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As executive director of the Utah AIDS Foundation, and as a member of the Salt Lake City Council, I've heard lately from a surprisingly large number of people who are concerned that we face a future destined to be less compassionate, inclusive and tolerant than our present.

I'm committed to doing my part to ensure that won't be the case, but this is a time of unexpected and unprecedented uncertainty, and with uncertainty comes fear. Since the presidential election, many friends, clients and acquaintances — especially those who are LGBTQ, not Caucasian, not Christian or otherwise "other" — tell me they feel dispirited, powerless to make a difference and fearful of what the future may hold.

Regardless of one's sexuality, ethnicity, religion or political persuasion, these are feelings we can all relate to. But we also must go a step further to acknowledge and respect each other's feelings, even if we don't agree with each other's opinions and beliefs.

We've been down this road before, and we will no doubt travel it again in the future.

The observation of World AIDS Day on Dec. 1 provides an instructive example of how we responded to different disruptive event in the past.

In the early 1980s — the dark days at the beginning of the HIV/AIDS epidemic — we had little understanding of what the disease was, how it was transmitted and how it could be treated and prevented. Gay men and others with the disease were suddenly dying by the thousands. Gay and straight people alike were afraid of what the epidemic meant for their future.

Most perplexing and frustrating, though, was the tepid government response to what was rapidly becoming a public health crisis. By the time the first significant legislation was passed to fund AIDS programs in 1988, seven years had passed since the U.S. Centers for Disease Control first noted the emergence of the disease.

In 1981, 159 cases of what we now call HIV/AIDS were recorded in the U.S. In 1988, when Congress finally acted on the Hope Act, more than 82,000 cases had been reported, and nearly 62,000 people had died.

While there were lots of reasons for the slow response, one thing was very obvious: Most of those who were infected and dying were gay men living in big cities. An already vulnerable and "different" group of people became marginalized even further by a terrifying and deadly disease. They were easy to disregard and dismiss.

Opposition by powerful members of Congress, often fueled by their religious and cultural beliefs, stymied government action to address the crisis, and it only grew worse. In 1987, then-Sen. Jesse Helms proposed that Congress ban the use of federal funds for AIDS prevention and education campaigns if they "promoted homosexual activities." The legislation passed and was signed into law by President Reagan.

To be sure, the AIDS crisis brought homosexuality out of the closet for many Americans and exposed biases, fears and bigotry. But it also led to two positive responses.

First, anger over the lack of action by our leaders and the dismissive attitude towards gay people motivated activism on multiple levels to raise awareness, change attitudes and demand the resources needed to save lives.

Second, the crisis unleashed an amazing outpouring of love, caring and compassion. Tens of thousands of people began volunteering to help those in need, staff crisis hotlines, deliver meals and donate money to the many service organizations, such as the Utah AIDS Foundation, that formed in every state in the nation.

I'm convinced that both of these things will happen again in response to today's political environment.

It's human to respond to unexpected and traumatic events with disbelief and despair, and it's even OK to be immobilized for a while as we process what's happened and brace for the potentially catastrophic changes that may yet occur.

But, as the saying goes, crisis can lead to opportunity, and that's the path I prefer to take.

None of us are helpless or hopeless or unable to make a difference.

A future that values compassion, inclusion and respect for everyone, regardless of who they are or what they believe, is the ideal our nation is based on and will always be at our core. But it takes hope, unity, and most of all, action, to build a more perfect union.

Stan Penfold is executive director of the Utah AIDS Foundation and vice chair of the Salt Lake City Council.