You found out you were HIV-positive in January 2018, before you transitioned, and you said followingwards, “There’s a part of me that knew I was going to have it.” Where did this feeling come from?
Nina Champs : It is related to the experience of a queer person. A queer child who grows up in a heteronormative society and comes of age with low self-esteem. I come from a very Judeo-Christian family and people have always told me: “Watch out for AIDS! as if straight people weren’t affected by HIV. Concerning transidentity, I opened my eyes thanks to the collective, of which I am a part, which is called Les Bastards. One day, Gigi, one of my sisters in the collective, said to me: “Let’s be honest, you’re not a guy! »
How did you experience the double challenge of starting a transition while having to respect the HIV care protocol?
I was diagnosed with HIV when I was 20 years old. At the time, I still identified as a cisgender boy and I had become closer to the gay HIV community. I shaved my hair and I even started bodybuilding, but I didn’t find my place in this environment. Three years later, I started my transition. I informed my infectiologist who changed my HIV treatment to avoid interactions with hormonal treatment. I started a hormonal gel approach for a year [Oestrogel est un gel qui contient comme principe actif l’hormone estradiol, laquelle est identique à l’hormone naturelle, ndlr] and, in addition, I was taking a testosterone blocker. Then I switched to injections. The luck I had was that my infectious disease specialist and my endocrinologist work in the same hospital and they worked together to organize my care.
From your personal story, you have developed the play Hurler à la mer as an autobiographical story. Why this title and what is this piece regarding?
A few days following my HIV diagnosis, I went to the sea with my group of friends at the time. My shrink had advised me to externalize my suffering by shouting a good shot, so I literally screamed at the sea! There are two versions of the piece, written before and following my transition. The first version tells the story of Jules, a young gay man who learns his HIV status and announces it to his mother and her best friend. There is a phrase that comes up several times in the play: “No one sees me; nobody hears me; no one feels me”. The second version tells the story of an HIV-positive trans woman who has not yet transitioned. By making her transition, the trans woman will lose her job, experience transphobia and start sex work. It’s my story that I play on stage. I don’t know if I will play this piece once more. I was very tired of the blocking of institutions on this project. I left no stone unturned to be scheduled for help, to no avail. But for me, Hurler à la mer is a timeless piece that can be adapted and performed by other people.
In 2021, you testified on several occasions, with your face uncovered in the media and you were part of the AIDES campaign of December 1, 2021. Why is it important for you to be visible?
When I agreed to do the AIDES campaign on December 1st, I had no idea that I was the first trans woman to appear in a national HIV campaign, plastered all over the place. My close-up face has appeared on TV and on posters in subway stations. I accepted because I did not see trans women in HIV campaigns. Around this campaign, I gave many interviews. I received a lot of love and it made me feel good, but at the same time I was going through very difficult times with my family. I spent Christmas and New Years all alone.
How did you experience this media exposure?
I lived through complicated times financially because I practiced sex work and some clients recognized me. Sex work was my safe space because I felt in control of the situation, so it destabilized me a lot to be discriminated once morest there. This media exposure has made me a symbol. I was no longer Nina, I was the HIV-positive trans woman you see on the networks. After that, I moved away from activism. I realized that the militant milieu was hard on the militant people themselves. We demand a form of militant purity and we have no room for error. I felt pressure from the militant milieu and I felt abandoned. All of this led to a suicide attempt. I’m talking regarding it today because I’m better and I’ve done some work on myself. My trans identity and HIV do not define me. For a long time, I said to myself: “I deserve to have a voice, I deserve to speak”. Now I’m also learning to tell myself that I deserve to be quiet at times, not to speak and just to exist.
In your interviews, you denounced the medical serophobia that you experienced, sometimes coupled with transphobia. Where are you today with the medical profession?
I avoid it! I no longer have confidence and I am afraid of certain reactions. For example, two years ago I tore the meniscus in my right leg. I spoke regarding my HIV status with the anesthesiologist who was very attentive, but on the day of the operation, he was not there, and obviously the information was not transmitted to the medical team. . When I woke up from my general anesthesia, I was yelled at by the surgeon who told me: “There was a risk of contamination, you might have said that! ” I was very angry. He was not even informed of the “Undetectable = Untransmittable”. I also experienced discrimination in LGBT health centers, as a trans woman.
What are your projects today?
I feel great. I will soon be moving to Brussels. I’m going to set up a new artistic project called Praise; who will talk regarding the place of trans women in the public space and the history of visibility through the history of art. It will be a musical and visual performance, with also collaborations with trans artists. I had subsidies from the Belgian State for this project and I even met the Prime Minister. Praise is designed by and for queer and trans people, but is also meant to be seen by cis people. It is this public that must be made aware. I will also do inclusiveness training for cis people who don’t know much regarding trans identities.
What is your message for trans people living with HIV who will read you?
Our existences are difficult, but they are also very beautiful. We are a community conducive to suicide, HIV infection, discrimination, physical violence, moral violence, systemic violence. But there is a whole community that is there to support us. You have to identify resource people around you and create chains of solidarity between trans people. Me, for example, I have four trans friends in Paris and we support each other via a Whatsapp group. These people understand and find the right words to reassure me. I want to say: protect yourself from all this violence, say when it’s not right, take care of your mental health, love each other and be crazy!
Interview by Fred Lebreton
