Mary
Fisher: "A Whisper of Aids"
delivered
Thank you. Thank you. Less than three months
ago at platform hearings in
I would never have asked to be HIV positive,
but I believe that in all things there is a purpose; and I stand before you and
before the nation gladly. The reality of AIDS is brutally clear. Two hundred
thousand Americans are dead or dying. A million more are infected. Worldwide,
forty million, sixty million, or one hundred million infections will be counted
in the coming few years. But despite science and research, White House
meetings, and congressional hearings; despite good intention and bold initiatives,
campaign slogans, and hopeful promises, it is – despite it all – the epidemic
which is
winning tonight.
In the context of an election year, I ask
you, here in this great hall, or listening in the quiet of your home, to
recognize that the AIDS virus is not a political creature. It does not care
whether you are Democrat or Republican; it does not ask whether you are black
or white, male or female, gay or straight, young or old. Tonight I represent an
AIDS community whose members have been reluctantly drafted from every segment
of American society. Though I am white and a mother, I am one with a black
infant struggling with tubes in a
Though I am female and contracted this
disease in marriage and enjoy the warm support of my family, I am one with the
lonely gay man sheltering a flickering candle from the cold wind of his
family’s rejection.
This is not a distant threat. It is a present
danger. The rate of infection is increasing fastest among women and children.
Largely unknown a decade ago, AIDS is the third leading killer of young adult
Americans today. But it won’t be third for long, because unlike other diseases,
this one travels. Adolescents don’t give each other cancer or heart disease
because they believe they are in love, but HIV is different; and we have helped
it along. We have killed each other with our ignorance, our prejudice and our
silence.
We may take refuge in our stereotypes, but we
cannot hide there long, because HIV asks only one thing of those it attacks.
Are you human? And this is the right question. Are you human? Because people with HIV have not entered some alien state of being.
They are human. They have not earned cruelty, and they do not deserve meanness.
They don’t benefit from being isolated or treated as outcasts. Each of them is
exactly what God made – a person, not evil, deserving of our judgment; not
victims, longing for our pity – people, ready for support and worthy of
compassion.
My call to you, my Party, is to take a public
stand, no less compassionate than that of the President and Mrs. Bush. They
have embraced me and my family in memorable ways. In the place of judgment,
they have shown affection. In difficult moments, they have raised our spirits.
In the darkest hours, I have seen them reaching not only to me, but also to my
parents, armed with that stunning grief and special grace that comes only to
parents who have themselves leaned too long over the bedside of a dying child.
With the president’s leadership, much good
has been done. Much of the good has gone unheralded, and as the president has
insisted, much remains to be done. But we do the president’s cause
no good if we praise the American family but ignore a virus that destroys it.
We must be consistent if we are to be
believed. We cannot love justice and ignore prejudice, love our children and
fear to teach them. Whatever our role as parent or policymaker, we must act as
eloquently as we speak – else we have no integrity. My call to the nation is a
plea for awareness. If you believe you are safe, you are in danger. Because I
was not hemophiliac, I was not at risk. Because I was not gay, I was not at
risk. Because I did not inject drugs, I was not at risk.
My father has devoted much of his lifetime
guarding against another holocaust. He is part of the generation who heard
Pastor Nemoellor come out of the Nazi death camps to
say, “They came after the Jews, and I was not a Jew, so, I did not protest.
They came after the trade unionists, and I was not a trade unionist, so, I did
not protest. Then they came after the Roman Catholics, and I was not a Roman
Catholic, so, I did not protest. Then they came after me, and there was no one
left to protest.”
The lesson history teaches is this: If you
believe you are safe, you are at risk. If you do not see this killer stalking
your children, look again. There is not family or community, no race or
religion, no place left in
One of those families is mine. If it is true
that HIV inevitably turns to AIDS, then my children will inevitably turn to
orphans. My family has been a rock of support. My 84-year-old father, who has
pursued the healing of nations, will not accept the premise that he cannot heal
his daughter. My mother refuses to be broken. She still calls at
But not all of you have been so blessed. You
are HIV positive, but dare not say it. You have lost loved ones, but you dare
not whisper the word AIDS – you weep silently. You grieve alone. I have a
message for you. It is not you who should feel shame. If is
we, we who tolerate ignorance and practice prejudice, we who have taught you to
fear. We must lift our shroud of silence, making it safe for you to
reach out for compassion. It is our task to seek safety for our children, not
in quiet denial, but in effective action.
Someday our children will be grown. My son Max,
now four, will take the measure of his mother. My son Zachary, now two, will
sort through his memories. I may not be here to hear their judgments, but I
know already what I hope they are. I want my children to know that their mother
was not a victim. She was a messenger. I do no want them to think, as I once
did, that courage is the absence of fear. I want them to know that courage is
the strength at act wisely when we are most afraid. I want them to have the
courage to step forward when called by their nation or their Party and give
leadership, no matter what the personal cost. I ask no more of you than I ask
of myself or of my children. To the millions of you who are grieving, who are
frightened, who have suffered the ravage of AIDS firsthand – have courage, and
you will find support. To the millions who are strong, I issue this plea – set
aside prejudice and politics to make room for compassion and sound policy.
To my children, I make this pledge: I will
not give in, Zachary, because I draw my courage from you. Your silly giggle
gives me hope; your gentle prayers give me strength; and you, my child, give me
the reason to say to
To all within the sound of my voice, I
appeal: “Learn with me the lessons of history and of grace, so my children will
not be afraid to say the word AIDS when I am gone. Then, their children and
yours may not need to whisper it at all." God bless the children, and God
bless us all, good night.
Text Source: Republican National Convention (35th; 1992;
From:
http://www.americanrhetoric.com/speeches/maryfisheraids.html