By Erin Sherbert
By Erin Sherbert
By Leif Haven
By Erin Sherbert
By Chris Roberts
By Kate Conger
By Brian Rinker
By Rachel Swan
David Evans, the slight, soft-spoken program director of the Castro's Stop AIDS Project, and the group's publicist, Shana Krochmal, share a couch in Evans' closet-size office, reflecting upon their bizarre season of stardom. There were the calls from Big Media, such as The O'Reilly Factor. There was an endless stream of interview requests from newspapers around the world. Congressional staffers called, as did aides to White House Cabinet officials. Eventually, teams of federal auditors came, followed by high-ranking officials with the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta. Those visits, in turn, spawned audit reports, then more phone calls in a cycle that has continued for more than a year.
"There was something so surreal about it all," Evans recalls. "Most of us doing this work don't come from backgrounds where one does a lot of talking with people in high places. Suddenly we were getting urgent calls saying we had to respond to Congressman So and So, or we were getting calls from officials who would intimate that the president of the United States was somehow personally involved."
The Stop AIDS Project's peculiar adventure -- in which a bullying local gadfly apparently joined forces with conservative Christian politicians in what looked like a campaign to harass HIV/ AIDS prevention programs out of existence -- has become a story without end.
After gaining experience harassing the Stop AIDS Project by exploiting the federal audit process -- a system set up with the noble goals of preventing government fraud and waste -- right-wing politicians went on to use audits and inquiries as a kind of cudgel against numerous AIDS prevention programs.
Neither the Centers for Disease Control nor the Inspector General's Office of the federal Department of Health and Human Services would tell me exactly how many, or which, federally funded anti-AIDS groups are now under investigation. But officials with AIDS prevention organizations around the country say federal probes, instigated at the request of fundamentalist congressmen, are now occupying an important portion of these groups' time. And in an unusual reversal of ordinary investigative protocol, where sleuths pursue hints of wrongdoing in hopes of finding more, these examinations seem to be spurred by Republicans' frustration at so far finding virtually no wrongdoing at all.
According to AIDS activists around the country, this extraordinary AIDS-funding gumshoe campaign has crossed the line from scrupulous government oversight -- a very good thing -- to relentless politically motivated harassment. This is bad, bad, bad.
Investigators are looking at "every penny to program providers that do progressive work, like Stop AIDS," says William Smith, program director of the Sexuality Information and Education Council of the U.S. "If it's intimidating for a national program like us to be investigated, what is it like for a small program that doesn't understand the Bush administration's intimidation tactics?"
Early last year, highly publicized GOP outrage over Stop AIDS Project workshops, which discussed cruising, masturbation, condoms, and other such startling issues, was followed by an extraordinary series of federal audits; the Department of Health and Human Services sent a team of investigators for repeated, lengthy visits. The Centers for Disease Control sent high-level teams from Atlanta. The charge: Stop AIDS had produced safe-sex materials and workshops that were obscene. Worse, the group allegedly violated a law prohibiting use of federal funds to encourage sex -- yes, there really is such a federal blue law, and conservative Christians take it very seriously. The right-wing allegation was repeated in newspaper articles and editorials as if it were fact: Tax dollars are being squandered to promote debauchery.
But the resulting audit reports emphatically vindicated Stop AIDS. The organization had run racy-seeming AIDS education materials past an S.F. Health Department committee set up under federal guidelines to judge the materials according to San Francisco community standards. Such local policies were created around the country in light of U.S. Supreme Court rulings that say obscenity is a highly local notion; San Franciscans' ideas of what's offensive may be different from those of, say, an Indiana congressman's.
For instance, Stop AIDS's calendar includes a May workshop titled "Top, Bottom, Versatile," the description of which asks, "[D]o you like taking it? Giving? Both?" The course's purpose is to discuss "roles, power and other topics related to anal play and health." Translation: a workshop discussing complex interpersonal negotiations regarding condom use, so that fewer people will catch HIV and die.
AIDS activists say these federal inquiries, which they believe are politically rather than fiscally motivated, tie up hundreds of hours of volunteer and staff time. They waste many thousands of dollars in federal staff time, airline tickets, and other audit expenses. And, perhaps more important, they discourage AIDS workers from pursuing any program that might catch the attention of a right-wing conservative, undermining AIDS education efforts nationwide.
The charge that Stop AIDS broke laws making it illegal to use federal funds to promote sexual intercourse likewise went nowhere: The promiscuous gay men who make up Stop AIDS's target audience need no encouragement to have sex. And finally, the group passed a financial audit swimmingly.
It seems someone neglected to tell Republican conservatives the Castro is a poor spot to cruise for unfastidiousness.