The story of HIV in America is, at its core, the story of inequities. It has always been more than a virus. It is about who has access to healthcare, who is silenced by stigma, and who is left out of the rooms where decisions are made. And even in our own sector, which champions equity, leadership still too often fails to reflect the communities most impacted.
I know this because I’ve lived it. I am a Filipino immigrant who grew up in a small, predominantly white Midwestern town. My earliest memories are shaped by both the isolation of difference and the resilience that comes from carrying a family’s dreams. When I was two years old, my mother left me and my newborn sister in the Philippines to work as a nurse in the United States. It was the only path she and my father saw to build a better life for their family. She had to negotiate her contract not just for her salary but to petition for her family to come to the U.S. to join her. That sacrifice—the unimaginable act of leaving her babies behind—was her way of carving out a future for all of us.
I carry her strength with me every day. It’s what fuels me as a woman of color leading an HIV nonprofit. My story is not unusual in our field; many of us draw on the sacrifices of our mothers and grandmothers, women who had to fight twice as hard to create space for us to succeed. Yet, too often, those of us who rise into leadership still find ourselves pushing against doors that were never meant to open for us.
The statistics tell the story clearly: women of color (Black, Latina, Asian, Native, immigrant, transgender) carry the greatest burden of HIV in this country. But when you look at who leads the major organizations, who sits on boards, and who has access to philanthropy networks, our representation is still sparse. While there is no single dataset for HIV organizations, the best national nonprofit data show that only about one in five U.S. nonprofits are led by women of color, and their representation drops to under 14% among the largest organizations. The HIV sector mirrors these inequities. Leadership pipelines in the HIV sector are shaped by privilege, networks, and access—things women of color are often denied. Too often, we are asked to prove ourselves twice over, while our white counterparts are presumed ready to lead.
And yet, when women of color do lead, we lead differently. We bring the lived truth of resilience, family sacrifice, and survival. We know what it means to stretch a dollar until it bends. We know that “community engagement” isn’t a program design term, it’s the lifeline of our work. And we know that healing doesn’t only happen in a clinic. It happens in living rooms, in circles of women, in the trust we build every day.
In my own work at Christie’s Place, I’ve seen how representation transforms possibility. Younger staff tell me they can imagine their own path to leadership for the first time. Community members say they feel safer because they see themselves reflected in leadership. These moments remind me that my mother’s sacrifice continues to ripple outward.
If the HIV movement is serious about ending the epidemic, then funders, boards, and policymakers must do more than invite women of color to the table. They must invest in us through mentorship, leadership development, flexible funding, and intentional hiring and retention. The HIV epidemic has always revealed who is left behind. Women of color leaders cannot be left behind in the very movement built to end it. Our leadership is not optional. It is essential.
About the Author: Rhea Van Brocklin serves as the Executive Director of Christie’s Place, one of the nation’s last remaining grassroots, non-clinical HIV service organizations dedicated to supporting women and families affected by HIV.
The “Voices of Community” blog is more than a platform, it is a promise. A promise that our stories, in all their complexity and truth, will shape the narrative of HIV advocacy. By telling our own stories, we ensure that the future of this movement is not written for us, but by us. The Voices of Community blog features reflections from across the HIV/AIDS sector. We welcome submissions rooted in lived experience, fresh ideas, and new perspectives. Contact ted@the-collective-good.com to contribute.