February
1997
Editorial:
Remembering Steven Simmons
By Martin Rowe
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Steven Simmons, AIDS and
animal rights activist, died on Sunday January 12. He was 27
years old. I did not know Steven well. I had met him only a
couple of times before I asked him to write a piece on the
death of Jerom the chimpanzee from AIDS at the Yerkes Primate
Research Laboratory at Emory University. His March 1996 piece
[Satya 2:9], characteristically thoughtful and excellently
argued, examined many of the underlying fallacies that characterize
the search for an AIDS cure through research on non-human primates
and other animals.
In a time when AIDS activists are constantly being pitted against animal
activists over research on animals by forces that benefit enormously
from our being fragmented, Steven was an example of compassion in action.
He wasn't willing to allow his compassion to be ridiculously compartmentalized,
and he wasn't going to let his anger at needless suffering be silenced.
In a world where human and non-human life and death are too often undignified
and exploited, Steven's life and the manner of his leaving it are testaments
to the best that we can be. He will be much missed.
Dawn Hernandez
When I was told that Steven had died, along with my overwhelming grief
at losing a dear friend, I couldn't help but think about how much beauty,
love, and activism he had packed into his 27 years.
It was at a meeting for People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals
(PETA) years ago in Rockville, Maryland that Steven and I first became
acquainted. PETA activist Dan Mathews was screening media clips and
there on the monitor was Steven. He was smart, to the point, and confident
in his beliefs. He was also handsome.
When I think of Steven, the images that come to mind are: Steven getting
into a GM car at the Nassau Coliseum car show and handcuffing himself
to the steering wheel to protest GM's use of animals in crash tests;
Steven getting taken away by the police with all the panache of an
actor at the Oscars; Steven, who after we both agreed that the people
of Hegins, Pennsylvania, where they conduct a hideous pigeon shoot
every year, were terribly out of shape, raised his hands to the heavens
and proclaimed: "People, have thee no spas?"; Steven who could make
a friend smile, if only for a moment, during a horrific display of
cruelty. But the moment that will remain in my head and heart forever
is Steven standing alone in front of thousands of people at the Washington,
DC March for the Animals in June 1996. Steven, voicing his outrage
at the use of animals in AIDS research.
Steven faced his illness and his death from AIDS with spiritual understanding,
a heart filled with love, and above all, dignity. Through his activism
he taught the world a thing or two. He taught us to take the high road.
He taught me not only how to make a mean artichoke puff, but also the
goodness and love of complete friendship.
Kathy Guillermo, PETA
As much as the staff and volunteers at PETA enjoyed Steven Simmons'
quick wit and wry sense of humor, the animals were the true beneficiaries
of his work at PETA. Steven was devoted to making a difference -and
he had the talent to do it. He was an articulate and effective speaker.
In dozens of radio, television, and newspaper interviews, he eloquently
described the problems facing other-than-human beings in our society
and explained the need for change. Even under rapid-fire questioning
from reporters, Steven remained calm, courteous and to the point. His
persistence and organizational skills were instrumental in many victories
for animals, including the successful campaign to stop the General
Motors corporation's crash tests with animals.
During the last year, as Steven struggled to maintain his own health,
he worked harder than ever. He traveled to the International AIDS Conference
in Canada and joined members of AIDS Coalition To Unleash Power (ACT
UP) in demanding that researchers stop wasting precious time with fruitless
and cruel experiments on animals. "Living with AIDS," he wrote in an
editorial published in the San Francisco Chronicle, "has strengthened
my compassion for all creatures and my conviction that torturing animals
is not the cure for human illness."
This, his unwavering compassion for those in need, is what we will
miss most.
Patrick Donnelly
Ben Okri's novel The Famished Road is about a "spirit child," a young
African boy who has one foot in the material world, and one foot in
the life of the spirit. These children are recognizable by certain
signs and their births are greeted with horror, because it's known
they won't live long -the pull of the spirit world is too strong.
In the three years I knew Steven Simmons, I saw in him the clear signs
of being such a child. He cared for nothing material and money was
of no interest to him, though it seemed to flow abundantly through
his life. (Steven always used to say he had the "cosmic pin number," and
I believe he did.) He had no interest in clothes, or possessions, or
the way his apartment looked. (He did love food, though -once in working
with his beloved therapist and friend Bobby Hoff a funny little goblin
voice surfaced with the statement: "I'm going to get me something good
to eat!") He didn't have much interest in sex or romance or relationships,
though he would go on infrequent ecstatic binges. (They never lasted
long -his heart wasn't in it.) And though we were very close -we spoke
on the phone three times a day, and he was the first person I went
to with any news, good or bad -he announced last summer that he was
going to move to San Francisco. He loved, but he did not attach. And
like the parents of those African spirit children, this brought a sharp
pain to me -the pain of knowing that something you love so much is
not yours to own.
Steven and I shared a spiritual search which led us both to Sufism,
a mystical practice within Islam. We were ravished by the beauty of
this path, which honors all other paths. Steven met Sheikh Din Mohammed
Abdullah, the leader of a Sufi community in Southern Illinois, in New
York during the summer of 1996. He felt a strong heart connection with
this man, and even when he became gravely ill later that fall, with
an AIDS-related brain lymphoma, he did not let go of his intention
to visit and study with Sheikh Din. His mother, his friend Bobby Hoff,
and I were honored to help him make this trip, which he accomplished
with extraordinary strength and good humor, five days before he died.
Once we arrived in this loving environment, Steven began the terrible
struggle of letting go, a work he did with bravery and graciousness
I will never forget. His mind was lucid, I would even say hyper-aware,
until the moment he died. He replied to things that were said to him
in his last days with a combination of acerbic humor and politeness.
(An hour or so before he died, Steven asked to be moved onto his right
side. After we did this Sheikh Din asked him if that was better. He
said "Very much so.")
An exquisite spiritual generosity opened in him during his illness,
an impulse to share whatever delighted him. One of the last things
he said, after drinking a full glass of water with obvious thirst and
satisfaction, was: "It's so sweet -you should have some. Drink water
every day." This statement, coming from a man who was in terrible pain
in every part of his body, showed that his graciousness was not just
on the surface, but went to the absolute core.
Steven died with his loving mother, friends and spiritual teacher at
his side. He passed peacefully in a state, I believe, of forgiveness
and complete openness to the One Source he relentlessly pursued through
all his working, searching and wandering. His life and death lifted
anyone who knew him, even briefly, to a higher station of awareness
of the beauty of the Divine Nature. It is a miracle, and a gift, that
this spirit child stayed with us so long, in a place that was not his
home.
Patrick Donnelly is a director of the
Whole Foods Project, a non-profit organization dedicated
to providing nutritious food for people with AIDS or other
life-threatening diseases. For more information on the Project,
contact: 285 Fifth Avenue, Box 433, Brooklyn, NY 11215. Tel.:
718-832-6628 or 212-358-5065.
