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Tribute by Charles King
"PSALM TO AN AIDS WARRIOR"
(Addressing the Choir) I have to tell you why I wanted so much for you to be here today. You see, Keith and I were different in a lot of ways, he loved dance music and I loved gospel and still do. A year or so ago, I bribed him with brunch at Sugar Hill Bistro to go with me on a Sunday afternoon to hear you all sing in concert. He fell in love with you all. He bought one of your CDs, and sometimes when I was really down, or he just wanted to show me how cool he was, he would put on that CD. And that’s why I wanted you all to be here and be a part of this ceremony today.
Reverend Canon Williams, I am so honored to be standing in your pulpit today. I know how much you loved Keith, and how much he loved you. Reverend Harvey, a good friend and longtime member of the Board, you gave me so many hours of your time last week. And, if you’re not a minister, especially if you’re not Episcopalian, you have no idea the generosity of the gift that Reverend Harvey gave me in spending so many hours with me during Holy Week. I am very grateful.
I look around this room and see so many people that Keith would call big shots. We've got the Mayor here, Gus Birkhead, Sandy Thurman—well she isn't really a big shot—she just acted like it sometimes. We have City Council folk, Debra Frasier Howze, Chuck Lief. But what would thrill Keith so much is to see this church filled to standing with so many people that he loved, most of whom are definitely not big shots. For every gentle word, every kind act, on behalf of Anna, Harry, Marva, and Keith's Housing Works family, I thank you so much. I also want to thank the Boards of Directors, the Executive Team—Linney, Andrew, Duane and Errol—volunteer and paid staff, clients, and everyone associated with Housing Works, because this last week you've shared nothing but love.
I know you've sat long, but I hope you'll indulge me for just a few minutes, because for 14 and a half years, in all of his irrepressible and even infuriating exuberance, impetuousness, impatience and even occasional excess, Keith Dwayne Cylar was my friend, heart and soul. And I miss him.
Friday a week ago, some of us who are in this congregation today, gathered to celebrate the life of Joe Bostic—another hero in the fight against AIDS. As I stood in the community room of the Aurora Hotel and closed that service with my own tribute to Joe, I did not realize that it was a dress rehearsal for paying tribute to my partner in life. So I offer today much the same words that I spoke that night.
That night I began by saying that in just about every culture there is the classic image of the warrior, and whatever other cultural differences the attributes of the warrior are invariably the same -a warrior is brave, proud, courageous, and honorable. A warrior is wise and caring. A warrior always guards his dignity. Contrary to popular belief, a warrior is not unnecessarily hostile or quick to aggression. A warrior knows when to tear down but also when to build; and above all, a warrior is always determined to protect his family, his community, his people.
Some twenty years ago in the fight against AIDS, I met many people who rightly called themselves AIDS advocates, and then I've met those marching in the streets who called themselves AIDS activists, and then there are those who can only be called AIDS warriors. I believe that Keith Cylar epitomized what it means to be a warrior in the fight against AIDS.
A warrior is brave. There was no power on this earth that Keith Cylar would not stand up to to speak out on behalf of people living with AIDS and HIV. Most popularly of course, he's known for having single-handedly volunteered uninvited testimony at the confirmation hearings of Attorney General John Ashcroft. But you need to know that in Housing Works darkest hours when the Giuliani administration was doing everything it possibly could to drive us out of existence, and when colleagues were suggesting that we tone it down and not be so aggressive, Keith insisted that we continue to boldly speak truth to power—and I am so glad that Keith lived to see the Supreme Court of the United States reject New York City’s motion for certiorari in Henrietta D. vs. Giuliani, making that victory final for all time.
A warrior is proud. Keith knew first-hand and many times over what it is like to be stigmatized, pre-judged and misesteemed because he was black, because he was gay, because he was dyslexic, because he was a drug addict, because he was a person living with AIDS. It hurt him deeply every time it happened, but every time it happened, he confronted it, he challenged it, and this congregation here today is living proof that he overcame it.
A warrior is courageous. Keith suffered from severe asthma from birth. During his childhood he spent more days in bed at home or in the hospital than he did in school. He contracted HIV in the early 80’s and was diagnosed with AIDS in 1989. Especially in the late 80’s and early 90’s, Keith struggled with addiction to cocaine. For many years, he relied on medication to keep HIV at bay. But those drugs had their own debilitating effect. Keith developed degenerative arthritis, and a year ago, cardiomyopathy. In the last five years of his life, there was not a single day that he didn’t experience pain. Yet every day he possibly could, he pulled himself out of bed and accomplished the work of two or three healthy people.
I know you will laugh, but Keith was as shy as I am. He also suffered from chronic depression that was at times debilitating, and experienced dark periods of self-doubt. He didn’t let any of that stop him from speaking his mind and standing up for the things he really believed in. And he masked his feelings so well that few people ever knew the emotional pain he often lived with.
A warrior is honorable. What you saw in Keith is what you got. There was no shame in his game. He didn’t talk about you behind your back, he told you straight to your face, and then he went and told everybody else what he thought about you.
A warrior is wise and caring. Keith could tell you every arcane detail backwards, forwards and sideways about what it took to get a good idea turned into law. But he also was so politically sophisticated; and you know it didn’t matter to Keith if you were a Democratic or Republican, progressive or conservative, a black homophobe or a racist red-neck, if he thought you could help out in the fight against AIDS he was going to try to win you over to his side. Sandy Thurman said it right—he delighted, he absolutely delighted in taking over your office, hand-cuffing himself to your desk, shouting you down at a meeting, and then after he had gotten out of jail, inviting you out, insisting that you come with him for dinner or a drink so he could explain to you why he was right. I see people in this congregation who were the victim of that kind of attack.
Caring—those of you who were here last night heard it, you heard it today, it didn’t matter how busy he was, how tired he was, how worn down he was, how distracted he was, if you were a person with HIV or AIDS, or someone who just needed a listening ear, he made time for you. Whether it was sitting in on a case conference for a troubled client or chiding you about your nutrition, taking your medication, or just teasing a smile out of you if you were looking a little down.
A warrior always guards his dignity. Well, truth to tell, Keith let his slip every now and then. But you know, he recovered so gracefully that it would have been downright impolite and even rude for you to notice.
I don’t know about you, but I never found Keith to be overly hostile or inappropriately aggressive. And if there is anybody in this church who ever once thought that Keith was too strident, let me tell you, Keith could never have been too strident speaking out on behalf of people who were homeless, people who were addicted, people who were living with AIDS and HIV. Keith knew that there is no such thing as being too strident when you’re speaking in the cause of justice and human rights.
A warrior knows when to tear down, but also when to build up. Boy, Keith could tear down like nobody else. I don’t care of it was the HIV Planning Council, the City Department of Health, HRA, the AIDS Institute, the CAEAR Coalition, or any other body. If Keith didn’t like what was going on, he would tear it down. But as Sandy said, he was always willing to stay at the table to talk about a better way. And I have to say that some 15,000 formerly homeless people who have been housed by Housing Works over the last 14 years are living proof that Keith knew how to build.
Above all, a warrior is determined to protect his family, his community, his people. Anna, Marva, Harry—he loved you very, very much, but he believed that his family was much larger than the one who gave him birth and the hands that reared him. If you had anything to do with Housing Works, he considered you a part of his immediate family. And if you were at all involved in the struggle against AIDS, he considered you a blood relative. And, boy, did he love a family squabble. He loved both the fight and the making up after. If you were homeless, if you had been incarcerated, if you were an addict, if you were living with AIDS, and especially if you were gay or lesbian, any of these things—and particularly transgender—Keiith considered you to be his people, and he would lay down his life to protect you.
Keith abhorred indifference—whether it was walking past a homeless person strung out on the sidewalk with a needle sticking out of their arm, or indifference towards the millions of people who are dying of AIDS in the continent of Africa. Keith’s fondest dream was that one day we would not only eradicate AIDS, but that we would also eliminate the condition, transform the attitudes, and change public policy that had allowed this pandemic to come to be.
Keith loved life. He didn’t fear death. He hated death. More than anything else in the world Keith loved to dance. I told somebody last week that Keith loved to dance better than he loved sex, and, well, there are just some things you shouldn’t talk about in front of a grown man’s mother. Keith loved to dance because he saw dance as a celebration of all that is good in life. He used to tell me the dance floor is the one place where I can truly be free and without care.
Saturday, early evening, a week ago, Keith called me from Houston where he was speaking at a conference sponsored by the Drug Policy Foundation. It was a different call from our normal calls, because especially when Keith was away, he used to like to stay on the phone forever, even after he had run out of things to say—just his way of trying to hold you close. But this time the call was really brief. He told me a little bit about the conference, and then he said "Charles, I’m so tired. I just want to come home and rest." He’s done that now, and in his memory I’d like to read from the 91st Psalm which I have claimed and taken the liberty to rename "The Psalm for the AIDS Warrior":
Psalm 91
He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High
will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.
I will say of the LORD , "He is my refuge and my fortress,
my God, in whom I trust."
Surely he will save you from the fowler's snare
and from the deadly pestilence.
He will cover you with his feathers,
and under his wings you will find refuge;
his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.
You will not fear the terror of night,
nor the arrow that flies by day,
nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness,
nor the plague that destroys at midday.
A thousand may fall at your side,
ten thousand at your right hand,
but it will not come near you.
If you make the Most High your dwelling-
even the LORD , who is my refuge-
then no harm will befall you,
no disaster will come near your tent.
For he will command his angels concerning you
to guard you in all your ways;
they will lift you up in their hands,
so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.
You will tread upon the lion and the cobra;
you will trample the great lion and the serpent.
I know that there are some here today who are not religious, and even for those of you who are religious, not everyone believes in a place called heaven. Still, I ask you to imagine with me a place where AIDS Warriors go when they have died. A place where wounds are mended, where broken hearts are made whole, where tired bones are given solace and furrowed brows allowed to rest. And when you have imagined that place, I invite you to believe that is where Keith is along with all the great warriors in this fight. And when that great day comes, and I truly believe it will, that we have eradicated the scourge of AIDS from our land, don’t you know that Keith will be up there right along with Joe Bostic, Joe Capestany, Phyllis Sharpe, Eddie Ramos and Alden McCain, leading the cheers, leading the chants, and leading the dance of victory. And until that day comes it is our duty to continue the struggle to make it so. So it is that spirit that I ask you all to please stand and repeat after me some of Keith’s favorite words: "Housing, Not Shelter, AIDS Won’t Wait!", or this one: "Housing Works, Shelters Kill!." One of his favorites: "Healthcare is a Right, Healthcare is a Human Right!" Another one: "Dead Addicts Don’t Recover, Clean Needles Now!"; "They say Cut Back, We Say Fight Back!"; "Fight AIDS Not People with AIDS!"; and finally "Act-UP, Fight Back, Fight AIDS!", "Act-Up, Fight Back, Fight AIDS!", "Act-Up, Fight Back, Fight AIDS!", "Act-Up, Fight Back, Fight AIDS!"
God bless you all.
Thank you. |
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