The below is Part 2 of a two-part blog entry. Read Part 1, "No Strings Attached: My Journey from Token to Truth-Teller."
This framework is my way of calling out the systems of tokenization, manipulation, and performative inclusion—especially in spaces that claim to advocate for us. It challenges the idea that visibility equals power and reminds us that representation without agency is just performance.
No one is going to give us freedom we don't demand.
- Puppetization is the process of being included on the condition that you align with dominant narratives and perform your identity in a way that's comfortable for others. It's being invited to speak, but not to lead. To smile, not to disrupt.
- The Puppeteer Class includes organizations, funders, and gatekeepers who offer visibility and opportunity—so long as you're willing to stay on script.
- The Geppetto Effect speaks to those who believe they're helping while still pulling the strings. Even Geppetto, for all his love, controlled Pinocchio. And people forget—Geppetto had a master, too. There's always someone pulling the strings, even on the puppeteer.
- Polished Puppets are those selected to represent a community because they're seen as safe, palatable, and compliant. They often don't realize they're being used to reinforce the very systems that keep us powerless.
- Runaway Strings are the truth-tellers. The disruptors. Those who refuse to be packaged for someone else's agenda.
- Cutters are the true allies—the ones who use their platforms not to pull strings, but to help sever them.
- String Theory (my version, not the physics one) breaks down the ways control shows up:
- Funding as leverage
- Gatekeeping narratives
- Restricting access
- Safety vs. Silence
- Respectability politics
This framework isn't just about HIV work—it shows up in every movement where those most impacted are told how to show up, what to say, and when to be silent.
And I'm done with it.
Nothing for us without us.
No one leading us that isn't us.
And no more strings attached.
When Truth Is Too Loud for Comfort
I remember once asking a close friend of mine—a Black woman—how she would feel if someone who wasn't Black came up to her and dictated how she should speak, feel, act, or process her identity. How she should dress. What she should say in public. What parts of her story were too messy or too much.
She looked at me and said, "It would feel like slavery all over again."
And she's right. Because that's what this country has done for centuries: told people of color how to exist—then punished them when they dared to do it on their own terms.
But here's the thing most people miss:
That's what it's like for people living with HIV, too.
For 40 years, we've been told how to act, how to speak, how to soften the truth for the comfort of others. We've been filtered, scripted, used—but rarely trusted to lead. If it's unacceptable for someone outside a community to define the experience of being Black, or Jewish, or trans, or undocumented—why is it still acceptable for people who do not have HIV to define the HIV experience?
This framework isn't just about HIV work—it shows up in every movement where those most impacted are told how to show up, what to say, and when to be silent.
Why are so many people living with HIV who do hold positions of influence… staying silent? Why are they maintaining the status quo instead of breaking it?
The Hardest Part to Admit
Even among the few of us who do speak out—who put our faces and stories on the line—we've been conditioned to turn on each other
We gatekeep. We compete. We replicate the very power structures we claim to resist.
We fight over scraps—conference scholarships, spotlight panels, a token seat at someone else's table. We let ourselves be divided by titles, popularity, proximity to power. And too often, we let the same industry that puppetizes us handpick who gets to be heard and who gets dismissed.
Rather than recognizing our shared struggle, we let ourselves be pitted against one another—beaten down in a world designed to keep us down. Exhausted by the fight, by the daily reminders at every turn meant to convince us we have no fight left.
But those in power know the truth:
Their power only holds as long as our dissonance does.
And it only remains true if we continue to allow it—by staying more focused on the struggle we've been told exists between us, rather than the one we could win together.
We forget that many in our community face compounded marginalization—Black, Brown, queer, trans, undocumented, disabled—and instead of lifting each other up, we start policing who deserves to lead, who's "legit," and who isn't.
We begin reiterating the same narrative that was dictated long ago—upholding and emboldening the problem so it's always louder than the solution.
It's heartbreaking, because instead of building a movement, we end up reenacting the very systems that have silenced us for decades.
We become the puppeteers of each other.
And that, too, is by design.
This Has Always Been Bigger Than Me
My commitment to justice didn't begin with HIV—it began when I was 15, standing with my classmates at a protest for two wrongfully incarcerated Black men. It deepened when I was diagnosed while pregnant, and realized I would have to fight not only for my own life—but for my son's future, too.
Over the years, I've advocated across more than 40 cities in 11 states. I've spoken before legislatures, built programs, and challenged systems meant to silence people like me. And still, I knew I needed to go deeper—to understand the law, policy, and structural tools that shape every part of our lives.
That's why I created the Puppetized Framework—not just to name the injustice, but to do something about it. This is my truth. But it’s also a blueprint. And I intend to use it, legally and publicly, to build something better.
Because real change doesn't come from performance. It comes from power. Shared, reclaimed, and used boldly.
So Here's the Truth:
No one is going to give us freedom we don't demand.
No system will hand us back the power it stole.
We must stop waiting for permission, approval, or applause.
We must cut the strings—ours and each other's.
We must lead ourselves.
Because we are not here to be polished puppets in someone else's production.
We are the writers, the builders, the revolutionaries.
And we are long overdue to own the stage, the script, and the spotlight.
Unapologetically. Together. And with no strings attached.
Parts 1 and 2 of this blog were originally posted at janinebrignola.com
The Puppetized Framework™ and all associated terms, concepts, and structures (including Puppetization, The Geppetto Effect, Polished Puppets, Runaway Strings, Cutters, and String Theory) are original intellectual property of Janine Brignola.
© 2025 Janine Brignola. All rights reserved.
Unauthorized use, reproduction, or adaptation without explicit permission is strictly prohibited.
