AID Atlanta Executive Director Nicole Roebuck On Her 20-Year Career in HIV, Allyship To Black Gay Men
Nicole Roebuck says she has always felt chosen throughout her 20-year career with AID Atlanta, the city’s leading HIV service organization, founded in 1982 in response to the national HIV epidemic. Roebuck, who has served as Executive Director of AID Atlanta since 2015, became only the second Black woman in the agency’s history to ascend to the top leadership position, a role that she says she actually never applied for, continuing a non-traditional but rewarding trajectory from the beginning of her tenure at the agency.
“I always tell people I've never applied for any of my jobs at AID Atlanta,” said Roebuck.” I applied for a case manager, got a CQI (continuous quality improvement) job. I applied for director of client services, got a billing and compliance type role. And then I was offered the director of client services and was then offered the position of executive director. I did not apply for any of these jobs,” she said. “I say all that to say, you do hard work, you show what you can do, and things kind of show up for you when they need to.”
“As the epidemic got browner, there seemed to be different priorities. Suddenly, people dying wasn’t a priority anymore because of who was dying. It impacts everything.”
It’s the decades of hard work that has earned Roebuck the respect of colleagues and the community she serves, specifically the Black gay men who enter through the doors of AID Atlanta for services, many of whom, according to Roebuck, refer to the married mother of three as “auntie or mama.”
A native of St. Thomas, U.S. Virgin Islands, Roebuck tells The Reckoning that while she is aware of the prevalence of homophobia that exists in many Caribbean nations, her progressive upbringing in a home that included her Senator-father, lent itself to the acceptance of all people regardless of sexual orientation. A belief system that would prove to serve her well in her career.
“I didn't have any familial negativity placed on me to choose or judge people differently,” said Roebuck. “I didn't grow up with that.”
But what she grew up with on the majority African-American island was the representation that affirmed her identity and presence in the world, and for better or worse, isolated her from the full scope of racism on the mainland.
(From L to R) Imara Canady, Atlanta Mayor Keisha Lance Bottoms and Nicole Roebuck
“Caribbean nations tend to be African-American majority. Our senators look like us, our representatives look like us, the commissioners, the radio people, the people on TV… everybody looks Brown, you know? And so when you grow up in an environment like that, racism doesn’t impact you the same way it does when you grow up on the mainland, “said Roebuck.
As an African-American woman in leadership who has encountered the challenges that come along with those intersecting identities, Roebuck says, “I face them, but I don’t let them get in my area of focus.”
“I think because of where I grew up, I don’t always have the radar to know, oh wait, I’m being discriminated against,” she said through laughter while revealing a distinct awareness of the role racism plays in the lives of African-Americans on the mainland.
“But of course it happens, maybe in conversation or meetings. I may say something and somebody else of a different race or a different gender may say the same thing, and then everybody sort of suddenly listens to what that person said.”
But regardless of the hurdles she may face, silence for the New York University-trained social worker who watched a young girl succumb to HIV-related complications in a New York City Respite Center has never been an option.
Servant leader, ally, truth-teller
“One of the families I worked with, they lost their young daughter and that always stayed with me,” said Roebuck. "She contracted HIV through pre-natal transmission from her mom and she died. And that actually stayed with me.”
Roebuck credits the child’s death as a defining moment that set her on the path towards educating herself and others in the Black community about the threat of HIV. With her master of social work (MSW) from NYU in hand, Roebuck returned to work briefly in her native St. Thomas. But it was her transition to AID Atlanta and the city bearing its name in 2000 that aligned Roebuck with her purpose as a servant leader just as Black gay men across Atlanta were continuing to be impacted by HIV at disproportionate rates.
“It is so in your face that it is extremely disturbing to me as a Black woman who has sons,” said Roebuck about the impact of HIV on Black [gay] men.
“And for me, it doesn't matter if you're gay or you're straight or you're somewhere in between—we have to serve those that are in need. I think that when I think of Black gay men, period, I first think of Black men. The first thing that people see is that you're a Black man, or you're a Black person, or a Black woman. And what comes with that? All the struggles that come with that. All the lessons you have to teach our Black boys and our Black men to survive and live in this world. I think about Black gay men having to deal with just being Black and male and then being gay comes with a whole other set of stigma and inequities and disparities and shame put upon them. And I think it's an abomination,” she said.
Roebuck and her team at AID Atlanta are committed to providing a holistic approach to client care and acknowledge the increasing stigma around HIV that often prevents Black gay men from accessing their services. Roebuck says she hopes Black gay men realize that they have an ally in her.
“I hope people feel it's from a genuine place of caring and love for them, and me understanding and seeing them,” she said. “You have to see people and see their hearts. Can we extend grace to folk and try to see people from where they’ve come from, and from all that they have had to deal with to even show up at a place called AID Atlanta?”
Nicole Roebuck and Common
Roebuck says stigma impacts everything, from policies to funding to the type of person who will be comfortable walking through the doors of an AIDS Service Organization.
“It’s not a surprise that when the epidemic looked different, looked lighter, that there were more funds. There was more attention paid to the issue. I don't think that's a surprise. I don't think that's a coincidence,” she said. “As the epidemic got browner, there seemed to be different priorities. Suddenly, people dying wasn’t a priority anymore because of who was dying. It impacts everything.”
With The U.S. Department of Health and Human Services’ initiative to reduce the number of new HIV infections in the United States by at least 90 percent by 2030, the question remains if HIV can be eradicated in our lifetime. Roebuck weighs in.
“I don't know how you can end HIV because you already have people living with HIV and there's no cure. So you get to end HIV in two ways: a cure for the people already infected and a vaccine for the people who are not,” said Roebuck.
“You have to see people and see their hearts. Can we extend grace to folk and try to see people from where they’ve come from, and from all that they have had to deal with to even show up at a place called AID Atlanta?”
“Now we have PrEP,” she said, referring to the once-a-day pill prescribed for HIV-negative individuals to prevent contracting HIV. “So PrEP gets you really close to preventing, but even with PrEP, you have to have access. There's no specific funding for PrEP. There is no CDC funding. CDC is saying, do it, but we’re not paying for it. HRSA on the other side, which is care, said, do it, but we're not paying for it. So until PrEP becomes accessible 100% to all the people that need it, it doesn't do its job. Do we have the technology? Yes. Do we have the technology to get it done? Yes. But do we have the collective will [to end HIV]? I’m not convinced.”
