The AIDS crisis of the 1980s and 1990s was not just a public health disaster—it was a brutal testament to governmental and societal-wide neglect and systemic hatred toward queer and trans communities. As the virus ravaged gay men, trans women, drug users, and sex workers, those in power actively turned away, indifferent to the suffering of people they deemed easily disposable. 

The Reagan administration, in particular, met the epidemic with chilling silence, or worse, as a joke. Reagan refused even to say "AIDS” publicly. And it wasn’t until the late 1980s, after thousands had already died, that he would give his first public address regarding the epidemic. Funding for research and treatment was delayed, while media, politicians, and religious institutions fueled homophobic stigma, blaming victims rather than offering compassion, care, or support. Although the virus was wreaking havoc on heterosexual people, as well, it was still widely spoken about as a uniquely and exclusively gay disease, which only further morally and politically justified their neglect.

Queer and trans communities were left to fend for themselves, organizing underground networks of support when the government abandoned them. Groups like ACT UP and the Gay Men’s Health Crisis emerged and fought back with protests, direct action, and mutual aid networks. They demanded action as their friends and lovers died from preventable deaths. Despite these struggles, the death toll climbed, the response remained sluggish, exposing how little queer and trans lives mattered to those in power.

The legacy of this neglect lingers today. Many of the same systems that failed during the AIDS crisis continue to criminalize, exclude, and endanger queer and trans people, particularly those who are Black, Brown, or poor. The crisis was never solely about a virus. But a society built on a necropolitical system—the politics of who a society's power structure allows to live or who to die. It is essential to remember this history, including both the neglect and the resistance to it, as an act of defiance, a refusal to let the lives lost be forgotten, and a demand for justice that remains outstanding. 

Altar to Our Ancestors

Honoring those who came before us

"Some of the missing T cells were lost to racism, a well known transmittable disease. Some of them were lost to poverty because there was no money to do something about the plumbing before the pipes burst and the room flooded. Homophobia killed quite a few, but so did my rage and my pointed furies."

― Essex Hemphill, Vital Signs

Connie Norman

A trans woman and ACT UP activist, Norman was known as the "AIDS Diva" for her electrifying speeches. She fought for AIDS awareness and trans rights, bridging gaps between movements.

Essex Hemphill

One of the more influential figures during the Black gay and lesbian artistic renaissance of the 1980s, serving as both an activist and a poet. Essex Hemphill’s writings and public performances highlighted the intersections of race, sexuality, and HIV/AIDS.  

Portals of Remembrance

With this legacy in mind, Kinfolk is pleased to present an exhibition in partnership with NYC AIDS Memorial titled Portals of Remembrance, which restructures the New York City AIDS Memorial as a living, interactive space where history, memory, and innovation converge. Through augmented reality (AR), the exhibition allows participants to personally engage with three virtual monuments molded by Derek Fordjour, Egyptt LaBeija, Tourmaline, and Jacolby Satterwhite—artists whose art disrupts dominant narratives and re-centers those whose contributions in the political struggles surrounding HIV/AIDS have been marginalized. Each monument serves as a digital portal, uncovering the legacies of activists, artists, caregivers, and communities whose contributions have been undermined and overshadowed.

Our immersive storytelling platform transforms the Memorial into a dynamic canvas, where contemporary technology bridges the gap between history and our current reality. Visitors are invited to use their smartphones to activate the AR installations, encountering vivid, layered narratives that highlight and celebrate resilience and resistance, while also critiquing the structures that necessitate the conditions for such. Derek Fordjour’s, for example, through striking visual language offers a damning criticism of stalled progress and premature death, specifically with how it marked African American communities. Egyptt LaBeija and Tourmaline's offer a lovely tribute to Black queer and trans resilience in the face of an impending communal erasure. While Jacolby Satterwhite’s surreal digital landscapes highlight a brilliant musician, by the name of Sylvester, whose Black queer vibrancy made waves through the music industry during a time where queerness was actively and violently refused.

The merging of art, history, and technology, Portals of Remembrance challenges passive remembrance, urging us all to be active participants in preserving the sanctity of these legacies of queer and trans struggle, resistance, resilience, and community—especially during the current period where there is an active war against our communities happening outside. The exhibition not only pays tribute to the past but also sparks dialogue about ongoing struggles for equity in healthcare and commemoration, ensuring that the lessons of the HIV/AIDS crisis remain urgently relevant.

Stay Connected

📲 Download the Kinfolk App → Explore our AR archive

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💲 Donate to Kinfolk Tech Foundation → Help expand Kinfolk’s narrative offerings

Until next time,

ravon, josh, idris, and the Kinfolk team