Mary Fisher is an artist, author, and activist best known for her groundbreaking 1992 speech “A Whisper of AIDS,” delivered at the Republican National Convention shortly after her HIV diagnosis, which is a landmark in American AIDS discourse. Her 1995 memoir, My Name Is Mary, received praise from such figures as former President Gerald Ford and the activist Larry Kramer. Over the decades, Fisher has continued her advocacy through global humanitarian work, authorship, art, and her role as a UN special representative.

Now in her 70s, Fisher addresses the most prominent political and social issues of our era in her latest book, Uneasy Silence: An Activist Seeks Justice and Courage Over a Lifetime of Change.

What made you decide to return to memoir as a format? How was the process of writing Uneasy Silence different from earlier forms of personal writing?

There are a lot of kinds of narratives we use, from poetry to novels, and from textbooks to policy analyses. But I wanted to communicate my own experience, and do it honestly. So a memoir, which is sort of like a public diary, seemed like the right format to communicate what I wanted to say. Plus, as I near 80 years of age, which by itself seems impossible, I’m confident that I’ve learned who I am, so that knowledge becomes the basis of a memoir for better or for worse. And then there’s this: I dedicated this book to my grandchildren. I want them some day to know that, in fairly dark hours, I not only loved them, but I tried to serve them with a big helping of the truth.

Uneasy Silence does not shy away from depicting your own insecurities, and it also does not give hard-and-fast instructions on what readers should do with the wisdom you provide. Can you say a little bit about these decisions?

At the highest levels of our nation, truth is being battered by campaigns fueled by nothing more than lies and self-interest. I needed to be willing to break out of my own uneasy silence and take a stand. At the beginning, the critical question was: how vulnerable do I want to be? I decided fairly soon to be as honest as possible, telling the truth, even if that truth was not especially flattering. I couldn’t ask others to stand up and speak the truth if I didn’t dare do it myself. And I also wanted readers, especially women of a certain age, to know that we don’t have to be Superwoman to be an advocate for change, a member of the resistance. Anyone willing to put themselves on the line by voting, by joining protests, by writing Congressional leaders, by modeling the truth for our children and grandchildren can make a real difference in today’s struggle for integrity. We don’t need to be more than we are. We just need to respond to our own uneasy silence by speaking the truth and caring for the Other. That’s enough.

I dedicated this book to my grandchildren. I want them some day to know that, in fairly dark hours, I not only loved them, but I tried to serve them with a big helping of the truth.

On a related note, do you have any advice for writers who are struggling to write, edit, and/or publish their own memoirs? Did you learn anything in writing your most recent memoir that others might find useful?

As Uneasy Silence was coming together, I was continually reminded of that old piece of advice: write what you know. At my age, I have a pretty good idea of who I am, so that’s what I offer the reader. The only real question, as I noted earlier, is how vulnerable I was willing to be. Well, I suppose there was a second question: how interesting would this be to others? I didn’t want to tell boring stories or self-promoting anecdotes—who’d want to read that? But the book is based mostly on my personal experience.

One of the most striking aspects of Uneasy Silence is the images that accompany the prose. Can you tell readers a little bit about these?

Art, in various forms, has always been how my soul expresses itself most truthfully. The book’s words are important to me, but art is the language of my heart. I hope that, as readers come through the book, the images they see invite them to pause, to ask what it is that we’re learning together, and maybe to imagine new ways to oppose injustice or to end hunger or to care for the suffering. Meanwhile, if you want to hear my most authentic voice, you’ll listen with your heart to my art.

Leah Grisham is a Cleveland-based writer and book reviewer.