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AIDS Among Latinos on Rise


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Mauro Ruiz's story fit that profile.
Growing up gay in Mexico, the 35-year old felt the pain of his family's shame. He fled north of the border, as many do, in search of a better life. There, he thought, he could live openly and thrive.
But Ruiz's fantasy never quite materialized. The pay at a local restaurant was better than the $3.50 an hour he earned working for the Mexico City government, but he thought that washing dishes was demeaning. Struggling with English, he made few friends. Most of all, the freedoms he sought in California quickly became his undoing.
Unleashed from the stigma that cloaks homosexuality in Mexico's conservative, machismo culture, Ruiz sought refuge in San Diego's gay bars and bathhouses. There, he discovered friendly American men and crystal methamphetamine.
"I had no idea meth was so addictive," he said. "It takes away your inhibitions. I started associating with people I wouldn't normally."
It was not long before Ruiz contracted HIV. As is the case with many Latinos, his disease had nearly reached full-blown AIDS before it was diagnosed. "I was scared as hell, really, really afraid," he said in a near-whisper.
Ruiz's arc from newly liberated migrant to fighting for his life typifies the experience of many gay Latinos, said Rafael Diaz, an AIDS expert at San Francisco State University.
Many are "objectified" by white men who view them as exotic. They play subservient roles to partners with citizenship or money. The "triple oppressive experiences of poverty, racism and homophobia" lead many to risky behavior, Diaz said. "People are looking for respite and relief from a sense of isolation, economic deprivation and low self-esteem. Sometimes sex is the place where men find that."
Hispanic women confront similar cultural challenges.
Rosario Mancillas was raised to believe that "if you have HIV and you are a woman, you are a prostitute."
The 45-year-old lesbian epitomizes today's increasingly common bi-national, border-straddling existence. She was born in Brownsville, Tex., but raised in the Mexican state of Sinaloa. When she got a job at a Costco store in Chula Vista, Calif., she chose to live across the border in Tijuana, where rents are cheaper and the culture more familiar.
Yet even as she adopted a more American lifestyle, Mancillas's attitudes and beliefs were firmly rooted in her traditional Mexican upbringing. Feeling pressure to give her parents a grandchild, she investigated a sperm bank. But the prospect of insemination seemed cold and impersonal. Then a gay friend offered to try to impregnate her.






