Words: Lucy Donoghue (she/her)
Stitch by stitch, square by square, those who died from AIDS-related illnesses are sewn into the fabric of time through the art of quilt making. Started in San Francisco in 1985 by the NAMES project, a worldwide art movement was sparked, seeking to provide autonomy to those whose lives are often overshadowed by their deaths. Scottish activist Alistair Hulme brought this movement to the UK in the late 80s, setting up the NAMES Project Aids Memorial Quilt in Edinburgh, where 384 people’s stories are remembered and eternalised. In June this year, the UK Aids Memorial Quilt was displayed in London’s Tate Modern, centering historical queer lived experiences in current cultural discourse.
Each square of the quilt was designed and made by the relatives, friends and loved ones of those who died in the 80s-90s; primarily the quilt commemorates gay men, in response to the widespread homophobia that was so prevalent at the time, however the individual voices of the wider LGBTQ+ community, women and heterosexual men are also commemorated on the quilt. Colourful, soft and handcrafted with care, these squares represent how loved each person was in their lifetime. No amount of bigotry or hatred could tarnish their memory and the fact that their lives, although cut short, were so incredibly important. Whilst London’s commemoration of AIDs is often at the forefront of research, Scotland had its own unique response to the epidemic. It is important to centre Scottish voices in the discussion as well, in order to provide agency to those who died in Scotland, and reflect on how this contributes to Scotland’s queer historical memory.
The Lothian Health Services Archive in Edinburgh is lovingly home to the Scottish chapters of the NAMES project quilt. Each panel is unique. People are remembered through the words of their relatives, their favourite colours, flowers and hobbies. One square, dedicated to David Andrew Fernley (1966-1993) contains a photograph as a centrepiece, with ‘Superstar’ embroidered at the top in metallic blue and pink thread, alongside depictions of music notes and sequined top hats. David’s vibrant personality shines through, memorialising his life as full of joy, his love for music and theatre tangible through the sequined adornments. Likewise, Pip is remembered with imagery of sunshine, beaming sun rays in bright, warm colours surrounding their name. Pip clearly brought so much joy to those around them. Because remembrance is centred around personal imagery, the NAMES project readdresses how queer voices are memorialised and archived through art. With the individuality and humanity of those who died often being overshadowed by the horrific history of homophobia, the NAMES project offers a tender celebration of the lives of individuals, allowing viewers to reflect on their lived experiences before AIDs.
In the eyes of the public, archives are often traditionally perceived as dust-bound books lying dormant in library vaults, only seeing the light of day when an academic researcher needs a statistic or a date. But voices need to be heard. In this sense, the NAMES project is a modern-day archival resource, an accessible and engaging form of tangible history that the public can visit and reflect on. History belongs to the underrepresented, those whose stories don’t exist in record books. When HIV/AIDs was written about, the official British collections from the 80s/90s mainly contained homophobic health campaigns warning of the perceived dangers of gay sex. Even today, the 80s UK TV advert of a looming tombstone with ‘AIDS’ sprawled intimidatingly over the screen is prominent in collective memory.
However, considering its religious centring, the official Scottish approach to AIDs was relatively progressive in comparison to the rest of the UK. Because Edinburgh’s confirmed HIV/AIDS cases were 7x the national average, the Lothian Health Board defied the UK’s homophobic stance, realising that HIV could be spread in a variety of different ways and that the focus needed to be on encouraging empathy within the community. As such, Lothian NHS released the ‘Take Care’ campaign, prioritising spreading factual information on the epidemic to fight stigma, and also to encourage relatives and friends to foster a loving environment for those with HIV/AIDs. Integrating within typically ‘hyper-masculine’ and heterosexual environments, promotions with Hibernian FC and Heart of Midlothian FC, the ‘Take Care’ campaign helped to destigmatise HIV/AIDs within the wider community, emphasising that it could affect anyone, regardless of gender or sexuality.
Queer histories are best told by the people that experienced them, however, and although Scotland’s official response was more progressive, it doesn’t take into account the nuances and specificalities of queer existence. Set up in the early 80s, The Scottish AIDs Monitor (SAM) was a queer-led organisation that addressed misinformation surrounding HIV/AIDS, providing grassroots intervention where the government couldn’t reach. SAM was initially established in Edinburgh by two gay men, Derek Ogg, a lawyer, and Dr. Sandy McMillan. Ogg and McMillan campaigned in queer spaces, giving lectures in nightclubs on safer sex and the dangers of HIV when the disease was just beginning to reach public consciousness in the early 80s. As the epidemic worsened, SAM sought to challenge the ignorant perception of AIDs as a ‘gay disease’ by releasing accessible campaign leaflets based on sex positivity. Slogans such as ‘Gay Sex is Good for You!’ helped to affirm queer identity and sexuality, whilst promoting safe sex at a time when the virus was still rampant. SAM provided a safe space for queer visibility that undoubtedly saved countless lives.
Whilst queer stories are told through artwork like the AIDs memorial quilt, and through localised archives like SAM and the Lothian Health NHS collection, a more comprehensive system of queer archiving –both nationally and locally – would be an important step towards greater representation of those who experienced the HIV/AIDs epidemic of the 80s-90s. On the grassy banks of the Water of Leith, Edinburgh’s memorial ‘Life Tribute’ is a serene spot for remembering. In Glasgow, however, no such public memorial exists. Artwork is an important tool for remembrance, and it is through continued education that the public can engage with these histories outside of libraries and record rooms. The AIDS Memorial quilt may physically be in London, but these stories should be told everywhere, and we have a responsibility to uplift individuals who were affected by the epidemic as more than a statistic. These individuals loved, were loved, laughed, sang and danced. Had favourite meals, first kisses and cherished family stories that were told and retold again. Queer existence has always existed in every hill, every glen, every village and every city. Through storytelling, artwork and continuous engagement with queer archives and local communities, we can remember the sunshines and superstars of Scotland.
