Tag: writing

Fear Is Rising. HIV Stigma Is Rising With It


The data says fear-based stigma is growing fastest. At the same time, our laws and policy debates continue to signal danger in ways that may reinforce that fear.

From 2021 to 2024, the share of U.S. adults holding at least one stigmatizing belief about people living with HIV rose from 31.5% to 43.0%. Fear-based stigma increased faster than blame-based stigma.

When outdated HIV criminal laws stay on the books, they send a message that science can’t erase: people living with HIV are still dangerous. I see the consequences of that message every day.

Law teaches the public who to fear.

Executive summary

The Williams Institute[1] found that HIV stigma among U.S. adults rose sharply from 2021 to 2024, with fear-based stigma rising meaningfully faster than blame-based stigma.[2] This matters because fear is the kind of stigma that gets written into policy, and recent institutional signals, including stalled legal reform and visible federal retreat from HIV commitments, may be feeding the fear rather than calming it.[2]

What the new data says

A February 2026 brief from the Williams Institute delivers a finding that should stop us cold: HIV stigma in the United States is increasing, not declining.[2]

From 2021 to 2024, the share of U.S. adults holding at least one stigmatizing belief about people living with HIV rose from 31.5% to 43.0%.[2] In 2024, about one-quarter of adults expressed blame-based stigma (26%), and nearly one-third expressed fear-based stigma (31%).[1]

But the increase is not evenly distributed.

The report describes two main forms of HIV stigma:

  • Fear-based stigma is discomfort or avoidance rooted in exaggerated or inaccurate beliefs about how HIV is transmitted.[2]
  • Blame-based stigma is belief that people with HIV are “immoral” or “blameworthy” and therefore “deserve” what happened to them.[2]

Both contradict modern science, including the basic reality that when a person living with HIV takes treatment as prescribed and gets and stays virally suppressed (undetectable), they do not transmit HIV to sexual partners.[3]

And one form of stigma is rising much faster than the other.

From 2021 to 2024, “blame-based stigma only” rose slightly (10.9% to 12.1%); “fear-based stigma only” rose more (12.8% to 16.8%). The share of adults endorsing both fear-based and blame-based stigma nearly doubled (7.8% to 14.1%).[2]

That pattern matters because blame is a moral judgment, but fear is a risk judgment.

Fear is the kind of belief that convinces the public they need “protection” from people living with HIV.

When stigma becomes law

The report says explicitly what too many public conversations avoid: fear-based stigma and blame-based stigma “run counter to scientific evidence” and still shape social and political conditions, including HIV criminalization and other structural discrimination.[2]

This is not theoretical. The Williams Institute notes that 32 states have laws that criminalize people living with HIV and 28 states impose enhanced criminal penalties tied to HIV status.[1] Indiana is in both of those numbers. The brief describes how many HIV criminal laws do not reflect current science about transmission risk and can criminalize conduct that poses negligible or no risk, such as spitting or biting.[2]

Here is the loop I cannot unsee anymore:

Stigma → shapes public attitudes → which shape law → which reinforce stigma.

A feedback loop.

Fear rarely grows in isolation. It grows in environments where institutions continue to signal danger.

The message laws send

There’s a piece of this that is hard to explain unless you live close to it. Laws do not just punish behavior. They tell stories about who is “risky,” who is “unsafe,” and who deserves special suspicion.

When HIV criminal laws stay on the books for decades after the science has changed, people living with HIV feel that. Even if enforcement is sporadic, the symbolism is constant.

And the message those laws send is hard to ignore:

You are still the monsters people were taught to fear in the 1980s.

I see this firsthand in our work with HIV Modernization Movement-Indiana.

For 10 years, we have worked to modernize HIV criminal laws in Indiana.[1] In that time we have achieved two significant legislative wins in 2020 and 2021, and one smaller penalty fix just this year in 2026.

But meaningful legal reform continues to stall in Indiana.

Our legislation has spent years bouncing between two chambers at the statehouse. Each session, it moves forward, then quietly gets redirected. From the outside, that looks like routine legislative gridlock. From the perspective of people living with HIV, it reads as a repeated institutional judgment: you are still dangerous enough that the law must keep treating you differently.

If you want to understand why fear-based stigma can rise even as treatment improves, start there.

Law teaches the public who to fear.

That is how fear-based stigma survives progress. Not because people have never heard “HIV is manageable,” but because their institutions keep teaching them “HIV is danger.”

Other possible drivers of rising fear

The Williams Institute brief documents the increase in stigma, but it is not designed to answer the “why now” question.[2]

I tried to think of some other reasons that come to mind from my advocacy work and interactions, in addition to the above analysis on the impact of outdated HIV criminal laws. Several other trends could explain fear-based stigma in particular.

One is the post-pandemic collapse in trust. When people distrust science and public health, they do not update their beliefs, even when the underlying facts change.

Another is plain HIV illiteracy. The science is clear, but the public’s mental framing is often stuck decades behind. Federal health agencies and providers still have to state, clearly and repeatedly, that people with HIV who are undetectable do not transmit HIV through sex. This is known as U=U, or Untransmittable is Undectable.[3]

A third driver is visibility that can unintentionally backfire. When HIV criminalization becomes more publicly discussed, the issue returns to the surface of public consciousness.

Government Signals and Public Risk Perception

The Williams Institute data stops in 2024. But the signals the current administration is sending now may shape what happens next.

When governments signal retreat from the HIV response, the public does not interpret that as progress. They interpret it as warning.

The White House issued an executive order in January 2025 directing a 90-day pause in U.S. foreign development assistance, pending review, with Office of Management and Budget enforcement through apportionment authority.[4]

Within the global HIV response, the policy debate has been especially loud around PEPFAR.[5] KFF reports that the administration’s FY 2026 budget request included $2.9 billion for bilateral PEPFAR activities, described as a $1.9 billion reduction.[6]

Even if some cuts are proposed rather than fully enacted, the social impact of the signal can be immediate: debate about shrinking HIV investment tells the public “this problem is getting less attention,” not “this problem is solved.”

Add symbolic erasure to that, and fear has fertile ground.

In late 2025, reporting indicated the U.S. government declined to mark World AIDS Day in the way it had historically.[7]

In February 2026, The Center for HIV Law and Policy’s Project Justice Partners workgroup published a statement framed around “defying erasure,” explicitly tying today’s HIV justice work to resisting silence and criminalization.[8]

Here is the backfire mechanism: When policymakers publicly debate cutting HIV funding or mute HIV awareness, they make HIV visible again. But visible as something the government is stepping away from. If the public already sees people living with HIV as risky, that retreat signal can be interpreted as: “They are going to be more dangerous now.”

The visibility, paradoxically, can amplify fear.

Policy decisions do more than allocate resources. They communicate priorities. When governments visibly debate cutting HIV funding, retreat from prevention commitments, or reduce public recognition of HIV awareness efforts, the public receives a signal about how seriously the threat is perceived.

For people whose understanding of HIV is already outdated, those signals can reinforce the belief that HIV remains a danger rather than a manageable condition.

Why this matters

Stigma is not a feelings problem. It is a public health problem.

The Williams Institute brief summarizes how stigma is linked to worse outcomes for people living with HIV, including poorer mental health, reduced engagement in care, and lower quality of life.[2]

Public health agencies also emphasize that HIV stigma discourages testing and accessing services.[9]

So when fear-based stigma rises, it is not just cruel. It is epidemic-fueling.

The challenge ahead

If fear-based stigma is rising, then the continued presence of HIV-specific criminal laws deserves scrutiny. Laws exist to address real harms and protect public safety. But they also send signals about how society understands risk.

When statutes continue to treat people living with HIV as uniquely dangerous decades after the science has changed, those signals can reinforce public fear rather than reflect current medical reality.

Over time, the gap between law and science can unintentionally sustain the stigma public health efforts are trying to reduce.

Next steps for advocacy messaging and strategy

Start treating fear-based stigma as a measurable communications failure, not a vague cultural problem:

  • Lead with U=U in plain language and repeat it relentlessly, because fear thrives on ambiguity.[10]
  • Pair that with a “law lags science” narrative that frames stalled reform itself as ongoing structural stigma.[2]
  • Pre-bunk the retreat-signal effect by naming how proposed cuts and muted awareness days can be interpreted as rising danger.[6]
  • Force accountability inside the legislature by making the bottleneck visible and concrete.

When law lags science long enough, the law itself begins to shape the fear it was originally meant to address.

The science has changed.
The people have changed.

Now the law (and the story it tells) must change too.

Keep Tellin’ The Story,
Professor Peacock

What are your thoughts on the reasons for this shift? Drop your ideas in the comments.

Note: The opinions expressed here are my own and do not reflect the views of HIV Modernization Movement–Indiana, the Williams Institute, or any other organization mentioned, unless quoted or attributed directly. This piece reflects my personal reflections and analysis. I used AI tools to help edit and organize my notes and online journaling into a more coherent, blog-friendly format.

 

Sources

[1] Williams Institute — HIV Stigma Is Pervasive and Increasing Among U.S. Adults
https://williamsinstitute.law.ucla.edu/publications/hiv-stigma-us/

[2] Williams Institute — HIV Stigma Is Pervasive and Increasing Among U.S. Adults (Feb 2026 Brief)
https://williamsinstitute.law.ucla.edu/wp-content/uploads/HIV-Stigma-Feb-2026.pdf

[3] CDC — HIV Treatment as Prevention
https://www.cdc.gov/hivpartners/php/hiv-treatment/index.html

[4] The White House — Reevaluating and Realigning United States Foreign Aid
https://www.whitehouse.gov/presidential-actions/2025/01/reevaluating-and-realigning-united-states-foreign-aid/

[5] Council on Foreign Relations — PEPFAR Has Saved Tens of Millions of Lives. Why Is It at Risk?
https://www.cfr.org/articles/pepfar-has-saved-tens-millions-lives-why-it-risk

[6] KFF — The Trump Administration’s Foreign Aid Review: Status of PEPFAR
https://www.kff.org/global-health-policy/the-trump-administrations-foreign-aid-review-status-of-pepfar/

[7] PBS NewsHour — Trump declines to mark World AIDS Day
https://www.pbs.org/newshour/show/trump-declines-to-mark-world-aids-day-as-funding-cuts-threaten-hiv-prevention-efforts

[8] Center for HIV Law and Policy — Defy Erasure, Defend Resistance, Disrupt Criminalization
https://www.hivlawandpolicy.org/news/defy-erasure-defend-resistance-disrupt-criminalization-positive-justice-project-partners-group

[9] CDC — Stigma and HIV
https://www.cdc.gov/hiv/health-equity/index.html

[10] CDC — Undetectable = Untransmittable
https://www.cdc.gov/global-hiv-tb/php/our-approach/undetectable-untransmittable.html

USCHA reminded me: gratitude is how we honor the fight, and responsibility is how we continue it!


What USCHA Taught Me About Legacy and Belonging

This was my first USCHA (US Conference on HIV/AIDS), and I wasn’t ready for it. I’ve been to HINAC (HIV Is Not a Crime) and AIDS Watch each twice, but this was different. There’s a magic at USCHA that gets under your skin.

I travelled to USCHA as part of NMAC’s 50+ Cohort, joining others like me from around the country who are aging and living with HIV. I’m grateful for the experience and the connections I made.

I’m 57. I’ve been living with HIV for 13 years. That’s my place in the timeline. Not better, not worse – just mine. But when I saw the decades of HIV/AIDS laid out at the Friday plenary, the science, the struggle, the survival – it cracked something open in me. For the first time, I felt the weight of what it means to be a long-term survivor. And I also knew that wasn’t me.

I came along after protease inhibitors, after HAART reshaped the fight. When I was diagnosed in 2012, my doctor told me, “The guidance is changing. We used to tell people to wait. Now we recommend you start treatment right away.” He still gave me the option – that’s how new it was. I didn’t understand then how historic that moment was. I do now.

In the 80s, I was a teenager. In the 90s, I was climbing the corporate ladder, coming out of the closet, largely disconnected from my community. By the time I came out, the epidemic wasn’t invisible anymore, but it was still tearing through our communities. The mid-90s would become the deadliest years. And while that grief was swallowing a generation, I was safe in my bubble, largely untouched, largely unaware. That’s the part that haunts me. The loss I didn’t live. The fire I didn’t feel.

So no – I don’t carry the same survivor’s guilt as those who were told they would die and somehow lived. My guilt is different. It’s the guilt of surviving in a post-HAART world, of being shielded by privilege, of waking up to a history I wasn’t part of, but which shaped everything around me.

At USCHA, no one made me feel like an outsider. But I did. I think people at USCHA saw me at 57 and assume I’m a long-term survivor. I’m not. I’m someone aging with HIV, without that same story. That difference is mine to wrestle with.

And yet, USCHA gave me clarity. It gave me a way to honor what came before me and what is still unfolding now. Because just as I look back in gratitude, I also look forward, knowing that those who come of age in the U=U and PrEP era will have their own place in history, too.

To say USCHA was “life-changing” sounds cliché. But this was something deeper. A reckoning. A reminder that every place in the timeline matters, including mine. And for that – for the people who came before me, for the community that still carries me forward – I am deeply grateful.

Keep telling the story,

Professor Peacock

Note: These are my thoughts and my story. I used AI to make helpful edits to my ramblings and online journaling.

When Depression Steals the Room


Depression doesn’t always arrive like a storm. Sometimes it slips in quietly, dulling everything it touches. The things that used to bring me joy – laughter with friends, coffee, a good conversation – drift out of reach. Colors wash away. The world shrinks into a small, cold corner where it’s hard to breathe.

It feels like a lifetime’s weight pressing me down into that darkness. I wake up heavy with years I didn’t ask to carry; every small hope becomes harder to lift. I feel alone and isolated, watching my life through glass. Friendships that once gathered now feel permanently distant. Family conversations thin into echoes. Simple pleasures scramble into things I can’t recognize. And there’s a voice that settles in: you are unworthy, insignificant, worthless. That voice is loud and mean and, in the silence, it feels like the only truth.

That loss doesn’t just hurt me. It hurts the people who love me, too. They watch helplessly from the outside, wanting to help but not knowing how. Their eyes ask questions they can’t answer, and I feel the weight of their worry alongside my own. Guilt spreads on both sides: I feel it for not being able to “just try harder,” and they feel it for not being able to make it stop.

Too often, depression is misunderstood as a choice, as if I could simply wish it away and rejoin the world. If only it were that easy. The truth is, depression is not weakness, laziness, or a moral failing. It’s an illness that isolates, confuses, and holds tight.

But here’s what matters: feeling powerless does not make me powerless. Speaking it, naming it, asking for patience – that is its own kind of strength. Depression hurts. It steals parts of me and makes me feel small. But I am still here. I am still reaching. I am still worth the light I hope will find me again.

Keep telling the story,

Professor Peacock