Lace on Race

I Will Die Before You

Lace on Race
Medical Disparities and Elijah Cummings
I Will Die Before You Part 1

I have been both incredibly gratified, and incredibly activated, with the new focus on disparities in health care by the media.

The conversation began bubbling up when Serena Williams almost died because of inadequate care when she birthed a child, and the groundswell hit its peak this last week, when the Honorable Elijah Cummings passed away at the altogether too young age of 68. That it took these notables to confer legitimacy to what has always been true definitely makes me feel some kind of way, still, it is happening and that is a boon.

While the national conversation by mainstream outlets is new, the phenomena certainly is not. This is something I have always known, something we have always known, although it has only recently been overtly named.

I am glad. While there is a soupcon of resentment about the fact that it has been altogether too long a time we have suffered under an inequitable system, there is no time like the present to have this overdue look at what all but insures that I and my cohort will die earlier than most of you reading this, this is good for a number of reasons, not least of which because of the naming.

We’re not crazy.

Nor are we attention seeking, or histrionic, or recalcitrant and non compliant.

We have been victimized doubly: by institutions and systemic racial violence by institutions and chronic white supremacy, and by a health care system that still struggles to believe we belong more in medical centers than vet clinics.

Yes, that is a big statement.

But I can tell you, from my own personal experience with my own health care, and that of my family and friends, that it has been, more times than I care to count, closer to the truth than any one of you would like to believe.

It is activating for the same reasons.

First though, a small digression.

Peter, my erstwhile mentor/therapy guy and I had a fruitful conversation about the conversation about victimhood, and how now being called a ‘victim’ is nothing more or less than a pejorative; an insult, made to silence and shame.

Here is the thing though. Despite the toxic stank now placed on the word, there is no doubt that there are individuals, and entire populations who have indeed been victimized.

We were talking at the time about sexual abuse and MeToo, and how the language used even by those who have been assaulted can kowtow to the self deprecating and self hating popular definition.

You see it when people tell their stories about being harmed. ‘I’m no victim’ some of them say flat out.

And that’s how we like it. It’s ok if all of the narrative is in the past tense, told by a person with perfect contours, who has ‘overcome’ and whose ‘resilience’ is praised.

We never see stories of people who did not and have not ‘overcome’ except to serve as cautionary tales and the focus of our collective contempt. An episode of This American Life shows this very thing. A young woman, unsympathetic, disbelieved, shamed. Fully three years pass before people decided she was a person again. She still isn’t a redemption story: she’s still affected, not only by the assault, but by a society that shunned her. No happy ending.

We do so badly with stories that don’t contain a redemptive epilogue. We are often more angry at those stories, and the person in the center of them, who don’t allow us to collectively exhale than we are at what they were made to endure.

We all to often hate the victim more than we hate the harm.

Let’s pivot to race.

And a medical system that has harmed as much as much as it has helped us.

When you read the accompanying article, keep all of this in mind. Think of how often Black patients are victims of the healthcare system–the holistic system–which includes access, which includes who treats us, which includes blame shifting for chronic ailments.

Which includes as well unspoken but devastating attitudes and tropes about us: that we feel less pain, that we are incapable of adherence, that we are drugseeking, that our lives are worth less and thus less deserving of resources, the unwillingness to generalize and acknowledge now well documented dynamics about the chronic stress that elevates cortisol and inflammation, and how that exacerbates whatever conditions we present with.

All of this is true, even when controlled for class and income distribution and putative possession of adequate insurance.

My story in Part 2.

The Greatest White Privilege Is Life Itself
by Ibram X Kendi

https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2019/10/too-short-lives-black-men/600628/

Lace Watkins

16 responses to “I Will Die Before You”

  1. Lace Watkins Avatar
    Lace Watkins

    Hey James. Lace Here.

    Personalize.

  2. James Glatz Avatar
    James Glatz

    As white supremacist culture and structure is so broad, there are many interwoven aspects that can lead one to believe that the unmet needs of Black and colonized peoples are too many and too varied to effectively address. However, I think there is a simple solution to the myriad of pains, and that is to materially and morally commit to combatting white supremacism. This means in any form you can reach or interact with, and as many and with as much energy as we can manage. Black people cannot afford for white people to mull over single issues with itemization and judgement and resignation to failure; it is intersectional antiracism or bust. It is commitment to the end of all racist policies and practices which we, particularly those of us who are white and wish to repair the many damages we have consciously and unconsciously done, must have in our hearts before we can begin to answer the nuances of the more particular questions of how to help. Only when we are truly here for the end of all racism, and when we can recognize that the harm is a network of smaller harms (each with a definitive cause and solution), can we stop looking at racism like a monolith beast that cannot be killed.

  3. Christin Spoolstra Avatar
    Christin Spoolstra

    There’s so much here that my response may be a bit rambling and disjointed. The article itself taught me so much; it’s a topic that I’ve heard of but haven’t really gone in depth on and I was shocked by just how large the gaps are (30 years in Chicago?!).

    Where I’m really convicted and processing is Lace’s commentary. Lace, you personalized it so much in your title, and I’m angry and aching for you. I’m also beyond irritated at myself that it takes personalization – a face on an injustice – to incite those emotions in me. I also learned a lot from how you teased out the nuances of “victim”; I hadn’t noticed before how we’ve manipulated the narrative toward exceptionalism, promoting redemption stories to the point, as you say, that “we all to often hate the victim more than we hate the harm.” I see that in my family’s racism. I see that in my own.

    The article brings out another important complexity of agency vs opportunity, which connects back to this victim-blaming. We blame on the basis of people not using their agency without even considering the system we’ve made that deprives them of the opportunity.

    In general, I’ve become better at admitting my privilege. Where I’m still failing is coming to terms with how the companion – the “inverse” – to my privilege is black deprivation. I’m still failing to truly acknowledge that in my ethos because, if I did, my life would look drastically different. Giving up the fruits of my privilege would no longer be viewed as an optional sacrifice but as a moral and legal obligation.

  4. Lace Watkins Avatar
    Lace Watkins

    I love that someone did that too. Love it.

  5. Danielle Joy Holcombe Avatar
    Danielle Joy Holcombe

    Thanks Lace, that completely makes sense. I’m still working to navigate my way around this new space. I had committed to do more of that last week already and then my job took over my life for a minute (completely against my wishes). I’ll be hitting up more of the posts today and this week for sure. One of our dear community members noticed my absence enough to check in on me today. I already knew I was falling down on my commitment but I love that we have built a place here where we are starting to know each other and look for our fellow walkers in this space.

  6. Lace Watkins Avatar
    Lace Watkins

    That last sentence is fire. Displacement of anger is worth examination.

  7. Lace Watkins Avatar
    Lace Watkins

    Hey, D.

    Ya, this environment allows us to moderate comments; which is an overall good thing.

    But ya, you have to wait for us to approve. There may be a function which will allow frequent users whom we trust to bypass that function. But for now ya.

    And the fact that we are still servicing the Page means that we are stretched paper thin.

    We are going to be talking to Sustainers about taking over some admin tasks, which may include approval of posts in the name of timeliness.

    Meanwhile, thanks for your graciousness.

  8. Danielle Holcombe Avatar
    Danielle Holcombe

    So my first comment which I posted yesterday said “awaiting moderation” all day yesterday and now it is gone completely. I’m not sure what that means but I also posted a similar version of that comment on the FB LoR page on this same post. I wanted to come back to this anyway to discuss the victim part of the post. This has been something I’ve been struggling to get my mind around for a while. I have people in my life who I’m talking with, trying to open their eyes to the reality of ongoing systemic racism and one of those people told me it sounds like “black people just want to claim victim status.” I shared that with a friend of mine who is black and he told me I may be contributing to that outlook of my other friend if all I ever share on FB or talk about are the ways we (white people) have harmed black people. He does not want me to portray black people as victims (and nor did I realize I had been doing so). But none of us took the next step to talk about why we “hate the victim more than we hate the harm.”

    I absolutely do think the conversations about race need to be so much bigger than victim or not victim. We need to be correcting a history that has erased black scholars, inventors, explorers, etc. A history that has stolen the evidence of those origins and accomplishments and laid claim to it on behalf of white people. We need to learn the truth and celebrate it. But we also need not loathe the word victim, or loath the person. Are we so combative that only strength matters – and matters over all, over right and wrong? So if I perpetrate violence and you can’t stand up to me or recover from my behavior, I am strong (good) and you are weak/victim (bad)? The answer seems to be yes, in our society fed by the rancid ideas of white supremacy, it seems we value strength (or an appearance of strength? I’m struggling with words) more than we value humanity and since the system is set up to prop up certain of us into positions of strength, we can perpetrate violence once through whatever system we are gaining our power from and then again by blaming black people for being victims. It seems like a vicious way to form an inescapable cycle of abuse.

  9. Danielle Holcombe Avatar
    Danielle Holcombe

    I have a dear friend who contracted shingles. It was on his face and in his eye. It was very serious and very painful – but at the ER, they diagnosed him with pink eye and sent him on his way – TWICE. He had given up. He was in so much pain that while he may not have actually died from it, he felt as though (and had resolved to) just lay on his couch in agony until he died. His wife dragged him to the ER a third time and they finally paid attention to the other spots on his face and got a correct diagnosis.

    The delay in correctly diagnosing it as shingles had a significant impact on his healing/recovery as early intervention can greatly reduce the intensity and length of the outbreak. He could have lost sight in that eye (thankfully did not). He was out of work and unable to drive or leave a dark room without pain for many weeks. He suffered migraines for months after. I still have friends who think his misdiagnosis can be explained away by the fact that he’s “too young” to be a likely candidate to contract shingles. Once upon a time, I might have come up with excuses for the medical practitioners myself.

    I know his story is not unique. I know his pain was not taken seriously, AND that the same thing happens all the time to black people. He no longer has any interest in seeing a doctor for anything at all – and how can I tell him that he should? Why would he believe he would get adequate care?

    Yes, we need to acknowledge the truth of this but as we know, acknowledgment is not enough. I resonate with a lot of what Marlise said – the weight of not knowing how to participate in communal living. The weight of unmet needs and how I view/value the human right in front of me. I have begun to be vocal in refuting the concept of a scarcity culture when other white people in my circle may voice that lie or their own fear of what they may lose.

  10. Jenny Avatar
    Jenny

    I’m thinking about pivoting now to what we can do – especially we who are white.

    If we work in the medical field, do we demand training for colleagues on the disparages? Do we seek ways to shift our OWN practice, depending on where we work.

    If we DON’T work in the medical field – what then? I don’t work in the medical field, but man, do I see a LOT of doctors over the course of a year. I interact with 5 different PRACTICES regularly – and i’m a pretty healthy middle aged adult.

    I have never personally considered how I can shift this system. I can be shocked, I can tell my friends on facebook, sharing articles, sure. And that raises awareness. But what other recourse or tools do I have?

    I’m curious what others think . Here are a couple I know I can commit to:

    1. Contact my local health department and inquire what they are doing about this from a local public health stand point (i work for county program that partners with our local HD, so I’m going to dig into this one deeply.)
    2. I can ask the practices I interact with what they do to address this? Do they attend training, professional development; have they made any changes to policy or practice?

    Thoughts? What are ACTIONS can we take?

  11. Deb Isanhart Avatar
    Deb Isanhart

    The truth spoken here makes me both sad and angry. Earlier this year I was telling my husband about the high Black maternal mortality rate. He asked why. I said racism. He balked at the idea that was the cause — it had to be more than that. I shared points from things I’d read and seen. But the factors were all impacted by racism. In his mind Serena’s story had to be an outlier.

    And, I think that is the case for most wht ppl. We want Serena’s story and Representative Cummings’s death to be outliers. We need them to be outliers. Because if they are not, if all this article says is true, we must face our culpability. We can no longer place the blame on poor lifestyle choices. When Black ppl say white ppl are killing them, it isn’t hyperbole.

  12. Alexis Klein Avatar
    Alexis Klein

    As someone who grew up with family in health care learning about racism in the medical field is especially eye opening and heartbreaking. I have to own my part of the system. I believed the lies. Black people die because of our anti-Black society, not because they’re Black. I’ve learned that trauma is passed down in DNA, but there’s no gene that says “Black and will cause early death”.

    The discussion about victimization is something that I’m learning.

    The happy healthy ever after Black person is something I have to dig through. I learn about being in the middle, the not so happy ending that Black people have. And how it’s about supporting you and changing how the health care industry cares, and doesn’t care, for Black people. The Go Fund Me, the fundraising for care should not have to happen. And as a white person it’s my job to listen, to share if that’s okay, your stories.

  13. Kathy kratchmer Avatar
    Kathy kratchmer

    I believe you.

    (Years and years ago I remember learning in Health Class or Bio 100 about ideopathic hypertension in the Black population. We don’t know why, for some reason,…….. And then once I started listening to Black people, seeing the huge disparities in our lived experiences I was kind of amazed. Really? We really don’t know why high blood pressure, a classic stress response, is more common in Black people?!?!?!?

    And I read a book by Leonard Pitts recently, set during WWII, that included a storyline with a hospital that would accept Black patients but their ‘ward’ was in the basement, in the utilities area with leaky pipes and makeshift everything and practically no staff whatsoever and white nurses could not tend to Black male patients so their care was even. More substandard and limitied beds so some people were turned away, turned away to a certain death, because of this artificial lack of room because of course there were beds available upstairs.

    Our denial of the humanity of Black people continues today. I’m certain it is at the heart of our constant talking about these ‘difficult problems’ with ‘no easy solutions’: if we we really saw your humanity, the violent inequities stemming from our toxic white supremacy would never have existed in the first place. But we needed you, and Indigenous people groups, to be less than human to justify genocide and chattel slavery ANd we continue to need it to ignore and/or justify the current iterations of racism that hold full sway today.

  14. Kathy Kratchmer Avatar
    Kathy Kratchmer

    Your comment about the ‘national discussion’ really caught me. I too fear the discussion is simply another way to decrease our white dissonance and protect our innocence as so many conversations have been before: we absolve ourselves by talking about these’ difficult issues’ where ‘there are no easy solutions.’ And . Then. Do. Absolutely. Nothing.

  15. Lace Watkins Avatar
    Lace Watkins

    To talk about a system that leaves such a wide swath underserved is a difficult conversation to have. yet we must have it.

  16. Marlise Avatar
    Marlise

    Angry at the stories that don’t allow us to exhale. Whew!

    Yes. For me, partly because I am implicated, and that is something I have been trained to avoid as a white woman. Partly because to be white is to avoid dissonance, which can really only exist in whiteness through erasure.

    I also feel the weight of not knowing how to participate in a community, in communal living/grieving/advocating/healing. Stories with no happy ending are people with unmet needs. In a scarcity culture (false but very much upheld), another’s needs feels like a pull from my own. The deep lie that I yank on every day. The truth is, I am only as whole as the person with the most unmet needs in the community of humanity. I can only be as whole as that who I have deemed the least.

    There is a tension I feel….knowing that I am directly wrapped up with those I harm. Yet, also recognizing that I should be able to see the human in front of me without feeling my own demise. I worry the national conversation is for the same reason, we white people are starting to lose some of our exempt status so we discuss.

    If I am angry at the stories that don’t allow me to exhale, it is because it is my hand suffocating another.

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