Dear Luis Berrios:

Yesterday, the institution that identifies itself as the “justice” system failed you. It did not provide you the justice and healing that you so rightfully deserve. You watched officers who not only assaulted you and your partner, but tried to steal your humanity. They almost succeeded too. They are trained very well to do just that. But you, Mr. Luis Berrios, are a fuckin’ warrior.

Justice failed the moment you had to endure a brutal beating both physically and verbally. Justice failed us all the moment the courts dismissed your allegations and your pleadings. Justice failed you long before you walked into that court room. But even then, your quest for justice was not diminished. You walked into that court room like the fuckin’ warrior you are.

So for that, I want to sincerely thank you. There is no medication to treat homophobia, violence and racism. There is no magic pill that can completely heal us. But this is what I do know – warriors like you remind us all that personal freedom and justice cannot be provided by a racist and oppressive system, it is something that we must provide to ourselves and each other.

Those of us who are at close proximity to institutionalized racism and oppression are most are often times most at risk for police violence. Your courage and fearlessness has provided healing for those of us who are still surviving the realities police violence. You have not just continued the conversation about police violence in Philadelphia but you have expanded the conversation to include LGBT Latinos.

Many of us do not feel protected by the police. Many of us do not even feel represented by those who claim to work with the police to advocate on our behalf. Many of us have not even had the language or platform to articulate these experiences. You have helped to create this platform. This is why fellow varones and other members from our community showed up to stand with you and by you every morning during your trial. This is why you are a fuckin’ warrior.

Lou, you have reminded us that our silence as a community equals more violence. You reminded us that our quest for social justice must be ruthless, raw and unapologetic. You, my dear, are a fuckin’ warrior.

Please know that your commitment to not remain silent has freed others from the shame of not having an opportunity and support to fight back. This my love, is the truest testament of social justice: us healing us.

The system failed you. It has failed all of us. We, however, we have not failed each other because we are warriors.

- Louie A. Ortiz- Fonseca

to read the details about about Luis Berrios’ lawsuit against the city of Philadelphia, read a recent PGN Article. 

“Caminando, mirando una estrella.Walking, looking at a star
Caminando, oyendo una voz. Walking, listening to a voice
Caminando, siguiendo la huella, Walking, following a footstep
Caminando, que otro camino. Walking the path]that someone else walked
Caminando, buscando a la vida. Walking, searching for life
Caminando, buscando al amor. Walking, looking for love
Caminando, curando la herida, Walking, healing the wound
Caminando, que deja el dolor! Walking, to leave the pain behind”
                                                                                            - Rubén Blades

I still get nervous walking down streets alone. Or when I walk into a barbershop. Or while I am just fucking walking and minding my business. There is a part of me that still telling me to hold my breath and brace my spirit for the sound of the word “faggot.” Sometimes, it doesn’t even have to be spoken. People can say it with their eyes. This is why I still hold my breath whenever I am walking.

I saw you and your friends as we crossed the street. My friends and I were coming from the opening rally of the Philly Trans* March. We were feeling inspired. We were also feeling angry that yet another black trans* woman had been murdered, this time in our city. We were walking with that weighing heavy on our minds and hearts.

You and your 4 friends glanced at us; all of you, black and brown, reminding me of my 13 year old son. I could see the curiosity in your eyes. I could see the smirk creeping across your face as you noticed that one of us had on skinny jeans and two of us were holding hands. I could feel the jokes formulating in your minds, sense the giggles about to burst from your lips. I saw it and I looked away hoping you would make a different decision.

As my friends and I chatted about the best way to meet up with the Trans* March, one of you shouted “Ewww you’re gay!” I am not sure whose lips spewed those words but I know exactly where the hell they landed. My first instinct was to go off but instead, I said aloud “Black and Brown lives matter. Right now, even in this moment.”

As we continued walking, we heard a voice shout “Which one of you is the guy?” Implying that one of us was less than a man because of who you assumed we were. We heard you laugh that laugh that communicated “Ha! Faggot!”  

We kept walking. We nervously laughed it off. I was burning on the inside. I was trying to manage my anger. I was doing a great a job too – until you approached us, from behind, on your bikes. I was blind with rage and I let ya’ll know, loud and clear:

“I dare y’all to say that shit to my face. I will smack your ass off of that damn bike. I dare you!”

Y’all looked taken aback, as if you were taught that harassing men like us was okay, maybe even the “normal” thing to do. But clearly you missed the lesson on our refusal to stay silent.

You surrounded us on your bikes. I was too enraged to even notice that we stumbled into a wedding party of white folks posing for photos. I approached y’all and shouted “Why would you wanna make someone feel bad on purpose? Why would you want to do that?”

You stood silent as if you were just now realizing that your words actually had power—the power to make grown-ups feels like shit. All of your faces reminded me of my son. All of your faces reminded me I was a father. The space fell silent. I stood still, quietly re-evaluating my approach. I knew then that a bridge was going to be built, however painful, and this bridge was going to get us BOTH across what felt like an endless divide.

“Keep it down. Can’t you see they are trying to take wedding photos? And why are you trying to make them [the teens] feel bad?”

You and your friends heard this uninformed, self-entitled scolding dished out from a passerby as a permission slip. You felt, as the silence broke, suddenly empowered to call us faggots as you got back on your bikes and road away. The white woman kept shouting as she walked away, cheering you and your friends on.

You may not have noticed that an entire wedding party of white people was not only laughing at ALL OF US but also filming and snapchatting the scene as we stood there, utterly horrified and dehumanized. It was clear that the white woman who cheered you on would have rather seen us called faggots than see black and brown people try to heal and build community. You may not have noticed that the entire wedding party of white people literally laugh at our expense – at the expense of a group of black and brown folks. These are the very same white folks who, any other day, would have clutched their purses and phones if y’all had approached them on the street.

I walked away returning to the march feeling a tremendous loss, of not only my temper and composure, but a loss of a piece of my humanity.  Truly, a loss of connection, both as an elder and father.

My screaming and shouting will never be the motivation you and your friends need to make a different decision.  My shouting will only teach you all not to get caught teasing people. That was not the lesson I wanted to share that day. I wanted to say “You hurt me. You embarrassed me. Your words hold all the weight in the world because you are the world.” I wanted to remind you that all those who were laughing at us will laugh at you soon. That really, we are not so different, and that we are united in a greater struggle. That this petty hatred will tear us apart. That it is in these very moments, when toxic messages of socialized hate show up within our own “families”, we must remember love.

I wanted to take back every word. I wanted to replace every “I would smack the hell out of you” to “I will love you harder because that is what we MUST all do.” I wanted to tell you that my heart was broken and you had the power and opportunity to provide healing. But white supremacy and homophobia prevented that.

I want you to know that you and I tried. I know you did because y’all stopped riding your bikes and gave me the floor to speak. I wish our few moments together were different.  But we don’t always get second chances. We don’t get to undo trauma. We simply get to process and move on – if we are lucky.

Yesterday, as my son and I walked around in the super market, I told him this story. His immediate response was “I wish I were there because…” I stopped him and said “Baby, you were. Those kids were young teens, just like you. They were beautiful just like you. They were all coming into an understanding of their power just like you.” He looked puzzled for a few moments and then said, “Maybe no one told them that teasing people is wrong. Maybe they forgot that ALL black lives matter, even you and your friends.”  Then, he took my hand in his, and we walked.

Danny Pintauro owes me an apology.

Danny Pintauro is the type of person I cannot stand in the advocate/activist field. I have heard about other people who seem to speak without thought. “They mean well. They’re new to this work. They just need to be taught.” Fuck that. If someone chooses to be a representative for any cause, it would be in their best interest and the best interest of their cause for them to, maybe, I don’t know, do some research. Read a few articles or studies. Watch a documentary or interview.

Before I hear “He didn’t choose this. He disclosed and people started asking him those questions.” He accepted that chat with Oprah. He accepted that sit down with those morons on The View. He accepted that magazine interview. He is accepting each appearance he is making and without preparation.
Pintauro has set our community back. Science is science. Oral transmission of HIV has never been reported. Oral sex is referenced as a “safer” option when having condomless sex. Many of us who work in this industry are trained with this knowledge. Trained to offer oral sex over penetrative sex as an option to folks, who may not use condoms for whatever reason, to reduce the risk of HIV transmission. So when Danny, an HIV positive person (that gives him ALL the merit in the world), says that he was infected by oral sex and that “It’s that easy.” He kinda messes it up for a lot of us.

Like those of us who may be in a magnetic relationship with a partner whose mother is afraid of you ruining her child’s life. Or those of us who are beaten or murdered because we failed to disclose our undetectable status to someone we used a condom with. Or those of us who are jailed because we are diseased and dangerous to the public. Because, it’s that easy.
The logic for someone who only knows what they hear on television about HIV will probably be, “It’s as easy as a blowjob to get HIV. So any other sexual activity is probably way more dangerous.”

I have been asked time and time again if I know how I got it or who gave it to me. I don’t, nor do I care. I don’t care because it’s not conducive to my health. Because it won’t change my status. I don’t care because there’s no point in assigning blame to anyone for being HIV positive. I think the only reason I’d like to know would be to make sure that person did find out their status and is in good health. Which is allegedly what Pintauro wants. Except for the fact that he went on to say about the man he thinks infected him “The lifestyle he was leading was really irresponsible.” What? I understand that substance abuse is a bitch. Believe me. But if I was high off my ass and putting myself at risk at the same time with someone, I would not say “Dude was super reckless. Not me.”
This was an attempt to make the audience view Danny as an innocent victim who got “the AIDS” because of “the gay lifestyle”. I’m all for a good consensual, anonymous bareback session. Live your life be happy, but when you toss drugs into the mix there are some factors of risk that you may want to consider. Risks that you accept with or without inhibitions. I’ve taken some of those risks that could very well be the reason I sero-converted, however, I have never felt the need to defend how I was infected. I’m not sorry that I am positive. No one should be.

Danny owes an apology to everyone. I am personally pissed off because I’ve sat through terribly dehumanizing conversations trying to help people understand that I am not dangerous. We work so hard to improve not only the quality of health for those with HIV but the quality of life as well.

Danny Pintauro got bored of managing a PF Changs and now wants to be a poster boy. That’s fine and dandy, Danny. Just do the work and the research.

written by: Adrian Castellanos

Adrian Castellanos is a twenty-three year old HIV and AIDS advocate/activist. He was born and raised in the southern-most part of Texas known as the Rio Grande Valley. A border area of Texas to Mexico and South Padre Island.

Adrian studied art and fashion for a brief amount of time in Texas before he moved on to becoming a hair stylist in his home town.

At twenty one, Castellanos’ path was redirected as he was diagnosed with AIDS, while he spent two weeks in a hospital room, he decided to “make his mess his message”. Since being diagnosed on March 26, 2014 he has gone on to receive a Youth Initiative Scholarship to attend USCA in OCT. 2014, acquire a position with the Valley AIDS Council (the only HIV/AIDS Agency in his area) JAN. 2015, receive a separate scholarship to attend AIDSWatch in APR. 2015 and receive a Social Media Fellows Scholarship to USCA 2015. Adrian now spends his time doing free HIV screenings at two universities in his area and for the community with his agency. He also participates in outreach and education efforts to raise awareness within his community.

Castellanos utilizes social media to deconstruct stigma and engage with as many people as possible. He is just out of his first year of diagnoses but already has a strong outlook on what he plans to do for the fight to end the epidemic.

You can follow Adrian at:
facebook.com/aydenplus
Twitter.com/_ayden_plus

I write this to all varones involved in and impacted by the two violent fights that took place in Philly’sGayborhood on March 11^th and March 12^th.

I wanted to address this issue because I understand that our silence means more violence. We may not hang out or even be friends on Facebook but our mere existence, the community we are inherently a part of, is what connects us. We have all walked the streets of North Philly either ready to fight or purposely falling deaf whenever we heard the word faggot. We have all had to become harder to protect our hearts, our mental health, our humanity and ourselves. This is what binds us. This is what now threatens to tear us a part.

It would be dishonest for me to say that I was anything less than horrified by the details of the violence that occurred. I would be lying if I said that I did not immediately and involuntarily choose a side by making someone right and someone wrong, a coping mechanism to explain the continued cycle of violence. But then I remember what my aunt Janet once told me, “People find power in the strangest places.” Her words echo through me, making sense of something senseless. On last Wednesday and Thursday night, a few found power in creating physical pain and watching rivers of blood flow.  

Choosing sides does a disservice to the process of revealing the truth behind heartbreaking events like this. I am committed to not choosing sides because I know it is a set up. We, Latino gay/queer* men are set up to hate those who look and sound like us. We are socialized to be angry all of the time.  I get it, survival of the fittest. You can cry, but fists must fly either before or after the massacre. I get it. We are sending a message.

No one will ever make us feel dumb again. No one will ever make us look stupid and if they do, then they must pay for every time someone made you feel less than human. I know, I have been there and even now I sometimes just want to rage and set the world ablaze when someone attempts to make it even more difficult to be a Latino gay man. But I don’t and Lord knows it requires so much faith in the beauty of the world that prevents me from starting that fire.

I wish we had as much courage to fight oppression, as we have to fight each other. I wish we knew that the presence of another gran varones’ magic is not the absence of our own. I wish we could remember that the pain of feeling ugly, dumb, fat and invisible is not an isolated feeling. I wish we knew that we are all fighting our own battles daily. I wish we knew that we are all enough and beautiful as we are.

I hope these recent or any violent event does not make you even harder. I hope that this does not dim any of the light that you provide the universe. It is our duty to stand with, by and for each other. Violence and anger will not sustain us. It cannot. It will not protect us from all that is working against us.

With this letter I am asking you to summon the courage to love yourself and each other harder. We must occupy this void. We must be willing to build a castle TOGETHER with all the bricks that society alone throws at us. Our survival requires no less. Until we recognize the beauty and wonder in each other as gran varones, we will always struggle with finding it in ourselves.

In love, community and solidarity,

Louie A. Ortiz-Fonseca

This past weekend I found myself at a crossroads. Do I stand in my commitment as an unapologetic Boricua activist? Or do I silence myself in the hopes that some friendships will be spared? Working and having friends in the non-profit field makes it difficult to maintain transparency and hold friends, colleagues, and fellow revolutionaries accountable without the cost of friendship. I seriously struggled to answer these questions and often found myself conflicted, but the universe is amazing and always provides the answer that inspires movement.  

On Saturday, a 20-year-old, brown-skinned, Puerto Rican, gay youth reached out and expressed that he was interested in having his photo taken for our project. The caveat was that I had to travel to where he was. Generally, this is not an issue as we always meet Gran Varones where they are, but this one happened to live across the street from where my younger brother was murdered.  Knowing this stung, but I had little time to process this piece of information so I told myself, “You’ll be ok. Just have an extra Long Island at Stimulus tonight.”

The living room was lit by two lamps. Blankets were hanging from every doorway to keep in the warmth provided by the space heaters. I pretended not to notice the hot plate on the floor by the couch. I pretended not to be harkened back to my childhood, where our living room resembled this. I pretended not to remember the feeling of shame for not having a “beautiful” house. But then I caught myself pretending too much, and so I stopped.

“the space filled with light, laughter, and love illuminated by resiliency. I left with the reminder that this is the beauty of community, our community.”

“Welcome to the palace,” said an unapologetic, gender-bending Latino sitting on the couch. He was seated next to the person I had come to photograph but I was intrigued by his presence. We all began to chat about their realities. One shared how he is seeking justice for his murdered sister. The other shared that he owns the dimly lit house and refuses to move because it had belonged to his parents who have passed away.  As we shared our experiences, the space filled with light, laughter, and love illuminated by resiliency. I left with the reminder that this is the beauty of community, our community.

I share this story because this is the queer Latin@ experience that is seldom seen. We, as a community, especially Latino gay men, are often times portrayed has a “hot” and “spicy” cartoon version of who we are. This is why Galaei’s Mr. Sexo competition is problematic. In a city where there are absolutely no programs specifically designed or geared towards Latino gay men, the one queer Latin@ social justice agency puts on a show that requires gay Latino men to wear underwear in a generally White gay club to compete to win the chance of representing Galaei. Sure, one can call it a sex positive and body positive event, but let’s be real – it is a reduction and objectification of brown bodies in a community that does not even acknowledge us as whole people. I suppose this is why we should not be surprised that a White man was the winner.

“But if you do not honor, include, or show up in the community, you are not, in fact, community based.”

Some Galaei supporters have voiced that it should not matter who won, but it does. The competition is billed as the search for the most sex positive Latino in Philadelphia and a White man won. Galaei defended this in stating, “Galaei is a queer Latin@ social justice organization. Latinadad is not who we serve but how we serve, so we treat everyone like familia. And we feel the new Mr. Sexo embodies this.“ Seriously? If the agency actually believes this, then I invite them to travel to the depths of North Philly’s Puerto Rican and Dominican communities and state this. I invite them to travel to the depths of South Philly’s Mexican and Latin@ Immigrant community and declare that a White man effectively represents us as queer Latin@s.

This not only angers me but saddens me because the Latin@ queer community that exists in the beautiful neighborhoods outside of Philadelphia’s gayborhood will continue to NOT see themselves reflected in what Galaei currently represents. Let me be clear – Galaei’s mission suggests they are the home of Latin@ queers, that they are committed to being a community based organization. But if you do not honor, include, or show up in the community, you are not, in fact, community based. I challenge Galaei to unpack this claim by relocating their events like Mr. Sexo to the communities they serve.

This is not social justice. As a brown gay Latino man, I cannot accept that Galaei has worked tirelessly for 25 years just so that a White gay man can become a face of the queer Latin@ community. Galaei is in a position to create how the larger queer community sees Latin@s, and we deserve an image that represents our complete and beautiful truths.

Galaei released a statement addressing this issue, and while I commend their statement of acknowledgement, we are demanding that action follows. Our community is not in a position to just be apologized to whenever Galaei, or any other agency, unintentionally erases gay Latinos, and Mr. Sexo is not the first time. Galaei also “unintentionally” left out the only queer Latino men who participated in their SexX event earlier this year when they were not included in the promotional video subsequently posted on Facebook. Social justice is not just an apology or an acknowledgement, but intentional actions that move our community forward.

I get it. My letter will not create HIV prevention programs that are desperately needed for Latino gay men. It alone will not create housing and supportive programs that are desperately needed. It will not heat our homes in North Philly.  Which leads me to question:

1. How does the Mr. Sexo competition move our queer Latin@ community forward?
2. How does Galaei intend on creating opportunities for queer Latin@ representation?
3. How does Galaei intend to embody social justice in a tangible way?
4. How does Galaei intend on including queer Latin@s who do not frequent the gayborhood in program development?

As an agency, Galaei may or may not have answers to these questions yet, but I will provide a hard reminder: Social justice means knowing the answers to these questions or actively working with the community to identify them.  Sometimes those answers are found in the dimly-lit houses in North Philly and not on the dancefloor at Woody’s.

“This is what social justice, loving courageously, and intentional actions look like.”

As a project, The Gran Varones was founded to create visibility of Latino gay men in ways that celebrate us as whole people and not just pieces of meat to be devoured. We did this with zero dollars. We did this with absolutely nothing but the sheer desire and commitment to see ourselves in each other. We are committed to building community and holding ourselves and each other accountable. This is what social justice, loving courageously, and intentional actions look like.

I believe in Galaei’s potential to actually become a home for Latin@ queers again. As I’ve publicly stated before, my involvement with Galaei as a teen changed the entire course of my life. It’s not lost upon me that Gran Varones could not exist without the road paved by Galaei. However, Galaei will continue to stray from their commitments to “Latinidad” and “familia” until they recognize that we, as a community, can and do embody that for ourselves.

Sincerely,

Louie A. Ortiz

Signed in solidarity by:

Qui Alexander

David Agosto

Eric Bultes

Giovanni Huaccamayta-Jauregi

Richard LaBoy

Robert LaBoy

Anthony Leon

Joey Martinez

Josue Oyola

Andrew Rivera

Chris Rivera

Louis Santiago

Angelito Yvonne