ROLE Models Project

Today we recognize National Youth HIV and AIDS Awareness Day, a powerful reminder that young people are not just the future, they are the now.

Across our communities, too many young people, especially Black youth, continue to face disproportionate impact, limited access to care, stigma, and systemic barriers that make prevention and education harder to reach. This day calls us to do more than acknowledge the reality. It calls us to act.

We must create spaces where young people feel seen, heard, and empowered with accurate information, affirming resources, and opportunities to take control of their health. That means investing in culturally responsive education, expanding access to testing and prevention tools like PrEP, and dismantling the stigma that keeps too many silent.

When we center youth voices, we strengthen the movement. When we lead with compassion and truth, we change outcomes.

Let us commit to showing up, speaking out, and standing with our youth today and every day.

Because awareness leads to action, and action saves lives!!

March 20th is National Native HIV/AIDS Awareness Day (NNHAAD), an opportunity to raise awareness about the impact of HIV on Native communities and promote the importance of HIV education, testing, prevention, and care.

Join us TOMORROW!!

Merry Christmas to all who celebrate!!

Wishing you a strong, peaceful, and productive start to the week! As we move through this holiday season, may your days be filled with gratitude, joy, rest, and moments that truly matter. Take time to breathe, reflect, and finish the year with purpose and grace.

Ryan White did not ask to become the face of an epidemic. He just wanted to go to seventh grade.

In December 1984, doctors told Ryan, a thirteen year old from Kokomo, Indiana, that he had AIDS. He contracted HIV from contaminated blood used to treat his hemophilia. He was given six months to live.

Although doctors confirmed he posed no risk to others, his school barred him from attending. Fear outweighed facts. Ryan spent months listening to class through a phone line from his bedroom, missing the simple joys of school and belonging.

His mother, Jeanne White, refused to stay silent. She sued the school board for his right to an education. The response was cruel. Parents protested. Neighbors turned away. His paper route was canceled. Restaurants discarded dishes he used. Slurs were sprayed on their garage, and a bullet was fired through their living room window.

Through it all, Ryan remained calm and dignified. He said, “I have a disease, but I am not the disease.”

After a long legal fight, Ryan returned to school, but under harsh restrictions and constant harassment. The hostility continued until another shooting made it clear they could not stay.

In 1987, the family moved to Cicero, Indiana. There, students and school leaders chose education over fear. On Ryan’s first day, the principal publicly shook his hand. There were no protests. Just acceptance.

For the first time in years, Ryan had a normal life. He made friends, went to prom, earned his license, worked a summer job, and thrived. His story reached the nation, educating millions and changing how people understood HIV and AIDS.

Ryan lived five years beyond his diagnosis. He died on April 8, 1990, at eighteen years old. Months later, Congress passed the Ryan White CARE Act, now the largest federally funded HIV program in U.S. history.

Ryan’s greatest legacy was not a law. It was compassion. He helped transform fear into understanding and stigma into humanity.

He only wanted to be treated like everyone else. In fighting for that simple right, he changed the nation.

Ryan White lived eighteen years, but his impact will last forever.