A few weeks ago, I wrote about a misguided campaign from Impulse Mexico, a subsidiary of AHF. No doubt, the organization has some important campaigns, like the following anti-LGBTQ awareness campaign.

But they are largely guided by a hyper-idealized gay male aesthetic that emphasizes HIV from a fear-driven perspective, rather than a healthier, more affirming perspective that campaigns in the United States are starting to embrace.

In the conversations I’ve had with individuals on applications and in person, it’s clear organizations tend to talk down to people who engage in condomless sex acts. Anecdotally, I’ve heard that Pre-Exposure Prophylaxsis (PrEP) focus groups have understood the value of alternative prevention methods, but a condoms-only messaging seems to prevail, leading to a distrust of these new methods.

At the same time, in any Tinder, Grindr or Scruff profile, there was not a single instance in which I saw someone have the + symbol in their profile or mention they were HIV-positive. Men told me, after reading my profile, what their status was, but some of the positive men admitted I was one of the only people they had told they were HIV positive.

In the United States, at least in certain major cities (particularly San Francisco or New York) men more frequently reveal their status in their profiles. None of this negates the stigma they still face, but it would be interesting to more carefully examine why this discrepancy occurs, and what it can mean in terms of negotiating everyday sexual relationships.

There are, however, some positive things happening in Mexico City that we see in various locations around the United States.

The government offers anti-retrovirals for free, along with dedicated sexual health care. The caveat of this service is that individuals are required to go in person to a hospital or clinic every month to have their prescriptions filled.

There are a rich group of organizations vying for expanded government funding, like Colectivo Sol, particularly for women and trans-identified individuals. There are other organizations, like HIV Young Leaders Fund, that are funding youth-led HIV initiatives throughout Latin America, Asia and Africa.

And, I hope through the stories I’ve shared, there are also a group of younger LGBTQ folks who serve as formal and informal educators for their peers on what it means to live with HIV or to prevent the spread of the virus. This kind of activism is undervalued but perhaps more important in changing everyday perceptions.

Sexuality and sexual identity are constructed differently in Mexico City. I do not profess to know the complexities of these differences because I have minimal Spanish language skills, but there have also been common struggles and questions that seem all too familiar.

Such statements and questions include:

1. My partner told me he was HIV positive. What is my risk for getting HIV?
2. How will people think of me differently because I now have HIV?
3. I don’t want to use condoms, even though I know using them will better protect me from getting HIV.
4. After I got an HIV test, the counselor was shaming me for my sexual behaviors.

I’d caution at saying questions and statements like these are universal, but it’s clear they transcend linguistic and cultural barriers to a certain noticeable extent. I will be curious to see if these hold up as I travel to South Africa and other to-be-determined locations.

Traveling to Mexico and engaging with HIV/AIDS-related discussions has been challenging. It’s not because I’m not comfortable talking about sexuality. Instead, it’s because I want to make sure I’m making others feel as comfortable and respected throughout the process. I never want to pressure anybody, ever, to have conversations they’re not comfortable with.

As such, it’s important to remember that collecting these stories takes a lot of time and emotional energy for me as well.

I decided not to do any video interviews while in Mexico City because simply getting bilingual written responses to a prompt has taken a week or more. Though I feel videos might be more engaging, I’ve recognized the value that these written responses have in supporting the agency and comfort levels of those who shared their stories.

For some, this was the first time they’d ever formally written about their experiences. Imagine the emotional weight of releasing this story publicly for the first time. Imagine trying to disclose these stories on camera without any previous preparation. I’m not sure this method is ethically sound, even if it would have a more immediate impact for the archive.

This is not to say I won’t do video interviews in the future, but I want to make sure that those who agree to participate are empowered and supported in telling these stories publicly, and are also aware of what it means to contribute to this kind of online archive.