Victoria Cobokana and my contradictory feelings

In 1999 the photographer David Goldblatt made a series on HIV in his native country South Africa. I bought a number of these photos and incorporated them into exhibitions that my foundation Art Aids organized around the world.

 

The other day, I looked them up on my website and once more I was particularly moved by the image of a maid with Aids in her employer’s dining room.

 

Victoria Cobokana sits on a chair by the dining table. She has a blank stare as if she’s looking into a void. A two-year-old boy sits on her lap, looking shyly at the camara with his finger in his mouth; another boy, a bit older stands close by his mother and looks away. There’s a broom against the wall, as if Victoria has been sweeping the floor that morning and sat down for a moment to have her photo taken. The light of a round window behind her forms a halo around her face. Victoria died shortly after the photo was taken.

 

I asked myself why I decided to look for this photo, as there was no immediate reason. It may have to do with the many contradictory feelings I have now that I’ve turned seventy. Reaching this milestone means that I have truly survived HIV. But millions of others, including Victoria Cobokana, did not. Because unlike me they had no access to medication.

 

It feels as though I started to cross a river with all the other people who found out they had HIV the same time I did, thirty-seven years ago. With each new medication, I was able to step from one stone in the river to the next until I reached the shore. But when I turn around, I see that most of the people who started this voyage with me have not made it.

 

Of course, I’m overjoyed to still be here; life can be wonderful, particularly when you never expected to get so much of it. But knowing that the same medication that saved my life could have saved the lives of others is infuriating and heartbreaking. It is disconcerting to be among the few of that generation to have survived.

 

My way of dealing with these feelings has been to channel them into action. I financed research, I contributed to the medical and emotional care of children with HIV and I used art to fight the stigma surrounding this infection. I write about living with HIV; I talk in public about it.

 

But the time has come to truly face these feelings rather than steer them into action. Happiness and gratefulness lay deep inside me together with feelings of sadness, indignation and a sense of disquiet. I’m gradually learning to accept both the joy and the discomfort.  I’m ready to embrace the many contradictions of life.