Robby Bricker'Voyles in an Esther's Pantry T-shirt. Credit: Robby Bricker'Voyles
Robby BrickerVoyles in an Esthers Pantry T-shirt.
Robby Bricker’Voyles in an Esther’s Pantry T-shirt. Robby Bricker’Voyles

For most Portlanders, the COVID-19 pandemic is the first time that their lives have been upended by a sudden and unrelenting virus. But that’s not the case for LGBTQ+ people old enough to remember the HIV/AIDS crisis of the 1980s and 90s, like Robby Bricker’Voyles.

Bricker’Voyles, 42, told the Mercury that he “grew up during the worst of the AIDS epidemic” while living in Tulsa, Oklahoma.

“In 1982 my mother Randi, then a registered nurse, told my father that a strange illness recently named AIDS was rapidly killing young gay men,” Bricker’Voyles said. “I was five years old.”

Bricker’Voyles came out as gay at age 13, the same year his uncle died from AIDS-related complications. Since then, he said, he’s lost about 200 loved ones and acquaintances to the virus.

“I’ve dated guys who are HIV-positive, and two of my closest and dearest friends are living with HIV or AIDS,” he added.

Bicker’Voyles has lived in Portland for about 15 years, and is a longtime volunteer at Esther’s Pantry, a local food pantry for low-income people who are living with HIV/AIDS. The Mercury spoke with him about the impact COVID-19 is having on his clients at the pantry, the similarities and differences between the coronavirus pandemic and the early years of the HIV/AIDS epidemic, and advice he has for Portlanders preparing for the potentially devastating spread of COVID-19.

MERCURY: We know that COVID-19 poses a heightened risk for people who are immunocompromised, which includes people living with HIV/AIDS. What impact is the coronavirus having on your clients at Esther’s Pantry?

BRICKER’VOYLES: We’re sandwiched between two major outbreaks, in Washington and California. So immediately my thought goes to, well, this is going to have a direct impact on my clients who are immunocompromised. … I think it’s just very scary for our clients.

What I’m seeing is a lot of client services providers picking up [food], because our clients are scared to come pick up the food themselves. Which is very different from before. I think people who are HIV/AIDS-positive or immunocompromised are actually staying away from us, yet still acquiring the food.

My clients tell me I’m sometimes the only person they get to hug and talk to and be with, other than their primary care providers. For me not to be able to touch my clients, some of whom are elderly gay or bisexual men or transgender women who lived through the first wave of the HIV/AIDS epidemic, is just killing me. Because they became these little islands of people.

Boxes of food at Esthers Pantry.
Boxes of food at Esther’s Pantry. Robby Bricker’Voyles

What about the impact this is having on you personally?

As recently as two weeks ago, everything was fine. Me and my husband and a friend were going to a drag brunch—life’s normal, right? Well, this same friend now has to have me bring him food, because he’s immunocompromised due to having HIV [and is quarantining to avoid contracting COVID-19]. So we had to drive him food, because he’s not leaving his apartment. How fucked up is that?

This is my best friend in the whole world, and I can’t see him except for on Facebook, and I saw him very briefly when I brought him ginormous amounts of food. Two weeks ago we’re at a drag brunch, drinking mimosas and having a good old time… now, he has to stay inside, and we can’t even see each other.

The HIV/AIDS epidemic was a large part of your life from a young age. What is it like now seeing the entire world fearful of a virus?

It is surreal at best. … This isn’t ancient history. This is 30 years removed. This is a still-healing, raw wound. Maybe now, for the first time, heterosexual people can finally get an understanding of where we were at.

And also, more importantly, because AIDS has become a quote-unquote “treatable chronic illness,” the younger LGBTQ+ people—they may be unaware, or have a lack of awareness because they’re reading about it in a book, as opposed to having lived through it. I think they’re finally getting to see what the elder LGBTQ+ community went through, and they can get a little bit more of an appreciation and understanding.

I think it’s going to be triggering for a lot of LGBTQ+ people who went through it—people my age and above are going to be very triggered with memories and flashbacks of loved ones dying, [and] discrimination against people for no other reason than them being who they are.

We don’t need to single out people and say this is a Chinese virus. We just need to say this is a virus that can affect anyone and everyone… In the early days [of HIV/AIDS], it was the “Four H’s: the homosexuals, the Haitians, the hemophiliacs, and the heroin users.” [Editor’s note: The “Four H’s” was a concept perpetuated by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) about who was most at-risk for contracting HIV. A CDC scientist later said he regretted using the term.] … I just remember my mom saying, ‘Robby, anyone can get this. You don’t have to be gay, you don’t have to be from Haiti, you don’t have to be a hemophiliac, you don’t have to be a drug user. Anyone can get it.”

Oregonians are bracing themselves for a sharp increase in COVID-19 cases and deaths in the near future. Do you have any advice for people who haven’t experienced anything like that before?

You’re never prepared to see anyone pass away. No one’s prepared for that. … You just have to really lean on each other, and recognize that sometimes illnesses are indiscriminate. You have to remember the things about that person, and if there’s any forgiveness needed, just forgive them for whatever.

Now, more than ever, we all need each other. … Let [your] friends do what they’re going to do. They make freak out, they may cry. Love them through this.

Let’s take shelter together, and weather the storm together.

Blair Stenvick is a former news reporter and culture writer for the Portland Mercury.