Different Year, Same Advocate: Reflecting on 10 Years of HIV Research and Advocacy

My grandma likes to joke that I could argue before forming sentences. Reflecting on my days as a tiny toddler (I was born three months early), she tells me stories of how I refused to eat certain foods, and unlike other grandkids, none of her tricks worked. No fake plane or food train motion would overcome me; as my grandma says, “If this food were a train, Deion would tell you there ain't no tracks.”  She never pressured me to conform.  Instead, she told my parents, “his stubbornness will be a benefit one day. Nobody gon make that boy do nothing he don’t wanna do!” My grandma seemed to know I was an advocate far before others. She was undoubtedly correct.

I’ve now made a career out of being an award-winning debate coach and HIV advocate. Like the foundation of a home, being an advocate is a core part of who I am. Asking me to stay silent is like asking the ocean not to wave – it's against the very nature of its existence.

Different Year, Same Advocate.  

In early elementary school, I protested because the teacher overruled a majority rule vote regarding a book. She asked the class which book we preferred, and with childhood glee and excitement, we shouted The Magic School Bus.  She chose the other book. I asked why we voted, and refused to read.

Later in elementary school, students with disabilities (“special needs/special education” at the time) were not allowed to participate in recess, only indoor activities. Even at that young age, this level of injustice irritated me beyond belief, and most troubling, adults in the room could not answer a simple question: “Why would students in special education classes not like recess?” The teacher responded, “We just don’t have the time,” or “That is just how it is.” I quickly refuted, “But isn’t it 30 minutes for everyone?” or “That’s how it is. Does it have to stay that way?” My teacher was irritated that I escalated this issue to the principal. My parents, on the other hand, were proud.  By the end of the semester, students with disabilities had access to recess and games specifically designed for maximum participation and engagement.

In 11th grade, during Pre-Calculus class, a teacher who frequently vocalized her desire for and journey to retirement told me I asked too many questions and that “if I couldn’t understand it, perhaps it is too advanced for me.” I told her that was rude and that I had every right to ask questions, including, “Does today end in Y?” The class was amused. She was not. 

  She called home and quickly realized that my mother had passed down my argumentation and strong temperament, and my father had taught me “that there is no such thing as a dumb question.” Before there was NeNe Leakes, my parents invented “I Said What I Said!”

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Dr. Deion Hawkins (Image courtesy of subject)

The Journey to HIV Advocacy 

Growing up Black and gay in Indiana, I couldn’t blend in. It was like being a Cardinal (Indiana’s state bird) trying to stay hidden in pristine White snow. An impossibility. A delusion.

I learned very early that others would render me silent if I did not use my voice. If I did not flip over the table, people would pretend I was not even sitting there. So, like a Blacksmith yields a sword, I learned how to weaponize my words for social good.  Based on the abovementioned experiences, I yearned to be an equitable educator and high school debate coach. Debate is inevitably where I found my voice, where I learned how to take thoughts into concrete claims. My undergraduate degree is in English Education, but my passion for health equity and HIV advocacy was not sparked until graduate school at Marshall University.

Huntington, West Virginia - “How could this be possible?”

After completing my Bachelor’s at The Ohio State University in Columbus, Ohio, I went to Marshall University in Huntington, West Virginia. Because my graduate funding came from the debate team housed in the Department of Communication Studies, I had to shift my focus from English to Communication Studies. This shift was not too daunting, considering the study of rhetoric is frequently housed in both departments. Yet, this slight shift allowed me to discover a more profound passion than educational inequities-injustices in public health.  I did not know that a random class in Spring 2013 would change my life.

In the Spring of 2013, I took a class called “Health Communication.” At the time, health communication was a relatively new field, and we had to tackle a health disparity for our final project. I did what debaters do best-research. While I was equipped with the skills of research, I was not ready to comprehend the glaring injustice in front of me - I read that 1 in 4 young Black gay men will acquire HIV by the age of 25. I was 23 at the time. How could this be possible? At the same time, the state of West Virginia was also observing a meteoric rise in HIV due to widespread cases of Opioid Use Disorder. While others seemed to disregard HIV, I was consumed by it - where I lived and studied was experiencing an increase, and people who looked like were carrying a massive burden of recent HIV cases.

Armed with this information, like an archaeologist, I decided to dig. But I was not looking for fossils; instead, I was looking for the bones of rationale and reason. I never found them, but I did excavate other truths. (1) Most people writing about/studying Black queer men were not Black queer men, and (2) small sexual networks and structural factors were mainly to blame - not reckless sexual behavior by Black queer men. 

“Most people writing about/studying Black queer men were not Black queer men, and small sexual networks and structural factors were mainly to blame - not reckless sexual behavior by Black queer men. ”

— Dr. Deion Hawkins

In debate, we are tasked with drafting legislation, so I had ample experience with identifying and analyzing complex policies; the problem was apparent, but I wanted to be a part of the solution. But I was at a standstill- almost a year into my Master’s Program, and I knew my new passion wanted to tackle HIV in Black gay men, but with an English degree, I did not know how.

Then, I stumbled upon Testing Makes Us Stronger, one of the CDC’s first health communication campaigns targeting Black queer men and HIV testing. Immediately, I had an epiphany. The intentionality of close readings, the context of a piece of literature, and the emotion that language can reveal via tone or word choice could also be applied to social marketing campaigns. Effective health campaigns are eerily similar to constructing effective debate messages and/or teaching more persuasive writing. I now knew what I wanted to do. If I could teach 15-year-olds how to research and write, I was confident I could apply these same ideals and skills to draft more equitable and impactful health campaigns.

Washington, DC - “Where do you want your work to be seen?”

Although I had a purpose, I did not have a plan. And there were very few individuals at Marshall University who could assist me.  That changed in the Fall of 2013 when I met Dr. Andrew Spieldenner at The National Communication Association’s annual convention.  As an eager young scholar, I was anxious to attend my first conference, but surprisingly, only one presentation in the entire program was dedicated to HIV. Of course, I attended.
Andy and I remember the conversation differently, but what is abundantly clear is that this was an interaction and introduction that seemed to align like stars on the most random Wednesday night. This encounter, seemingly ordinary at first, opened up a new realm of possibilities and perspectives. 

For the first time, I saw someone who was a human first and a researcher second. Someone who did things with and for the community, not just about them. Someone who seemed to do the work for the right reasons. Someone who advocated and spoke up in the face of injustice. Andy was my possibility model. Conversations with Andy unveiled glaring issues like HIV criminalization, but they also opened my eyes to the power of community in this work. Community is our power, our salvation, and, likely, our answer.  

Andy also helped me understand the importance of going to graduate school where you could study your key population; therefore, I moved to Washington, DC, and pursued a Ph.D. at George Mason University, which is known for its critical health communication program. While I stuck out like a Cardinal in Indiana, I found my flock in Washington, both professionally and personally. From attending national conferences such as USCHA or NAESM to attending events hosted by Us Helping Us, Washington DC allowed me a network that West Virginia simply did not. 

Andy asked me a fiery question: “If people read your work, what do you want them to say? Where do you want your work to be seen?” 

“I acknowledge that HIV advocacy is ever evolving, and can look a variety of ways. Some may create art as a form of resistance. Some may advocate for policies at the state house, and others may use their influence to change the hearts and minds of their immediate circle. ”

— Dr. Deion Hawkins

It’s a journey, not a destination. 

In a full circle moment, my first piece of academic research ever published captured community responses to Testing Makes Us Stronger, the campaign that ignited my fire for health equity and was reviewed by Andy, the man who continued to protect my flame. I wholeheartedly acknowledge that my journey is far from over, and I never desire to claim perfection. I acknowledge that HIV advocacy is ever evolving, and can look a variety of ways. Some may create art as a form of resistance. Some may advocate for policies at the state house, and others may use their influence to change the hearts and minds of their immediate circle.

I will continue to engage in research and vow to teach the next generation of health advocates to fight for health equity. My grandma was right; my stubbornness has carried over, but as I was told growing up, stubbornness to someone can appear like passion and an unapologetic commitment to justice for others. If people feel I am stubborn and unapologetic about HIV and health equity, I encourage them to hop on the train because my grandma can tell you this train will stay on track.