HIV positive and finding one’s calling: An Interview with Rasheed Gonga of the AIDS Healthcare Foundation

Being gay and HIV-positive can mean coming out twice for some men. First comes the announcement, letting others know that you are not "straight." Later with HIV/AIDS — an infection that has led to more than 44.1 million lives lost globally — a gay man who finds themselves diagnosed must now for a second time come out with the news.

"It was a few months after my ex and I had broken up that he called me to let me know that he had been recently diagnosed with HIV. I tested shortly after and confirmed my diagnosis," recalled Rasheed Gonga.

Gonga, now 38, says he didn't expect his diagnosis would lead him to his calling in HIV/AIDS advocacy, after a friend introduced him to AIDS Healthcare Foundation's Impulse Group in New York City. The affinity group focused on engaging and supporting gay men through social advocacy, connection, and access to resources.

"I volunteered, hosted events, helped with campaigns, and eventually became the director of operations and then president of the local New York City chapter, which in turn led to me becoming the Program Director for Impulse Group globally," he said in a recent interview with Ralph R. Ortega, Vice President of Public Affairs at O'Donnell & Associates, a boutique government relations firm.

The Jamaican native, raised in the Highbridge section of the Bronx after emigrating to the United States in 1998, sat down with Ralph to discuss his life journey and priorities in his current role as Associate Director for Advocacy, Community Engagement, and Legislative Affairs for the Northern Bureau of the AIDS Healthcare Foundation.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

Q: When did you first realize you were gay?

A: The realization came in the early 2000s when I was in high school. I spent three months in France, and during that time, I began recognizing my attraction to men. When I returned home, I felt like I was being forced back into the closet. I became deeply depressed and eventually came out first to my therapist, then to friends and family in the latter part of 2003.

Q: How old were you at that time?

A: About 15 or 16.

Q: What was the experience of coming out like for you?

A: Chaotic. I found support in family members I didn't expect and lost support from others I thought would always be there. My brother surprised me most — he's been one of my biggest champions. My sister has always supported me. My mom needed time, but today she's loving and supportive.

Q: What was your reaction to your diagnosis?

A: Devastating. I cried like I never had before. I thought my life was over — that I'd die, be unloved, and lose my family. I entered a deep depression and essentially went on autopilot for a while.

Q: Where did you go to college, and what did you study?

A: I attended Vassar College in Poughkeepsie and studied psychology.

Q: What career path did you take afterward?

A: I worked in design, then transitioned into food and beverage, eventually becoming a director of operations and a partner. At the same time, I began advocacy work related to HIV.

Q: Please tell me about the AIDS Healthcare Foundation (AHF).

A: AHF was founded in 1987 as the AIDS Hospice Foundation, later changing our name to the AIDS Healthcare Foundation with the advent of biomedical interventions. Today, we operate in seventeen states, Washington DC, and Puerto Rico, as well as 50 countries globally, providing medical care, pharmacy services, housing, food programs, mental health services, and advocacy.

Q: What legislative issues are you working on?

A: My work in the Northeast is deeply focused on health equity, access to care, and protecting the systems that make HIV treatment and prevention possible — particularly for the most marginalized communities.

One of the most urgent priorities is Pharmacy Benefit Manager (PBM) reform. PBMs act as middlemen between pharmaceutical companies, insurers, and pharmacies, but their practices often undermine patient care. We see PBMs engaging in discriminatory reimbursement practices, steering patients away from trusted community pharmacies, and reimbursing covered entities — like HIV clinics participating in the 340B program — at rates that are at or even below the drug acquisition cost. This directly threatens the viability of clinics that rely on pharmacy revenue to fund wraparound services. In New York, we are actively supporting legislation that would prohibit these discriminatory practices and bring transparency and fairness to how PBMs operate.

Closely tied to that work is protecting the 340B Drug Pricing Program. The 340B program was created in 1992 to allow safety-net providers to purchase medications at a discount and reinvest the savings into patient care — housing support, food programs, mental health services, and outreach. Pharmaceutical companies and PBMs have increasingly tried to restrict contract pharmacies or claw back reimbursement, effectively dismantling the program piece by piece. Our position is very clear: the 340B program is working exactly as it was designed to work, and any attempt to weaken it puts patient care at risk. Much of my advocacy involves educating lawmakers about how 340B functions on the ground — not in theory, but in the lives of real people.

Another major focus is eliminating prior authorization barriers for HIV treatment and prevention medications. Prior authorization allows insurance companies to interfere with clinical decision-making by delaying or denying access to prescribed medications. For people living with HIV or those seeking prevention tools like PrEP, time matters. Delays can lead to treatment interruptions, viral rebound, and increased risk of transmission. In New York, we successfully passed legislation addressing this issue on the commercial insurance side, and we are now pushing to extend the same protections to Medicaid, where many of the most vulnerable patients receive care.

We are also heavily involved in preserving and strengthening Ryan White funding at both the state and federal levels. The Ryan White HIV/AIDS Program is a lifeline for people who are uninsured or underinsured, providing medical care, case management, and essential support services. As costs rise and need increases, it's critical that funding keeps pace and is distributed equitably. In multiple states across the Northeast, we work to ensure that Ryan White dollars are protected from cuts and allocated in ways that reflect current epidemiological realities.

Finally, we are not afraid to stand up for what's right, which often puts us at odds with well-funded and powerful entities, i.e. Big Pharma. Drug prices in the U.S. are among the highest in the world, and those costs trickle down to patients, clinics, and public health systems. AHF has a long history of taking on Big Pharma — through legislative advocacy and public pressure campaigns — when pricing practices put profits over people. Whether it's HIV medications, prevention drugs, or treatments for co-morbid conditions, we believe access should never be dictated by a company's profit margin.

Across all this work, my role is to translate complex policy into real-world impact — helping lawmakers understand how a bill affects someone sitting in a clinic waiting room or a provider trying to keep their doors open. At the end of the day, these policy fights are not abstract; they determine who gets to live healthy, dignified lives and who gets left behind.

Q: Did you ever imagine this career for yourself?

A: No. It emerged from my lived experience. Advocacy became a way to transform shame into purpose.

Q: What helped you publicly come out as HIV-positive?

A: Running. I trained for and completed the Chicago Marathon in 2017 and shared my status publicly. The response was overwhelmingly supportive.

Q: What does HIV mean to you today?

A: It's no longer a scarlet letter — it's a filter. It clarified relationships, purpose, and my commitment to helping others thrive.

Q: Do you consider yourself healthy today?

A: Yes. I've been undetectable since shortly after diagnosis. I take Biktarvy daily.

Q: Are you in a relationship?

A: No. I'm open to love and marriage if it happens.

Q: Where do you live now?

A: Newark, New Jersey.

Q: What are your hobbies?

A: Running, cooking, home projects, traveling, reading, music, hiking.

Q: Favorite music and artist?

A: R&B; Adele.

Q: Favorite book and film?

A: The Lord of the Rings for both.

Q: Do you have any pets?

A: Yes, a mini schnauzer named Avila.

Q: What guides your life philosophy now?

A: There's a quote by Rabindranath Tagore that has really become my North Star, especially since the pandemic:

"The man who plants a tree knowing he may never sit in its shade has begun to understand the meaning of life."

For me, that quote perfectly captures how I approach my personal life, my work, and my advocacy. It's about understanding that the impact of what we do isn't always immediate — and that's okay. Not everything we work for is meant to benefit us directly or in our lifetime. Sometimes the value is in knowing that what you're doing will make life easier, safer, or more humane for someone who comes after you.

That idea deeply informs the way I think about advocacy. A lot of the fights we engage in — whether it's protecting the 340B program, pushing back against pharmaceutical greed, or trying to expand access to care — are long, exhausting, and often thankless. You don't always see a win right away. Sometimes you don't even know if your efforts will succeed at all. But if we don't do the work now, the next generation inherits a system that's even more broken than the one we're living in today.

It's also shaped how I think about mentorship and community. I don't need credit or recognition for the way I show up for people. If a young gay man, or someone newly diagnosed with HIV, can see my life and think, "I'm going to be okay," that's enough. If I can be a resource — someone they call when they're scared or unsure — then I'm planting a tree.

On a personal level, that philosophy has helped me let go of shame and urgency. I no longer feel like my life has to follow a specific timeline or look a certain way to be valid. Purpose doesn't have to be loud or immediately rewarded. Sometimes it's quiet, consistent, and cumulative — showing up every day, doing good work, treating people with dignity, and believing that those actions ripple outward.

Where I am now, I feel grounded. I feel comfortable. I feel clear about why I do what I do. That doesn't mean I don't question things or push back when something doesn't make sense — but it does mean I'm committed to leaving things better than I found them. Even if I never get to sit in the shade myself, knowing I helped plant the tree is enough.