The Conversation Starts Here

This is from my (cyber) friend Trevor Hoppe who is at U of M. Check out his blog here.

(Run with permission)

Refusing to Have Sex With HIV-Positive People: Why It’s Not a Prevention Strategy, and Why It’s Harmful to Our Communities

I was having drinks with a friend of mine — we’ll call him Patrick here — this weekend when the subject of having sex with HIV-positive men came up. “Oh, I would never have sex with an HIV-positive guy,” he casually remarked — as if such a thing were already obvious. I was shocked not just by Patrick’s statement, but also by the categorical bravado in his delivery. To have sex with HIV-positive men, as he went on to explain, was to expose himself to unnecessary risk of infection. I’ve been replaying this conversation again and again in my head. How could he be so outrageously calculating in his cooIly expressed exclusionary strategy? Today I want to spend a few moments reflecting on these kinds of statements, because I think many people would uncritically read them as legitimate prevention strategies. I will argue here, however, that in reality that these kinds of strategies that are totally bankrupt in terms of actual risk reduction. Moreover, what I think this kind of statement actually tends to do is not actually promote any real reduction in risk, but rather to reinforce and reproduce harmful stigma against HIV-positive people.

Before we get into a discussion of the ethics of “serosorting” — the practice of choosing to engage in sex with only sero-concordant men — I think we should bracket my friend’s comments as existing only at the very periphery of this term’s broad meaning. While taken at face value, it does indeed seem that my friend is practicing serosorting. But correct me if I’m wrong here, but it seems to me that serosorting was more intended to describe men who were seeking to minimize risk of transmission while engaging in sex without condoms. For my friend, this wasn’t the goal of his strategy — condom use was still part of his risk reduction strategy with other HIV-negative men. This is a very important distinction. What I’m going to be talking about here is men who report consistent condom use, but who continue to latch onto serosorting discourses that discourage serodiscordant sexual practices.

Because of these important differences, I want to suggest that Patrick’s comments cannot possibly be said to be purely a method of risk reduction. To explain why I think this is so, we need to evaluate whether or not there is actually any risk worth avoiding by excluding HIV-positive men from your pool of eligible partners. Thus, to help illustrate this, let’s attempt to assess the risk of transmission between a known HIV-positive partner and an HIV-negative partner when condoms are used. There is no data to suggest that many HIV infections occur in these contexts, absent condom failure — rates of which are outrageously low (between 0.4% and 2.3%, depending on who you ask). If we take a generous account, let’s presume that rate is 2%. In a single incidence, then, the risk of potential exposure is 1:50.

Let’s add into this equation the risk of transmission per sexual encounter even in absence of condoms,which vary depending on a number of factors: whether the poz guy is insertive or receptive, his viral load, genital ulcerations, etc. Let’s say the poz guy is doing the fucking, for example’s sake. The generic risk in this scenario for a receptive HIV-negative man is 1:132 — that is, statistically speaking, there is a 1 in 132 risk of seroconversion after getting fucked once without a condom by an HIV-positive man. If we multiply these two risks together, we get something like a 1 in 6600 probability. According to risks of death statistics, this puts a person’s risk of seroconversion in this abstract, theoretical scenario somewhere between their risk of death by electrocution (1:5000) and their risk of death by drowning (1:8942). Obviously, this is a gross use of statistics — but I think it helps illustrate the point: the risk of transmission between serodiscordant couples in one sexual encounter when using condoms is EXTREMELY low. Just about negligible. And this example likely grossly overestimates the risk, due to the fact that condom failure is not the same as sex without condoms. Many people will quickly realize the condom has broken, leading to a much smaller window of possibility for exposure. Thus, the 2% exposure rate included in this example is likely much, much smaller in practice.

Obviously, if we extend this risk over time, then we run into increased risk of transmission for a variety of reasons — namely condom fatigue reported within serodiscordant couples. But if you use condoms, your risk of becoming infected from hooking up with a HIV-positive guy is probabilistically very low. Thus, excluding them from your dating poolcannot and should not be considered a risk reduction strategy — unless you are having unprotected sex.

Now that we’ve established that there is no real prevention rationale for categorically excluding HIV-positive men from your pool of eligible partners, we need to seriously consider the ways in which doing so actually works to reinforce stigma against HIV-positive men. If you ask any HIV-positive man what kinds of difficulties come with seroconversion, many will immediately respond that stigma and the resulting fear of disclosure are today some of their most pressing concerns. New medications have alleviated what used to be a very immediate sense of death, and their adverse side-effects have been dramatically reduced with even more recent advances in treatment protocols. Rather than “purely” medical, the problems that men describe today with living with HIV are very much in the realm of the social.

Take for example a scenario another friend (we’ll call him Matt here) described to me recently at a gay bar in Detroit. Matt was dancing with a cute young man, who curiously told him that “You should stay away from me. I’m dangerous.” Matt asked him why, and he ambiguously answered that he was contaminated. Matt then asked him directly if he was HIV-positive, at which point the guy stiffened and gave a sheepish affirmative reply before running away. In this scenario, the young man had so internalized this harmful discourse of transmission that paints HIV-positive people as dirty and dangerous, that he himself did the running away. Matt has slept with HIV-positive men before — this is not a problem for him. But he didn’t even have to not reject him — the HIV-positive man did the rejecting for him!

While this seems like a very contextual and bracketed example, I think it serves to illustrate the kind of emotional damage that stigmatizing discourses may be having on HIV-positive people’s lives. I contend that Public Health — in its ambiguous and contradictory uses of the term “serosorting” (a topic for another essay) — is part of the problem here. By refusing to explain what this term means, and by remaining quiet in the way it gets practiced, Public Health is serving to reinforce stigma against HIV-positive people by allowing many men to use it as a rationale for their exclusionary practices. This essay is just a gloss on these issues — it admittedly raises more questions than it answers — but I desperately think we need to think critically about the way we (I mean both we as gay men, and we as people invested in promoting Public Health) allow stigma to continue operating in our communities through the lens of “health” and “risk reduction.” Backed by medical logic, stigma seems rational, logical, and unproblematic. But we need to expose the ways in which these allegedly science-based logics are actually totally bunk in terms of their validity — and are actually just forms of stigma veiled by scientific authority.