What is Prisoners' Justice Day (PJD)?
PJD began in 1974 after the death of Eddie Nalon in segregation at Millhaven Prison. For 50 years, prisoners and allies have marked this day by refusing to work, fasting, and speaking out against the deaths and injustices behind prison walls.
Why it matters for the HIV community:
PJD is a call to action against the over-incarceration of Black, Brown, Indigenous, Asian, 2SLGBTQ+ and the criminalization of HIV. People living with HIV/AIDS face higher health risks and often receive worse care inside. This day is about truth, dignity, and the fight for health and justice for
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*Content Warning*
The coming posts discuss incarceration, HIV/AIDS stigma, discrimination, abuse and experiences of rejection, which may be distressing to some readers. Please take care of yourself in whatever form that may be.
*The following post is a personal letter and a call for commitment to action-based hope from an individual living with HIV who was formerly incarcerated, to everyone. *
To the Ones We Forget: A Letter to Women Living with HIV After Incarceration
By: Robby M.Human. Woman. Living with HIV. Ex – Prisoner.
Dear Sister,
I see you.
Whether you’ve just come home from prison, whether you’re living with HIV, or both please know this: you are not alone. You are worthy of love, of health, of rest, of joy, of freedom.
This letter is for you from one woman to another. From someone who has walked the hard road, and who still believes in the power of second chances, and third ones too.
Women living with HIV especially those who’ve been incarcerated are treated like ghosts. We become invisible in the eyes of society. People assume we are criminals. They assume we are promiscuous. They forget that we are also mothers, daughters, sisters, workers, dreamers.
When I came home, I saw how deep shame and stigma ran. My own relatives didn’t want me. I remember how my brother’s wife and children gave me a separate plate to eat from. I will never forget that pain. And the pastor I trusted? He shared my story in a sermon without asking me. I stopped going to that church.
Living with HIV is not a crime. Being formerly incarcerated should not be a life sentence of rejection. I know what people whisper behind closed doors, but I also know my truth: I survived. I made peace with my diagnosis while in prison. I took my medication seriously. I was trusted enough to become a prison trustee. And when I got out, I chose to return to give hope to others behind bars.
Stop assuming that a woman with HIV has nothing to offer. Stop locking us out of jobs, out of churches, out of homes, out of friendship, out of romantic relationships. We deserve access to proper healthcare, housing, work, love and belonging just like anyone else.
To those who’ve never been incarcerated: we need you to do more than feel sorry for us. We need you to challenge the systems and beliefs that punish women twice, once with prison time, and again with stigma. And to organizations, employers, pastors, friends, if you want to help, start with love. Start with listening.
Dear Sister, if you are reading this and your heart feels heavy, I want you to know your life is still yours. You can still live it on your own terms. There is life after prison. There is love after diagnosis. There is healing after harm.
With all my strength,
Robby
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