Russell Fleet Alive and kicking
It’s become a cliché of modern living that everything
is bad for you, especially things you enjoy. Putting aside obvious
stuff like smoking, which everyone knows is harmful, there’s all the
business of what we eat: E numbers, salt, sugar and now transfats, although
I thought that was a PC term for overweight drag queens.
To make matters worse, unlike smoking, much of the stuff about food is quickly
contradicted; remember red wine anyone? Good for the heart. No, sorry, bad
for the liver. Well maybe just a glass or two a week. Oh, alright, go on then.
And so it goes, one dire warning followed by a lot of qualifications till
we are left wondering if there really is a problem and if so, whether we should
bother to worry about it... oh sod it, just leave the bottle.
The overriding message is that we live in a ‘risk society’ and
all of us have a responsibility to assess risks and take steps to minimise
any possible harm to ourselves or others. Only as I said, the moment you reach
a conclusion, some other piece of research comes up and throws it into doubt.
Of course, those of us with the cat flu have to deal with a particular form
of this risk culture. Not only do we have to weigh up risks from drug side
effects and interactions and the possibility of super-catflu caused by poor
adherence or re-infection, but we also have to bear in mind the risk we pose
to the general public, especially in this age of criminal prosecutions for
transmitting HIV.
On the surface it’s deceptively straightforward, isn’t it? A diagnosed
positive person who does not reveal their positive HIV status, has unsafe
sex with someone and consequently infects them should be subject to some form
of censure, shouldn’t they? As ‘common-sensical’ as it sounds,
I’m still not altogether sure I would accept this.
First, it releases the newly infected person from any responsibility for their
part in the proceedings. And second, because it ignores the complicated process
that goes on for anyone considering disclosing their positive HIV status to
anyone, even to someone they profess to care about.
Of course, the specifics of any one case will always give us pause for thought
and the niceties of many of them have been played out in these pages time
and time again so I won’t rehash old stories. But I do want to make
a plea for stepping back and thinking long and hard before we rush to judgement
and condemnation.
If assessing risk about the food we eat and the energy we use is so complex,
liable to change or just be plain wrong, then why are we suddenly expected
to get it right about HIV?
It suggests having HIV somehow gives you an insight and clarity about complex
decisions that wasn’t there before. Perhaps the thinking is that HIV
is so serious that all other considerations are secondary? As if quadrupling
your chance of a fatal heart attack isn’t serious? As if rising sea
levels caused by melting ice caps submerging most of the British Isles isn’t
serious?
I have to wonder if the disconnection between action and consequence that
occurs every time I leave the TV on standby, or fill myself up with hydrogenated
fats, isn’t the same as the disconnection that happens for both parties
in these HIV transmission cases.
My sense is that whatever part of our psyche allows us to put some apparently
trivial risks aside also allows us to put apparently serious ones aside too.
And that furthermore, this isn’t abnormal behaviour; it’s actually
what we do, every day, just in circumstances that don’t immediately
appear so dire.
One thing is certain, this issue is not going to go away anytime soon, and
it’s not going to get any easier. But I think this much is clear: a
system which, by definition, has to cast one person in the role of victim
and one in the role of perpetrator is not the best place to judge matters
where the rights and responsibilities of both parties overlap to such a great
degree.
