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In 1980, Malcolm moved to Atlanta, driven by an intense desire to explore his identity and sexuality. The city provided him with the freedom to express himself, connect with other gay men, and fully embrace who he was. However, by 1984, the carefree spirit that defined the community was shaken by whispers of a mysterious illness. This new disease instilled a deep fear in the gay community, and Malcolm began witnessing friends fall ill—some deteriorating so quickly that it terrified him. Yet, despite the rising panic, Malcolm continued his journey of self-discovery, determined to find out who he truly was.

By 1990, Malcolm’s body began sending unmistakable signs of something wrong. His lymph nodes started to swell, and a shadow of dread loomed over him. Less than a year later, that unease became too overwhelming to ignore. He recalled an article he had read in Ebony Magazine about a young man whose swollen lymph nodes mirrored his own—someone battling what was then being referred to as “gay cancer.” The similarities were haunting, and one night, around 1 a.m., Malcolm stood in a phone booth, dialing the only person he knew he could trust—his mother.

Malcolm’s mother was a nurse, a woman who had seen the harsh realities of human suffering in her years at Planned Parenthood. Her advice came from a place of fierce love and protection. She urged him to seek medical attention but warned him sternly against taking any medication, especially AZT. “It’s toxic,” she said, convinced the drug was doing more harm than good. Her words lingered in Malcolm’s mind, a constant reminder of the delicate line between treatment and harm.

When the diagnosis finally came, it was wrapped in medical jargon—something about cells consistent with HTLV-III. Malcolm didn’t fully understand the meaning but knew it wasn’t good. He called his mother again. “What is HTLV-III?” he asked, his voice tight with fear. Her response was sombre: it was the technical term for what was now being called HIV. When Malcolm asked what he should do for the first time, his mother didn’t have a clear answer. “Just stay healthy,” she said softly. “Eat right, take care of yourself.”

And so he did. The swelling in his lymph nodes eventually subsided, and for a time, Malcolm managed to push the fear to the back of his mind, trying to live as normally as possible. But in 1996 or 1997, with the arrival of antiretroviral therapies—what we now call HAART—the outlook on HIV shifted dramatically. Around the same time, Malcolm met the man who would become his husband. His partner had been recovering from pneumonia that required surgery to drain fluid and repair his lungs when they first connected. Malcolm asked him directly if he was HIV positive. The answer was yes.

That shared truth bound them together in ways they hadn’t anticipated. It was no longer just about survival; it became a story of love in the face of fear, the shadow of illness, and the uncertainty of the future. Somehow, despite all the challenges, they found each other.

Malcolm’s journey with HIV became more than a personal story—it evolved into a powerful testament to resilience, transformation, and hope. Diagnosed at a time when stigma and fear could have easily defined his life, Malcolm chose instead to rise above those forces, turning his struggles into a source of strength for others walking a similar path.

After many years of dealing with his HIV status in silence with the exception of his husband and immediate family, Malcolm found THRIVESS (Transforming HIV Resentments into Victories Everlasting Support Services), where he served not only as a leader but as a lifeline for those struggling with the emotional complexities of living with HIV. His work is deeply personal, fueled by his experiences and belief that no one should navigate this journey alone. Although he is no longer with THRIVE SS, Malcolm continues to speak about HIV, especially for older adults and those ageing. He has launched his own consulting firm and currently works with the USPLHIV Caucus and other non-profit organizations seeking to improve health equity for those living with and vulnerable to HIV.

Malcolm’s impact reaches far beyond the usual bounds of support:

By sharing his story with raw honesty, Malcolm challenges the stigma surrounding HIV and helps create a world where people can live with dignity and without shame.

He offers more than just advice—he provides peer support and mentorship. Malcolm becomes a trusted confidant, offering a safe space for people to express their fears, doubts, and triumphs. He reminds them that an HIV diagnosis does not define who they are.

Malcolm is intimately familiar with the weight of fear and resentment, but he also understands the immense power of resilience. Through his work, he helps others turn their pain into strength, showing them that HIV is not the end but the beginning of a new chapter of personal growth and self-love.

He doesn’t just build support groups—he creates families. These families thrive in a space where vulnerability is embraced, victories are celebrated, and no one is left behind. Malcolm fosters a sense of belonging, reminding everyone they are seen, valued, and supported.

For Malcolm, this isn’t just a job but his life’s mission. His journey demonstrates that we can turn our struggles into something beautiful, even in the most challenging battles. His unwavering dedication to helping others thrive reminds us that there is extraordinary potential within every hardship and that strength resides in every story of survival.

Malcolm believes the conversation around HIV today is increasingly centred on prevention—especially with the rise of PrEP. However, for Malcolm, prevention also means treatment. “U=U ,” he says, referring to the concept that undetectable viral loads prevent the transmission of HIV. Malcolm emphasizes that we need to focus on the fact that being undetectable is a powerful prevention tool. Despite its scientific validation, he feels many people don’t fully respect how important “U=U” is in stopping the virus.

At the United States Conference on HIV/AIDS, Malcolm engaged in a discussion about why “treatment as prevention” often gets overlooked. Some participants recalled how it had been poorly understood when first introduced, leading to confusion. But Malcolm insists, “The science is validated now, and we need to talk about it.”

Malcolm acknowledges that stigma will always exist, especially among those who refuse to listen to science. He compares it to the ongoing debates around vaccinations, where fear often drowns out facts. However, he believes the best way to combat stigma is through visibility. His advocacy revolves around showing people, through his life, that living with HIV doesn’t mean living in fear or isolation.

Through social media and personal interactions, Malcolm educates those around him. Many friends have learned about HIV from him, and he frequently receives messages asking for advice or support for newly diagnosed individuals. Malcolm’s openness serves as a bridge between fear and understanding, between stigma and acceptance.

He believes the key to defeating stigma lies in living openly, abundantly, and proudly. Yes, there is trauma, but beyond it, there is life. There is joy. There is thriving. Malcolm’s strength—though tested—is undeniable. Through his visibility and advocacy, he proves to others that HIV is not the end of the story but rather the beginning of a new chapter.