This story is part of a digital issue of Queer Kentucky surrounding Harm Reduction and its intersection with the LGBTQ+ community.⁠ Check out the full digital issue here.

Artilla “Art” Scisney didn’t imagine himself on the frontlines of Louisville’s public health movement—but looking back, every moment led him here. As a Black gay man raised in Louisville, Art grew up feeling like he had to compartmentalize who he was to survive. “I had a very closed-off mindset to who I actually am,” he says. “I wasn’t out. I didn’t feel safe to be. And as a person of color, there weren’t many spaces where I saw myself reflected.”

Even after coming out in college, Art struggled with grief and the pressure to live up to expectations that didn’t fit. “My dad is a manly man,” he explains. “His thing was always like, ‘sometimes you’ve got to see things through, you’ve got to tough it out.’” That message, compounded by societal expectations, led Art into a 20-year career in corporate management that slowly took a toll on his mental health.

After graduating from Western Kentucky University with a degree in interdisciplinary studies, a flexible academic path that combined social and behavioral sciences, giving him tools to better understand community dynamics and human behavior– Art spent nearly two decades at a chain of grocery stores, climbing the ladder into middle management. But the corporate grind and constant pressure to perform, conform, and suppress his empathy began wearing him down mentally and emotionally. 

“I was a great manager, my associates loved me—but they wanted me to be more aggressive,” Art says. “They wanted me to take the empathy out of it. That’s not who I am.” 

For years, Art balanced on a tightrope—striving to please bosses, colleagues, and his community. The expectations piled up until his mental health reached a breaking point. It was during the pandemic that Art experienced his first panic attack, a clear sign that something had to change.

Taking a leap of faith, Art left his secure job, choosing personal wellness over financial security and familial expectations. In doing so, he stepped away from a career that demanded detachment and conformity, and into work that celebrates compassion, connection, and authenticity. Harm reduction gave him something corporate life never could: the freedom to lead with empathy. “Now, I get to make real connections,” he says. “I get to talk to people, listen to their stories, and offer help without judgment. That’s the kind of work I was always meant to do.”

Now serving as a harm reduction specialist and health education coordinator with the UK Target 4 Region 5 team (kirpky.com)—a program under the Kentucky Income Reinvestment Program focused on expanding HIV and Hepatitis C prevention—Art works at the frontline of Louisville’s community health efforts, particularly reaching underserved LGBTQ+ individuals and communities of color. For Art, harm reduction isn’t just handing out clean syringes or providing HIV testing—it’s about restoring dignity, humanity, and choice to people society often overlooks or actively stigmatizes. 

Art’s approach is straightforward, empathetic, and real. 

“Harm reduction is anything that reduces risk or damage in someone’s life,” he explains. “The easiest example is when you get in a car and you put on your seatbelt—that’s harm reduction. It’s not saying you’re going to get in a wreck, but if you do, you’ve got something in place to help protect you.” For Art, that principle carries over to every part of his job. “We’re out here helping people who might be houseless, who use substances, who are living with HIV or at risk for it—and we’re doing it without judgment. We’re saying, ‘You deserve to be safe. You deserve to live another day. You deserve care, even if no one else has told you that.’”

He has seen firsthand how stigma around HIV and substance use disproportionately impacts Black gay men and trans women, individuals often overlooked by traditional public health messaging. According to the CDC (2023), Black Americans accounted for approximately 40% of new HIV infections, despite comprising only 13% of the U.S. population, highlighting the stark racial disparities rooted deeply in structural inequities. Similarly, LGBTQ individuals, particularly Black gay men, face higher risks of substance use disorders due to intersectional stressors such as racism, homophobia, and economic inequality (https://www.samhsa.gov/sites/default/files/covid19-behavioral-health-disparities-black-latino-communities.pdf)

“Public health information mostly comes from white doctors or government officials,” Art notes candidly. “Our community is rightfully skeptical. When someone who looks like them talks openly, clearly, and honestly about these issues, it hits differently. They listen.” This assertion aligns with research indicating increased healthcare engagement when the provider shares a similar background or identity with the patient (https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC10872498/).

Art understands deeply the intersections of identity, health, and social pressures. His lived experience is his greatest asset. “People think they’re above certain things, but it could be you. It could be me,” he says earnestly. “Life happens. Sometimes the direction takes us somewhere we never intended to go.” His voice carries an unmistakable authenticity, shaped by his own struggles with mental health and self-acceptance. “When someone is at their lowest point, it only takes one moment- one coping mechanism- to change everything,” Art explains. “We’re all just trying to survive, one way or another.”

In his role, Art doesn’t just provide resources; he empowers individuals to reclaim their humanity. Whether it’s a person experiencing homelessness trying to survive the night or someone newly diagnosed with HIV fearing the worst, Art’s presence offers reassurance, respect, and hope. He fiercely believes in second chances and meeting people exactly where they are, helping them chart their paths forward.

Art acknowledges the challenges- misinformation, stigma, judgmental attitudes- but his conviction never wavers. To skeptics, harm reduction may seem counterintuitive, but its practical approaches include distributing clean syringes to prevent disease transmission, providing testing and education to reduce the spread of HIV and other infections, offering minor wound care to prevent severe infections, and linking individuals to support services like housing, food, and healthcare. 

Harm reduction doesn’t condone harmful behaviors; rather, it pragmatically acknowledges that such behaviors exist and seeks to minimize their adverse effects on individuals and communities. 

“Harm reduction isn’t about promoting drug use or reckless behavior. It’s about ensuring people have safer options until they’re ready or able to change,” he clarifies passionately. “It’s humanizing people who’ve been dehumanized.”

Through honesty, empathy, and real talk, Art continues reshaping Louisville’s understanding of harm reduction. He bridges gaps long left open by traditional public health, particularly for Black queer communities. For Art, this work isn’t just a job; it’s a calling rooted deeply in personal experience, compassion, and a relentless belief in human dignity.

As Art reflects, he distills his philosophy into a simple but powerful ethos: 

“If you can’t help someone, at least don’t do harm. It’s that easy.”

Art’s journey and his current work illuminate critical realities about the intersectionality of race, sexual orientation, and health outcomes. His story underlines the importance of diverse, authentic voices in public health, illustrating vividly that true harm reduction involves recognizing and dismantling systemic barriers, addressing stigma, and elevating community-driven solutions to create lasting change.