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Kai Wright
Hey, it's Kai. Before we get into the last episode of this season of Blindspot, I hope you'll take a minute to reflect back on the series. Have you been moved by the stories you heard? Did the series help you think about HIV and AIDS differently? Did you learn something you didn't know? First off, if you can answer any of those questions we want to hear from you, email us@blindspotnyc.org to let us know what's on your mind. Second, the team here at WNYC Studios worked for months to bring you the episodes you heard in this season. We talked with community activists, doctors, scientists, social workers, just anyone we could find to hear their stories about how this disease unfolded in our communities. We visited archives to hear old interviews and find log reports of people who have long ago died. It takes a lot of people time and resources to bring you this kind of journalism for us here at WNYC Studios. One of the major sources of funding for that work comes from you. So if you have found value in what you heard and you're in a place to help, please let us know by supporting us with a contribution. To donate, go to wnycstudios.org blindspot and click on Support Us. It's quick and easy, and it will really make a difference in helping us continue to bring you reporting that bears witness and tell stories that may otherwise be forgotten. Thanks for listening and thanks for your support.
Kia Labeija
So when I was in seventh grade, there was an AIDS assembly at my school. I remember walking to school that day and being, like, really nervous and being like, what's gonna happen?
Kai Wright
Kia Michelle Binbo was born in 1990 in New York City. Her mother and father found out they were HIV positive three years later. Then they had Kia tested.
Kia Labeija
I knew that I was HIV positive since I was very, very young. And even though I didn't really know what it meant, I knew that I had it.
Kai Wright
And her mom started speaking out.
Kia Labeija
She was somebody that wanted to have a voice, especially as being. She was a mixed Filipino woman, you know, in Asian communities is very like, you know, like Asian people. We don't. We don't get aids. We're not like a part of that.
Kai Wright
Kia's mom didn't want her to carry that kind of shame. She taught her daughter to be matter of fact about about her HIV status, at least at home. But nobody at school actually knew about Kia's status. So then that day in seventh grade, when Kia walked into this school assembly, she discovered it was being led by one of her mom's friends, an activist who was.
Kia Labeija
I knew throughout my whole childhood. And so for me, I was like, oh, my God, it's Don. I was, like, really excited, and I felt really comfortable. And it was, like, this, like, amazing moment. And he did, like, a kind of survey of the room. If you know someone who is Asian, stand up. And so, like, everybody mostly stands up, you know, if you know someone who's gay, stand up. You know someone who's Asian and gay. And he's describing himself at this point. By the time he got to, like, do you know anyone who's Asian and gay and HIV positive? It was, like, very. Not a lot of people. And then he just asked the question, like, is anyone HIV positive? I just naturally stood up, and I got up, and I was the only one standing up. And I immediately sat down, and I was like, what did I just do? And I started sobbing. And everyone in my class is looking at me, like, freaking out. And I was, like, terrified. Cause I was like, fuck. I wonder how people are gonna treat me now. But it was nothing but love. And after that, like, people knew me. Did it feel like a relief at all?
Phil Wilson
It did.
Kia Labeija
It felt like a big weight off of my shoulders. Do you remember telling your mother about. Yes. I called her and I told her, and she was so proud of me. She was like, you go, girl. She was just so excited and elated and proud. And my dad, on the other hand, was like, don't ever do that again.
Warren Benbow
I don't know if she mentioned it.
Kia Labeija
I definitely mentioned it. And you were definitely freaking out about it.
Warren Benbow
Oh, no, I don't remember. See, there are things that I don't want to remember because they hurt my heart. So I just keep them out of my mind. And usually they come up in what's called the dark night of the soul, which is when you get into the bed to go to sleep and all these thoughts come up and you can't do anything about them because you're in the bed.
Kai Wright
When Kia's dad, Warren Benbow, told people he was HIV positive, he did not have that same welcoming experience as kia. It was 1993.
Warren Benbow
Worst thing I ever did. I told people. I called people. People would cross the street if I was walking down the street. People who I knew or thought I knew would stop communicating with me. A lot of people that I told in the beginning, they've forgotten because I'm still here. And so I just leave it at that. And no one that I know knows anymore. I mean, you know, my friends know a couple of them.
Kia Labeija
I know it's a very difficult thing to talk about and to think about, but.
Warren Benbow
Well, I won't be talking about this or thinking about this after this podcast. You know, I just put it back in the. You know, in the back of my mind, and I won't remember.
Kai Wright
This is Blindspot, the plague in the shadows. Stories from the early days of AIDS and the people who refused to stay out of sight. I'm Kai Wright. The debate that Warren and Kia are having about whether and how they talk about their HIV status today is possible because they lived long enough to get treatment. They made it to that remarkable moment In June of 1995, when the FDA approved a new kind of drug that changed everything. One year later, the number of people diagnosed with AIDS in the United States declined for the very first time. And a year after that, death rates plummeted by 47%. It was a climactic moment of victory for science. But science alone will never end this epidemic. In this final episode of our series, Lizzy Ratner, our lead reporter, and myself, we're gonna sit with Kia and other people living with HIV and AIDS today who, despite their pain, their ambivalence, their frustrations, and their own desires to just be done with it, realize they can't be done with it. They're telling us none of this is over. And there is still so much to bring out of the shadows.
Kia Labeija
It's been a really long time. 20 years since my mom died. And not even just since she died, but since I had a conversation with her, since I held her, since I heard her laugh, you know,
Warren Benbow
smile, smile. All right.
Kai Wright
Unlike her dad, Kia is someone who's keeping alive her family's shared history with HIV and AIDS through her work as an artist. Her professional name is Kia labeija. She's an image maker, a photographer, and a performer who has spent much of her life telling very personal stories. Kia can still watch her mom on old videotapes she has. She's young, just a baby, a little over one. But her mom is singing and playing and reading books.
Lizette Rivera
Uh.
Kia Labeija
Oh, it's. Let's go all around the neighborhood. Oh, boy, we read that one a million times. She was born in Subic Bay in the Philippines in March 11, 1957. And she passed here in Manhattan at Roosevelt Hospital, October 19, 2004. Quan Bennett. Yeah, she was 47. 46. 47. Can't remember.
Kai Wright
Kia's entire family had made it to the medical victory of the late 1990s. But by the early aughts, the Euphoria of that victory had begun to fade. For some, the treatment that could save your life also proved difficult. The drugs were hard on the body. There were side effects.
Kia Labeija
Back then. There was, like, a lot of pills you had to take, and you had to take them in the morning, and you had to take them at night. For me, I always felt the side effects. So nausea, fatigue, headache. Having to take those medications every day, especially when you're at that age, is really, really hard to do, because you don't want to do anything at that age. You're just like, I just want to do my thing. I was doing all types of shit, like flushing them pills down the toilet and be like, I took them, and then you not really taking them. Yeah, it sucked.
Warren Benbow
And that was the deal with your mom. If she would have just stayed on those pills, she would only have to take one a day. Now, instead of what? Maybe she was taking four or something like that, or not taking four. But they were all in the cabinet. They were all in the drawer. And it was. It was upsetting. You know, the virus for me is under control because I take these medicines, and actually, it's only one medicine.
Kia Labeija
One pill once a day.
Warren Benbow
That's something.
Kia Labeija
Yeah.
Kai Wright
Because treatment science didn't stop. It kept advancing, finding new ways to limit the side effects, to reduce the number of pills you gotta choke down. But the year Kia's mom died in 2004, one in four people living with HIV in the US were, for one reason or another, unable to stay on treatment. Some of that was about the drugs themselves. They didn't work or they just took too much of a toll, and some of it is harder to understand.
Kia Labeija
I think a lot of people in my family, there was a lot of kind of not blame or shame, but this feeling of like, oh, she should have just. And I'm like, no, that was her choice. And for me, like, I'm the closest person to her, so nobody has more shit to say than I do. Where's your butt? Where's your butt?
State Farm Advertiser
But
Kia Labeija
very good kick. And I love her regardless. Like. And I miss her to death. And I wish you could be here to see that. One pill once a day. But she's not. And there's nothing we can do about that except still love her.
State Farm Advertiser
You know,
Kia Labeija
she lived the life she wanted to live, and she made a choice, and I need everyone to respect that choice.
Kai Wright
I have tried to respect this choice. Someone I loved also decided he did not want to take the drugs that suppress the virus. And that was a difficult choice to Grasp. But I know this. People who lived through the worst of this were scarred in ways most of us cannot imagine.
Phil Wilson
I would say that there was not a single day that went by when there was not someone that I knew who was not dying, diagnosed, or in the hospital.
Kai Wright
Phil Wilson has lived with HIV since 1981, the very beginning of the epidemic. He began to pour his grief into activism in the mid-1980s and never stopped. Along the way, he buried his lover and countless friends. And now, in his late 60s, he's finally begun reflecting on the mark. It's all left on him.
Phil Wilson
When I talk about HIV and aging, and for those of us who are at that point in our lives, I talk about post traumatic stress syndrome. Now, post traumatic stress syndrome is developed from primarily the Vietnam War or young men going off the war. But if you think about that, in that scenario, people are in the battle theater, usually for a tour is like, a year long. Now, people do multiple tours, but one tour is, like, a year long. For those of us who are in the HIV pandemic battle, that tour lasted for no, what, 30 years, 20 years?
Kai Wright
How do you think that changed you, Phil? I mean, you know. I mean, you have developed this reputation, you know, as somebody who's so tenacious, would stop at nothing. And so we talk about those things heroically, right? But I wonder about the other side of that.
Phil Wilson
I never experienced it heroically, and I'll just be honest in answering your question. It was because
Latif Nasser
I.
Phil Wilson
We were too afraid to stop, that if we slowed down, that we would just die.
Kai Wright
Phil's refusal to stop made a difference, particularly in convincing influential allies in the black community to join the fight against aids. That's where he put his trauma until he could face it. Kia faced hers by making art. Just two years after her mom died, when she was 16 years old, Kia returned to the same hospital where her mom had gone many times when she was sick and where she ultimately died. She wanted to remember what happened there, and she had an idea. She would document the time.
Kia Labeija
Had, like, a little Nikon power shoot camera. And I started taking photographs of the hospital. I took a picture of the first room that I saw her with the, like, intubated. And I did it very, like, on the low. But the security guard knew me forever, so he just let me upstairs. He was just like, yeah, you can go upstairs.
Lizette Rivera
Like, cool.
Kia Labeija
And for me, like, it was more than just a hospital wing or a floor. There was just. There is something almost nostalgic and something almost happy, you know, to be like, oh, yeah, I hung out with my mom here. Oh, yeah. I hung out with my dad here. You know what? We were all together here. There was love here. Regardless, I think that's the first time that I really understood the power of, like, what an image could do for you personally, I wasn't thinking about art or nothing like that. I just was kind of like, okay, I'm going to hold onto this.
Kai Wright
Since then, Kia has shown work at the Museum of the City of New York, the Whitney at the Tate Modern in London. She had a solo show in New York two years ago.
Kia Labeija
For a while, when I first started making it and I first started talking about it, I started to get tired and I started having that feeling of like, ah, the story. It's a story. It's not my life. It's a story like, oh, my God, when you Google my name, it says, like, kia Labeija, hiv. You know? And seeing that was like, it felt icky to me. And then I had a point where I was like, I'm gonna push it away. I don't want it anymore. I don't want to make work about it. But now I'm like, no, I should be proud and I shouldn't feel ashamed of it and I don't have to be scared of it, even though I am sometimes.
Kai Wright
For Kia, telling the story is a way of owning it. Through her storytelling, this podcast included, she reminds the rest of us that she is who she is, in part because of hiv. Coming up, what it can really mean to carry the weight of the virus, both in someone's body and in our collective spirit.
Latif Nasser
Are you hungry for some great investigative journalism that sounds like music? Then Radiolab might be the show for you. Radiolab began over 20 years ago as an exploration of science, philosophy and ethics. The show has since expanded to become a platform for some of the best long form journalism and storytelling you'll hear today. Join Jad, Lulu Miller and myself, Latif Nasser, as we investigate stories that provoke delight and ask you to completely change the way you view the world. You can find Radiolab wherever you get podcasts.
Kai Wright
You're listening to the plague in the shadows.
Valerie Reyes Jimenez
I bet you my whistle should come on the way.
Kai Wright
Valerie Reyes Jimenez, the most positive woman we spoke to in our very first
Valerie Reyes Jimenez
episode, became a positive woman.
Kai Wright
She spent more than 30 years fighting stigma as an AIDS activist and just by living out loud about her own HIV status the whole time. Just a month before her husband died in 1992, they were profiled in El Diario La Princea, which was then the largest Spanish language newspaper in New York. They came out as a young HIV positive Puerto Rican couple. And after he died, Valerie took the article.
Valerie Reyes Jimenez
I printed out like, I don't know, 500 copies or something. And I put that in the funeral parlor instead of those little cards that say, you know, like sunrise, sunset, born died. I just decided to use that opportunity to put it out there that no, he didn't die from cancer or anything like that. And at the same time, I was letting people in the community know that I was a survivor.
Kai Wright
Valerie's continued speaking out all these years, including candid talk about how hard that living has been on her body.
Valerie Reyes Jimenez
The aging process isn't kind to anyone, even when you're healthy. But when you have the virus in there, that prickly little mean little virus in your body doing what viruses do, I just really believe that it does accelerate the normal aging process. I will tell you that my bones are jacked up. I've got bone spurs upon bone spurs. My mom is 18 years older than I am, but I have caught up to her already as far as, like where I'm at, where with my body stuff. So my arms are fairly thin, my legs are pretty thin, but this area from like my neck on down to my pelvis is pretty thick, like this thick fat. I feel like I'm walking around with a 20 pound bag of rice on my chest. I feel like I'm hugging it really tight. That's exactly what it feels like.
Kai Wright
But that big old bag of rice does nothing to dampen Valerie's voice.
Valerie Reyes Jimenez
It's all right to be HIV positive. There's nothing wrong with being HIV positive. Your neighbor could be HIV positive. I can be your friend and be HIV positive. As a matter of fact, I am your friend. Aren't we friends? I'm HIV positive.
Victor Reyes
We're not having enough conversations. We're not getting enough of it.
Kai Wright
We first talked to Victor Reyes because he was born at Harlem Hospital. He got treatment at Harlem throughout his childhood. 35 years later, Victor is the director of an after school program at a grade school in Washington, D.C. he also does research at the Global Community Health Lab at Howard University. He wants to keep people thinking and talking about hiv, which he says is just hard.
Victor Reyes
Still, there seems to be a lull. Doesn't seem like the conversation has grown since the start of the HIV epidemic. And, you know, if people are still dying from hiv, then that's, that's a problem.
Kai Wright
Victor has a son now who's under a year old, and he's not sure what he'll tell this kid about his own story of HIV and aids. On one hand, he doesn't want to pass the pain and fear on to yet another generation.
Victor Reyes
I mean, the goal has always been growing up to, if I ever got to this point, to give my child a better life than I had. And I don't know, I don't, I don't know if I want to put fear, I haven't thought about it enough, but I definitely want to educate him.
Kai Wright
And yet Victor also knows that one thing all the miracle science in the world can't erase is stigma. And until that part is solved too, some piece of this epidemic will remain.
Victor Reyes
To me, stigma makes people hide, it prevents people from seeking help, seeking support. It destroys self esteem. How have you dealt with stigma? Some of the conversations we've had revolves around innocence and guilty. You know, if you were born with it, you must have been then innocent because you didn't get it behaviorally. And if you got behaviorally, then you must be guilty of something. And that in itself creates a division within people in the HIV umbrella. As an example for my wedding, my brother in law officiated our wedding and he showed me what he wrote and I thought it was perfect. The one edit I had on it and I was disclosing, he wanted to, I said, I don't mind disclosing. And the only edit was that he started it with saying, when I found out Victor was HIV positive and my only edit was when I found out Victor was born HIV positive. So I felt the need instinctively to protect myself and to let it be known that I was this quote unquote innocent person that acquired it prenatally. And so this is who I am, that is even the stigma that I go through. And that exists, right? And I can honestly say that I don't know if I can change that, because believe that when I disclose, then the next question is, oh, how do you get it? What does it matter? There is no innocent, there is no guilty, is just the experience and how you support that person. After that, you know, have the conversation shift from how did you get it? To just how can I help you?
Kai Wright
I told you in our very first episode that HIV and AIDS is a social disease as much as a medical condition. We saw this epidemic way too late and we stopped seeing it way too soon. We chose to look the other way, to wear blinders, so we did not have to pay attention to what was happening. What are you going to do with this?
Kia Labeija
Or what do you hope will happen from it?
Kai Wright
Margaret Haggerty, the woman who had spent two decades in charge of pediatrics at Harlem Hospital, asked me this question early in our reporting, and I tried to answer her. I talked about what it feels like when I hear people say AIDS is over. And it just pissed me off. I can imagine that would piss me off too. But I think I know how. I would answer her more directly now. I want people to hear these stories. Because There are nearly 40 million people living with HIV in the world today. There are more than a million new infections every year. And still 630,000 people died of AIDS globally in 2022. Every single one of those deaths and every single new infection is now preventable. That one pill a day that Kia and Warren talk about, we now know that if everybody with HIV could take that pill, it would suppress the virus in their system to the point that it is literally undetectable. Whatever else might kill them, it will not be hiv. Moreover, when the virus is undetectable, we now know it cannot be transmitted to another person. Science has done its job. HIV is in some ways, just like any number of other health problems now. And that's just it. Heart disease, diabetes, Covid. The people who continue to needlessly struggle with and die from these and other illnesses. That's not only a medical challenge, it's a social one. We still choose as a society to allow HIV to exist.
Kia Labeija
Um, hi, this is Kia Labeisha at wnyc, and I'm talking to my father, Warren Benbow. I sound pretty good, huh, dad?
Warren Benbow
Yeah, pretty.
Kia Labeija
It is important to. Also for people to understand me. It wasn't just like I had one parent in the hospital. I had two parents in the hospital sometimes at the same time.
Warren Benbow
I think I was the most. I was in the hospital more than anybody else. And it's not really a lot of fun and. Cause you don't know if you're gonna come out.
Kai Wright
Kia was 14 when her mom died.
Kia Labeija
My brother describes Christmas as the saddest Christmas of all time. Because me and my dad were just like. It was devastating. It's like I'm losing my mom, My dad's losing this woman that he loves. And we're both trying to figure out how to deal with that, but also how to deal with each other, which was not easy because we were both grieving. All right, I'm gonna take a picture of you, dad. Cause this is a good angle. If you'll let me take your picture.
Warren Benbow
Okay.
Kia Labeija
Gotta get you with your headphones with the wnyc.
Warren Benbow
Okay. Why don't you just take it with
Lizette Rivera
the cell phone, because I want to
Kia Labeija
take it with my real camera.
Phil Wilson
Oh.
Kai Wright
My colleague Lizzy Ratner told Kia about a cemetery, a small island off the Bronx that's said to be the largest AIDS burial ground in the United States.
Kia Labeija
So the person who oversaw Hart island at the time, who actually was.
Kai Wright
Technically, it is in New York City, but it's not easy to get to. It's the largest public cemetery in the United States. Over a million people are buried there. It's where the dead are sent when they are unclaimed or unidentified or just can't afford a private burial. It's the city's potter's field. Almost all in mass graves.
Kia Labeija
Oh, wow.
Lizette Rivera
Yeah.
Kia Labeija
Can you go there?
Valerie Reyes Jimenez
Happy New Year to everyone. This marks our first trip over to Heart island, and it's cold.
Kai Wright
Heart island sits less than a mile off the edge of the Bronx. Four days a week, this ferry takes trucks from the city's morgues, and twice a month, loved ones can visit.
Valerie Reyes Jimenez
We hope that this trip brings some closure.
Kai Wright
Lizzy and Kia are on one of those trips.
Lizette Rivera
And we're off.
Kai Wright
Kia came to take photos of a woman who's come here to visit her mother's grave.
Lizette Rivera
Today. I said, I'm going to bring a picture so everyone can see her. Let me put this in. This is my mama, my co. Hi, beauty. Oh, my God. She's beautiful.
Kia Labeija
And she looks like.
Lizette Rivera
Wow.
Kai Wright
Lizette Rivera is holding a snapshot of her mom, Zeta. Zeta's hair is pulled back. She's smiling and looks happy.
Lizette Rivera
I remember her always doing her best, even being so young. I remember always having clean clothes. I remember always going to school.
Kai Wright
Lisette says her mom contracted HIV so long ago, there wasn't an AIDS test then.
Lizette Rivera
She did have a drug addiction that would see the needles and stuff around the house.
Kai Wright
The cause of death was pneumonia. She is in a mass grave with about 150 other bodies.
Lizette Rivera
My mom is on top. I know that. And they say her feet are here and then her head this way.
Kia Labeija
So you think your mom is just right here? Yes.
Kai Wright
Grass grows on top of the graves. They look like fields. A single white marker indicates where each trench begins.
Lizette Rivera
It's beautiful, and it's serene now. It's nice and open. There are lots of trees. We're surrounded by water.
Kai Wright
Sometimes Lisette brings her mother's favorite candies. Once, she brought perfume. She tapes her mom's photo to the grave marker.
Lizette Rivera
I have to take a picture, too.
Valerie Reyes Jimenez
Oh, I love that.
Lizette Rivera
I really appreciate you coming out to spend time with me and mine. Oh, I love you, Mama. I want to just, like, lay out and just. She was so strong. So strong. I miss you, Mom. I love you every day.
Kia Labeija
You mind if I take a few more pictures? Is that okay with you? I've been doing a lot of work about my experience growing up with HIV and losing my mom to aids.
Lizette Rivera
I had no idea that we had that in common.
Valerie Reyes Jimenez
Yeah.
Lizette Rivera
I'm sorry for your loss. Thank you. You too.
Kia Labeija
I think a lot of people, when they think about, like, grave sites or, you know, where their loved ones are buried or graveyards, I think, you know, some people have this idea that it has a certain level of spookiness, But I always find these places to be very calm, you know, because it's where people are resting. And especially today, none of us really get enough rest. So to be able to be amongst those that, you know, have had these whole lifetimes before us, you know, and who are our ancestors and our loved ones and our guides, you know, it feels like the best place to, like, take a breath,
Kai Wright
Breathe and remember. Remember who and what we have all lost to hiv. Yes. But also remember the spirit that some among us brought to life. Something Kia said when she returned to her mother's hospital room sticks with me. There was love here. Amid all the horror of the AIDS epidemic, some individuals managed to find that love within themselves. The staff at Harlem Hospital. Joyce Rivera in the South Bronx. Katrina Haslett inside a state prison. The people we have met throughout this series, and they each found love and they used it to ease some part of the pain for their communities. They gave of themselves and they made a difference, often with little or no recognition. May we all learn from their brave leadership. Kia Labeija took photos of many of the people in our series. To see those photos go to Blindspot Podcast and her dad, Warren Benbow, played drums on our original music. The plague in the shadows is a co production of the history channel and wnyc studios in collaboration with the nation magazine. Our team includes emily botin, karen frillman, ana gonzalez, sophie hurwitz, lizzy ratner, christian reedy and myself, kai wright. Our advisors are amanda aronczyk, howard gertler, ginny lawton, marianne mccune, yoruba richen and linda villarosa. Music and sound design by jared paul. Additional music by isaac jones and additional engineering by mike kutchman. Our executive producers at the history channel are jesse katz, eli lehrer, and mike stiller. Thanks to miriam barnard, lauren cooperman, andy lancet and kenya young. This series would not have happened without the help of many people, including mike barry, robin bilinkoff, alan black, john campbell, vanessa cervini, raymond chan, tali chazan, jacqueline cincata, erin cohen, mary croak, rex doane, andrea duncan, mao, javed ellis, ricardo fernandez, dan fishette, lindsey foster thomas, melissa frank, stephen gangaram, david gable, emma gordon, caitlin graf, molly hindenburg, jason isaac, whitney jones, jennifer houlihan, roussel, melanie hsu, kalalea, david krasnow, fyodora kuslov, andrea latimer, karim lawrence, andre, robert lee, mei lee, rachel lieberman, casey means, christina newman, scott, kim nowaki, bill o', neill, joe claude, ann o', malley, maya pasini, chanau, kaitlyn quigley, amy pearl, katya rogers, megan ryan, jennifer syndro, wayne schulmeister, tara sonin, bhaskar sankara, irene trudell, liz webber, george wellington, christopher worth, ryan, andrew wilde, lillian hsu and ivan zimmerman. Thanks to you all and again, we would love to hear from you. Email us@blindspotnyc.org to give us your feedback on the series. I'm kai wright. You can also find me hosting notes from america live on public radio stations each Sunday, or check us out wherever you get your podcasts. And thanks for listening.
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Podcast: Blindspot (The HISTORY® Channel & WNYC Studios)
Episode Date: February 22, 2024
Summary by: Podcast Summarizer AI
In the final episode of the season, “There Was Love Here,” Blindspot explores stories of those living with HIV/AIDS and their families, reflecting on love, loss, stigma, and the enduring impact of the epidemic. Through deeply personal interviews, host Kai Wright and reporter Lizzy Ratner revisit lives shaped by HIV/AIDS—from growing up with the virus to the ongoing realities of treatment and public memory. The episode makes clear: while science has transformed HIV/AIDS into a manageable condition for many, stigma and social neglect persist, and the personal and collective lessons of the epidemic are far from over.
Kia Labeija’s Seventh Grade Experience (01:52–04:15)
Generational Contrasts and Stigma
1995 Breakthrough & Medical Progress (06:15–10:37)
The Cost of Survival
Lifelong Grieving and Activism (12:03–15:40)
The Power—and the Weight—of Storytelling (16:43–17:57)
Valerie Reyes Jimenez: (18:34–21:20)
Victor Reyes: (21:45–25:27)
Personal Losses and Family Ties (27:49–29:34)
Hart Island—America’s AIDS Burial Ground (29:23–34:14)
Kia Labeija:
Warren Benbow:
Phil Wilson:
Valerie Reyes Jimenez:
Victor Reyes:
Kai Wright:
“There Was Love Here” is a poignant meditation on how HIV/AIDS reshaped generations and communities, highlighting the profound presence of love amidst trauma and struggle. Even in an era of medical progress, the legacy of stigma and the power of personal stories remain central challenges. In the episode’s closing moments, listeners are called to remember—not just the tragedy, but the resilience, leadership, and love that persisted in the darkest times. The work of healing, the episode insists, is far from over.
To view Kia Labeija’s photographs from the series, visit Blindspot Podcast.
Feedback or stories? Contact: blindspot@nyc.org