Americans to Pakistan: Drown

There’s little LGBT about this. I’m writing it because I haven’t seen anyone else in the media say it. It’s not my recommendation. It’s my observation.

Americans don’t sit by when people are in desperate need. The LGBT community doesn’t just let others suffer. Or so it seems, until now.

The LGBT community locally and nationally is usually very responsive to crises. We got little help with the AIDS crisis but have taken the lead in helping others affected by the disease.

When the earthquake hit Haiti, fundraising events spontaneously popped up all over the U.S. What had Haiti ever done for us? Nothing. They’re the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere and needed our help. Most of us gave and felt guilty for not giving more.

The LGBT community in Dallas got together and produced an eight-hour fundraising event with performers from within and from outside our community to raise money for Haitians. Thousands of dollars were sent to the Clinton-Bush Haiti fund. The only wish in the community was that we could have done more.

When the tsunami swept the Pacific, donations poured in to help a dozen or more poor countries recover. Some of those countries were allies. Others, not so much. But desperate people needed our help.

Dallas Voice reported at the time that Cathedral of Hope and White Rock Community Church joined forces and raised more than $20,000 for that relief effort.

Today, floods have displaced 8.5 million people in Pakistan. As the crisis continues, homes have been destroyed and people are consumed by illness and hunger. The reaction is quite different.

—  David Taffet

I ride to do my part against HIV

Valerie Holloway Skinner  |  HOLLOWAY FAMILY FOUNDATION

Valerie Holloway Skinner

Do you recall where you were in the spring of 2000? Perhaps not. Don’t feel badly; I have to confess that ordinarily I couldn’t tell you where I was last Friday, much less 10 years ago.
But I had a conversation in April of the beginning of this decade that changed my life and the lives of so many others so drastically that I’m sure I will recall it distinctly 10 years from today.
The then-executive director of AIDS Outreach Center, Mike McKay, called me to meet him for a cup of coffee and to discuss an idea he had been tossing around in his head about a fundraising event — an event we now know as the Lone Star Ride Fighting AIDS.  Since I was the V.P. of the Holloway Family Foundation, he asked me to ask our board to consider being the presenting sponsor of the event, which would raise money and awareness for the AIDS Outreach Center, AIDS Services of Dallas and Resource Center Dallas.
As our foundation was already committed to supporting these agencies individually, even a dull blade like me could figure out pretty quickly that having a $40,000 contribution potentially return $100,000 to these agencies was a sharp idea.
And so, here I am, 10 years later, enthusiastically anticipating the thrill of pedaling my way across what seems like a thousand miles of searing Texas wasteland — straight uphill!
A rational person might ask, “Why not just write a check and, pardon the pun, move on down the road?”  Let me see if I can explain. In 2001 I was that sensible person, and so I never even considered riding a bike in the scorching Texas sun for 175 miles into the middle of Nowheresville.
The thought literally never occurred to me.
In fact, the last time I had ridden a bicycle, I was fairly certain my mother was walking alongside of me making sure I didn’t fall over.
And so with a fair amount of detachment and nonchalance, I showed up at the closing ceremonies that first year to congratulate the riders and crewmembers for their dedication and determination. But standing on that platform, staring into those exhausted, exhilarated faces and hearing that enthusiastic, endearing crowd — well, I knew in an instant that I didn’t want to be in the audience, I wanted to be in the show.
And it’s been showtime ever since.
Is it hot? Yes. Does it sometimes rain? Yes. Are there potholes the size of Kansas and hills that would bring tears to Lance Armstrong’s eyes? Yes and, well, no.
But there are also themed pit stops to refresh and rehydrate you; motorcycle riders to guide and protect you; crew members to pamper and encourage you; and an old friend or a potential new one just around every corner — or “on your left” as it were.
Those are a handful of the somewhat superficial reasons that I have participated in some form or fashion in this ride for the past 10 years (well, maybe not in ’05 when Hurricane Rita hit, but hey, nobody could expect the Queen of Damn Near Everything to cycle in a typhoon!)
But the primary reason, the reason that keeps me coming back year after year after year after — well, you get the point — is that if I don’t ask, somebody won’t give, and if I don’t do, somebody won’t have, and if I don’t tell, somebody won’t know.
And when my kids and my grandkids look back at this decade and the crisis that is AIDS, and ask me what I did to help, I want to be able to look into their faces and tell them I did my part.
And so, as is my way, let me close with a few lines of corny prose:

If you’ve never been a part,
Ask yourself, “Why?”
You don’t know if you can do it
Until you give it a try.

You’ve nothing to lose
But a few pounds of sweat,
There’s so much to gain
And so I just bet

That 2010
Will be the year that we see
Over 200 riders
And YOU are the key

To the success of the Ride,
To the future of those
Who are counting on you.
And so I propose

That you join the Ride Family,
Even if now you don’t “get it.”
Trust me, I know,
You will NEVER forget it!
God bless and godspeed and I’ll see you in September.
To donate to Valerie Holloway Skinner, go online to LoneStarRide.org.

This article appeared in the Dallas Voice print edition July 16, 2010.

—  Kevin Thomas