On Harm Reduction, NGOs, and Photography

ay, processing the new photos of la lenni has been difficult . . .

it's one thing, to have a concept worth shooting (excuse the pun). another world, entirely, to feel the impact of one's own concept.

earlier today, i was reading statistics from the world health organization. yeah, i do things like that. i had a question about current trending in HIV transmission, amongst women of color, both in the usa and worldwide. i didn't believe much had changed, since i checked the stats a year or so ago, and i am current with reportage, but i wanted to be certain.

turns out, the last compilation of statistics from the WHO is from 2008, so i hadn't missed anything of extreme importance, though the white papers are still issued on a regular basis.

all of this, yes, is part of what i do, as a non-governmental organization (NGO) photographer: all of my work, and my availability to other NGOs, is just the end result of my commitment to a host of nonprofit peace and justice actions.

i won't say it's "entertaining" work, but that's not really what i set out to do, on a daily basis.

after pondering the confluence between HIV realities; the necessary gendering of the topic, by the world health organization, and every other influential policy-making group; putting that together with recent activism for women in the congo; bringing that back to grassroots work, to end violence against women, in prisons and throughout the u.s.; together with some assumptions still held about the relative "safety" of sex within HIV+ groups, given "the cocktail" . . .

i went searching for two things: images depicting strong HIV education information, and harm reduction or needle exchange program data. i searched in several languages.

what i found were the same tired icons i've been seeing, since the '80s. i guess i thought, since i don't get out much, these days, maybe things had changed. nope.

so i turned to lenni, who happened to be in my office, and said, "hey, you wanna do something bold?"

she looked nervous.

i explained the concept to her, and she relaxed *s

what's hard for me, in reviewing these photos, is the raking memory of the night lenni inseminated me with our daughter—using a needless syringe, from a local women's clinic. it was part of an actual home insemination kit. (and you all thought we actually used turkey basters, back in the '80s. uh huh.)

we got pregnant, on the first try—despite the fact i'd had surgery to remove endocervical cancer, just a month prior, and the oncologist told me i wouldn't be able to conceive for at least a year. well, he'd also predicted i'd die . . .

lenni's never been able to stop crowing about what good aim she has . . .

the donor, a gay male friend, was not in the least hurt or upset, when we asked him to take blood tests, for everything from genetic disorders to HIV. he understood completely.

and lenni, as everyone in my close circle knows, is a recovering addict.

putting that syringe between her legs, to become the poster child for needle exchange and harm reduction, was hazardous for her, emotionally. we discussed babies born with addictions, and those who die of AIDS-related complications. i had to express to lenni why i wanted to do this . . . and i said i was willing to do it myself, if she wasn't comfortable.

so, big ups to la lenni.

i just gotta say: for everyone who finds these photos (the two i even allowed into public view) to be "beautiful," here at home, they're hitting some major sore spots, for two older women of color, who have seen too fucking much, and are just happy we're here to make a difference, if we can.

~emmanuela

Yom Kippur, atonement, and packing

"You're an excellent packer."

That was first full sentence I spoke today, after awakening.

Every person in our queer and trans communities would have laughed, at my manner of clumsy expression. 

Not Michael MacFeat—one of my few straight, white, male friends. 

In today's mail, I'd received an original print of a photo I love. Clever knife work and a good deal of wrangling was required to access the thing. 

"I'm trained to do that," is all Michael said, words in gravel and phlegm, as always. 

MacFeat is something of a legend, for his gravel and phlegm charm in the sculptural and political arts, around the Philadelphia area.

These days, he's knocking the hell out of Flickr, with various computer graphic series on arcane philosophical notions: Savoir Brut; Lies and The Truth; and, one of my personal favorites, the investigative Trading Card Series.

I strongly suggest you have a free Flickr account, set to moderate, to view these works.

For those with a strong mind for the absurd wrapped in eiderdown nostalgia, in a bit of beer haze, there's MacFeat's blog, which asserts History Will Absolve Mike.

That which has been afflicting the soul may have been released, for some of us, during last weekend's solemn rituals of Yom Kippur.

Personally, I was off my meds. No kidding.

Lyssie said she was going down to the shore, to throw her sins in the sea. I found that a lovely image, and was drifting toward her, spiritually, when she added she would bring me some sand—from the . . . whatever shore is two blocks from her house.

I had such a fit, then, telling her, in no uncertain terms, I've had it, with people bringing me sand or sending me shells . . . and don't people realize I came up in San Diego, so all that tourist crap encrusted with sand and shells is anathema to me?

She said she was just kidding. She said she was sorry. It was too late. I'd have to do my atonement on my own. And off my pinche meds.

It was a hard weekend, gente.

Y, tú sabes, we're taught, as indigenous peoples, our actions affect the coming seven generations. 

Still, I believe the most difficult absolution is not from history, but from ourselves, no?

That's not egocentricity. It's what I know to be true: our egos tend to stand in the way of our abilities to heal, to release and go on with the business of atonement.

Just sayin'.

The package I received this morning contained an artwork my friend Michael produced, emblematizing a serious condition that nearly caused his death.

And it's a thing of beauty.

Thank you again, mister *s

Survival. Movement. Getting beyond ourselves.

I'm for it.

~Emmanuela