These days, our busy, digital lives leave us obsessed with what’s in front of us, and often ill equipped to reflect on what is larger than us. H.I.V. and AIDS advocacy forces us to think big: to consider the progress we have made — as a movement, and as a society — in a very short time.

Just a few decades ago, I saw people living with AIDS taken to hospitals in wheelbarrows because they could not walk. Today, science has made possible treatments that give people with H.I.V. the opportunity to live lives as long, full and healthy as their peers.

But for too many people around the world, those benefits are still out of reach. Even in places where treatment is available, the stigma that persists around H.I.V. — along with the shame imposed by homophobia — contributes to new infections and keeps people from seeking treatment even when they know they need it. Our work as advocates is to help end that hopeless feeling of invisibility.

Visibility, after all, is power. My organization, the Elton John AIDS Foundation, asked the photographer Robin Hammond to take his camera to countries like Kenya and Ghana, where homosexuality is illegal, and to Mozambique, where it is widely condemned, as part of his “ Where Love Is Illegal ” project. By depicting local advocates and by sharing their stories, these images and narratives show that those affected by this epidemic are not evil. In fact, they’re not really any different from anyone else.

As an artist, I know that a single photograph can tell a greater truth than a pile of statistics, and there is profound humanity in giving individuals at the margins the opportunity to step into the light. Robin’s images tell the story of struggle and survival, of resilience and empathy, of discrimination and the hard work and advocacy needed to overcome it. These images show us people who seek only to live honestly, openly, with dignity and without fear.

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The good news is that in each of these places — and everywhere around the world — local activists, advocates and everyday heroes are working to build better, healthier and more inclusive societies. Their efforts, supported by grants from organizations like mine, are making a real difference.

In Kenya, L.G.B.T. people fleeing Uganda, Somalia and South Sudan arrived in the Kakuma refugee camp only to find that they faced poverty and prejudice there as well. With the help of a grant, however, they now have access to safe housing, food and H.I.V. testing and treatment at the camp. In fact, Kakuma just observed its first Pride celebration.

In Mozambique, H.I.V. is prevalent among gay men, but because of stigma, many don’t have access to care. New hope comes in the form of a program that will test thousands for H.I.V., as well as train L.G.B.T. people to test their peers confidentially and in their own homes. Confidential treatment means freedom — from the risk of having your H.I.V. status made public, from the burden of stigma in the community you’ve always called home.

These images do more than tell stories of progress; they remind us of our shared humanity, of our responsibilities to one another. When you look at these photographs, don’t do so for merely a split second, as though you’re scrolling through your Instagram feed. Take the time to see the great hope contained within them. These brave people living their lives openly and honestly are pioneering a future without stigma. All of us should follow their lead. — ELTON JOHN

Tasha, 21, a Ugandan refugee living in Nairobi, Kenya, is a transgender woman. She rarely leaves her apartment out of concern for her safety, but says many of the other Ugandan refugees in Kenya have to sell sex to survive. (Kenya, October 2017.) Photographs by Robin Hammond/NOOR for Witness Change
“I’m not doing sex work, but most of the people — most of my refugee friends — are engaging in sex work, because they want to earn a living. And most of the people that are engaging in sex work are getting different diseases like H.I.V./ AIDS .”
Jonah, a gay Ugandan refugee, lives in Nairobi. Jonah once lived with his uncle, but then the uncle discovered Jonah was gay and assaulted him. (Kenya, October 2017.)
“He went to the kitchen and got a big wood and started beating me with it. I bled.”
Ronnie, a Ugandan refugee and activist living in Nairobi, had the support of his mother, who knew he was gay. But after her death, he decided to leave the country. (Kenya, October 2017.)
“She also told me to go slow, as the community and culture do not accept homosexuality, and if they knew, I would be killed, disowned, imprisoned, abandoned and cursed.”
Cindy, a gay Ugandan refugee living in Nairobi, was imprisoned for six months for protesting conditions at the Kakuma refugee camp, where many Ugandans end up. (Kenya, October 2017.)
“The prison was hell. They made us walk totally naked from the prison entrance to the prison wards. Everyone knew we were homosexuals. They bullied us, gave us hard tasks and with hardly no food.”
Lucky, right, and John lived together in Uganda until John’s parents found out they were in a relationship and attacked Lucky. They hid with a friend and saved enough money to flee to Kenya. (Kenya, October 2017.)
“God knows us. God loves us, so he managed to protect us.”
Kuteesa, a transgender woman, fled Uganda for Kenya with her partner. But even in the refugee camp they receive death threats and suffer from discrimination. (Kenya, October 2017.)
“We are so far from the hospitals. And so can’t walk there, because if you do, you can be stoned to death. Even if you are sick, you have to just suffer.”
Moses, 25, was arrested twice at L.G.B.T. events in Uganda, where homosexuality is illegal, and his photograph was published in the news media. He fled to Kenya, and has been living in the Kakuma camp since last September. There he has encountered more homophobia and substandard living conditions. (Kenya, October 2017.)
“I found that the place was so terrible, and the situation will remain that same situation, the same I was facing in Uganda.”
A Ugandan refugee who declined to give his name. He was forced to leave his community after he and his partner were discovered having sex. (Kenya, October 2017.)
“They took me to a mud house in the village for two days. I was screaming for help, mercy. A cattle keeper heard me, broke in to rescue me. I ran away the same evening.”
Aaron, 26, a refugee from the Democratic Republic of Congo, lives in the Kakuma camp. When his community learned that he was L.G.B.T. his family became a target. (Kenya, October 2017.)
“One time, my family was attacked in the middle of the night. They came at my home. They kicked the front door of our house. They entered, searching for me.”
A transgender woman from Somalia who declined to give her real name. She has been living in the Kakuma camp since 2004. She has H.I.V., and has encountered discrimination when seeking treatment. (Kenya, October 2017.)
“At the moment I am just waiting for death. I have the disease. I could not go to the hospital for treatment. I was persecuted everywhere, even inside the hospital.”
A Somali refugee who declined to give his name. He has been living in the Kakuma camp since 1997. (Kenya, October 2017.)
“I got married because I didn’t want people to know the truth about me. If they knew they would have killed me. They would have killed my family also.”
Sudi, who was born with H.I.V. in Rwanda, was forced to leave home after coming out as gay. He has found the transition to refugee life painful. (Kenya, October 2017.)
“We used to face a lot of issues in camp. Today I breathe, tomorrow I cannot breathe. That is the way we live.”
Daniel, 40, was afraid to come out to his family. When he did, however, his mother accepted him. (Mozambique, February 2018.)
“Today, I can say I’m happy.”
Katia Mariza Teixeira Matos, left, 29, lives with her girlfriend, Becky Mathambe, 28. Only Ms. Mathambe's family accepted their relationship. (Mozambique, February 2018.)
“It’s not just a man who can give a woman a good life. We have strength too. We have determination.”
A 32-year-old gay man in Mozambique, who declined to give his real name, grew up in a conservative and religious family in which carrying on the family name was important. He was married to a woman and had a child with her, but they are now separated. (Mozambique. February 2018.)
Many gay men in Mozambique, he says, end up “married with members of the opposite sex — many times, many times, mainly to try and keep their image in front of family.”
Pepetsa, 23, is a transgender woman. It is difficult for her to find a job and she engages in sex work to survive, even though she is afraid of getting H.I.V. (Mozambique, February 2018.)
“I have to expose myself and run risks. I have to fight this fear.”
Kiria, 24, is a transgender woman who has been clear about her gender identity since she was 10 and has been accepted by her family. She hopes to marry, but Mozambique neither recognizes her as a woman nor allows same-sex marriage. (Mozambique, February 2018.)
“I intend to get married abroad, and, here in the country, have children. In this case, the children I want to have will be adopted and be happy.”
Avelino, 23, sitting, and Neston, 25, are a gay couple. Avelino was once a track athlete, but was kicked off his team after a photo of him and Neston kissing was posted on Facebook. (Mozambique, February 2018.)
“I do not regret anything. If I had to go back in time and do something different, I would not do anything different. I would do everything the same.”
This Ghanaian woman, 33, who declined to give her name, has been attracted to women since she was young. She is now in a heterosexual marriage. Neither her family nor her husband knows about her sexuality. (Ghana, March 2018.)
“Before I got married, I stayed out, I stayed back from having sexual intercourse with my fellow woman, and I thought that was me. I was only deceiving myself. Then after a year I met someone, and I was like, that is when I discovered who I am.”
This transgender man, who declined to give his real name, was nearly burned alive in 2009. His assailants poured gasoline and were dragging him to a bonfire when his father intervened. In an attempt to “cure” him, his father sent him to a prayer camp in Benin where he was physically abused and raped. (Ghana, March 2018.)
“Coming out in Ghana can be very dangerous. It can even cost your life.”
A 38-year-old transgender woman and performer, who declined to give her name, says she’s been kicked out of homes and lost jobs. (Ghana, March 2018.)
“My parents and family loved me so much. But when they realized my sexuality, everyone started to see me as evil. I was taken to churches, special places, because they felt I was possessed.”
The couple pictured here, a woman and a transgender man, both of whom declined to give their real names, have been in a relationship since 2012. In 2014, they decided to have a child with the help of a sperm donor. But in Ghana, their partnership is not legally recognized. If something happens to the woman, her partner would have no rights to their child. (Ghana, March 2018.)
“He’s our everything, our life and our future.”
A 41-year-old L.G.B.T. health care advocate who is H.I.V.-positive and declined to give his real name. He says that health providers need to stop stigmatizing H.I.V.-positive men who have sex with men. The stigma leads to people not seeking out care and becoming sicker. (Ghana, March 2018)
Being H.I.V. positive “doesn’t mean your world is at end. You have life. ”

Elton John is a musician and the founder of the Elton John AIDS Foundation.

Robin Hammond is a photojournalist and founder of Witness Change .

Video by Shannon Sanders, William Lounsbury and Robin Hammond.