Nobody asked me…

My thoughts are pulled to dark eyes. Narrowed ever so slightly. Thoughtful. Skeptical. Mistrustful. We are in an exam room. In a clinic. Nondescript. I’ve seen these eyes in many different rooms. Different people, different places. Same eyes. 

One time, the eyes belonged to the aunt of one of my patients. She asked rapid fire questions about her niece’s complicated ear condition. She questioned my answers. She quizzed me about the plan and all of the surgeries they had already been through with other providers. Her tone told me that she didn’t trust me and her words reminded me that she took her responsibility as an advocate seriously. This was her niece. I was a stranger. 

At first, I feel annoyed. I can’t help it. This disconnect puts our clinic team behind schedule. It makes other patients wait. I feel tired as I see myself explaining the same thing over and over again. I am frustrated because even though I’ve never met this woman, never done her any wrong, she does not trust me. Emotionally, instinctively, my mind rolls its eyes, sighs, looks at the clock. In this first moment, I feel all of these things. But I know better.

I know that behind her eyes are centuries of smallpox blankets, syphilis experiments, and segregation. I know her family and friends have a lower life expectancy than most of mine. I know the statistics that show her and her niece’s pain will not be treated the same as mine. I know better. And so does she. 

I am able to see this encounter for what it is: an opportunity to fulfill my oath, an opportunity to do good, an opportunity to right just one small part of such an insurmountable wrong. My feelings do not matter in this situation. This is not about me. This is bigger than me. 

When I became a doctor, when I took a professional oath, when I wore that long white coat for the first time, I joined the ranks of my predecessors and colleagues. I stand on their shoulders and in their shame. I inherited all of it. This is a profession and a calling, not a job. I am not at fault, but I am accountable.

So, in that second moment, I do not roll my eyes, sigh, or check the clock. I name the fear, the mistrust, the strangeness. I praise the thoughtfulness and passion. I acknowledge the challenge and the complicated history. I cannot undo 400 years of harm in 15 minutes, but it is my professional duty to try. It is my duty to recognize my own bias and to call out my colleagues. It is my duty to not only demand, but fight for just and equitable healthcare, even when it’s hard, even when it takes more time. 

When I see that photograph of George Floyd pinned to the ground, I am pulled back to dark, thoughtful, mistrusting eyes. When I read about Breonna Taylor’s death, I am pulled back to traumatized, heartbroken eyes. When I look at Ahmaud Arbery’s smile, I am pulled back to frightened, frustrated eyes. The eyes of my patients, people who I swore to heal, protect, and serve. 

I think most police officers take their profession as seriously as I do. They see it as a calling and a duty, not a job. My white coat makes me responsible for a legacy and a system. Their uniform does the same. It is not enough to condemn others and claim innocence. It is not enough to fire the bad apple when the whole barrel has been ruined. It is not enough to find justice for one dead man and not change the system that killed him and so many others before him. It is not enough. Your uniform holds you to a higher standard.

We prepare police officers for war and are shocked when they treat our communities as battlefields. A social worker is much more useful than a soldier in domestic disputes. A skilled mediator is much more useful than a gun for peaceful conflict resolution. A trained active bystander is much more useful than a good cop who stands by and does nothing while a bad one commits murder. If we don’t have the teams, tools, or training that we need to serve our community, it is our professional responsibility to demand that support. 

Law enforcement took an oath to protect and serve. Their uniform holds them accountable to their profession and to their communities, just as my white coat holds me accountable to mine. Every minute we allow our colleagues to demean our uniform, we are complicit. Every moment we fail to demand the support and training we need to fulfill our duty to our community, we are complicit. Every time we meet frightened, mistrustful eyes with apathy and not humanity, we are complicit. Every time we put on that uniform, or even just look at it, and then do nothing to solve the deadly problems within our professions, we are complicit. If you’re not willing to be a part of a better future, if you’re not willing to become the solution, if you’re not willing to take an active role in making amends, then toss your oath and your uniform on the funeral pyre we’ve ignited and walk away. 

We may not be at fault, but we must be accountable.

#blacklivesmatter
#thisisourlane
#nojusticenopeace