THE WORLD ONLY SPINS FORWARD
In 1990, I was in my third year of work in London. Living above an antiques shop on the Kings Road, I shared the premises with the owners, the guy who sold the paintings, the guy who sold the books, and a photographer. And, of all of us, I was the only straight guy.
I loved my time there, and built some great and lasting friendships. My closest friend from that time now runs a gallery in Yucatan with his long-time and adorable Venezuelan partner. But in the midst of all the good times, people died around us. You noticed it everywhere; the end of the Kings Road was populated by gay antique dealers and interior designers. The grey, sunken look on someone's face told you. A mention at a party of who had now gone.
AIDS, in the affluent West, is now a 'manageable' disease. But it still devastates swathes of the world, and effective treatment for millions is denied by corporate interest, government corruption and religious hypocrisy.
I remember what a terrifying phenomenon this disease was in the eighties. I also remember the anti-gay rhetoric it prompted.
We now live in a new century, but it is one that has been bathed in violence, hatred and misunderstanding from the start. The optimism generated by the collapse of communism has long since evaporated, and we live in a troubled and complex world. But I look back on that time in 1990, and my mind is not filled with sadness for the people who were lost, by with pride and happiness for the close bonds I forged with some incredibly brave friends who refused to be treated as pariahs, and who made their voices heard.
When I struggle to find the optimism that I felt in those days, I turn to the closing scene of Angels in America. This is six minutes of heaven, of thought, of friendship, of goodness. An ill-assorted group of friends who can argue and still be friends. I swear that every time I watch this, I feel the lump rise in my throat, and the tears well. And then I feel a real pride in humanity, and what we can be at our best.....
More life.
In 1990, I was in my third year of work in London. Living above an antiques shop on the Kings Road, I shared the premises with the owners, the guy who sold the paintings, the guy who sold the books, and a photographer. And, of all of us, I was the only straight guy.
I loved my time there, and built some great and lasting friendships. My closest friend from that time now runs a gallery in Yucatan with his long-time and adorable Venezuelan partner. But in the midst of all the good times, people died around us. You noticed it everywhere; the end of the Kings Road was populated by gay antique dealers and interior designers. The grey, sunken look on someone's face told you. A mention at a party of who had now gone.
AIDS, in the affluent West, is now a 'manageable' disease. But it still devastates swathes of the world, and effective treatment for millions is denied by corporate interest, government corruption and religious hypocrisy.
I remember what a terrifying phenomenon this disease was in the eighties. I also remember the anti-gay rhetoric it prompted.
We now live in a new century, but it is one that has been bathed in violence, hatred and misunderstanding from the start. The optimism generated by the collapse of communism has long since evaporated, and we live in a troubled and complex world. But I look back on that time in 1990, and my mind is not filled with sadness for the people who were lost, by with pride and happiness for the close bonds I forged with some incredibly brave friends who refused to be treated as pariahs, and who made their voices heard.
When I struggle to find the optimism that I felt in those days, I turn to the closing scene of Angels in America. This is six minutes of heaven, of thought, of friendship, of goodness. An ill-assorted group of friends who can argue and still be friends. I swear that every time I watch this, I feel the lump rise in my throat, and the tears well. And then I feel a real pride in humanity, and what we can be at our best.....
More life.
VIEW 5 of 5 COMMENTS
We seemed to have a great societal gift for looking the other way while so many of our fellow beings were suffering.
As always, of course, there were some shining exceptions...
Please don't tell my stupid American copatriots about that or it will be a "pandemic" here too. *sigh*
Yes, the silliness was getting to me. I keep having to refraining from shaking people I know, who are otherwise intelligent, when they get on a kick about swine flu.