt I had survived beyond expectation, and short of a miracle, I was going through the final stage of my life. I was, to all intended purposes, fulfilling expectation.
So, with a repaired lung, a couple of pints of fresh blood, and some Candida medication, I was discharged 10 days later. No HIV medications, no doctor. I had my discharge papers sent to a local HIV GP, who I didn’t know from a bar of soap, hoping that she would feel sorry for me, and rush me through the waiting list. Thankfully, she did just that!
Two days out of hospital, and her receptionist rang to say my discharge papers had arrived, and that even though they didn’y know who I was, the doctor wanted to see me. I would like to think, in hindsight, that this was almost like some sort of sign, as having my hospital discharge sent to her was an act of providence that probably saved my life.
As soon as I mentioned to her that my vision had been ‘greying over’ for a couple of weeks, she was immediately on the phone to the Prince of Wale’s Hospital Eye Clinic at Randwick. They promised that somebody would stay back at the end of clinic until I arrived to have my eyes checked. They thought at that stage that I had CMV retinitis, but could not be certain enough to confirm the diagnosis. I had to travel to Hurstville the next day to see a leading ophthalmologist, an expert in CMV. He confirmed the diagnosis, and by the time I arrived home that afternoon, their was a message to ring the doctor. She wanted me admitted to Prince Henry Hospital straight away.
Prince Henry added other health items to the list St Vincent’s had. On top of chronic anaemia and Candida, and my 10 CD4 cells, they added chronic bilateral CMV retinitis, and Wasting Syndrome. Pandemonium was about to strike, but at least this time I felt as though people cared. Prince Henry was much more grounded in reality than St Vincent’s, and whatever my prognosis may have been – mortality was never discussed – they went out of their way to help me. Sure, I had a drip in both arms, was being transported to Prince of Wales twice a week for intraocular injections of ganciclovir, and I was a bit of a guinea pig because of my condition – medical students must love people like me, as we become a living text book – but they did care. I had a dietician who planned meals and snacks for me, and nurses on hand to help me during my night sweats. I even had a reporter from Japan interview and photograph me, as he was doing a piece to be published in Japan. After seeing me, he was concerned that the Japanses ‘head-in-the-sand’ attitude to HIV/AIDS was something to be seriously concerned about.
To be honest, the two weeks in Prince Henry gave me a different perspective on many aspects of life. There was the guy in the room next to mine – I had a huge room to myself in Marks Pavilion, and the windows looked out over Beauty Bay – who had terminal cancer. Not once, despite whatever he may have been going through, did I hear him complain or whinge about his lot. He virtually lived in the hospital, and even had his own stereo moved in with him. And the young guy who was at the opposite end of the ward to me. He also had CMV, but fuck, he was so young, so innocent! We sat together in the eye clinic one day, and he grasp[ed my hand, cuddled up to me, and cried. I wanted to give him some hope, but I would have felt like such a hypocrite. I didn’t know if their was hope for me at that stage, let alone try to give it to someone else who I knew was worse off than I was.
Well, they saved my sight – sort of! The injections, and eventually $10,000 worth of ‘Vitrasert’ ganciclovir implants managed to save the sight in my left eye. As for my right eye, the optic nerve was damaged by the CMV, and despite efforts on everyones part, I lost 80% of the vision in it, and the impact on my life has been…disconcerting. I have regular checks every few months now, and I have to be careful not to bump my head hard on anything. The scar tissue in the left eye is so dense that they are concerned now about me ending up with a detached retina. I’ve also had two operations to remove cataracts caused by the implants. They originally estimated a 4% chance of cataracts from the implants, but 12 months later this prediction was upgraded to a 100% chance. Some odds you can’t beat.
But this has been the least of my worries. Sure, my right eye has, in some respects, compensated for the loss of vision in my left, but not entirely. It took me twelve months to adjust, but that twelve months was not without incidents, such as tripping over some tree roots in Crown Street, and landing flat on my face in front of some people coming in the opposite direction. I also tripped and stumbled a great deal as my vision tried to compensate for a change in everything, including perspective. Stairs with contrasting edging strips became ramps – at least from my perspective – and ‘I’m sorry!’ became part of my everyday vocabulary as I bumped and staggered my way around. That is something that even 5 years down the line, I have never quite gotten used to. This would not be the first time I have stated that in some respects, it would have been easier to have ended up completely blind. At least that way, I would have a white cane, or a dog, and people would know I was definitely blind, and not give me condescending looks every time I run into someone. For some unknown reason, it has always ended up my fault. I just accept.
Rules of our household – don’t leave anything sitting low on the floor, or hanging to my left when I don’t know it is there. When walking down the street, keep to my right. If you don’t keep to that side, expect me to keep moving to ensure you are there. Go into the city? Not on my own these days. As much as I love the city, and love to watch it grow, it is a place for people in a rush, not a place for people who are visually impaired. Too many people, too many doorways for them to rush out of, and too many people crushing into confined spaces. I miss it very much, but it is not a place for me anymore. I shop locally, and that is hazardous enough for me. Do anything during the peak hour rush? Not likely these days. I had to meet David at 6.00 at the Entertainment Centre, to attend a couple of concerts. I actually mapped out a way to get there that would have a minimum of people that I would have to avoid. I go to daytime lectures and tutorials at UTS to avoid travelling too and fro during peak hours. I’m also trying to get them to contrast edge-strip the black granite stairs in the Tower Building, so that visually impaired people can see where the stair edges are. That is one fight I may yet win. Oh, and I shouldn’t forget that I kick small children.
David, who is my partner, and I went for a walk down Hall Street, leading to Bondi Beach, for one reason or another – we were probably looking for somewhere to eat breakfast. Sure enough, for a split second, I wasn’t watching where I was going and the next thing I knew, this kid had run straight onto my foot as I took a step forward. He just came out of nowhere, as kids do, and I managed to literally lift him into the air with the forward motion of my step, and launched him off to the side of the footpath. Thankfully, he landed in the grassed area around some trees growing on the footpath. I would hate to think what may have happened if he had landed on the footpath itself. I don’t know who got the biggest fright – the kid, myself, the kid’s father, or David. The father came running as I picked the kid up to make sure he was okay, but the look on the father’s face said it all – It was my fault, and I should have been watching where I was going. Even an explanation that I was
partially blind, and hadn’t seen the kid coming didn’t seem to sit well with him, nor did a multitude of apologies. Now, I dare say the kid probably forgot the incident 10 minutes after it happened, but It is still a nightmare with me. Whenever I think about the state of my eyes, that is the one instant that comes straight to mind. It’s not just the incident with the kid – I’m aware of that. It is that in some way, these sorts of things happen to me everyday, though fortunately with larger adults, not small kids. Despite all my precautions, despite taking my time getting around, despite walking metres up a street to use crossings or lights, despite great care at intersections I feel it is only a matter of time before I either seriously hurt somebody, or they seriously hurt me.
So I’m not just going to sit back and cop it sour anymore. Somewhere along the line, in a hospital, on a particular time on a particular day, somebody, for whatever reason, decided not to do something, and now I’m paying the price. Well, it’s time for someone to pay for their oversight, and the time to pay is NOW! My health is as good as it’s going to get at the moment, and with it being unlikely that I will ever return to full-time work, or to any job that requires me to get stressed, it is time to take action. I’m not going to ignore it anymore, or pretend that it just didn’t happen. It did, and my life has never been the same since.
Personally, I think that they, like Prince Henry, and certainly me, never expected me to live, so just doing a minimum of care in 1996 may have been acceptable practise, especially in an area of medicine that has always been cash strapped. But I didn’t die! I am well and truly alive, and the time for revenge is at hand. I hope that at the end of the day, they will learn several lessons. Never assume anything; never underestimate the strength of the human will, and mind; and never think people are just going to forget about it! We Don’t!
Tim Alderman
Copyright ©2001
Daily (Or When The Mood Takes Me) Gripe: Gay Sex Sites
Fuck me! I must be close to 160yo in Gay Years…at least that is how old I feel by the time I’ve wondered around a couple of the gay sex apps that are available. We politely like to refer to them as gay “dating” apps but let’s keep it real! If you have a profile on one or more, you check them regularly for oinks, woofs or squeals…whatever, then you are either hunting for a fuck, or a good dose of rejection! More of the latter than the firmer if you are several centuries old, as I am!
The very first site I joined, the only thing I lied about in my profile stats was my age – I knocked 10 years off it, being deluded enough to think it would make a difference. Everything else I was upfront about…perhaps a bit too much! It must have taken me about 20 tweaks to get it right…though still no action. I oinked guys…all to no avail….they oinked me, then when you tried to get a little bit of action out of them….there was always an excuse…I’m too tired!…I’m turning in for the night…etc etc! I had subscribed to this group, so I was paying money to play silly-buggers with a group of guys who just didn’t seem to care. I made a sort-of-friend out of it…thought he’d be a goer originally when I started messaging him, but when I finally got him to visit, he had more hang-ups than a charity phone-in! I’m still not sure where it’s going. As for the site…I’ve moved on.
Oh…did I mention I have a disability? Yep! 60 AND disabled. Also HIV*.!I copped the fucking triple whammy there, didn’t I! Severely vision-impaired! Totally freaks people out so it seems. I don’t know why! Maybe they think they are going to have to help me get around! Or that I might need some sort of care! Or that I mightn’t be able to find their cock or arse! Or maybe I’ll look like a total freak! Though I am more inclined to think I am seen as damaged goods, and that they do, in reality, just discriminate! There! It’s said! Discrimination is rife on these sites. And it is not just against disabilities! It is ageist, racist, hiv-status, cock-size discrimination. WTF!
Gay men and they discriminate! It’s not all that fucking long ago that we were the ones yelling discrimination when they wouldn’t give us law reform! And gay men whO discriminate against HIV+ guys I just don’t get at all!
I have 4 apps on my iPad. The grand total of encounters to date is – i skittish non-event; one sexual encounter at 4am after a bottle of wine and which I choose to forget; 2 actual fulfilling sexual encounters with really nice guys; and one guy waiting for me to arrange to have a coffee with. This out of probably close to 60
profile checks over all the apps. And not including the twinks-having-a-wank-while-I-do-dirty-talk-chat with them.
But some guys deserve to get nothing, I have to say. If you are going to put a body shot up…don’t hold your breath or hold your hands above your head to try to look slimmer…you look like you are trying to look slimmer! Don’t NOT not put in a photo…I don’t care if you are bi or otherwise…no photo, no chat;; DON’T put photos of flowers, or trees, or your dog, or a beach in place of a profile picture; don’t lie about your age,or cock size; look up the word “defined” regarding body type, in a dictionary; say SOMETHING about yourself or what you are looking for as well as your stats; be honest and upfront. If you are going to put “Prefer not to say” in every field, you deserve to be ignored!
And for the guys who use them…stop being wankers! Develop some ethics; stop discriminating; learn some manners; treat others as you want to be treated; respect others beliefs, and feelings; stop being self-indulgent; and, for heaven’s sake….
Develop some humanity!
Tim Alderman
Copyright 2014
Disclosure
My first disclosure was probably the easiest.
It was just after testing positive to HIV in 1985, when testing begun. It was done anonymously through the Albin St Clinic, and took a nerve-wracking two weeks for results to come in. Despite saying I probably wasn’t positive, my mind was saying otherwise, and the latter proved correct. So, my first disclosure, along with a lot of others guys who were undergoing the same process was at the bar at “The Oxford”, and was to a group of friends, some of who were also HIV+, some HIV-, and some who either didn’t know or didn’t want to know. Disclosure was imnportant at that time, as with a two-year survival period dangling there like a sword of Damocles over ones head, it was important to let everyone know that the supposed death sentence had been passed, then move on. It gave time for it to sink in both with myself and the friends I was closest to. They now knew what to expect – we had already experienced the quick decline of other HIV+ friends, and knew that the future was not something to look forward to. So let’s party! It was, I have to say, easier than I thought it would be to disclose.
The most recent time I disclosed was to a gym buddy and friend when we weree out for dinnerv one night. He asked me what I was doing these days, and I replied that I was doing some freelance writing for a couple of HIV magazines, and had been doing it for some time. That then led on to a conversation about how things had changed and you rarely heard of anyone dying from HIV these days. There was really no reaction from him at all – it was just a friendly chat about what we were up to, and HIV didn’t seem to register as anything devious or insideous in any way whatsoever.
In the interim between the first disclosure and latest, things haven’t quite always been that easy. Generally when cruising the bars for trade, I used to disclose as a way of getting rid of guys who couldn’t handle it, thus getting rid of the dross. It was also a way of picking up other HIV+ guys so that use of condoms could be dropped. We both knew where we stood. Though there was one negative guy who said it wasn’t a problem – at least until we were home and the jeans were down, thankfully at my place. He baulked, started to throw a drama and found the front door being held open to hasten his exit. That is the one and only person I have ever thrown out of my home.
The second problem disclosure – at work – was a big problem. Not for me, not for my staff, not for most of upper management. However, for one area manager it was a big problem and he bullied and harrassed me until I decided it really wasn’t worth the hassle anymore. I gave in notice, but didn’t let him off the hook that easily. I ensured that I gave notice at the most inconvenient place, at the most inconvenient time that would cause him the most hassles and problems. He didn’t speak to me for the two weeks of my notice period, and he didn’t say goodbye. Yeah, I was really upset about that. Not! I still have no regrets about disclosing on that job – I did the right thing by my staff, and if it cost me my position and my job, perhaps I didn’t want to be there anyway.
I have disclosed mid-fuck, as nothing had been said about condoms (we were at his place), and at the moment the evil deed was to be consummated I yelled out at him that I was HIV+ – several times, and it didn’t even cause a glitch in the proceedings. He disclosed nothing, and to this day I have no knowledge of whether he was pos or neg, though I did assume he was positive. It was all a bit too casual and nonchalant for him not to be.
As far as my everyday life goes these days with neighbours and new friends and the ilk I tend not to say anything, nor do I see any need to. Like a lot of people with health issues I
consider it my business, and it’s not as if I look ill or anything. It doesn’t affect my diet, my pill taking is done in private, and I just want life to toddle on without any hassles. As far as my local community goes I am just Joe Blow from next door or over the road, and that’s how I want it to stay.
Tim Alderman
Copyright 2010.
Communities
Communities, like many other things in life, tend to swap and change as you go through life, get older, change circumstances and a myriad of other reasons.
As a youngster growing up in the outskirts of Sydney in the 50’s and 60’s, communities were like safety zones in areas that were just starting to develop (like Sylvania, where I was born). Everybody kept and eye on everybody else, and you often, to a large extent, lived as much in your neighbours home as you did your own. People were alwayts available for a chat, baking was shared around the neighbourhood, everyone knew your dog, and you knew everybodies name. Religion, whether you just practised to be ‘part of” the community (as my parents did) or for actual reasons of belief didn’t seem to really matter. When there was a birth or a marriage, everyone came to visit and join in. When somebody died, everybody mourned. It was close and nurturing. However, it had its drawbacks. Perhaps everybody knew a little TOO much about everybody else. When my mother deserted the family home, I remember not so much what was said as what wasn’t said – as if it had been expected.
My next community was boarding school – very Catholic, and I have to say very fulfilling. I had a large circle of close friends as I had through most of my school life, people who respected me and wanted to know my opinions. However, the wide divide between city boys and country boys (it was an agricultural college) became evident when I left school, and found that I didn’t continue contact with any of them.
I seemed to move from that to a very hectic ‘straight’ community after leaving school. Again, it was a large group of friends who I socialised with pretty well every weekend. We dined out, drank way too much, went to far too many concerts, and were heavily involved in each others lives – again, not necessarily a good thing. When I made a large move from a local suburb to another in a distant state, the friendships just seemed to drift away. I guess the glue that held the group together wasn’t all that strong after all.
Moving into the gay community was a big leap for me, and also one of the strongest of the communities I have lived in, and in some sense it still has an influence on my life, though not as strongly as in the 80’s and 90’s. Let’s face it – I lived ‘gay’. I drank in gay pubs (way too much), danced in gay nightclubs (way way too much), read gay media, shopped in gay shops, went to gay doctors and solicitors, lived for Mardi Gras and Sleaze Ball, and had lots and lots and lots of gay sex (never too much!). Life in the ghetto was just one big ‘gay’. Even the advent of HIV didn’t deminish the gayness of life, though with becoming infected with HIV I did sort iof find my loyalities divided between the gay and the HIV communities. And whether we like to admit it or not, they were separate, and if you were HIV+ it was hard not to hang out with others in the same boat as you were, as in many respects, they were out support group, our sources of information and, in far too many circumstances, people to mourn with. Yet despite the cameradie that came from within that community I never really felt that I clicked into it like many others. I loved my life being centred around ‘gay’, but didn’t quite feel the same affinity with ‘HIV’. I tried joining groups and organisations but really realised that I never wanted to be information-driven as far as HIV went. I didn’t want it to be a central component of my life, something to hide behind when I didn’t have an answer to ‘why is this happening, or why is that happening’. Even after a debilitating and life-threatening run-in with AIDS I didn’twant to get drawn too far into HIV’s mbrace. I went through all the steps involved to recover from it – then just moved on and sort of left it behind. Yes, perhaps I do involve myself in that I do write about HIV, but I always try to put it in the background to what I do, never in the forefront.
Recently, we moved again (I had a partner in tow). I have pretty well also moved away from ‘gay’ and probably have as many straight friends these days as gay, if not more. Life evolves. It is about two month’s since we moved to Ashgrove, and if we were ever to wonder just how well integrated we had become within this community, last Saturday probably dispelled any fear we may have had. It started with a chat over the back fence about the garden with our neighbours, and a co-joint decision to work from both sides of the fence to repair our overgrown and neglected yard. We then got tied into a lengthy concersation with some other dog owners at the off-leash dog park. These people live in the next suburb, and we get along very well with them so a friendship will probably develop. The girls in the local cafe know us as Saturday regulars and make us our coffee’s without us ordering, and chat to us as they go about their work. The owner iof a local store drops in for his coffee, and inquires how my recent purchases are going, to be followed by the manager and a staff member from our gym who stops in for a chat about his recent holiday. I have to say that all this chatting and laughing made me feel very cosy, and I realised just how much we were settling into our new community, and had been accepted by all those who had been members for some time. This really is what community is about. People getting along, interacting with each other and helping to make everybodies else’s lives just that little more pleasant. I’m positive that everybody knows we are gay – it is pretty obvious – but no one gives a damn. They are not as nosey as my first community, and I think I would like it left that way.
Tim Alderman
Copyright 2014
Functionally Dysfunctional – The Storyteller Part 2
If tears could pay our debts
If with our tears we could buy you an indulgence from all pain
If by weeping now we could do all your weeping for you
Then we would cry until our eyes were washed away
Excerpt from Wilbur Smith novel
For World AIDS Day 2003 I wrote a piece titled “The Storyteller – Stories Almost Lost In Time”.It was a synopsis of the lives of three close friends who had died from AIDS before successful treatments – as we know them now.
As someone who is accustomed to writing – in fact have a university degree in it – I find that writing flows quickly and naturally from the smallest of seeds. I have to admit that writing “The Storyteller” was one of the two toughest pieces of writing I have ever done. It took me a month to nut together 750 words, a month of anguish and more tears than I have cried for some time. It was an emotionally difficult piece to write. It was hard enough trying to decide whose lives to use for my stories, let alone revisiting photos and eulogies.. The prologue to the piece came easily, but I delayed the writing about Andrew, Stuart and Geoff for as long as possible. It made me realize just how unreconciled to their deaths I actually was, that despite everything that had gone on over the twenty seven years since the deaths started, I had never really allowed myself a period of mourning – not just for them but for all the people I knew during that period who had passed on. The unfolding of the AIDS Quilt had, for many years, served as an outlet for grief during this intense time, a way to ‘get it out of your system’, but that doesn’t happen anymore, so I store the grief, hide it away in a dark corner where it sort of sits and mocks me. The writing of “The Storyteller” was almost like a venting of 20 years of grief. I can’t go back and read it, despite being its author. It hurts too much, and I end up crying – yet again!
What I found very empowering from the experience of writing that story was the reaction of people to it. It was almost like giving people permission to grieve, almost like telling them “It’s okay to cry even now, it’s okay to relive these people’s memories, it’s okay to tell their stories”. Some found the article profoundly beautiful, some used it as a way to communicate to partners and friends exactly how that period of HIV had affected their lives. Some, like my partner David didn’t even know the people in the stories yet related so strongly to it through his own experience that he could not read past the first story. Others said they wished I had warned them I was going to do it. It cut deep, it opened wounds not just for them but also for me. I wish I could have written about every single person I knew over that time who had died, but articles do have their limitations.
In fact, the writing of this piece and a piece I did in university for an assignment in personal writing made me aware of my own mental and emotional toughness, my own ability to cope with intense grief by just cutting myself off emotionally and putting up a wall to block it out. Of course, these things always creep up on you in the dead of night, but there is never anyone to witness that vivid flash of memory, that tear that hides behind the eye, to catch you in a moment of weakness.
My capacity to block out these things is, in many regards, a product of my upbringing, and the experiences of life in my younger days.
Like many of my generation I was raised in the dysfunctionality of families recovering from the effects of World War II. My parents – let’s call them Joe and Betty, as mum and dad are now alien words – raised me in the conservative ways of parents of that period, in the idyllic environment – at least at that time – of Sylvania. Lots of skeletons rattling around in Sylvania, I can assure you! Joe never came to terms with the post-war period of the 50’s and 60’s, and despite a thin veneer of normality in our household, as I grew older I realized all wasn’t as it appeared. I had a younger brother, Kevin. He was to be the subject of a university assignment 40 years after his death.
When I was 11, Betty up and left. No word of warning, no hint of departure. There in the morning making breakfast, gone when Kevin and I arrived home from school. Within several months of her going, Joe bought his mistress into the house under the guise of a housekeeper – we must retain a respectable appearance, despite anything that was happening. Joe had a seriously bad temper, and both Kevin and I experienced his wrath with a strap huddled in a corner. The housekeeper – herein referred to as the bitch from hell – hated Kevin and I almost as much as we hated her. Kevin was five years younger than me and suffered from ADHD. This was enough for the bitch from hell to make him her direct target, and she made his life a total misery. There was little I could do to protect him. Her vengeance for taking her on was to go to Joe with exaggerated stories of misdemeanors, and as we knew – punishment for transgressions was severe. She finally pushed too far, and on the evening of the 8th December 1965 Joe took Kevin out to The Gap at Watson’s Bay and jumped over with him in his arms. Joe survived. Kevin’s body was found two days later floating towards the sea near Broken Bay.
From that day to the time of my university assignment 40 years later this subject was never discussed within my family or otherwise. It was like it never happened. Joe got off on a plea of manslaughter. I had to live with him for another 10 years, but any vestige of trust or feeling had been destroyed.that December night. I never trusted him again, and always guarded what I said, and how much I let him know about my life. I closed off. I became hard. This affected my life for a long time after, and gave me the capacity to survive. The bitch from hell never shed a tear or displayed any emotion regarding Kevin’s death. It was as though he had never existed. By the time we left Sylvania at the end of 1966 we had changed the family name. The bitch from hell had managed to alienate us from all our friends and neighbours, even our direct family. Joe committed suicide in 1978. I shed the obligatory tears and moved on. I’ve never forgiven him, and I never will.
Writing the university assignment in 2003 opened a whole Pandora’s Box for me. I had never investigated Kevin’s death, had never wanted to revisit the wound. However, in June 2000 “Sunday Life” magazine ran an article on The Gap, and the bones in the closet rattled very loudly. Among the synopsis of sad events that surround The Gap was a brief entry for 1965 – “Frederick Pickhills of Sylvania, tells Vaucluse police, “I have been over the gap with my son. I had hold of his hand.” Pickhills was charged with the murder of Kevin Pickhills, 7. Pleading guilty in court to an emended plea of manslaughter, Pickhills was released on a five-year good behaviour bond.” (NB there have been two name changes in the family over time. One to Phillips, which was initiated by Joe so his past wouldn’t follow him, and the second to Alderman by me so that my family could never track me down after the fiasco they called a funeral). For the assignment I scanned all the papers from the time – my tutor was quite concerned about the emotional impact of following up such a closeted and traumatic event – and pieced together a nightmare I had all but blocked from my memory. It was almost a feeling of freedom to finally piece it all together, and lay the bones to rest.
After Joe died, I came out. I was 25, a very later bloomer. I came out with a bang, not a whimper. I had always wondered what Joe would have done if I had told him I was gay, and sort of knew that it wouldn’t have had a good outcome. I may have left it late, but at least it was safe. I reunited with my mother. We communicated for 19 years until 1997, when I finally severed the threads of what turned out to be a futile attempt to try to reconcile some sort of relationship with her. It was never destined to be. Another set of bones laid to rest.
What I wasn’t to know when I came out was that my life as a gay man, and my life as a HIV+ man were going to run in a parallel line, were going to be intrinsically tied together. So this was what the hardening, the hiding away of all emotions had prepared me for. It proved handy I have to say. Always a strong shoulder to lean on at funerals, and to cry on at wakes. I sort of prided myself on this toughness, on this capacity to turn off. But I payed in other ways, as I found out when I wrote “The Storyteller”.
Not only have I given other people permission to grieve, I’ve given myself permission to grieve, to flush out 20 years of pent up emotion and sorrow. But not just that either – I’ve finally given myself permission to grieve for many things. I have finally relaxed the hardness, finally given in to the emotions. I’ve already ruined enough relationships with my inability to give – though mind you, it wasn’t always just me – and when I met David after a 18 month break from the gay scene due to recovering from AIDS I was at a point where I realized I needed to rely on other people, and I needed to give. I needed support, I needed to love and I needed to share. This is the relationship that is making up for all the shit. This is totally open but very secure ground for me. No more secrets, no more closet rattling skeletons from the past. I’m not quite sure if my experiences have made me functionally dysfunctional, or dysfunctionally functional. Whatever the answer, I’m now taking better care of myself emotionally, allowing these feelings to spill out rather than bottling them away, or pretending they didn’t happen. When I get to write my families story, its going to be a hell of an account.
So light a candle at home for all your lost loved ones on World AIDS Day, and tell their stories. And cry! And grieve! You have permission to perform this act of love and remembrance. After all, we don’t want them forgotten. They deserve better than that.
There is the full story of my brothers death, in all its frightening facts, at the end of my blog, titled “Kevin Pickhills – The Unspoken Name” should you be interested.
Tim Alderman
Copyright 2013
Bullied
Bullying is the use of force or coercion to abuse or intimidate others
Wkipedia
Bullying has become the new social curse, and no one is exempt from its venom. Hardly a week goes by without it rearing its ugly head in the news, or on a current affairs program. Bullying is infecting school yards, work places, committees, sports fields, political arenas . It is anywhere that people, who think it is right to degrade and demean those who can’t or won’t fight back. It is insidious and hateful, performed in dark mould-ridden spaces where it can’t be witnessed by others, it is in a whisper, a slap, a push, a word. The spiteful miscreants delude themselves that they are the strong preying on the weak, when in truth the strength lies with those who bear the brunt of it – at least until pushed too far. This hateful, soul-destroying disease must be wiped out.
As a male who has always been, at least to my way of thinking, obviously gay, I’m surprised I have never encountered much bullying in my lifetime. I was always a popular student in most of the s schools I attended, on deed was often voted in a a class captain or vice-captain. The one time in boarding school when a rather largish – in girth – school bully attempted to take something off me by grabbing and holding onto it, one of the strapping country lads, who fortunately hung out with my circle, took him on and put him in his place. He never harassed me again. The other occasion is outlined below, and was a situation I would not allow to happen again. There is a misconception that bullying only goes on in school yards. Think again! It gies on all around us every day. And adults are not exempt from it. One only has to look at what has been going on in the Australian political landscape in recent times to know that. it is time for it to stop, but that will only happen if good men – and women – step in and say ENOUGH!
This is a brief tale of subtle bullying, revenge of a sorts, and deferred regrets.
As I have often mentioned to friends, as far as being bullied as a gay man goes – and God knows it is obvious enough that I am gay – I have had little more than the occasional ‘poofter’ thrown at me from a passing car’s window over the years. However, when I did encounter the evil beast in its true disguise, it left an indelible mark.
In 1993 I was managing a ‘Liquorland’ store in Darlinghurst. I had started there in 1990 as a senior shop assistant, after managing “Numbers” bookshop for 7 years – just up[stairs from the ‘Liquorland’ store – and badly needing both a change of scenery and a job that was not as monotonous as running a sex shop. It was known when I started at ‘Liquorland’ that I was gay, and HIV+. I made my HIV status known because I worked on a daily basis with glass. Serious accidents are part and parcel of working in that retail environment, and I wanted to ensure workmates were cautious when dealing with severe cuts etc.
The Manager at that time was gay-friendly, as was the Area Manager. In fact, they had a lesbian working as the Assistant Manager, so there were no problems at all…at least at that time. Six months after starting, Diane left and I progressed to Assistant Manager. Then when the Manager was transferred to another store I became Manager. Now, it always seemed an obvious thing to me that the best person to have managing a business in the gay ghetto of Darlinghurst was someone gay, someone who knew the local clientele and could deal with them on a personal basis. Well, obvious to everyone except the new Area Manager who came on board just after my promotion to Manager. I should point out that being a Manager in the Coles/Myer Group at that time held very little in the way of privileges – you were only paid $40 a week more than your Aaistant Manager. Being under contract you lost most of your time off, and were expected to work long, hard hours. Because bonuses were based on store profits you were ridden hard by your Area Manager to get results.
My health was going through one of its tough periods at this time. I was on high levels of what antivirals were available at that time. Not having recovered from a very serious bout of viral pneumonia earlier that year I found myself working long on top of a dreadful diet, and abusing both cigarettes and alcohol. One might say I had the perfect recipe for a health disaster. Add to that a new Area Manager who was not only homophobic but also HIV phobic, and you have real problems. At that time I thought I had about two years of work left in me before departing this mortal coil from something HIV-related – you have to remember that combination therapy was not a option at this time, and wasn’t until 1996. I was seriously starting weighing up my options – did I take a demotion at work back to Assistant Manager – lets face it, the stress would be a lot less – or did I leave and take the Disability Support Pension option. It was a decision that was soon made for me!
I was due to take a fortnights leave in early November of that year, and had given a months notice of taking it. I had also decided to take a demotion, and the Area Manager had coffee with me at this time, ostensibly to discuss my options. I told him that for health reasons, I wished to go back to the position if Assistant Manager, and could it ge arranged at either Darlinghurst or one of the other Eastern Suburbs stores. His suggestion was that if I was going to start having serious health problems, I should consider leaving the organisation altogether, especially considering that I had an illness with a almost pre-determined end result! Not an suspicious attitude! I suggested that my health issues would be resolved by less stress, thus my request for a voluntary demotion. He appeared displeased, but said he would organise things, again reiterating that it was probably time I left the company. I went back to the store feeling that things were not going to get any easier for me, and as it turned out, I was right.
Let the games begin!!
This particular Area Manager had bullied me in subtle ways ever since he started with the the company. It is a difficult situation, as it is always done out of earshot of other staff, and knowing that their is no way for me to back up complaints to head office, he was free to get away with anything. This is typically how bullies operate in the workplace.
The below scenario was prefaced by an event that was to bring home to me just how demeaning and demoralising the tactics of a bully can be. The sister of a Head Office executive was organising a work function at a restaurant in a back street nearby. The wine order,, address and delivery instructions had been entered up in the shop diary for my attention on the day of the function. The morning of the function started with a nightmare in the shop. Arriving to open, I found that the Assistant Manager, who had locked up the night before, had forgotten to hand the keys over to the staff on with him. This meant I had to ring him, then wait outside the shop until he turned up with the keys. On finally opening the store there were deliveries waiting to be unloaded, the float to be put into the register, the previous days takings to be rung through to Head Office, and customers served. It wasn’t until I received a phone call from the restaurant to say the wine hadn’t been delivered that I realised I hadn’t checked the diary, and the wine delivery had been forgotten! As compensation, we invited the entire party to the store to select the same quantity of wine, but with no restriction on price. They appeared happy with that. I apologised to the woman, rang her brother in Head Office, explained what had happened and apologised to him. That should have been the end of it, but no! The Area Manager had to get involved. He must have rung me a dizen times over the next couple of days to berate and belittle me about the mistake, then made me ring the woman again and apologise a second time, then the following day I had to buy her a bunch of flowers, which gad to ge personally delivered to her at her workplace, then I had to ring her a third time to apologise. I don’t know who was more embarrassed by the whole grovelling scenario – myself, or the poor woman. I have no doubt the Area Manager loved every minute of it. I was reminded of the event on every possible future occasion.
So, to my final month with Liquorland.
The first thing the Area Manager did was bring in to the store another staff member to be trained up to my position. I could never quite work this one out, as I already had a very good Assistant Manager who was more than able to take over from me – and in fact deserved the promotion. Not only was a new guy brought in, he was placed on the same pay level as me, despite not actually being a Manager. This, of course, effectively undermined my authority. Because he was on an equal footing with me, staff were answerable to both of us, but as I was about to be moved to another store I was told that he was to have the managerial authority. So, for the next three weeks while training him to take over as manager, he controlled the store and I was left twiddling my thumbs behind the cash register. This was very demoralising, though as I was to find out shortly, there was a method in the Area Managers vindictiveness..
My holidays eventually rolled around, and off I went, thinking that in two weeks I would be starting in a new store as an Assistant Manager. There was an Assistant Manager position available in the Surry Hills Mall store, and I was informed I would be filling tat position. A week before returning to work I still had not had the position confirmed, so rang the Surry Hills store to find out if they had any confirmation of my appointment, and to find out what roster I would be on. The store Manager knew nothing about my being transferred there. He told me he would look into it, and get back to me. By the Thursday of that week I still had heard nothing, and started leaving messages with the Area Manager to contact me so that I knew what I was doing on the Monday when I was due to return to work. Nothing! The Surry Hills Manager still had not heard from him, and had no idea what was going on. I decided to pay a visit to the Darlinghurst store and see if I could pin the Area Manager down. The new guy who was now Manager asked me to come out the back with him for a chat. He told me he felt really badly about the shabby way I had been treated. He had been told by the Area Manager when he started to make my life as uncomfortable as possible in the hopes that I would resign. This hadn’t happened, though he (the area manager) was sure that in the course of my holidays I would resign. The store Manager, in an about face, told me to hang on, as if I resigned, the Area Manager would get a great amount of satisfaction. Also, if I resigned before I returned to work, he could pay me out in lieu of notice,and get me out of his hair. The plan was for me not to return to work from my holidays.
I decided to dig in my heels – after all, he didn’t know that I now knew what he was up to. I kept ringing the Surry Hills store manager, and late on the Friday he got back to me to say that I was to start work there at 8.30am on the following Monday as Assistant Manager. I now had my position confirmed, and a plan in place. At no time did the Area Manager contact me to confirm any of this. At 8.30am on the Monday morning I turned up for work as confirmed – and gave two weeks notice. I believe the Area Manager was furious, but I can’t confirm that, as he totally ignored me for the next two weeks, despite regular visits to the store, and didn’t even bother to wish me luck on the day I left. At least I felt that I had a hand in my own demise – in the end it hadn’t been determined by him. I was talking to another gay Manager from another store in the area just after this, and found out he was encountering the exact same harrassment from the same Area Manager
After several weeks of tossing backwards and forwards whether I should report his conduct to the company or not, I decided to let it drop. My health wasn’t the best at the time, and I had no witnesses to the discrimination. The Darlinghurst store Manager – despite telling me what was going on – wasn’t going to back me up, as it would have put
his job on the line. He had, in fact, asked me not to divulge the information he had given me, and despite the fact that he had treated me like shit, I sort of felt sorry for him. After all, he was stuck with the Area Manager, and I no longer was.
In retrospect now, I regret that decision. It still plays on my mind from time to time, especially when I hear of others encountering bullying, harassment and discrimination in their workplace. I regret not mentioning it to my other staff members at Darlinghurst – none of whom had any issue with a Manager who was gay and HIV+ – and I especially regret not taking it further with the company and possibly onto the Anti-Discrimination Board. As I have mentioned to others, despite having no witnesses, and being in a his-word-against-mine situation (with the odds being stacked on his side, as he was a ‘company man’), at least there would have been a report about it, and I would have, at least, sewn the seeds of doubt. Even back in those days Coles/Myer had anti-discrimination policies, and he may – or may not- have been dragged over the coals. It is a regret that I now have to live with.
If you are suffering any kind of harrassment or discrimination in your workplace,report it! Your workplace should be somewhere you look forward to going to every day, not somewhere that you sneak to with trepidation, wondering what is in store for you to make your life difficult. Even if you have no witnesses to what is being done to you – the people making life difficult for you will make sure there is none to back up your side of the story (like my being taken out of the store and to a cafe to be told he thought I should get out of the company). It is important both for your confidence and self-respect to ensure that there is at least a report written up about it, and that it goes into the company records, probably through the HR department. There are also community and government organisations who can advise and direct you as to what actions can be taken.
Bullying, harassment, discrimination and prejudice are NEVER to be tolerated – anywhere! By anyone!
ThIs youngster who hit back made headlines. You can only be pushed so far, for so long.
Tim Alderman
Copyright 2013
timalderman 