Rosa Martínez Colón was one of the founders of Chicago's CALOR, and has continued to work in HIV care and prevention roles ever since. Photo courtesy of Rosa E. Martínez Colón

When a college classmate asked Rosa Martínez Colón to attend a training about women in HIV, she unexpectedly found her path. Now decades into her career, she’s the vice president of Housing Strategy for AIDS Foundation Chicago’s Center for Housing and Health.

She began as one of the founders of CALOR—Comprensión y Apoyo a Latinos en Oposición at Retrovirus—a grassroots organization focused on HIV/AIDS care and prevention for Chicago’s Latino community. Since then, her work has taken her from Chicago to Puerto Rico and included a number of groups dedicated to making people feel understood in their time of need.

Martínez Colón grew up in public housing in Puerto Rico, which she credits for her desire to do “community-oriented” work—she was also on their health and sports community teams. She later moved to Chicago with her mother and brother to get medical treatment for his diabetes-induced blindness.

Although her original goal was to only come for six months and improve her English, she ended up staying and attending North Park University for her bachelor’s degree, and later DePaul University for her master’s.

When she attended her first training on women in HIV, she said she was completely “floored” when she learned about the lack of resources. She was so moved that she asked the group to do a meeting at her previous business location, which soon led to the creation of CALOR.

Martínez Colón herself doesn’t identify as queer or live with HIV. She said she grew up surrounded by queer people and felt the call to dive into HIV work after seeing how education for women was lacking, and has now dedicated her career to “being a strong ally.”

And CALOR, which is now in its 36th year of operation, has remained a major part of Martínez Colón’s life despite her departure in 2016.

She said the early days, despite the devastation of the AIDS epidemic in the ’90s, brought a lot of camaraderie and community bonding due to the difficulty of surviving them. She said the friendships and support that came out of that were invaluable—and she has two daughters from her previous marriage to current director, Omar Lopez.

CALOR is still creating lifelong connections to this day. Martínez Colón first met current Associate Director of Operations Alfredo Flores Loera when he was just 15 years old. She said she saw the talent in him from the beginning and was able to hire him at 18—he’s now been involved for nearly 10 years.

She said CALOR has tried to “level up” through each new generation involved.

“We talk a lot about intergenerational work, and that is a clear example. That doesn’t just happen,” Martínez Colón said. “You have to put intent and you have to be committed to doing that, and I see that with Alfredo and the young people that are working with him.”

One of her favorite aspects of being involved with CALOR has been seeing people come in looking for a safe space and go on to flourish in the industry. She said people they had encouraged and nurtured went on to work at CALOR itself, AIDS Foundation Chicago, Howard Brown Health and more.

She said it makes her feel like a mother to younger generations she works with.

Despite leaving the organization, she’s still involved in consulting with them and sharing ideas. However, she said she knew it was time after being there for over 25 years and wanting to make space for others to grow.

In the years that followed, she spent more time in Puerto Rico. In 2019, she implemented a mental health services program for children affected by Hurricane Maria. She said it was one of the most fulfilling experiences of her life to get to bring back resources and inspire children in her own neighborhood.

Under Mayor Lori Lightfoot, Martínez Colón was also invited to be part of the Chicago Board of Health. Martínez Colón said although it was an honor, the experience didn’t meet her expectations as it felt more like “a performative body rather than a truly participatory one.” She said with all the issues that need addressing in the city, there weren’t many opportunities to act on them.

She also said she felt that not having more voices from demographics like Latinos or LGBTQ+ people was a “disservice,” and she hopes there are changes made in the future.

“It’s especially concerning for [those] communities,” she said. “Our health and health outcomes are shaped by policies that are created in this body.”

Martínez Colón’s career has been dedicated to fostering connections and uplifting those around her. Now in her second year with AIDS Foundation of Chicago—one of the first funders of CALOR, she noted—she works beyond standard HIV care.

Last year was a particularly difficult year with the inauguration of the second Trump administration. From trying to gameplan potential funding cuts to figuring out how many people they would be able to help, it required a lot of work and planning across the foundation.

Although the bulk of the organization’s funding is not federal, Martínez Colón said it’s still a scary environment right now. She said she receives weekly calls from people asking for assistance, yet how much the organization will be able to do remains unclear. She said she will continue fighting to bring housing resources to the community.

To her, resources by and for the community are the most impactful. With so much uncertainty and unknown futures for many groups’ funding, Martínez Colón said it’s imperative people in the community have others they can rely on for help and education, especially in terms of HIV.

“We have to bring those conversations back at the community level,” she said. “These are people that we can trust … that they know, that they walk by the door and they know that they are there. People that look like us.”

That sentiment led to CALOR’s inception and inspires her work today—creating services where everyone can feel seen and heard. Much of that surrounds cultural competency in the Latino community and making sure everyone’s experiences are understood.

“You have to go to a place where you feel like home,” she said. “It’s like, you’re coming home, you’re coming to talk to a tío or a prima or somebody like that, right? It’s confidential and you feel at home. We don’t have this institutional-looking organization [where] you’re treated like a number. I think our culture has to be part of that.”