We are asking that communities we serve are not abandoned
In Chicago's Humboldt Park neighborhood, a public health crisis is quietly compounding: HIV infections have surged 29 percent since 2022, with Latino residents now accounting for the majority of new diagnoses for the first time in the city's history. The convergence of pandemic-era care disruptions, large-scale migration, and now federal funding cuts has unraveled decades of hard-won progress, leaving community health workers scrambling to hold together the fragile infrastructure of prevention. What is at stake is not merely a statistic, but the oldest lesson of epidemic response — that trust, access, and continuity of care are not luxuries, but the very architecture of survival.
- HIV cases in Chicago have jumped 29% since 2022, with Latinos now representing the majority of new diagnoses — a historic and alarming shift that reverses nearly two decades of decline.
- Funding cuts from the Trump administration, compounded by state budget pressures, are pushing community prevention programs like the Puerto Rican Cultural Center toward closure by summer, threatening to eliminate the outreach workers who reach the most vulnerable.
- Migration patterns, COVID-19 care disruptions, and fear of sharing immigration status with government agencies have created a population of people who are falling out of — or never entering — the care system, even as effective treatments exist.
- Community organizations rallied in Humboldt Park in March to demand emergency funding from state officials, but three grant applications from the Cultural Center were denied, leaving advocates with few answers and a narrowing window.
- Health economists and advocates warn that allowing prevention infrastructure to collapse will ultimately cost far more — in hospitalizations, late-stage AIDS diagnoses, and human suffering — than sustaining the programs now at risk.
Ricardo Jiménez works out of Chicago's Puerto Rican Cultural Center in Humboldt Park, trying to hold together HIV prevention programs that may not survive the summer. Funding is running out. His staff could lose their jobs. He might too — and the timing could not be worse.
After nearly two decades of decline, HIV infections in Chicago are rising sharply. Between 2022 and 2024, new cases jumped 29 percent, with 818 diagnoses in 2024 alone. For the first time, Latinos account for the majority of new cases in the city. While HIV rates fell among white and Black residents from 2020 to 2024, they rose 17 percent among Latinos. Late diagnoses are climbing as well — half of those diagnosed with both HIV and AIDS within a single year in 2024 were Latino.
Public health officials point to several overlapping causes. More than 51,000 newly arrived immigrants, many Latino, were bused to Chicago between 2022 and 2024 as a political gesture by Texas Governor Greg Abbott. Some had never been tested. The COVID-19 pandemic broke the continuity of care for many others — missed appointments, lost insurance, and fear kept people away from clinics. Once that momentum breaks, Chicago's public health commissioner explained, it is extraordinarily difficult to rebuild. People stop taking PrEP. They fall out of care. Transmission rises.
The cruelty of the moment lies in what medicine can actually do. Antiretroviral therapy can reduce viral loads to undetectable levels, making transmission impossible — but only for those who can access and sustain treatment. When funding collapses, access collapses with it. The Puerto Rican Cultural Center had been doing the painstaking work of outreach — bringing HIV testing and information about medications into the bars and nightclubs where Latino communities gather. Without funding, that work ends.
In February, the Trump administration announced cuts to public health programs including HIV prevention. Illinois restored some grants, but only through June. The Cultural Center is not expecting renewal. Across the country, states are also restricting access to the AIDS Drug Assistance Program, which provides treatment to uninsured patients. The CEO of the AIDS Foundation Chicago described a perfect storm: expiring tax credits, Medicaid cuts, and rising caseloads converging at once. Prevention, he noted, will always cost less than the hospitalizations that follow its absence.
In March, community organizations gathered in Humboldt Park to demand emergency funding and dialogue with state officials. Three of the Cultural Center's grant applications were denied. For Esmeralda Lozano, an HIV tester and counselor at the center who is herself a trans woman living with HIV, the stakes are both professional and deeply personal. She continues the work anyway. Her colleagues argue that sustainable progress requires more than medication and testing — it requires community-building, education, and the kind of trust that takes years to earn and moments to lose.
Ricardo Jiménez sits in his office at Chicago's Puerto Rican Cultural Center in Humboldt Park, trying to figure out how to keep his HIV prevention programs alive. The funding is running out. By summer, he fears, the doors will close. His staff will lose their jobs. He might too.
It's happening at the worst possible moment. After nearly two decades of decline, HIV infections in Chicago are surging again. Between 2022 and 2024, new cases jumped 29 percent. In 2024 alone, there were 818 new diagnoses. Nearly half were Latino—a milestone that marks the first time this population accounts for the majority of new cases in the city. The number of Latinos living with HIV or AIDS grew 17 percent from 2020 to 2024, while cases dropped among white and Black residents during the same period. Late diagnoses are rising too: of 156 people diagnosed with HIV and then AIDS within a year in 2024, half were Latino.
Public health officials point to several converging causes. Between 2022 and 2024, more than 51,000 newly arrived immigrants, many identifying as Latino, were bused to Chicago by Texas Governor Greg Abbott as a political statement against federal immigration policy. Some had never been tested for HIV before. The COVID-19 pandemic also disrupted care—people delayed medical appointments, lost insurance, or feared getting sick. Once that momentum breaks, Dr. Olusimbo Ige, the Chicago Department of Public Health Commissioner, explained, it's extraordinarily hard to rebuild. People stop taking preventive medications like PrEP. They miss appointments. They fall out of care.
The irony is brutal. Modern medicine has transformed HIV from a death sentence into a manageable condition. People who take antiretroviral therapy can reduce their viral load to undetectable levels—meaning they cannot transmit the virus to others. But those advances depend entirely on continuous access to medication and care. When funding collapses, so does access. When access breaks, transmission rises. When transmission rises, more people end up hospitalized with AIDS, costing the health system far more than prevention ever would.
The Puerto Rican Cultural Center had been doing the work that prevention requires. They went to nightclubs and bars with Latino music nights, offering HIV testing and information about medications and resources. Tichike Tumalan, a program coordinator, understood the stakes: "We are taking a couple steps back." But without funding, that outreach ends. The gap in accessing PrEP remains wide for Black and Latino populations, said Dr. Andrew Crone, an infectious disease specialist at Howard Brown Health. Cost is one barrier. Fear is another. In the current political climate, people hesitant to share their immigration or HIV status with government agencies are increasingly avoiding care altogether—even when programs exist to help them.
In February, the Trump administration announced cuts to public health programs, including HIV prevention. Illinois restored some grants, but only through June. The Puerto Rican Cultural Center is not expecting renewal. Across the country, states are tightening budgets and limiting access to the AIDS Drug Assistance Program, which provides HIV treatment to those without insurance. John Peller, CEO of the AIDS Foundation Chicago, called it a perfect storm: expiring tax credits, Medicaid cuts, and rising caseloads all hitting at once. "It's going to ultimately cost taxpayers and society more money to take care of people who are living with HIV, who may come down with an AIDS diagnosis, and end up in the hospital than it would be to prevent HIV in the first place," he said.
In March, the Puerto Rican Cultural Center gathered with other community groups in Humboldt Park to demand answers from state officials. They asked for emergency funding to continue testing and medication access. The city health department denied three of their grant applications, though it offered some funding for mental health and emergency housing. Juan Calderón, a leader at the center, spoke plainly: "We are asking for answers, we are asking for dialogue and most importantly we are asking that communities we serve are not abandoned."
For Esmeralda Lozano, an HIV tester and counselor at the center, the uncertainty is personal. As a trans woman living with HIV, she worries about accessing PrEP and the health care she needs. But she continues her work anyway, telling people they are worthy of care. Alfredo Flores, associate director at CALOR, a Chicago-based group providing Spanish-language HIV services, said prevention has focused too narrowly on medication and testing. What's needed is sustainable community-building, education, and support. Without it, the gains of decades slip away.
Citações Notáveis
It's going to ultimately cost taxpayers and society more money to take care of people who are living with HIV, who may come down with an AIDS diagnosis, and end up in the hospital than it would be to prevent HIV in the first place.— John Peller, CEO of AIDS Foundation Chicago
Once that momentum shifts, it is hard to regain it. It's convincing people that PrEP is still important, staying connected to your care is still important, keeping your medical appointment is still important.— Dr. Olusimbo Ige, Chicago Department of Public Health Commissioner
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why is this happening now, after HIV cases had been falling for so long?
The pandemic broke the chain of care. People missed appointments, lost insurance, got afraid. But there's also migration—over 51,000 newly arrived immigrants came to Chicago in two years, many never tested before. Once momentum breaks in public health, it's hard to rebuild.
So the medicine works, but only if people stay connected to it?
Exactly. If someone takes antiretroviral therapy, they become undetectable—they can't transmit the virus. But if they stop taking it because their care gets disrupted, transmission risk shoots up. Then you need more complex, expensive treatment to get back to undetectable.
And the funding cuts are making that worse?
Much worse. The programs doing outreach in nightclubs, bars, community spaces—that's where you reach people at highest risk. Without funding, that stops. People get scared to seek care anyway because they're afraid of immigration consequences.
What does the city say it's doing?
The health department is looking for partners in the neighborhoods where cases rose, but they denied the Puerto Rican Cultural Center's main grant applications. They offered some money for mental health and housing, but not for the prevention work that's actually needed.
Is there any path forward?
The state is supposed to develop a five-year HIV plan. Advocates are pushing for emergency funding and increased state support. But the clock is ticking—current federal funds only last through June, and renewal looks unlikely. If those programs close, the people doing this work lose their jobs, and the communities they serve lose access.