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Today is National Latinx AIDS Awareness Day. As expected, you are likely to come across a flood of HIV-related information and facts via social media and public ads. Predictably, this information will remind us that we are a “high-risk” population, will advise us on how and under what conditions to have sex, and most importantly, stress the importance of knowing our status and staying in care. Yes, I get it; this information is important and needed. For the purposes of full disclosure, as an HIV tester and educator, I often get paid to present these very numbers to eager crowds and nervous gay men struggling to remember their last HIV test date. I see value in this work, but I also strongly believe in centering faces over facts, stories over statistics.

For me, this means talking about awareness without the broad strokes inherent in national campaigns. Often I wonder what these campaigns are missing, and almost always I return to the same answer: us. These campaigns often don’t reach us because they were not created with us in mind. It is impossible to address HIV stigma, awareness, and prevention in the Latina/o community without knowledge of our lived experiences. This invisibility and institutional neglect leave us to answer some difficult questions on our own. For example, what myths and distortions have we internalized about HIV, gay men, and ourselves? How do these myths and misinformation impact how we treat each other? In what ways does the Latino/Latina/Latinx community perpetuate both violence towards gay men and cultivates a toxic environment detrimental to our mental and sexual health? I’m not going to just ask these questions and let you sit with them; I thought I might do something different today and share a bit with you all. Please be gentle with me.

When I think about HIV stigma and its association with shame in my life, I think about the first conversation I had about being gay with my mother seven years ago. If I’m a Gran Varòn, then my mother is La Gran Señora—the head of our household, the provider and nurturer, and the person from whom I’ve learned most about community, honoring family, and surviving the unthinkable. She has become my biggest ally. And yet I will never forget the first two questions that followed my nervous gay disclosure: “who molested you?” she asked, “and are you healthy?” One communicated that my gayness was a product of a violent and traumatic event, and the other that as a “closeted” gay person I probably was HIV positive. These two questions verbalized all of the coded yet consistent messages about LGBTQ people I had heard growing up—about our diseases, our dirty sex, our victimhood, and our perpetual tragedy.

But the truth was that my mother needed not ask me those questions for me to know that in her mind, and in my community, gay men are seen as laughable, perverted, and diseased. I had learned this before I even identified as gay. I learned it from hearing my family talk about the gay participants on El Show de Cristina, whose trauma and disease the audience consumed with a twisted mix of pity and vindication. I learned it from my preschool teacher Ms. Delgado who sent a letter home to my mother recommending therapy after noticing I played mostly with girls. I learned it from the whooping I got that day from both my mother and father. I learned it from my tíos who stroked their fragile masculinities by disparaging men they viewed as “jotos” like Juan Gabriel, Ricky Martin, and Walter Mercado. Their ideas of them became my ideas of me. These teachers and family members were and are my people. And so for me, as I suspect for many other gay men, “out of the closet” also meant into the darkness. All of these ideas experiences and messages impacted and continue to impact how I live my life as a gay man and my relationship with HIV in general.

As is the story for many other queer men of color, this shame, which persisted after the allegedly liberating act of “coming out,” led me to dark places, nonconsensual situations, and self-destructive behavior. Meeting strangers in pursuit of love and affection and leaving without knowing what happened and how; hiding in dark places to explore the boundaries of pleasure and pain only conceivable after a drink or a blunt; agreeing to disagreeable acts for the sake of companionship, for the sake of feeling something, anything. These experiences fueled by shame, and a desire to be seen and touched left scars that are still traceable. Most of these experiences, either by choice or coercion, placed me at great risk for harm and infection. But I had learned what to during such shameful circumstances. In line with family tradition, I didn’t expose my dirty laundry. I wrapped it all into one entangled web of garments and hid it in my new closet of sex secrets. In my state of repression and internalized stigma, every Latino gay man appeared to be wearing a garment from this closet. This is how stigma reproduces itself.

I share a piece of my experience not because I believe it to be astonishing nor exceptional but instead because I’ve been privileged to listen to the stories of so many other gay Latino men who have experienced shame, stigma, violence, struggle, and have marvelously survived. During my five years of facilitating support groups for queer people of color I’ve shared and listen to stories of abuse, survival or intentional sex work, harassment and violence, loneliness and isolation, addiction and homelessness. And now as a person who works in HIV prevention and education, I know how critical these experiences and narratives are to fighting stigma and taking care of ourselves and each other. I know some may say that there is more to social justice work, more to HIV prevention and care, than sharing stories and talking about our feelings and traumas. Yes, this is true. But I have been out on the field, in the clinic and on the streets. I know that I cannot approach a sex worker at her place of work to discuss getting tested and expect her to listen when I know that I’m interrupting her ability to get the next meal or pay for a night’s motel stay. This is to say that when discussing HIV prevention and combating stigma, I believe we need to move beyond percentages and look into the faces of the people we claim to care about. We have to have our basic needs met before we are able to plan for the future. We need to move beyond a state of survival to begin strategizing for safety—and that health begins with healing.

I understand that the process of undoing stigma and shame is laborious and exhausting. In a period of mass police shooting, of record HIV infections in Latino and black communities, and mass deportations, sometimes we need time to take a breather and escape. But I believe this is where community is most important. There are people reading this that are actively in pain, being abused, mourning, grieving, or perhaps numb. As a community we have an opportunity to step in and hug, love up on, and carry each other. This is a revolutionary act. This will not be part of a national campaign but it does promote prevention and health.  

The slogan for this year’s National Latinx AIDS Awareness Day, launched by the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, is “We’ll Defeat AIDS con Ganas”–with real effort. This slogan might be better stated as “Con Ganas y con Manos Abiertas”—with real effort and with open arms. This involves undoing the stigma we have inherited and looking into the faces of our community members and embracing all of the beauty, trauma, and shame they carry with them. This also includes taking a hard look at ourselves and asking how our own internalized stigma impacts how we deal and interact with those we claim to care about and for whom we advocate. Part of National Latinx AIDS Awareness Day’s efforts, I believe, must involve amplifying the voices of the communities affected, marrying HIV prevention efforts with mental health resources that provide spaces for empowerment and healing that facilitate a transition between survival and safety planning.

I believe prevention and addressing stigma starts with seeing and acknowledging members of our community. Honestly, sometimes prevention really just starts with the little things. Before writing this post, Louie, the founder of Gran Varones, messaged me to check in on the status of my writing. Stressed and apologetic, I responded to him, “Louie, I am so sorry I’m heartbroken over this boy and have been quite depressed. I know I said I would send you something by today but I’m just so…” “Slow down,” Louie said “Chile. Don’t worry about that. How can I help right now?” “Do you mind if I call you right now, I just need to talk?” I said. “Girl, call me right now. I know about a book you should read” he said.

Since thoughts of unhealthy decisions were lurking in mind at that point, this is what prevention and healing looked like for me today.

Miguel Garcia, Boston  

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resurrections are real.
to all of the varones who once lied on hospital beds with a sinking t-cell count counting the minutes until you could hold down down your food.
to all of the varones who avoided looking into mirrors because the sunken face...

resurrections are real.

to all of the varones who once lied on hospital beds with a sinking t-cell count counting the minutes until you could hold down down your food.

to all of the varones who avoided looking into mirrors because the sunken face reflection did not reflect the beauty you behold.

to all of the varones who pieced themselves back together piece by piece after the violence of stigma left them broken and beat. to all the varones who survive life by surviving one night at a muthafuggin’ time.

we salute you.

we praise you.

because even AIDS, stigma, homophobia, racism, white supremacy, and oppression can’t keep us from rising. and when we become ancestors, we will continue rise in the voices of those who speak our names without shame.

so keep rising varones because resurrections are real.

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“When I think of my mom, I think of her big smile. I was adopted by my aunt but i know I have my mother’s spirit with me. She passed when I was about 8 years old from HIV/AIDS. I took it really hard. I don’t know, it’s like when they first tell you,...

“When I think of my mom, I think of her big smile. I was adopted by my aunt but i know I have my mother’s spirit with me. She passed when I was about 8 years old from HIV/AIDS. I took it really hard. I don’t know, it’s like when they first tell you, I really didn’t comprehend it until about a couple of hours later and my brain just snapped. And I felt like everything was just done. Being 8 years old and only knowing your mother and not your father, only knowing certain people in your family and the only thing you’re left with is people that you’re not really that close to.

I think my mother would actually be proud of the fact that I can be who i am by myself. Like, I didn’t need anyone there by my side. I have always been there for myself. So I think she would be really proud that I can do this on my own. I don’t need anybody on my shoulder telling me "you can do this.” because she is there telling me every day that I walk, “You can take the next step.” Ya know, I was born myself and I don’t need anybody to be there to help me.

I just wish she could be here. It’s hard. It’s hard just being here without her. But it makes me smile to know she would be proud of me and proud that I did it.“

Giovanni Martinez-Cruz, Philadelphia

Interviewed by Anthony Leon & Photographed by: Louie A. Ortiz-Fonseca

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“Some of us are presently in that one in four and know first hand that the epidemic is being driven by racism, homophobia, poverty and stigma. Some of us know that we bear the great burden of HIV infection in our community. Unfortunately, only some us know that these statistics DO NOT mean that we have failed each other or that we have not been doing our best to sustain ourselves as Latino MSM. What these statistics mean is that the system and the prevention organizations charged with reaching us have failed us on many levels.”

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resurrections are real.

to all of the varones who once lied on hospital beds with a sinking t-cell count counting the minutes until you could hold down down your food.

to all of the varones who avoided looking into mirrors because the sunken face reflection did not reflect the beauty you behold.

to all of the varones who pieced themselves back together piece by piece after the violence of stigma left them broken and beat. to all the varones who survive life by surviving one night at a muthafuggin’ time.

we salute you.

we praise you.

because even AIDS, stigma, homophobia, racism, white supremacy, and oppression can’t keep us from rising. and when we become ancestors, we will continue rise in the voices of those who speak our names without shame.

so keep rising varones because resurrections are real.

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so former first lady nancy reagan passed away and folks were posting left and right how wicked nancy reagan was for having once turned her back on her good friend rock hudson as he lied dying to complications of HIV. apparently, it has been a slow day because people who consider themselves advocates for those living with HIV were pissed that this happened.

ok, let us to try understand this. nancy reagan, miss say “just say no”, who created the national “just say no to drugs” campaign that helped to usher in the zero-tolerance policies that laid the foundation for the school-to-prison pipeline that has impacted millions of young black and latino students, is monster because she ignored the pleas of a white and wealthy socialite?

nancy, a woman who is celebrated for fierce loyalty to her husband. nancy, the wife of the president that watched as AIDS ravaged communities and did absolutely NOTHING to stop it? a president that was committed to preventing others from doing shit to stop it? the president who’s legacy is the deaths of thousands upon thousands of people? knowing this - we are supposed to be mad and enraged that she and the president ignored the pleas of a dying hudson? chyle, are we as HIV advocates that desperate for something to be mad at? seriously, are we mad because a privileged white, rich and affluent gay man could not use his privilege to access care that many in our communities could never and DID NOT get? would we be celebrating miss nancy if she DID NOT turn her back on him while black and latino communities were left to their own devices? y'all straight trippin’ boo!

miss nancy did exactly what the US government did in 1985 - ignored people living with and dying from AIDS. she was only keeping it real and was like “rocky, gurl, you ain’t hear? i just say no. so, about that request of yours…chyle, why you playin’ we don’t do that. we don’t do anything!”

no one should have had to die - no one. it is 2016 and we are still fighting for varones to get adequate care to manage their HIV. so the shame, fear and helplessness that rock must have no doubt experienced is something that NO ONE should have to ever go through. the fact that people still do should been at pisses us not the how miss nancy turned her back.

y'all need something to be mad at? peep the latest CDC HIV statistics and how the larger lgbtq organizations continue to turn their backs on trans women, black and latino men living with HIV.

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OUR TONGUES ARE UNTIED

for years, black and latino gay men and men who have sex with men have been ringing the alarm on how HIV has been ravaging our communities. we have consistently been asked “where are the statistics? where are the numbers? where is the proof?” of course, our lives and experiences were never enough. we needed a government study to tell us what we already know. yesterday the proof arrived. are we surprised? fuck no! but that does not take the sting away.

according to a new CDC study, 1 in 2 black gay men and 1 in 4 latino gay men will become HIV-positive if the current rate of infection continues. this shit means that black and latino gay men are more likely to contract HIV than white gay men. but again, we have already known this – for years!

since the release of this report, there been a few articles shining light on this and rightfully so. unfortunately,  most have them failed to include the voice and perspective of latino gay men. this cannot continue. just because an advocate says “gay men of color” does not give them permission to speak for us – we have our own god damn voice. to prove this fact, here are the responses of latino gay/queer* men to the CDC report. our tongues are untied.

“The thing that pisses me off is that I never get to read that study. Broad public health initiatives obviously help for reasons that, I bet, are less obvious. But here’s the kicker: whatever the result of *that* study, we can act on that information. What the hell am I supposed to do with the information that one in four gay Latinos are going to contract HIV? Stop being gay? Stop being Latino?”

Eddie Santiago Beck – Miami, Florida


“But yet people are getting black/brown $$$$’s to serve our community and all we see is increases in their salaries. I need federal and state funders to get up and pay attention. You can’t give money to an all white organization and expect them to step out their comfort zone (the office) and enter the ‘hood to talk to black/brown lives and hope they understand. Organizations can’t plaster white faces on programs that are meant to serve black/brown lives and hope they can get through to them. What does it look like a white individual walking through heart of North and West Philly and there first words are “HIV TEST.” My apologies, some people will never understand the culture differences. Start putting them millions of dollars back into the community and begin to build relationships within the community. I was taught that you never go to a gathering empty handed. There are bigger issues than an HIV test, like shelter, food, clothing and so much more.”

Luis Berrios, Philadelphia


“Like, “look! We’ve discovered this disparity! Just giving you a heads up!” But are they gonna fund programs specific to us?  Lead by us?  Designed by us?  With faces that look like us so our general public will give a fuck? Wtf is actually going on though? Are we surprised? We’ve been telling people, usually white, that we’ve been in danger. This is fucking staggering. Half y’all, HALF, of black “MSM” projected to be diagnosed in their life time. And A WHOLE ENTIRE QUARTER of Latinos. I’m left to wonder where our Afro-Latino family falls.”

Ayden Castellanos - Rio Grande Valley, Texas


“Each community has a unique experience and we need to engaged in those communities and those disproportionately impacted by HIV. 1 out of 4 Latino gay men will be diagnosis with HIV in their lifetime. We need to assure inclusion at all levels with engagement strategies tailored to those unique needs and the reality we face as Latino gay men living in America.”

Richard LaBoy – Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 


“The CDC is always making vast statistics about black and Latino men. But what pisses me off more is that they don’t fuckin aid in the fight to end the rising numbers. How many proposals, or research projects does the CDC need to show that we aren’t receiving the same amount of care and attention that is needed? Why is the CDC and AACO funding these organizations that aren’t doing a damn thing for us until it is too late? Why are we celebrating the accomplishments of individuals who have stated they won’t go into North Philly or test Latinos because of a simple solution to a language barrier problem? It’s fuckin ridiculous! Most researched never have never stepped into the ‘hood. They never do the ground work but they can sit in their offices creating statistics.”

Xander Lopez, – Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 


“Someone posted the picture of the CDC Report on Instagram and he asked for thoughts and a lot of people gave heated and emotional responses. Well, one guy put a great comment that sticks in my mind when I hear these statistics. He said something to the affect about how we should not just get pissed at the connotations in the statistics but use it as a driving forces to create a better society for ourselves. One in which we feel free to discuss openly about HIV with our partners, family, and communities without fear and stigma because that in the end will bring those rates down. That stays with me.”

Anthony Leon – Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 


“These statistics DO NOT mean that we have failed ourselves. These statistics mean that the system and prevention services have FAILED us. We Latino and Afro-Latino gay men are NOT “hard to reach.” We are reaching out to each other, building community and providing whatever support needed to sustain ourselves - and with very little and limited resources.”

Louie A. Ortiz-Fonseca, Washington, DC

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In 1989 in response to the worsening AIDS crisis and coinciding with the World Health Organization’s second annual World AIDS Day on December 1, Visual AIDS organized the first Day Without Art. A Visual AIDS committee of art workers (curators, writers, and art professionals) sent out a call for “mourning and action in response to the AIDS crisis” that would celebrate the lives and achievements of lost colleagues and friends; encourage caring for all people with AIDS; HIV education; and finding a cure. More than 800 arts organizations, museums and galleries throughout the U.S. participated by shrouding artworks and replacing them with information about HIV and safer sex, locking their doors or dimming their lights, and producing exhibitions, programs, readings, memorials, rituals, and performances.

In 1997, it was suggested Day Without Art become a Day With Art, to recognize and promote increased programming of cultural events that draw attention to the continuing pandemic. Though “the name was retained as a metaphor for the chilling possibility of a future day without art or artists.

The AIDS crisis in the 80’s and 90’s STOLE so many brilliant minds, hearts and spirits from our communities.

Don’t let HIV stigma do the same.

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“I’m your mother,” she said. It was more than a declaration, it was a reminder that her kids would never have to feel orphaned in a world where AIDS, violence, poverty and homophobia would surely steal their magic. It was the early 1980’s, pre-gentrified New York, years before “transgender” and “gender non-conforming” were part of our everyday vocabulary.  Back then you were either gay or a drag queen. But Angie, was a goddess. She was a mother.

Raised in the Bronx, Angie Xtravaganza, at age 13, walked away from a violent home and directly into the vision of herself. Some say that we seek justice in the same places where it was carved out from us. This is how Angie lived her life. After surviving family violence, she created her own. “I’m your mother.”

Angie Xtravaganza, was a founding member of the Legendary House of Xtravaganza. Her fierce leadership is credited for the swift rise of Latinos in the ballroom in the early 80’s. By the early 90’s, the House garnered mainstream recognition when Angie was featured in the 1990 documentary film “Paris Is Burning.” As a young teen, I remember hearing other young Latino gay boys talk about the House of Xtravaganza. “Loca, if I was in that house, these faggots would not be able to take me.” Of course there were the ones who would outright say, “I was just voted into the house.” I knew that it wasn’t true but it was clear that the New York based House had connected with the Latino LGBT community in Philadelphia. Everyone wanted Angie to be their mother.

When founding Father Hector Xtravaganza died from complications of AIDS in 1985, it was Angie’s love and her “I’m your mother” approach to healing that kept the House of Xtravaganza on course to become legendary. When her daughter Venus Xtravaganza was found murdered in 1988 at the age of 23, it was Angie’s ruthless commitment to her vision of family that kept the House together in a world that would have taken pleasure in watching them fall apart. She was a fighter. She herself would say, “Don’t let the dress fool you!” She was a warrior mother who loved her kids through every battle – even the one she would eventually lose.

In 1991, when Angie was tested positive for HIV, over 100,000 Americans had already succumbed to the epidemic. Those who survived were often reminded of the odds against them. Mother Angie had lived a life of battling against every odd – HIV would be no exception. Her will to be a mother was just simply stronger.

In the 1993 article “Slap of Love” penned by Pulitzer Prize winning author Michael Cunningham, Frank Xtravaganza shared that Angie, weeks before her death, took him out to dance his heartbreak away at Sound Factory Bar. A drag mother will not only buck you up when you’re feeling rejected. Unlike most other mothers, a drag mother will spray her wig and take you out herself.

Iconic Mother Angie Xtravaganza died on March 31, 1993 at the tender age of 28. Her loss was felt through-out the ballroom community. Three weeks after her death, the New York Times printed a large picture of her with the headline, “Paris has Burned” in the Style Section. Writer Jesse Green wrote of Angie in the article: “And as mother of the House of Xtravaganza, Angie had taken many rejected, wayward, even homeless children under her wing; she had fed them, observed their birthdays, taught them all about ‘walking the balls.’ Competing in categories like High-Fashion Eveningwear and Alexis vs. Krystle, Angie was legendary, a Queen among queens, achieving in fantasy what the world had denied her in reality.”

Twenty two years later, Angie Xtravaganza’s indomitable spirit remains a fundamental part of the House and a vital part of our collective history as queer Latinos. So on this Trans Day of Remembrance and Resilience, we celebrate the memory and movement of Miss Angie Xtravaganza. And we echo the powerful words of Karl Xtravaganza, “In many ways, the continuing existence of the House of Xtravaganza twenty two years after Angie’s passing is a living tribute to her vision and strength of character. She is the bravest woman I’ve ever known.”

special thanks for Karl Xtravaganza for his support during the writing of this piece. 

for information or to keep up with the Legendary House of Xtravaganza, like them on Facebook 

1994 classic house music track “X” by Junior Vasquez.  The record was produced a year after Angie’s passing.  If you look closely at the label, it bears the dedication “In memory of Angie Xtravaganza”.  It went on to become one of the defining underground house music tracks of the 90s and is still a dancefloor favorite today.  

The 2014 track “Xtravaganzas” by percussionist, band leader, trans activist and House of Xtravganza member Koko Jones, is a tribute to the history and spirit of the House, with lyrics such as “Mother Angie in the pages of Vogue, they taught Madonna how to strike a pose”.  

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Louie: You are the “heart and soul” of ACT UP Philadelphia, describe what is the current state of AIDS in our community?

Jose: We are silent, and what HIV history has taught us over that last 3 decades is SILENCE = DEATH. When we stop being silent and demand what we need we will stop being infected, and dying.

When Governor Wolf was candidate Wolf he said he would make an announcement to END AIDS in Pa by 2020. He said that to my face and shook my hand. No he cannot end AIDS but it is possible to dramatically lower infection rates. Easy access to HIV meds and access to Prep to those at high risk. Especially young Latino and black MSM and trans folks. His office will not return phone calls or requests for a meeting. Just like former Gov. Tom Corbett, he said he would use medicaid dollars to house homeless people with chronic illnesses. People with AIDS are still dying in the street. Especially Kensington. How long do we wait? How many new infections? How many more die homeless with AIDS?

- Jose DeMarco, Philadelphia

Interviewed by: Louie A. Ortiz-Fonseca

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In December of 1995, the FDA approved the release of saquinavir. It would be the first of a new class of drugs called protease inhibitors. This was the biggest AIDS breakthrough because for many, AIDS went from being a death sentence to a manageable disease. Finally, there was some hope. Fast forward 20 years later, we have been presented with another “breakthrough”: HIV stigma and witch hunt is still alive. 

No one, regardless of social standing, status or privilege should ever be backed into a corner and forced to disclose their HIV status.

Much has already been written about Charlie Sheen and he will probably dominate the national conversation about HIV. While we welcome the much needed conversation, we must not allow it to over shadow the thousands of Black and Latino gay men and Trans* women who continue to be disproportionately impacted by both the virus and violence of stigma. We must also ensure that their work in our communities does not go noticed and without celebration.

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I moved back from Orlando because I was diagnosed with HIV, I tried doing it on my own and I just couldn’t do it mentally, physically and emotionally. I just had no stability, that comfort to have somebody there. So I ended up moving back to Philly...

I moved back from Orlando because I was diagnosed with HIV, I tried doing it on my own and I just couldn’t do it mentally, physically and emotionally. I just had no stability, that comfort to have somebody there. So I ended up moving back to Philly to be with my mom, my father, my family. They were my support system. They were the ones who took care of me. There were the ones who made sure I was okay with everything. I didn’t have that in Florida because I was on my own. I went to work and came home to myself. Yeah, I had friends. They knew but they did not understand; that was brand new to them. And they tried their best to support me but they just couldn’t grasp the idea of why I had HIV.

When I was first diagnosed, I wanted my parents to be the first to know. I called my mom. You could tell that she had a sense of worry. She just said “everything we be ok. We’re going to get through this together. “ From a mother to a son, I trusted her and I believed her and I sit here today.

Jorian, 22, Philadelphia

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