Barbara Vick had long been a regular donor at the San Diego Blood Bank, but during a routine visit one day in 1983, she noticed something different. As she thumbed through the standard paperwork, Vick paused on a new memo informing donors that “men who have sex with men” were now banned from giving blood.

A lesbian and member of the Women’s Caucus within the LGBTQ+ group, the San Diego Democratic Club, Vick was no stranger to the era’s escalating AIDS epidemic. The private nature of the San Diego Blood Bank allowed individuals and organizations to create blood funds that specific groups could draw from. AIDS patients frequently needed access to the limited blood supply, which Vick knew would only grow smaller now that even fewer people were allowed to donate. 

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Vick thought about a private blood fund run by one of her former employers and the many conversations she’s had with other club members about how to support people with AIDS. A new thought emerged: What if Vick and her peers organized their own blood drive and created a fund for folks with AIDS to ensure their continued access?

“I went back to the group and said, ‘Hey, what do you think about a blood drive?’ Simple origins,” Vick told LGBTQ Nation. “We honestly thought if we could get 30 people to show up, it would be a success. We didn’t have grandiose plans, and we certainly weren’t thinking of making history.”

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Nevertheless, the organization that came to be known as The San Diego Blood Sisters is now embedded in American LGBTQ+ History through both its own work and the advocacy efforts it inspired across the country. Today, the Blood Sisters’ legacy underscores the enduring importance of intracommunity advocacy, especially in the most dire of times.

A way you could give of yourself

By 1983, it was becoming impossible to ignore the heightened threat of AIDS. This new reality felt especially heavy for men in the LGBTQ+ community, who were helplessly witnessing peers fall ill and living with constant fear that they may be next. 

Information about AIDS and its transmission was still limited, though it was generally understood that lesbians and other queer women were not among the most vulnerable groups. 

The growing public perception of AIDS as a “gay disease” and the lack of federal funds to address the epidemic brought mounting fear to the community. Congress didn’t approve funding for AIDS research and treatment until July 1983 – despite the CDC releasing its first official report on the mysterious illness in 1981 – leaving queer men across the country with a growing sense of alienation and helplessness.

“If straights had more brains, or were less bigoted against gays, they would see that, as with hepatitis B, gay men are again doing their suffering for them, revealing this disease to them,” wrote Larry Karmer for a March 1983 article in the New York Native. “They can use us as guinea pigs to discover the cure to AIDS before it hits them, which most medical authorities are still convinced will be happening shortly in increasing numbers.”

At the time, 25 states still criminalized homosexuality, and it would take another year before researchers identified HIV as the cause of AIDS. It would also be two more years before antibody screening tests were licensed to detect infection. 

In short, the community needed help.

Vick joined forces with fellow Democratic Club members Sue Biegeleisen and Nicolette Ibarra to organize the inaugural blood drive. She said it simply felt like the right thing to do.

She also noted that at the time, women were even more economically disadvantaged and largely didn’t have extra finances to contribute. “So, how can you help? I think a blood drive was very appealing on many different levels to women, because it was a way that you could give of yourself. There were a lot of people that probably were blood donors or were open to being a blood donor.”

The founding members of the San Diego Blood Sisters started spreading the word. Vick nodded to the clever marketing materials, some designs playing off Rosie the Riveter and her flexed arm, and another reminiscent of the Superman logo.

Vick planned the drive for a Saturday and assumed there would be no need for extra help. It took place at the San Diego Blood Bank on Upas Street in Hillcrest on July 16, 1983, and far exceeded Vick’s initial estimate of 30 donors. Nearly 200 women showed up and gave more than 130 donations.

“The lesbians kind of took over the waiting room,” Vick said. “It was kind of the place to be that Saturday, because there were so many people there. There wasn’t enough seating for people, so you had people sitting on the arm of a chair with another person in the chair. People knew each other, and it was really a great time for the people that donated. We were just kind of blown away.”

The power of our community

The drive later gained national attention, with key LGBTQ+ groups like the National Gay Task Force (now the National LGBTQ Task Force) praising the Blood Sisters’ efforts. Queer women across the country saw the outpouring of support in San Diego and sought to organize blood drives in their own communities. In turn, the Blood Sisters put together a “how-to” guide for others.

“It was amazing, successful, and very inspiring,” Vick said. She noted the drive’s lasting impact in subsequent years and its role in unifying the community. All the while, the Blood Sisters admired other innovative ideas to cover potential gaps, like a service to care for pets of people lost to AIDS and others centering on food delivery or additional patient care needs.

“Stuff like that really moved me; I would see it and think, ‘Oh, wow, what a wonderful idea,’” Vick said. “I’m not saying that that was lesbian driven; I’m just saying that there just was a great outpouring of support within the community. It was an example of the power of our community and how we rally around each other.”

Looking back on that time, Vick feels a mix of complex emotions: the power of showing up for one another, the joy of shared LGBTQ+ community during a time of strife, and the surreal brutality of unrelenting grief.

“There are many memories and representations of that time and many, many, many losses,” Vick said. “It’s really hard to describe… This wiped out almost a generation of healthy young, vibrant men.”

The Blood Sisters and others helped bridge the gap in those initial years, aiding community members overwhelmed by unknowns and compounded by a slow response from those best equipped to help. 

The group hosted 12 total drives between 1983 and 1992 before the organization was ultimately dissolved in 1993. Eventually, research and administrative efforts amped up. Through the ‘80s and ‘90s, our collective knowledge of HIV and AIDS expanded rapidly, but it wasn’t until 1996 that the number of Americans dying from AIDS each year began to decline. 

In retrospect, the Blood Sisters’ actions underscore the political prejudice and inaction of those early days. The persisting impact lies in their courage and compassion during a time of crisis. 

Blood is a life force

As LGBTQ+ folks face a slew of new challenges today, Vick still finds solace in community. She’s currently part of a gay feminist chorus, composed of both queer women and allies. That feeling of belonging to something, that sense of unconditional community support, is just as important today as it was back then, she said.

As bad as things were under the Reagan Administration in the early days of the AIDS epidemic, Vick said, “it’s mild compared to the insanity of today.”

Vick still resides in San Diego, where she’s frequently reminded of the prevailing impact of the group she co-founded all those years ago. She’s one of numerous Blood Sisters still in the city.

She often ponders why the Blood Sisters are remembered to this extent, when there were so many others who may have provided even more support at the time. It was just an idea, one that “transcends us and kind of has a place in history,” she said.

Blood is a life force, and the act of sharing it to support one another reflects the lengths to which we will go for our own community, Vick said. Our ability to continue showing up for each other, embracing pride and community in times of both triumph and struggle, reflects the magic of LGBTQ+ people – and a grit that is crucial as we navigate yet another trying time.

“I can validate that things have never been as bad in my lifetime as the political climate today, but I don’t buy that it’s going to last,” Vick said. “It’s a really hard time that we’re living through – and all the more reason to be there for one another right now.”

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