Life's work saved lives

The last quartercentury of his life, which ended in February at the age of 64, was devoted to an unpopular battle: fighting to persuade the African-American community in Boston to take HIV and AIDS seriously. For his tireless efforts, he will be honored tomorrow by the AIDS Action Committee's Bayard Rustin Breakfast at the John F. Kennedy Library.

It is impossible to know how the mercurial Moseby would have felt about the honor. But his legion of admirers wanted to honor his commitment to a cause that even now is a work in progress.

Moseby's résumé includes close to a dozen groups fighting AIDS in communities of color. Life changed completely for Moseby, a mathematics professor in his working life, after he was diagnosed in 1985.

He worked with, among others, the Boston Health and Hospitals Department, the state Department of Public Health, and the AIDS Ministry for the Archdiocese of Boston.

Harold Cox encountered him in the late 1980s while he was working at AIDS Action.

"LeBaron was engaged, he was thoughtful, he was concerned, he was an advocate, and he was someone who always had an opinion," Cox said. "More than anything else, he was incredibly thoughtful."

Like other admirers, Cox had an off-and-on friendship with him. "He was a complicated man," Cox said. "He went through friends. He would like us, and then he would get rid of us for a while. But I think the important thing is that when it came to AIDS and social justice he was very real and very consistent."

It is appropriate that he be recognized at an event devoted to people of color and HIV. Friends say the stigma he felt within the community was a major inspiration for his activism. In later years he also came to feel that the disease had a disproportionate effect for people of color, partly because of what he viewed as obstacles to healthcare.

He was right about this much: HIV remains a calamity in the black community. It is the leading cause of death of black women between the ages of 35 and 44. By some estimates, blacks are 11 times more likely to be infected than whites.

No breakfast is going to change that, but it cannot be said enough that AIDS prevention is currently inadequate. Rebecca Haag, president of AIDS Action, says there are many reasons the black community remains especially hard-hit by HIV. "If you're not having safe sex in the black community, the chances of getting infected are much greater," she said. "People are getting tested later. There's less access to healthcare. I think there's also greater distrust of the healthcare system."

Fairly or unfairly, black ministers have taken a lot of criticism for insensitivity to the AIDS crisis - one of the cultural battles Moseby fought incessantly.

"I still think there's an element of homophobia we're trying to overcome," Haag said. "We need the clergy to understand that these are God's children, that they are losing their children."

For Moseby, the chance to engage with others about HIV seemed therapeutic. He wrote about how his activities helped him overcome a sense of isolation.

"While many have chosen to live and struggle with the personal adversity that comes with AIDS alone and in isolation, I have always felt that there was strength in numbers . . . I have always been comforted in my more frightening and painful moments to realize I am not alone and that if I reach out and make contact with just one other person, there will be two less lonely people in this battle."

In a cruel irony, Moseby died alone, at home in the South End. Nevertheless, his tireless effort to connect helped create a community of activists, who will be one with him tomorrow.

Adrian Walker is a Globe columnist. He can be reached at walker@globe,.com.