Diversity in Medicine

There has been increasing attention focused on the lack of diversity within dermatology academic and residency programs.^1-6 Several factors have been identified as contributing to this narrow pipeline of qualified applicants, including lack of mentorship, delayed exposure to the field, implicit bias, and lack of an overall holistic review of applications with overemphasis on board scores.^1,5 In an effort to provide guidance to underrepresented in medicine (UIM) students who are interested in dermatology, the Skin of Color Society (SOCS) has created a detailed, step-by-step guide on how to obtain a position in a dermatology residency program,⁷ which was modeled after a similar resource created by the American Academy of Orthopaedic Surgeons.⁸ Here, we highlight the main SOCS recommendations to help guide medical students through a systematic approach to becoming successful applicants for dermatology residency.

Start Early

Competitive fields such as dermatology require intentional efforts starting at the beginning of medical school. Regardless of what specialty is right for you, begin by constructing a well-rounded application for residency immediately. Start by shadowing dermatologists and attending Grand Rounds held in your institution’s dermatology department to ensure that this field is right for you. Students are encouraged to meet with academic advisors and upperclassmen to seek guidance on gaining early exposure to dermatology at their home institutions (or nearby programs) during their first year. As a platform for learning about community-based dermatology activities, join your school’s Dermatology Interest Group, keeping in mind that an executive position in such a group can help foster relationships with faculty and residents of the dermatology department. A long-term commitment to community service also contributes to your depth as an applicant. Getting involved early helps students uncover health disparities in medicine and allows time to formulate ideas to implement change. Forming a well-rounded application mandates maintaining good academic standing, and students should prioritize mastering the curriculum, excelling in clinical rotations, and studying for the US Medical Licensing Examination (USMLE).

Choose a Mentor

The summer between your first and second years of medical school is an opportune time to explore research opportunities. Students successfully complete research by taking ownership of a project, efficiently meeting deadlines, maintaining contact with research mentors by quickly responding to emails, and producing quality work. Research outside of dermatology also is valued. Research mentors often provide future letters of recommendation, so commit to doing an outstanding job. For those finding it difficult to locate a mentor, consider searching the American Academy of Dermatology (AAD)(https://www.aad.org/mentorship/) or SOCS (https://skinofcolorsociety.org/) websites. The AAD has an established Diversity Mentorship Program (https://www.aad.org/member/career/volunteer/diversity-mentorship) that provides members with direct guidance from dermatologists for 4 weeks. Students use this time to conduct research, learn more about the specialty, and foster a relationship with their mentor. Students can apply any year of medical school; however, the typical awardee usually is a third-year or fourth-year student. The AAD may provide a stipend to help offset expenses.

Prepare for Boards

Second year is a continuation of the agenda set forth in first year, now with the focus shifting toward board preparation and excelling in clinical core didactics and rotations. According to data from the 2018 National Resident Matching Program,⁹ the mean USMLE Step 1 score for US allopathic senior medical students who matched into dermatology was 249 compared to 241 who did not match into dermatology. However, the mean score is just that—a mean—and people have matched with lower scores. Do not be intimidated by this number; instead, be driven to commit the time and resources to master the content and do your personal best on the USMLE Step examinations. Given the shift in some programs for earlier clinical exposure and postponement of boards until the third year, the recommendations in this timeline can be catered to fit a medical student’s specific situation.

Build Your Application

The third year of medical school is a busy year. Prepare for third-year clinical rotations by speaking with upperclassmen and clinical preceptors as you progress through your rotations. Evaluations and recommendations are weighed heavily by residency program directors, as this information is used to ascertain your clinical abilities. Seek feedback from your preceptors early and often with a sincere attempt to integrate suggested improvements. Schedule a dermatology rotation at your home institution after completing the core rotations. Although they are not required, applicants may complete away rotations early in their fourth year; the application period for visiting student learning opportunities typically opens April 1 of the third year, if not earlier. Free resources are available to help prepare for your dermatology rotations. Start by reviewing the Basic Dermatology Curriculum on the AAD website (https://www.aad.org/member/education/residents/bdc). Make contributions to your Electronic Residency Application Service account by thinking about letter writers, your personal statement, scheduling the USMLE Step 2, and completing any pending publications.

Interviewing for Residency

During your fourth year of medical school, you will be completing dermatology rotations, submitting your applications through the Electronic Residency Application Service, and interviewing with residency programs. When deciding which programs to apply to, consider referencing the American Medical Association Residency and Fellowship Database (https://freida.ama-assn.org/Freida/#/). Also keep in mind that, depending on your competitiveness, you should expect to receive 1 interview for every 10 programs you apply to, thus the application process can be quite costly. It is highly encouraged that you ask for letters of recommendation prior to August 15 and that you submit your applications by September 15. Complete mock interviews with a mentor and research commonly asked questions. Prior to your interview day, you want to spend time researching the program, browsing faculty publications, and reviewing your application. Dress in a comfortable suit, shoes, and minimal accessories; arrive early knowing that your interview begins even before you meet your interviewer, so treat everyone you meet with respect. Refrain from speaking to anyone in a casual way and have questions prepared to ask each interviewer. After your interviews, be sure to write thank you notes or emails if a program does not specifically discourage postinterview communication. Continuous efforts will improve your success in obtaining a dermatology residency position.

Final Thoughts

Recent articles have underscored and emphasized the importance of diversity in our field, with a call to action to find meaningful and overdue solutions.^2,6 We acknowledge the important role that mentors play in providing timely, honest, and encouraging guidance to UIM students interested in careers in dermatology. We hope to provide readily available and detailed guidance to these students on how they can present themselves as excellent and qualified applicants through this summary and other platforms.

Acknowledgment
The authors would like to thank the members of the SOCS Diversity Task Force for their assistance in creating the original guide.

There has been increasing attention focused on the lack of diversity within dermatology academic and residency programs.^1-6 Several factors have been identified as contributing to this narrow pipeline of qualified applicants, including lack of mentorship, delayed exposure to the field, implicit bias, and lack of an overall holistic review of applications with overemphasis on board scores.^1,5 In an effort to provide guidance to underrepresented in medicine (UIM) students who are interested in dermatology, the Skin of Color Society (SOCS) has created a detailed, step-by-step guide on how to obtain a position in a dermatology residency program,⁷ which was modeled after a similar resource created by the American Academy of Orthopaedic Surgeons.⁸ Here, we highlight the main SOCS recommendations to help guide medical students through a systematic approach to becoming successful applicants for dermatology residency.

Start Early

Competitive fields such as dermatology require intentional efforts starting at the beginning of medical school. Regardless of what specialty is right for you, begin by constructing a well-rounded application for residency immediately. Start by shadowing dermatologists and attending Grand Rounds held in your institution’s dermatology department to ensure that this field is right for you. Students are encouraged to meet with academic advisors and upperclassmen to seek guidance on gaining early exposure to dermatology at their home institutions (or nearby programs) during their first year. As a platform for learning about community-based dermatology activities, join your school’s Dermatology Interest Group, keeping in mind that an executive position in such a group can help foster relationships with faculty and residents of the dermatology department. A long-term commitment to community service also contributes to your depth as an applicant. Getting involved early helps students uncover health disparities in medicine and allows time to formulate ideas to implement change. Forming a well-rounded application mandates maintaining good academic standing, and students should prioritize mastering the curriculum, excelling in clinical rotations, and studying for the US Medical Licensing Examination (USMLE).

Choose a Mentor

The summer between your first and second years of medical school is an opportune time to explore research opportunities. Students successfully complete research by taking ownership of a project, efficiently meeting deadlines, maintaining contact with research mentors by quickly responding to emails, and producing quality work. Research outside of dermatology also is valued. Research mentors often provide future letters of recommendation, so commit to doing an outstanding job. For those finding it difficult to locate a mentor, consider searching the American Academy of Dermatology (AAD)(https://www.aad.org/mentorship/) or SOCS (https://skinofcolorsociety.org/) websites. The AAD has an established Diversity Mentorship Program (https://www.aad.org/member/career/volunteer/diversity-mentorship) that provides members with direct guidance from dermatologists for 4 weeks. Students use this time to conduct research, learn more about the specialty, and foster a relationship with their mentor. Students can apply any year of medical school; however, the typical awardee usually is a third-year or fourth-year student. The AAD may provide a stipend to help offset expenses.

Prepare for Boards

Second year is a continuation of the agenda set forth in first year, now with the focus shifting toward board preparation and excelling in clinical core didactics and rotations. According to data from the 2018 National Resident Matching Program,⁹ the mean USMLE Step 1 score for US allopathic senior medical students who matched into dermatology was 249 compared to 241 who did not match into dermatology. However, the mean score is just that—a mean—and people have matched with lower scores. Do not be intimidated by this number; instead, be driven to commit the time and resources to master the content and do your personal best on the USMLE Step examinations. Given the shift in some programs for earlier clinical exposure and postponement of boards until the third year, the recommendations in this timeline can be catered to fit a medical student’s specific situation.

Build Your Application

The third year of medical school is a busy year. Prepare for third-year clinical rotations by speaking with upperclassmen and clinical preceptors as you progress through your rotations. Evaluations and recommendations are weighed heavily by residency program directors, as this information is used to ascertain your clinical abilities. Seek feedback from your preceptors early and often with a sincere attempt to integrate suggested improvements. Schedule a dermatology rotation at your home institution after completing the core rotations. Although they are not required, applicants may complete away rotations early in their fourth year; the application period for visiting student learning opportunities typically opens April 1 of the third year, if not earlier. Free resources are available to help prepare for your dermatology rotations. Start by reviewing the Basic Dermatology Curriculum on the AAD website (https://www.aad.org/member/education/residents/bdc). Make contributions to your Electronic Residency Application Service account by thinking about letter writers, your personal statement, scheduling the USMLE Step 2, and completing any pending publications.

Interviewing for Residency

During your fourth year of medical school, you will be completing dermatology rotations, submitting your applications through the Electronic Residency Application Service, and interviewing with residency programs. When deciding which programs to apply to, consider referencing the American Medical Association Residency and Fellowship Database (https://freida.ama-assn.org/Freida/#/). Also keep in mind that, depending on your competitiveness, you should expect to receive 1 interview for every 10 programs you apply to, thus the application process can be quite costly. It is highly encouraged that you ask for letters of recommendation prior to August 15 and that you submit your applications by September 15. Complete mock interviews with a mentor and research commonly asked questions. Prior to your interview day, you want to spend time researching the program, browsing faculty publications, and reviewing your application. Dress in a comfortable suit, shoes, and minimal accessories; arrive early knowing that your interview begins even before you meet your interviewer, so treat everyone you meet with respect. Refrain from speaking to anyone in a casual way and have questions prepared to ask each interviewer. After your interviews, be sure to write thank you notes or emails if a program does not specifically discourage postinterview communication. Continuous efforts will improve your success in obtaining a dermatology residency position.

Final Thoughts

Recent articles have underscored and emphasized the importance of diversity in our field, with a call to action to find meaningful and overdue solutions.^2,6 We acknowledge the important role that mentors play in providing timely, honest, and encouraging guidance to UIM students interested in careers in dermatology. We hope to provide readily available and detailed guidance to these students on how they can present themselves as excellent and qualified applicants through this summary and other platforms.

Acknowledgment
The authors would like to thank the members of the SOCS Diversity Task Force for their assistance in creating the original guide.

There has been increasing attention focused on the lack of diversity within dermatology academic and residency programs.^1-6 Several factors have been identified as contributing to this narrow pipeline of qualified applicants, including lack of mentorship, delayed exposure to the field, implicit bias, and lack of an overall holistic review of applications with overemphasis on board scores.^1,5 In an effort to provide guidance to underrepresented in medicine (UIM) students who are interested in dermatology, the Skin of Color Society (SOCS) has created a detailed, step-by-step guide on how to obtain a position in a dermatology residency program,⁷ which was modeled after a similar resource created by the American Academy of Orthopaedic Surgeons.⁸ Here, we highlight the main SOCS recommendations to help guide medical students through a systematic approach to becoming successful applicants for dermatology residency.

Start Early

Competitive fields such as dermatology require intentional efforts starting at the beginning of medical school. Regardless of what specialty is right for you, begin by constructing a well-rounded application for residency immediately. Start by shadowing dermatologists and attending Grand Rounds held in your institution’s dermatology department to ensure that this field is right for you. Students are encouraged to meet with academic advisors and upperclassmen to seek guidance on gaining early exposure to dermatology at their home institutions (or nearby programs) during their first year. As a platform for learning about community-based dermatology activities, join your school’s Dermatology Interest Group, keeping in mind that an executive position in such a group can help foster relationships with faculty and residents of the dermatology department. A long-term commitment to community service also contributes to your depth as an applicant. Getting involved early helps students uncover health disparities in medicine and allows time to formulate ideas to implement change. Forming a well-rounded application mandates maintaining good academic standing, and students should prioritize mastering the curriculum, excelling in clinical rotations, and studying for the US Medical Licensing Examination (USMLE).

Choose a Mentor

The summer between your first and second years of medical school is an opportune time to explore research opportunities. Students successfully complete research by taking ownership of a project, efficiently meeting deadlines, maintaining contact with research mentors by quickly responding to emails, and producing quality work. Research outside of dermatology also is valued. Research mentors often provide future letters of recommendation, so commit to doing an outstanding job. For those finding it difficult to locate a mentor, consider searching the American Academy of Dermatology (AAD)(https://www.aad.org/mentorship/) or SOCS (https://skinofcolorsociety.org/) websites. The AAD has an established Diversity Mentorship Program (https://www.aad.org/member/career/volunteer/diversity-mentorship) that provides members with direct guidance from dermatologists for 4 weeks. Students use this time to conduct research, learn more about the specialty, and foster a relationship with their mentor. Students can apply any year of medical school; however, the typical awardee usually is a third-year or fourth-year student. The AAD may provide a stipend to help offset expenses.

Prepare for Boards

Second year is a continuation of the agenda set forth in first year, now with the focus shifting toward board preparation and excelling in clinical core didactics and rotations. According to data from the 2018 National Resident Matching Program,⁹ the mean USMLE Step 1 score for US allopathic senior medical students who matched into dermatology was 249 compared to 241 who did not match into dermatology. However, the mean score is just that—a mean—and people have matched with lower scores. Do not be intimidated by this number; instead, be driven to commit the time and resources to master the content and do your personal best on the USMLE Step examinations. Given the shift in some programs for earlier clinical exposure and postponement of boards until the third year, the recommendations in this timeline can be catered to fit a medical student’s specific situation.

Build Your Application

The third year of medical school is a busy year. Prepare for third-year clinical rotations by speaking with upperclassmen and clinical preceptors as you progress through your rotations. Evaluations and recommendations are weighed heavily by residency program directors, as this information is used to ascertain your clinical abilities. Seek feedback from your preceptors early and often with a sincere attempt to integrate suggested improvements. Schedule a dermatology rotation at your home institution after completing the core rotations. Although they are not required, applicants may complete away rotations early in their fourth year; the application period for visiting student learning opportunities typically opens April 1 of the third year, if not earlier. Free resources are available to help prepare for your dermatology rotations. Start by reviewing the Basic Dermatology Curriculum on the AAD website (https://www.aad.org/member/education/residents/bdc). Make contributions to your Electronic Residency Application Service account by thinking about letter writers, your personal statement, scheduling the USMLE Step 2, and completing any pending publications.

Interviewing for Residency

During your fourth year of medical school, you will be completing dermatology rotations, submitting your applications through the Electronic Residency Application Service, and interviewing with residency programs. When deciding which programs to apply to, consider referencing the American Medical Association Residency and Fellowship Database (https://freida.ama-assn.org/Freida/#/). Also keep in mind that, depending on your competitiveness, you should expect to receive 1 interview for every 10 programs you apply to, thus the application process can be quite costly. It is highly encouraged that you ask for letters of recommendation prior to August 15 and that you submit your applications by September 15. Complete mock interviews with a mentor and research commonly asked questions. Prior to your interview day, you want to spend time researching the program, browsing faculty publications, and reviewing your application. Dress in a comfortable suit, shoes, and minimal accessories; arrive early knowing that your interview begins even before you meet your interviewer, so treat everyone you meet with respect. Refrain from speaking to anyone in a casual way and have questions prepared to ask each interviewer. After your interviews, be sure to write thank you notes or emails if a program does not specifically discourage postinterview communication. Continuous efforts will improve your success in obtaining a dermatology residency position.

Final Thoughts

Recent articles have underscored and emphasized the importance of diversity in our field, with a call to action to find meaningful and overdue solutions.^2,6 We acknowledge the important role that mentors play in providing timely, honest, and encouraging guidance to UIM students interested in careers in dermatology. We hope to provide readily available and detailed guidance to these students on how they can present themselves as excellent and qualified applicants through this summary and other platforms.

Acknowledgment
The authors would like to thank the members of the SOCS Diversity Task Force for their assistance in creating the original guide.

The destructive toll COVID-19 has caused worldwide is devastating. In the United States, the disproportionate deaths of Black, Indigenous, and Latinx people due to structural racism, amplified by economic adversity, is unacceptable. Meanwhile, the continued murder of Black people by those sworn to protect the public is abhorrent and can no longer be ignored. Black lives matter. These crises have rightly gripped our attention, and should galvanize physicians individually and collectively to use our privileged voices and relative power for justice. We must strive for engaged, passionate, and innovative leadership deliberately aimed toward antiracism and equity.

The COVID-19 pandemic has illuminated the vast inequities in our country. It has highlighted the continued poor outcomes our health and health care systems create for Black, Indigenous, and Latinx communities. It also has demonstrated clearly that we are all connected—one large community, interdependent yet rife with differential power, privilege, and oppression. We must address these racial disparities—not only in the name of justice and good health for all but also because it is a moral and ethical imperative for us as physicians—and SARS-CoV-2 clearly shows us that it is in the best interest of everyone to do so.

First step: A deep dive look at systemic racism

What is first needed is an examination and acknowledgement by medicine and health care at large of the deeply entrenched roots of systemic and institutional racism in our profession and care systems, and their disproportionate and unjust impact on the health and livelihood of communities of color. The COVID-19 pandemic is only a recent example that highlights the perpetuation of a system that harms people of color. Racism, sexism, gender discrimination, economic and social injustice, religious persecution, and violence against women and children are age-old. We have yet to see health care institutions implement system-wide intersectional and antiracist practices to address them. Mandatory implicit bias training, policies for inclusion and diversity, and position statements are necessary first steps; however, they are not a panacea. They are insufficient to create the bold changes we need. The time for words has long passed. It is time to listen, to hear the cries of anguish and outrage, to examine our privileged position, to embrace change and discomfort, and most importantly to act, and to lead in dismantling the structures around us that perpetuate racial inequity.

How can we, as physicians and leaders, join in action and make an impact?

Dr. Camara Jones, past president of the American Public Health Association, describes 3 levels of racism:

• structural or systemic
• individual or personally mediated
• internalized.

Interventions at each level are important if we are to promote equity in health and health care. This framework can help us think about the following strategic initiatives.

Continue to: 1. Commit to becoming an antiracist and engage in independent study...

1. Commit to becoming antiracist and engage in independent study. This is an important first step as it will form the foundations for interventions—one cannot facilitate change without understanding the matter at hand. This step also may be the most personally challenging step forcing all of us to wrestle with discomfort, sadness, fear, guilt, and a host of other emotional responses. Remember that great change has never been born out of comfort, and the discomfort physicians may experience while unlearning racism and learning antiracism pales in comparison to what communities of color experience daily. We must actively work to unlearn the racist and anti-Black culture that is so deeply woven into every aspect of our existence.

Learn the history that was not given to us as kids in school. Read the brilliant literary works of Black, Indigenous, and Latinx artists and scholars on dismantling racism. Expand our vocabulary and knowledge of core concepts in racism, racial justice, and equity. Examine and reflect on our day-to-day practices. Be vocal in our commitment to antiracism—the time has passed for staying silent. If you are white, facilitate conversations about race with your white colleagues; the inherent power of racism relegates it to an issue that can never be on the table, but it is time to dismantle that power. Learn what acts of meaningful and intentional alliances are and when we need to give up power or privilege to a person of color. We also need to recognize that we as physicians, while leaders in many spaces, are not leaders in the powerful racial justice grassroots movements. We should learn from these movements, follow their lead, and use our privilege to uplift racial justice in our settings.

2. Embrace the current complexities with empathy and humility, finding ways to exercise our civic responsibility to the public with compassion. During the COVID-19 pandemic we have seen the devastation that social isolation, job loss, and illness can create. Suddenly those who could never have imagined themselves without food are waiting hours in their cars for food bank donations or are finding empty shelves in stores. Those who were not safe at home were suddenly imprisoned indefinitely in unsafe situations. Those who were comfortable, well-insured, and healthy are facing an invisible health threat, insecurity, fear, anxiety, and loss. Additionally, our civic institutions are failing. Those of us who always took our right to vote for granted are being forced to stand in hours’-long lines to exercise that right; while those who have been systematically disenfranchised are enduring even greater threats to their constitutional right to exercise their political power, disallowing them to speak for their families and communities and to vote for the justice they deserve. This may be an opportunity to stop blaming victims and recognize the toll that structural and systemic contributions to inequity have created over generations.

3. Meaningfully engage with and advocate for patients. In health and health care, we must begin to engage with the communities we serve and truly listen to their needs, desires, and barriers to care, and respond accordingly. Policies that try to address the social determinants of health without that engagement, and without the acknowledgement of the structural issues that cause them, however well-intentioned, are unlikely to accomplish their goals. We need to advocate as physicians and leaders in our settings for every policy, practice, and procedure to be scrutinized using an antiracist lens. To execute this, we need to:

• ask why clinic and hospital practices are built the way they are and how to make them more reflexive and responsive to individual patient’s needs
• examine what the disproportionate impacts might be on different groups of patients from a systems-level
• be ready to dismantle and/or rebuild something that is exacerbating disparate outcomes and experiences
• advocate for change that is built upon the narratives of patients and their communities.

We should include patients in the creation of hospital policies and guidelines in order to shift power toward them and to be transparent about how the system operates in order to facilitate trust and collaboration that centers patients and communities in the systems created to serve them.

Continue to: 4. Intentionally repair and build trust...

4. Intentionally repair and build trust. To create a safe environment, we must repair what we have broken and earn the trust of communities by uplifting their voices and redistributing our power to them in changing the systems and structures that have, for generations, kept Black, Indigenous, and Latinx people oppressed. Building trust requires first owning our histories of colonization, genocide, and slavery—now turned mass incarceration, debasement, and exploitation—that has existed for centuries. We as physicians need to do an honest examination of how we have eroded the trust of the very communities we care for since our profession’s creation. We need to acknowledge, as a white-dominant profession, the medical experimentation on and exploitation of Black and Brown bodies, and how this formed the foundation for a very valid deep distrust and fear of the medical establishment. We need to recognize how our inherent racial biases continue to feed this distrust, like when we don’t treat patients’ pain adequately or make them feel like we believe and listen to their needs and concerns. We must acknowledge our complicity in perpetuating the racial inequities in health, again highlighted by the COVID-19 pandemic.

5. Increase Black, Indigenous, and Latinx representation in physician and other health care professions’ workforce. Racism impacts not only patients but also our colleagues of color. The lack of racial diversity is a symptom of racism and a representation of the continued exclusion and devaluing of physicians of color. We must recognize this legacy of exclusion and facilitate intentional recruitment, retention, inclusion, and belonging of people of color into our workforce. Tokenism, the act of symbolically including one or few people from underrepresented groups, has been a weapon used by our workforce against physicians of color, resulting in isolation, “othering,” demoralization, and other deleterious impacts. We need to reverse this history and diversify our training programs and workforce to ensure justice in our own community.

6. Design multifaceted interventions. Multilevel problems require multilevel solutions. Interventions targeted solely at one level, while helpful, are unlikely to result in the larger scale changes our society needs to implement if we are to eradicate the impact of racism on health. We have long known that it is not just “preexisting conditions” or “poor” individual behaviors that lead to negative and disparate health outcomes—these are impacted by social and structural determinants much larger and more deleterious than that. It is critically important that we allocate and redistribute resources to create safe and affordable housing; childcare and preschool facilities; healthy, available, and affordable food; equitable and affordable educational opportunities; and a clean environment to support the health of all communities—not only those with the highest tax base. It is imperative that we strive to understand the lives of our fellow human beings who have been subjected to intergenerational social injustices and oppressions that have continued to place them at the margins of society. We need to center the lived experiences of communities of color in the design of multilevel interventions, especially Black and Indigenous communities. While we as physicians cannot individually impact education, economic, or food/environment systems, we can use our power to advocate for providing resources for the patients we care for and can create strategies within the health care system to address these needs in order to achieve optimal health. Robust and equitable social structures are the foundations for health, and ensuring equitable access to them is critical to reducing disparities.

Commit to lead

We must commit to unlearning our internalized racism, rebuilding relationships with communities of color, and engaging in antiracist practices. As a profession dedicated to healing, we have an obligation to be leaders in advocating for these changes, and dismantling the inequitable structure of our health care system.

Our challenge now is to articulate solutions. While antiracism should be informed by the lived experiences of communities of color, the work of antiracism is not their responsibility. In fact, it is the responsibility of our white-dominated systems and institutions to change.

There are some solutions that are easier to enumerate because they have easily measurable outcomes or activities, such as:

• collecting data transparently
• identifying inequities in access, treatment, and care
• conducting rigorous root cause analysis of those barriers to care
• increasing diverse racial and gender representation on decision-making bodies, from board rooms to committees, from leadership teams to research participants
• redistribute power by paving the way for underrepresented colleagues to participate in clinical, administrative, educational, executive, and health policy spaces
• mentoring new leaders who come from marginalized communities.

Every patient deserves our expertise and access to high-quality care. We should review our patient panels to ensure we are taking steps personally to be just and eliminate disparities, and we should monitor the results of those efforts.

Continue to: Be open to solutions that may make us “uncomfortable”...

Be open to solutions that may make us “uncomfortable”

There are other solutions, perhaps those that would be more effective on a larger scale, which may be harder to measure using our traditional ways of inquiry or measurement. Solutions that may create discomfort, anger, or fear for those who have held their power or positions for a long time. We need to begin to engage in developing, cultivating, and valuing innovative strategies that produce equally valid knowledge, evidence, and solutions without engaging in a randomized controlled trial. We need to reinvent the way inquiry, investigation, and implementation are done, and utilize novel, justice-informed strategies that include real-world evidence to produce results that are applicable to all (not just those willing to participate in sponsored trials). Only then will we be able to provide equitable health outcomes for all.

We also must accept responsibility for the past and humbly ask communities to work with us as we struggle to eliminate racism and dehumanization of Black lives by calling out our actions or inaction, recognizing the impact of our privileged status, and stepping down or stepping aside to allow others to lead. Sometimes it is as simple as turning off the Zoom camera so others can talk. By redistributing power and focusing this work upon the narratives of marginalized communities, we can improve our system for everyone. We must lead with action within our practices and systems; become advocates within our communities, institutions, and profession; strategize and organize interventions at both structural and individual levels to first recognize and name—then change—the systems; and unlearn behaviors that perpetuate racism.

Inaction is shirking our responsibility among the medical community

Benign inaction and unintentional acquiescence with “the way things are and have always been” abdicates our responsibility as physicians to improve the health of our patients and our communities. The modern Hippocratic Oath reminds us: “I will remember that I remain a member of society, with special obligations to all my fellow human beings, those sound of mind and body as well as the infirm.” We have a professional and ethical responsibility to ensure health equity, and thus racial equity. As physicians, as healers, as leaders we must address racial inequities at all levels as we commit to improving the health of our nation. We can no longer stand silent in the face of the violence, brutality, and injustices our patients, friends, family, neighbors, communities, and society as a whole live through daily. It is unjust and inhumane to do so.

To be silent is to be complicit. As Gandhi said so long ago, we must “be the change we wish to see in the world.” And as Ijeoma Olua teaches us, “Anti-racism is the commitment to fight racism wherever you find it, including in yourself. And it’s the only way forward.”
 

The destructive toll COVID-19 has caused worldwide is devastating. In the United States, the disproportionate deaths of Black, Indigenous, and Latinx people due to structural racism, amplified by economic adversity, is unacceptable. Meanwhile, the continued murder of Black people by those sworn to protect the public is abhorrent and can no longer be ignored. Black lives matter. These crises have rightly gripped our attention, and should galvanize physicians individually and collectively to use our privileged voices and relative power for justice. We must strive for engaged, passionate, and innovative leadership deliberately aimed toward antiracism and equity.

The COVID-19 pandemic has illuminated the vast inequities in our country. It has highlighted the continued poor outcomes our health and health care systems create for Black, Indigenous, and Latinx communities. It also has demonstrated clearly that we are all connected—one large community, interdependent yet rife with differential power, privilege, and oppression. We must address these racial disparities—not only in the name of justice and good health for all but also because it is a moral and ethical imperative for us as physicians—and SARS-CoV-2 clearly shows us that it is in the best interest of everyone to do so.

First step: A deep dive look at systemic racism

What is first needed is an examination and acknowledgement by medicine and health care at large of the deeply entrenched roots of systemic and institutional racism in our profession and care systems, and their disproportionate and unjust impact on the health and livelihood of communities of color. The COVID-19 pandemic is only a recent example that highlights the perpetuation of a system that harms people of color. Racism, sexism, gender discrimination, economic and social injustice, religious persecution, and violence against women and children are age-old. We have yet to see health care institutions implement system-wide intersectional and antiracist practices to address them. Mandatory implicit bias training, policies for inclusion and diversity, and position statements are necessary first steps; however, they are not a panacea. They are insufficient to create the bold changes we need. The time for words has long passed. It is time to listen, to hear the cries of anguish and outrage, to examine our privileged position, to embrace change and discomfort, and most importantly to act, and to lead in dismantling the structures around us that perpetuate racial inequity.

How can we, as physicians and leaders, join in action and make an impact?

Dr. Camara Jones, past president of the American Public Health Association, describes 3 levels of racism:

• structural or systemic
• individual or personally mediated
• internalized.

Interventions at each level are important if we are to promote equity in health and health care. This framework can help us think about the following strategic initiatives.

Continue to: 1. Commit to becoming an antiracist and engage in independent study...

1. Commit to becoming antiracist and engage in independent study. This is an important first step as it will form the foundations for interventions—one cannot facilitate change without understanding the matter at hand. This step also may be the most personally challenging step forcing all of us to wrestle with discomfort, sadness, fear, guilt, and a host of other emotional responses. Remember that great change has never been born out of comfort, and the discomfort physicians may experience while unlearning racism and learning antiracism pales in comparison to what communities of color experience daily. We must actively work to unlearn the racist and anti-Black culture that is so deeply woven into every aspect of our existence.

Learn the history that was not given to us as kids in school. Read the brilliant literary works of Black, Indigenous, and Latinx artists and scholars on dismantling racism. Expand our vocabulary and knowledge of core concepts in racism, racial justice, and equity. Examine and reflect on our day-to-day practices. Be vocal in our commitment to antiracism—the time has passed for staying silent. If you are white, facilitate conversations about race with your white colleagues; the inherent power of racism relegates it to an issue that can never be on the table, but it is time to dismantle that power. Learn what acts of meaningful and intentional alliances are and when we need to give up power or privilege to a person of color. We also need to recognize that we as physicians, while leaders in many spaces, are not leaders in the powerful racial justice grassroots movements. We should learn from these movements, follow their lead, and use our privilege to uplift racial justice in our settings.

2. Embrace the current complexities with empathy and humility, finding ways to exercise our civic responsibility to the public with compassion. During the COVID-19 pandemic we have seen the devastation that social isolation, job loss, and illness can create. Suddenly those who could never have imagined themselves without food are waiting hours in their cars for food bank donations or are finding empty shelves in stores. Those who were not safe at home were suddenly imprisoned indefinitely in unsafe situations. Those who were comfortable, well-insured, and healthy are facing an invisible health threat, insecurity, fear, anxiety, and loss. Additionally, our civic institutions are failing. Those of us who always took our right to vote for granted are being forced to stand in hours’-long lines to exercise that right; while those who have been systematically disenfranchised are enduring even greater threats to their constitutional right to exercise their political power, disallowing them to speak for their families and communities and to vote for the justice they deserve. This may be an opportunity to stop blaming victims and recognize the toll that structural and systemic contributions to inequity have created over generations.

3. Meaningfully engage with and advocate for patients. In health and health care, we must begin to engage with the communities we serve and truly listen to their needs, desires, and barriers to care, and respond accordingly. Policies that try to address the social determinants of health without that engagement, and without the acknowledgement of the structural issues that cause them, however well-intentioned, are unlikely to accomplish their goals. We need to advocate as physicians and leaders in our settings for every policy, practice, and procedure to be scrutinized using an antiracist lens. To execute this, we need to:

• ask why clinic and hospital practices are built the way they are and how to make them more reflexive and responsive to individual patient’s needs
• examine what the disproportionate impacts might be on different groups of patients from a systems-level
• be ready to dismantle and/or rebuild something that is exacerbating disparate outcomes and experiences
• advocate for change that is built upon the narratives of patients and their communities.

We should include patients in the creation of hospital policies and guidelines in order to shift power toward them and to be transparent about how the system operates in order to facilitate trust and collaboration that centers patients and communities in the systems created to serve them.

Continue to: 4. Intentionally repair and build trust...

4. Intentionally repair and build trust. To create a safe environment, we must repair what we have broken and earn the trust of communities by uplifting their voices and redistributing our power to them in changing the systems and structures that have, for generations, kept Black, Indigenous, and Latinx people oppressed. Building trust requires first owning our histories of colonization, genocide, and slavery—now turned mass incarceration, debasement, and exploitation—that has existed for centuries. We as physicians need to do an honest examination of how we have eroded the trust of the very communities we care for since our profession’s creation. We need to acknowledge, as a white-dominant profession, the medical experimentation on and exploitation of Black and Brown bodies, and how this formed the foundation for a very valid deep distrust and fear of the medical establishment. We need to recognize how our inherent racial biases continue to feed this distrust, like when we don’t treat patients’ pain adequately or make them feel like we believe and listen to their needs and concerns. We must acknowledge our complicity in perpetuating the racial inequities in health, again highlighted by the COVID-19 pandemic.

5. Increase Black, Indigenous, and Latinx representation in physician and other health care professions’ workforce. Racism impacts not only patients but also our colleagues of color. The lack of racial diversity is a symptom of racism and a representation of the continued exclusion and devaluing of physicians of color. We must recognize this legacy of exclusion and facilitate intentional recruitment, retention, inclusion, and belonging of people of color into our workforce. Tokenism, the act of symbolically including one or few people from underrepresented groups, has been a weapon used by our workforce against physicians of color, resulting in isolation, “othering,” demoralization, and other deleterious impacts. We need to reverse this history and diversify our training programs and workforce to ensure justice in our own community.

6. Design multifaceted interventions. Multilevel problems require multilevel solutions. Interventions targeted solely at one level, while helpful, are unlikely to result in the larger scale changes our society needs to implement if we are to eradicate the impact of racism on health. We have long known that it is not just “preexisting conditions” or “poor” individual behaviors that lead to negative and disparate health outcomes—these are impacted by social and structural determinants much larger and more deleterious than that. It is critically important that we allocate and redistribute resources to create safe and affordable housing; childcare and preschool facilities; healthy, available, and affordable food; equitable and affordable educational opportunities; and a clean environment to support the health of all communities—not only those with the highest tax base. It is imperative that we strive to understand the lives of our fellow human beings who have been subjected to intergenerational social injustices and oppressions that have continued to place them at the margins of society. We need to center the lived experiences of communities of color in the design of multilevel interventions, especially Black and Indigenous communities. While we as physicians cannot individually impact education, economic, or food/environment systems, we can use our power to advocate for providing resources for the patients we care for and can create strategies within the health care system to address these needs in order to achieve optimal health. Robust and equitable social structures are the foundations for health, and ensuring equitable access to them is critical to reducing disparities.

Commit to lead

We must commit to unlearning our internalized racism, rebuilding relationships with communities of color, and engaging in antiracist practices. As a profession dedicated to healing, we have an obligation to be leaders in advocating for these changes, and dismantling the inequitable structure of our health care system.

Our challenge now is to articulate solutions. While antiracism should be informed by the lived experiences of communities of color, the work of antiracism is not their responsibility. In fact, it is the responsibility of our white-dominated systems and institutions to change.

There are some solutions that are easier to enumerate because they have easily measurable outcomes or activities, such as:

• collecting data transparently
• identifying inequities in access, treatment, and care
• conducting rigorous root cause analysis of those barriers to care
• increasing diverse racial and gender representation on decision-making bodies, from board rooms to committees, from leadership teams to research participants
• redistribute power by paving the way for underrepresented colleagues to participate in clinical, administrative, educational, executive, and health policy spaces
• mentoring new leaders who come from marginalized communities.

Every patient deserves our expertise and access to high-quality care. We should review our patient panels to ensure we are taking steps personally to be just and eliminate disparities, and we should monitor the results of those efforts.

Continue to: Be open to solutions that may make us “uncomfortable”...

Be open to solutions that may make us “uncomfortable”

There are other solutions, perhaps those that would be more effective on a larger scale, which may be harder to measure using our traditional ways of inquiry or measurement. Solutions that may create discomfort, anger, or fear for those who have held their power or positions for a long time. We need to begin to engage in developing, cultivating, and valuing innovative strategies that produce equally valid knowledge, evidence, and solutions without engaging in a randomized controlled trial. We need to reinvent the way inquiry, investigation, and implementation are done, and utilize novel, justice-informed strategies that include real-world evidence to produce results that are applicable to all (not just those willing to participate in sponsored trials). Only then will we be able to provide equitable health outcomes for all.

We also must accept responsibility for the past and humbly ask communities to work with us as we struggle to eliminate racism and dehumanization of Black lives by calling out our actions or inaction, recognizing the impact of our privileged status, and stepping down or stepping aside to allow others to lead. Sometimes it is as simple as turning off the Zoom camera so others can talk. By redistributing power and focusing this work upon the narratives of marginalized communities, we can improve our system for everyone. We must lead with action within our practices and systems; become advocates within our communities, institutions, and profession; strategize and organize interventions at both structural and individual levels to first recognize and name—then change—the systems; and unlearn behaviors that perpetuate racism.

Inaction is shirking our responsibility among the medical community

Benign inaction and unintentional acquiescence with “the way things are and have always been” abdicates our responsibility as physicians to improve the health of our patients and our communities. The modern Hippocratic Oath reminds us: “I will remember that I remain a member of society, with special obligations to all my fellow human beings, those sound of mind and body as well as the infirm.” We have a professional and ethical responsibility to ensure health equity, and thus racial equity. As physicians, as healers, as leaders we must address racial inequities at all levels as we commit to improving the health of our nation. We can no longer stand silent in the face of the violence, brutality, and injustices our patients, friends, family, neighbors, communities, and society as a whole live through daily. It is unjust and inhumane to do so.

To be silent is to be complicit. As Gandhi said so long ago, we must “be the change we wish to see in the world.” And as Ijeoma Olua teaches us, “Anti-racism is the commitment to fight racism wherever you find it, including in yourself. And it’s the only way forward.”
 

The destructive toll COVID-19 has caused worldwide is devastating. In the United States, the disproportionate deaths of Black, Indigenous, and Latinx people due to structural racism, amplified by economic adversity, is unacceptable. Meanwhile, the continued murder of Black people by those sworn to protect the public is abhorrent and can no longer be ignored. Black lives matter. These crises have rightly gripped our attention, and should galvanize physicians individually and collectively to use our privileged voices and relative power for justice. We must strive for engaged, passionate, and innovative leadership deliberately aimed toward antiracism and equity.

The COVID-19 pandemic has illuminated the vast inequities in our country. It has highlighted the continued poor outcomes our health and health care systems create for Black, Indigenous, and Latinx communities. It also has demonstrated clearly that we are all connected—one large community, interdependent yet rife with differential power, privilege, and oppression. We must address these racial disparities—not only in the name of justice and good health for all but also because it is a moral and ethical imperative for us as physicians—and SARS-CoV-2 clearly shows us that it is in the best interest of everyone to do so.

First step: A deep dive look at systemic racism

What is first needed is an examination and acknowledgement by medicine and health care at large of the deeply entrenched roots of systemic and institutional racism in our profession and care systems, and their disproportionate and unjust impact on the health and livelihood of communities of color. The COVID-19 pandemic is only a recent example that highlights the perpetuation of a system that harms people of color. Racism, sexism, gender discrimination, economic and social injustice, religious persecution, and violence against women and children are age-old. We have yet to see health care institutions implement system-wide intersectional and antiracist practices to address them. Mandatory implicit bias training, policies for inclusion and diversity, and position statements are necessary first steps; however, they are not a panacea. They are insufficient to create the bold changes we need. The time for words has long passed. It is time to listen, to hear the cries of anguish and outrage, to examine our privileged position, to embrace change and discomfort, and most importantly to act, and to lead in dismantling the structures around us that perpetuate racial inequity.

How can we, as physicians and leaders, join in action and make an impact?

Dr. Camara Jones, past president of the American Public Health Association, describes 3 levels of racism:

• structural or systemic
• individual or personally mediated
• internalized.

Interventions at each level are important if we are to promote equity in health and health care. This framework can help us think about the following strategic initiatives.

Continue to: 1. Commit to becoming an antiracist and engage in independent study...

1. Commit to becoming antiracist and engage in independent study. This is an important first step as it will form the foundations for interventions—one cannot facilitate change without understanding the matter at hand. This step also may be the most personally challenging step forcing all of us to wrestle with discomfort, sadness, fear, guilt, and a host of other emotional responses. Remember that great change has never been born out of comfort, and the discomfort physicians may experience while unlearning racism and learning antiracism pales in comparison to what communities of color experience daily. We must actively work to unlearn the racist and anti-Black culture that is so deeply woven into every aspect of our existence.

Learn the history that was not given to us as kids in school. Read the brilliant literary works of Black, Indigenous, and Latinx artists and scholars on dismantling racism. Expand our vocabulary and knowledge of core concepts in racism, racial justice, and equity. Examine and reflect on our day-to-day practices. Be vocal in our commitment to antiracism—the time has passed for staying silent. If you are white, facilitate conversations about race with your white colleagues; the inherent power of racism relegates it to an issue that can never be on the table, but it is time to dismantle that power. Learn what acts of meaningful and intentional alliances are and when we need to give up power or privilege to a person of color. We also need to recognize that we as physicians, while leaders in many spaces, are not leaders in the powerful racial justice grassroots movements. We should learn from these movements, follow their lead, and use our privilege to uplift racial justice in our settings.

2. Embrace the current complexities with empathy and humility, finding ways to exercise our civic responsibility to the public with compassion. During the COVID-19 pandemic we have seen the devastation that social isolation, job loss, and illness can create. Suddenly those who could never have imagined themselves without food are waiting hours in their cars for food bank donations or are finding empty shelves in stores. Those who were not safe at home were suddenly imprisoned indefinitely in unsafe situations. Those who were comfortable, well-insured, and healthy are facing an invisible health threat, insecurity, fear, anxiety, and loss. Additionally, our civic institutions are failing. Those of us who always took our right to vote for granted are being forced to stand in hours’-long lines to exercise that right; while those who have been systematically disenfranchised are enduring even greater threats to their constitutional right to exercise their political power, disallowing them to speak for their families and communities and to vote for the justice they deserve. This may be an opportunity to stop blaming victims and recognize the toll that structural and systemic contributions to inequity have created over generations.

3. Meaningfully engage with and advocate for patients. In health and health care, we must begin to engage with the communities we serve and truly listen to their needs, desires, and barriers to care, and respond accordingly. Policies that try to address the social determinants of health without that engagement, and without the acknowledgement of the structural issues that cause them, however well-intentioned, are unlikely to accomplish their goals. We need to advocate as physicians and leaders in our settings for every policy, practice, and procedure to be scrutinized using an antiracist lens. To execute this, we need to:

• ask why clinic and hospital practices are built the way they are and how to make them more reflexive and responsive to individual patient’s needs
• examine what the disproportionate impacts might be on different groups of patients from a systems-level
• be ready to dismantle and/or rebuild something that is exacerbating disparate outcomes and experiences
• advocate for change that is built upon the narratives of patients and their communities.

We should include patients in the creation of hospital policies and guidelines in order to shift power toward them and to be transparent about how the system operates in order to facilitate trust and collaboration that centers patients and communities in the systems created to serve them.

Continue to: 4. Intentionally repair and build trust...

4. Intentionally repair and build trust. To create a safe environment, we must repair what we have broken and earn the trust of communities by uplifting their voices and redistributing our power to them in changing the systems and structures that have, for generations, kept Black, Indigenous, and Latinx people oppressed. Building trust requires first owning our histories of colonization, genocide, and slavery—now turned mass incarceration, debasement, and exploitation—that has existed for centuries. We as physicians need to do an honest examination of how we have eroded the trust of the very communities we care for since our profession’s creation. We need to acknowledge, as a white-dominant profession, the medical experimentation on and exploitation of Black and Brown bodies, and how this formed the foundation for a very valid deep distrust and fear of the medical establishment. We need to recognize how our inherent racial biases continue to feed this distrust, like when we don’t treat patients’ pain adequately or make them feel like we believe and listen to their needs and concerns. We must acknowledge our complicity in perpetuating the racial inequities in health, again highlighted by the COVID-19 pandemic.

5. Increase Black, Indigenous, and Latinx representation in physician and other health care professions’ workforce. Racism impacts not only patients but also our colleagues of color. The lack of racial diversity is a symptom of racism and a representation of the continued exclusion and devaluing of physicians of color. We must recognize this legacy of exclusion and facilitate intentional recruitment, retention, inclusion, and belonging of people of color into our workforce. Tokenism, the act of symbolically including one or few people from underrepresented groups, has been a weapon used by our workforce against physicians of color, resulting in isolation, “othering,” demoralization, and other deleterious impacts. We need to reverse this history and diversify our training programs and workforce to ensure justice in our own community.

6. Design multifaceted interventions. Multilevel problems require multilevel solutions. Interventions targeted solely at one level, while helpful, are unlikely to result in the larger scale changes our society needs to implement if we are to eradicate the impact of racism on health. We have long known that it is not just “preexisting conditions” or “poor” individual behaviors that lead to negative and disparate health outcomes—these are impacted by social and structural determinants much larger and more deleterious than that. It is critically important that we allocate and redistribute resources to create safe and affordable housing; childcare and preschool facilities; healthy, available, and affordable food; equitable and affordable educational opportunities; and a clean environment to support the health of all communities—not only those with the highest tax base. It is imperative that we strive to understand the lives of our fellow human beings who have been subjected to intergenerational social injustices and oppressions that have continued to place them at the margins of society. We need to center the lived experiences of communities of color in the design of multilevel interventions, especially Black and Indigenous communities. While we as physicians cannot individually impact education, economic, or food/environment systems, we can use our power to advocate for providing resources for the patients we care for and can create strategies within the health care system to address these needs in order to achieve optimal health. Robust and equitable social structures are the foundations for health, and ensuring equitable access to them is critical to reducing disparities.

Commit to lead

We must commit to unlearning our internalized racism, rebuilding relationships with communities of color, and engaging in antiracist practices. As a profession dedicated to healing, we have an obligation to be leaders in advocating for these changes, and dismantling the inequitable structure of our health care system.

Our challenge now is to articulate solutions. While antiracism should be informed by the lived experiences of communities of color, the work of antiracism is not their responsibility. In fact, it is the responsibility of our white-dominated systems and institutions to change.

There are some solutions that are easier to enumerate because they have easily measurable outcomes or activities, such as:

• collecting data transparently
• identifying inequities in access, treatment, and care
• conducting rigorous root cause analysis of those barriers to care
• increasing diverse racial and gender representation on decision-making bodies, from board rooms to committees, from leadership teams to research participants
• redistribute power by paving the way for underrepresented colleagues to participate in clinical, administrative, educational, executive, and health policy spaces
• mentoring new leaders who come from marginalized communities.

Every patient deserves our expertise and access to high-quality care. We should review our patient panels to ensure we are taking steps personally to be just and eliminate disparities, and we should monitor the results of those efforts.

Continue to: Be open to solutions that may make us “uncomfortable”...

Be open to solutions that may make us “uncomfortable”

There are other solutions, perhaps those that would be more effective on a larger scale, which may be harder to measure using our traditional ways of inquiry or measurement. Solutions that may create discomfort, anger, or fear for those who have held their power or positions for a long time. We need to begin to engage in developing, cultivating, and valuing innovative strategies that produce equally valid knowledge, evidence, and solutions without engaging in a randomized controlled trial. We need to reinvent the way inquiry, investigation, and implementation are done, and utilize novel, justice-informed strategies that include real-world evidence to produce results that are applicable to all (not just those willing to participate in sponsored trials). Only then will we be able to provide equitable health outcomes for all.

We also must accept responsibility for the past and humbly ask communities to work with us as we struggle to eliminate racism and dehumanization of Black lives by calling out our actions or inaction, recognizing the impact of our privileged status, and stepping down or stepping aside to allow others to lead. Sometimes it is as simple as turning off the Zoom camera so others can talk. By redistributing power and focusing this work upon the narratives of marginalized communities, we can improve our system for everyone. We must lead with action within our practices and systems; become advocates within our communities, institutions, and profession; strategize and organize interventions at both structural and individual levels to first recognize and name—then change—the systems; and unlearn behaviors that perpetuate racism.

Inaction is shirking our responsibility among the medical community

Benign inaction and unintentional acquiescence with “the way things are and have always been” abdicates our responsibility as physicians to improve the health of our patients and our communities. The modern Hippocratic Oath reminds us: “I will remember that I remain a member of society, with special obligations to all my fellow human beings, those sound of mind and body as well as the infirm.” We have a professional and ethical responsibility to ensure health equity, and thus racial equity. As physicians, as healers, as leaders we must address racial inequities at all levels as we commit to improving the health of our nation. We can no longer stand silent in the face of the violence, brutality, and injustices our patients, friends, family, neighbors, communities, and society as a whole live through daily. It is unjust and inhumane to do so.

To be silent is to be complicit. As Gandhi said so long ago, we must “be the change we wish to see in the world.” And as Ijeoma Olua teaches us, “Anti-racism is the commitment to fight racism wherever you find it, including in yourself. And it’s the only way forward.”
 

Sarah Jones, PA-C, is a physician assistant on the overnight hospitalist team at Indiana University Health Methodist Hospital in Indianapolis, where she has worked for about 8 years. She studied chemistry and biology as an undergraduate at the University of Indianapolis, and then attended PA school at Butler University in Indianapolis. She came out as lesbian/queer just before PA school. She joined the Society of Hospital Medicine in 2020 and serves on SHM’s Diversity and Inclusion Special Interest Group.

How important is it to you to openly identify as a physician assistant who is a member of the LGBTQ community?

I think it’s important to show other people that I am part of the LGBTQ community and that I’ve been able to overcome obstacles and pursue this career and be successful. I can help other people and be in that role [of mentor], and show people that they can do it, too.

What challenges have you faced because of your sexual orientation in the different stages of your career, from training to practicing as a physician assistant?

When my training started, I was much closer to the time when I came out, so my confidence level was a little bit low. I was much more fearful at that point about how people would view me – if I would be thought of as inferior, or not taken as seriously, or that I wasn’t intelligent. I think over the years I’ve grown into this role and it’s helped me become more confident, because I know who I am now. And it’s not something that definitely defines me but I’m confident that I know medicine, and I know how to treat patients and that confidence has gotten much better.

So far at work, everyone’s been great, all my coworkers have been great. I’ve never once felt that my sexuality was holding anyone back from getting to know me better.
 

Have you heard about the experiences of other LGBTQ clinicians who may not have been as fortunate as you, especially transgender people?

There is just a lot of ignorance around LGBTQ persons and especially transgender persons, because people don’t understand it, they don’t get it. So their first inclination is to not approve of it, or be scared of it, or just automatically think that it’s wrong.

If someone’s sexuality comes across much more “obviously” than that of other people, for example, if there’s a gay man who’s a little more flamboyant, [it could be an issue for some patients]. I know there are some gay male nurses who have had patients who don’t want them serving as their nurse, because they’re “obviously” gay. Or a queer woman clinician who has more of an edgier haircut or looks a little bit more masculine; I know that there have been some patients who have said certain things to them that have been discriminating.
 

Have you been especially conscious of how you ‘wear’ your sexual orientation? Have you ever had to change how you’ve presented yourself, lest you have some unpleasant reaction?

I think initially, yes. I would say I’m a little more on the androgynous side with my style. When I was coming out I was trying to figure out where I was and who I was and how I wanted to be, and for the longest time I was dressing more femininely and I wasn’t as comfortable. Since then, I’ve had times where I’ve had short hair or a little bit more of a masculine haircut and wear more masculine clothes and things like that, and I feel much more comfortable doing that.

It’s kind of hard to play the part of a more masculine LGBTQ person at work when you just wear scrubs. I probably don’t portray it as much – I don’t make it as obvious as some other people, but I’ve definitely never shied away from having a conversation with anyone about it.
 

Health care is an intimate profession because of your close interaction with patients and others. Did being a member of the LGBTQ community factor into your decision to enter the health care field, either for or against?

There were times when I didn’t feel well or my mental health was not great because I didn’t know where I was, or hadn’t accepted myself, and I really needed someone who could help me talk through things and try to figure out what my life path was going to be. When I figured those things out with the help of other people, it was life-changing. I respected those people, and that’s what I wanted to do and how I wanted to help. I think that was part of why I got into medicine.

What progress have you seen with regard to LGBTQ health care professionals and patients over the past 5 to 10 years, including subtle changes in culture, attitude, or workplace policies?

Just being interviewed for a profile like this is a step in the right direction. Never once did I think that I would be highlighted for being an LGBTQ person, especially in the workplace.

I think that there are more companies, particularly in health care, and more hospitals that are coming out in support of their LGBTQ employees, especially during Pride month. IU Health walks every year in the Pride parade, which last year was about 3 hours long. Five years previously it was only 30 minutes long. So there are more employers getting involved and recognizing their employees as well. Companies and health care facilities are trying to be more cognizant of their LGBTQ employees and patients and trying to make them more comfortable.
 

What main steps toward more progress would you like to see?

There needs to be greater understanding that people who undergo discrimination actually have more negative health outcomes like heart disease, high blood pressure, and stroke. There needs to be better medical coverage in the LGBTQ community, especially for transgender persons and LGBTQ people who are trying to start families. We need better mental health access, more affordable mental health access, particularly for LGBTQ youth, and we definitely need to continue to raise awareness with hopes that we can eradicate the violence against, and killing of, black transgender persons.

How do you see the Society of Hospital Medicine’s role in this regard?

SHM has a big platform and can certainly reach a lot of people, especially hospitalists who see LGBTQ patients every day. With SHM’s help and the continued training of hospitalists who are members of the society, we can reach out to other clinicians, and to their organizations, and help teach them. SHM really has a good platform to be able to do that, and do it well.

Can you recall a specific interaction with an LGBTQ patient that left you with a potent feeling that “this is what it’s all about”?

I do remember a transgender patient who was homeless. They didn’t have insurance, they couldn’t afford their hormone treatment, and I remember they were struggling with some mental health issues and were “acting out” overnight. Some of the nurses were not using the correct pronouns. I’m more cognizant of their struggles because I’m a member of the LGBTQ community and I was able to recognize this.

I sat down and I talked with the patient for quite a while, we were able to form a bond, and I was able to get a little bit more information from them, and by the end of the night, they felt much better. And just being able to be their voice, when they weren’t able to express exactly how they were feeling, was something that made me thankful that I went into medicine, to help other LGBTQ patients.

I’ve had many LGBTQ patients in the hospital whom I’ve been able to form a bit of a bond with, just knowing that the patient could be me.

Sarah Jones, PA-C, is a physician assistant on the overnight hospitalist team at Indiana University Health Methodist Hospital in Indianapolis, where she has worked for about 8 years. She studied chemistry and biology as an undergraduate at the University of Indianapolis, and then attended PA school at Butler University in Indianapolis. She came out as lesbian/queer just before PA school. She joined the Society of Hospital Medicine in 2020 and serves on SHM’s Diversity and Inclusion Special Interest Group.

How important is it to you to openly identify as a physician assistant who is a member of the LGBTQ community?

I think it’s important to show other people that I am part of the LGBTQ community and that I’ve been able to overcome obstacles and pursue this career and be successful. I can help other people and be in that role [of mentor], and show people that they can do it, too.

What challenges have you faced because of your sexual orientation in the different stages of your career, from training to practicing as a physician assistant?

When my training started, I was much closer to the time when I came out, so my confidence level was a little bit low. I was much more fearful at that point about how people would view me – if I would be thought of as inferior, or not taken as seriously, or that I wasn’t intelligent. I think over the years I’ve grown into this role and it’s helped me become more confident, because I know who I am now. And it’s not something that definitely defines me but I’m confident that I know medicine, and I know how to treat patients and that confidence has gotten much better.

So far at work, everyone’s been great, all my coworkers have been great. I’ve never once felt that my sexuality was holding anyone back from getting to know me better.
 

Have you heard about the experiences of other LGBTQ clinicians who may not have been as fortunate as you, especially transgender people?

There is just a lot of ignorance around LGBTQ persons and especially transgender persons, because people don’t understand it, they don’t get it. So their first inclination is to not approve of it, or be scared of it, or just automatically think that it’s wrong.

If someone’s sexuality comes across much more “obviously” than that of other people, for example, if there’s a gay man who’s a little more flamboyant, [it could be an issue for some patients]. I know there are some gay male nurses who have had patients who don’t want them serving as their nurse, because they’re “obviously” gay. Or a queer woman clinician who has more of an edgier haircut or looks a little bit more masculine; I know that there have been some patients who have said certain things to them that have been discriminating.
 

Have you been especially conscious of how you ‘wear’ your sexual orientation? Have you ever had to change how you’ve presented yourself, lest you have some unpleasant reaction?

I think initially, yes. I would say I’m a little more on the androgynous side with my style. When I was coming out I was trying to figure out where I was and who I was and how I wanted to be, and for the longest time I was dressing more femininely and I wasn’t as comfortable. Since then, I’ve had times where I’ve had short hair or a little bit more of a masculine haircut and wear more masculine clothes and things like that, and I feel much more comfortable doing that.

It’s kind of hard to play the part of a more masculine LGBTQ person at work when you just wear scrubs. I probably don’t portray it as much – I don’t make it as obvious as some other people, but I’ve definitely never shied away from having a conversation with anyone about it.
 

Health care is an intimate profession because of your close interaction with patients and others. Did being a member of the LGBTQ community factor into your decision to enter the health care field, either for or against?

There were times when I didn’t feel well or my mental health was not great because I didn’t know where I was, or hadn’t accepted myself, and I really needed someone who could help me talk through things and try to figure out what my life path was going to be. When I figured those things out with the help of other people, it was life-changing. I respected those people, and that’s what I wanted to do and how I wanted to help. I think that was part of why I got into medicine.

What progress have you seen with regard to LGBTQ health care professionals and patients over the past 5 to 10 years, including subtle changes in culture, attitude, or workplace policies?

Just being interviewed for a profile like this is a step in the right direction. Never once did I think that I would be highlighted for being an LGBTQ person, especially in the workplace.

I think that there are more companies, particularly in health care, and more hospitals that are coming out in support of their LGBTQ employees, especially during Pride month. IU Health walks every year in the Pride parade, which last year was about 3 hours long. Five years previously it was only 30 minutes long. So there are more employers getting involved and recognizing their employees as well. Companies and health care facilities are trying to be more cognizant of their LGBTQ employees and patients and trying to make them more comfortable.
 

What main steps toward more progress would you like to see?

There needs to be greater understanding that people who undergo discrimination actually have more negative health outcomes like heart disease, high blood pressure, and stroke. There needs to be better medical coverage in the LGBTQ community, especially for transgender persons and LGBTQ people who are trying to start families. We need better mental health access, more affordable mental health access, particularly for LGBTQ youth, and we definitely need to continue to raise awareness with hopes that we can eradicate the violence against, and killing of, black transgender persons.

How do you see the Society of Hospital Medicine’s role in this regard?

SHM has a big platform and can certainly reach a lot of people, especially hospitalists who see LGBTQ patients every day. With SHM’s help and the continued training of hospitalists who are members of the society, we can reach out to other clinicians, and to their organizations, and help teach them. SHM really has a good platform to be able to do that, and do it well.

Can you recall a specific interaction with an LGBTQ patient that left you with a potent feeling that “this is what it’s all about”?

I do remember a transgender patient who was homeless. They didn’t have insurance, they couldn’t afford their hormone treatment, and I remember they were struggling with some mental health issues and were “acting out” overnight. Some of the nurses were not using the correct pronouns. I’m more cognizant of their struggles because I’m a member of the LGBTQ community and I was able to recognize this.

I sat down and I talked with the patient for quite a while, we were able to form a bond, and I was able to get a little bit more information from them, and by the end of the night, they felt much better. And just being able to be their voice, when they weren’t able to express exactly how they were feeling, was something that made me thankful that I went into medicine, to help other LGBTQ patients.

I’ve had many LGBTQ patients in the hospital whom I’ve been able to form a bit of a bond with, just knowing that the patient could be me.

Sarah Jones, PA-C, is a physician assistant on the overnight hospitalist team at Indiana University Health Methodist Hospital in Indianapolis, where she has worked for about 8 years. She studied chemistry and biology as an undergraduate at the University of Indianapolis, and then attended PA school at Butler University in Indianapolis. She came out as lesbian/queer just before PA school. She joined the Society of Hospital Medicine in 2020 and serves on SHM’s Diversity and Inclusion Special Interest Group.

How important is it to you to openly identify as a physician assistant who is a member of the LGBTQ community?

I think it’s important to show other people that I am part of the LGBTQ community and that I’ve been able to overcome obstacles and pursue this career and be successful. I can help other people and be in that role [of mentor], and show people that they can do it, too.

What challenges have you faced because of your sexual orientation in the different stages of your career, from training to practicing as a physician assistant?

When my training started, I was much closer to the time when I came out, so my confidence level was a little bit low. I was much more fearful at that point about how people would view me – if I would be thought of as inferior, or not taken as seriously, or that I wasn’t intelligent. I think over the years I’ve grown into this role and it’s helped me become more confident, because I know who I am now. And it’s not something that definitely defines me but I’m confident that I know medicine, and I know how to treat patients and that confidence has gotten much better.

So far at work, everyone’s been great, all my coworkers have been great. I’ve never once felt that my sexuality was holding anyone back from getting to know me better.
 

Have you heard about the experiences of other LGBTQ clinicians who may not have been as fortunate as you, especially transgender people?

There is just a lot of ignorance around LGBTQ persons and especially transgender persons, because people don’t understand it, they don’t get it. So their first inclination is to not approve of it, or be scared of it, or just automatically think that it’s wrong.

If someone’s sexuality comes across much more “obviously” than that of other people, for example, if there’s a gay man who’s a little more flamboyant, [it could be an issue for some patients]. I know there are some gay male nurses who have had patients who don’t want them serving as their nurse, because they’re “obviously” gay. Or a queer woman clinician who has more of an edgier haircut or looks a little bit more masculine; I know that there have been some patients who have said certain things to them that have been discriminating.
 

Have you been especially conscious of how you ‘wear’ your sexual orientation? Have you ever had to change how you’ve presented yourself, lest you have some unpleasant reaction?

I think initially, yes. I would say I’m a little more on the androgynous side with my style. When I was coming out I was trying to figure out where I was and who I was and how I wanted to be, and for the longest time I was dressing more femininely and I wasn’t as comfortable. Since then, I’ve had times where I’ve had short hair or a little bit more of a masculine haircut and wear more masculine clothes and things like that, and I feel much more comfortable doing that.

It’s kind of hard to play the part of a more masculine LGBTQ person at work when you just wear scrubs. I probably don’t portray it as much – I don’t make it as obvious as some other people, but I’ve definitely never shied away from having a conversation with anyone about it.
 

Health care is an intimate profession because of your close interaction with patients and others. Did being a member of the LGBTQ community factor into your decision to enter the health care field, either for or against?

There were times when I didn’t feel well or my mental health was not great because I didn’t know where I was, or hadn’t accepted myself, and I really needed someone who could help me talk through things and try to figure out what my life path was going to be. When I figured those things out with the help of other people, it was life-changing. I respected those people, and that’s what I wanted to do and how I wanted to help. I think that was part of why I got into medicine.

What progress have you seen with regard to LGBTQ health care professionals and patients over the past 5 to 10 years, including subtle changes in culture, attitude, or workplace policies?

Just being interviewed for a profile like this is a step in the right direction. Never once did I think that I would be highlighted for being an LGBTQ person, especially in the workplace.

I think that there are more companies, particularly in health care, and more hospitals that are coming out in support of their LGBTQ employees, especially during Pride month. IU Health walks every year in the Pride parade, which last year was about 3 hours long. Five years previously it was only 30 minutes long. So there are more employers getting involved and recognizing their employees as well. Companies and health care facilities are trying to be more cognizant of their LGBTQ employees and patients and trying to make them more comfortable.
 

What main steps toward more progress would you like to see?

There needs to be greater understanding that people who undergo discrimination actually have more negative health outcomes like heart disease, high blood pressure, and stroke. There needs to be better medical coverage in the LGBTQ community, especially for transgender persons and LGBTQ people who are trying to start families. We need better mental health access, more affordable mental health access, particularly for LGBTQ youth, and we definitely need to continue to raise awareness with hopes that we can eradicate the violence against, and killing of, black transgender persons.

How do you see the Society of Hospital Medicine’s role in this regard?

SHM has a big platform and can certainly reach a lot of people, especially hospitalists who see LGBTQ patients every day. With SHM’s help and the continued training of hospitalists who are members of the society, we can reach out to other clinicians, and to their organizations, and help teach them. SHM really has a good platform to be able to do that, and do it well.

Can you recall a specific interaction with an LGBTQ patient that left you with a potent feeling that “this is what it’s all about”?

I do remember a transgender patient who was homeless. They didn’t have insurance, they couldn’t afford their hormone treatment, and I remember they were struggling with some mental health issues and were “acting out” overnight. Some of the nurses were not using the correct pronouns. I’m more cognizant of their struggles because I’m a member of the LGBTQ community and I was able to recognize this.

I sat down and I talked with the patient for quite a while, we were able to form a bond, and I was able to get a little bit more information from them, and by the end of the night, they felt much better. And just being able to be their voice, when they weren’t able to express exactly how they were feeling, was something that made me thankful that I went into medicine, to help other LGBTQ patients.

I’ve had many LGBTQ patients in the hospital whom I’ve been able to form a bit of a bond with, just knowing that the patient could be me.

Keshav Khanijow, MD, is a hospitalist at Northwestern Memorial Hospital and assistant professor at Northwestern University, Chicago. Originally from the San Francisco Bay area, he studied anthropology as an undergrad at Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, then went to medical school at the University of California, San Francisco, followed by internal medicine residency and a hospital medicine fellowship at Johns Hopkins Bayview Medical Center. He came out as gay in 2006 as an undergrad. He is a founding member of the Society of Hospital Medicine’s LGBTQ+ Task Force and is involved with SHM’s Diversity and Inclusion Special Interest Group.

What challenges have you faced because of your sexual orientation in the different stages of your career, from training to now as a practicing physician?

In my early training, there weren’t a lot of accessible LGBTQ role models to talk about balancing my personal identities with my professional aspirations. Being a double minority as both South Asian and a gay male, made it that much more difficult. “What is it like to work in health care as a gay cismale? Will being out on my personal statement affect my entry into medical school? Should I list my LGBTQ activism activities or not?” Those were important to me.

And did you make your activism known?

Thankfully, I did. I joke that my application might as well have been printed on rainbow paper, if you will. I decided to be out because I wanted to be part of an environment that would accept me for who I was. But it was a difficult decision.

In medical school at UCSF, it’s San Francisco, so they were a little ahead of the game. They had a lot of social networking opportunities with LGBTQ and ally faculty. Those connections were important in helping me explore different fields, and I even got to write my first publication. That said, networking could sometimes be challenging, especially when it came to residency interviews. While many people would talk about family activities and engagements, I’d only been out to my family for a few years. As such, there would be somewhat of a disconnect. On the flip side, there were LGBTQ celebrations and cultural concepts important to me, but I couldn’t always connect on those fronts either.

When it comes to patients, I do have a bit of a higher-pitched voice, and my mannerisms can be gender nonconforming. While it did make me the target of some cruel middle school humor, I’ve come to be proud of myself, mannerisms and all. That said, I have had patients make remarks to me about being gay, whether it be positive or negative. For LGBTQ patients, they’re like, “this is great, I have a gay doctor. They’ll know a bit more about what I’m talking about or be able to relate to the community pressures I face.”

But sometimes homophobic patients can be a bit more cold. I’ve never had anyone say that they don’t want to have me as their physician, but I definitely have patients who disagree with me and say, essentially, “oh well, you don’t know what you’re talking about because you’re gay.” Of course, there have also been comments based on my ethnicity as well.
 

What specific progress could you point to that you’ve seen over the course of your training and your career so far with regard to LGBTQ health care workers’ experience and LGBTQ patients?

When I was in college, there was a case in 2007 where a woman wasn’t able to see her partner or children before dying in a Florida hospital. Since then, there’s been great strides with a 2011 executive order extending hospital visitation rights to LGBTQ families. In 2013, there was the legalization of same-sex marriage. More recently, in June 2020, the Supreme Court extended protections against workplace discrimination to LGBTQ employees.

But there are certain things that continue to be problems, such as the recent Final Rule from the Department of Health & Human Services that fails to protect our LGBTQ patients and friends against discrimination in health care.
 

Can you remember a specific episode with a patient who was in the LGBTQ community that was particularly satisfying or moving?

There are two that I think about. In medical school, I was working in a more conservative area of California, and there was a patient who identified as lesbian. She felt more able to talk about her fears of raising a family in a conservative area. She even said, “I feel you can understand the stuff, I can talk to you a bit more about it freely, which is really nice.” Later on, I was able to see them on another rotation I was on, after she’d had a baby with her partner. I was honored that they considered me a part of their family’s journey.

A couple years ago as an attending hospitalist, I had a gay male patient that came in for hepatitis A treatment. Although we typically think of hepatitis A as a foodborne illness, oral-anal sex (rimming) is also a risk factor. After having an open discussion with him about his sexual practices, I said, “it was probably an STI in your case,” and was able to give him guidelines on how to prevent giving it to anyone else during the recovery period. He was very appreciative, and I was glad to have been there for that patient.
 

What is SHM’s role in regard to improving the care of LGBTQ patients, improving inclusiveness for LGBTQ health professionals?

Continuing to have educational activities, whether it be lectures at the annual conference or online learning modules, will be critical to care for our LGBTQ patients. With regard to membership, we need to make sure that hospitalists feel included and protected. To this end, our Diversity and Inclusion Special Interest Group was working toward having gender-neutral bathrooms and personal pronoun tags for the in-person 2020 annual conference before it was converted to an online format.

Does it ever get tiring for you to work on “social issues” in addition to strictly medical issues?

I will say I definitely experienced a moment in time during residency where I had to take a step back and recenter myself. Sometimes, realizing how much work needs to get done, coupled with the challenges of one’s personal life, can be daunting. That said, I can only stare at a problem so long before needing to work on creating a solution. At the end of the day I didn’t want to run away from these newfound problems of exclusion – I wanted to be a part of the solution.

In my hospital medicine fellowship, I was lucky to have Flora Kisuule, MD, as a mentor who encouraged me to take my prior work with LGBTQ health and leverage it into hospital medicine projects. As such, I was able to combine a topic I was passionate about with my interests in research and teaching so that they work synergistically. After all, the social issues affect our medical histories, just as our medical issues affect our social being. They go hand in hand.

Keshav Khanijow, MD, is a hospitalist at Northwestern Memorial Hospital and assistant professor at Northwestern University, Chicago. Originally from the San Francisco Bay area, he studied anthropology as an undergrad at Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, then went to medical school at the University of California, San Francisco, followed by internal medicine residency and a hospital medicine fellowship at Johns Hopkins Bayview Medical Center. He came out as gay in 2006 as an undergrad. He is a founding member of the Society of Hospital Medicine’s LGBTQ+ Task Force and is involved with SHM’s Diversity and Inclusion Special Interest Group.

What challenges have you faced because of your sexual orientation in the different stages of your career, from training to now as a practicing physician?

In my early training, there weren’t a lot of accessible LGBTQ role models to talk about balancing my personal identities with my professional aspirations. Being a double minority as both South Asian and a gay male, made it that much more difficult. “What is it like to work in health care as a gay cismale? Will being out on my personal statement affect my entry into medical school? Should I list my LGBTQ activism activities or not?” Those were important to me.

And did you make your activism known?

Thankfully, I did. I joke that my application might as well have been printed on rainbow paper, if you will. I decided to be out because I wanted to be part of an environment that would accept me for who I was. But it was a difficult decision.

In medical school at UCSF, it’s San Francisco, so they were a little ahead of the game. They had a lot of social networking opportunities with LGBTQ and ally faculty. Those connections were important in helping me explore different fields, and I even got to write my first publication. That said, networking could sometimes be challenging, especially when it came to residency interviews. While many people would talk about family activities and engagements, I’d only been out to my family for a few years. As such, there would be somewhat of a disconnect. On the flip side, there were LGBTQ celebrations and cultural concepts important to me, but I couldn’t always connect on those fronts either.

When it comes to patients, I do have a bit of a higher-pitched voice, and my mannerisms can be gender nonconforming. While it did make me the target of some cruel middle school humor, I’ve come to be proud of myself, mannerisms and all. That said, I have had patients make remarks to me about being gay, whether it be positive or negative. For LGBTQ patients, they’re like, “this is great, I have a gay doctor. They’ll know a bit more about what I’m talking about or be able to relate to the community pressures I face.”

But sometimes homophobic patients can be a bit more cold. I’ve never had anyone say that they don’t want to have me as their physician, but I definitely have patients who disagree with me and say, essentially, “oh well, you don’t know what you’re talking about because you’re gay.” Of course, there have also been comments based on my ethnicity as well.
 

What specific progress could you point to that you’ve seen over the course of your training and your career so far with regard to LGBTQ health care workers’ experience and LGBTQ patients?

When I was in college, there was a case in 2007 where a woman wasn’t able to see her partner or children before dying in a Florida hospital. Since then, there’s been great strides with a 2011 executive order extending hospital visitation rights to LGBTQ families. In 2013, there was the legalization of same-sex marriage. More recently, in June 2020, the Supreme Court extended protections against workplace discrimination to LGBTQ employees.

But there are certain things that continue to be problems, such as the recent Final Rule from the Department of Health & Human Services that fails to protect our LGBTQ patients and friends against discrimination in health care.
 

Can you remember a specific episode with a patient who was in the LGBTQ community that was particularly satisfying or moving?

There are two that I think about. In medical school, I was working in a more conservative area of California, and there was a patient who identified as lesbian. She felt more able to talk about her fears of raising a family in a conservative area. She even said, “I feel you can understand the stuff, I can talk to you a bit more about it freely, which is really nice.” Later on, I was able to see them on another rotation I was on, after she’d had a baby with her partner. I was honored that they considered me a part of their family’s journey.

A couple years ago as an attending hospitalist, I had a gay male patient that came in for hepatitis A treatment. Although we typically think of hepatitis A as a foodborne illness, oral-anal sex (rimming) is also a risk factor. After having an open discussion with him about his sexual practices, I said, “it was probably an STI in your case,” and was able to give him guidelines on how to prevent giving it to anyone else during the recovery period. He was very appreciative, and I was glad to have been there for that patient.
 

What is SHM’s role in regard to improving the care of LGBTQ patients, improving inclusiveness for LGBTQ health professionals?

Continuing to have educational activities, whether it be lectures at the annual conference or online learning modules, will be critical to care for our LGBTQ patients. With regard to membership, we need to make sure that hospitalists feel included and protected. To this end, our Diversity and Inclusion Special Interest Group was working toward having gender-neutral bathrooms and personal pronoun tags for the in-person 2020 annual conference before it was converted to an online format.

Does it ever get tiring for you to work on “social issues” in addition to strictly medical issues?

I will say I definitely experienced a moment in time during residency where I had to take a step back and recenter myself. Sometimes, realizing how much work needs to get done, coupled with the challenges of one’s personal life, can be daunting. That said, I can only stare at a problem so long before needing to work on creating a solution. At the end of the day I didn’t want to run away from these newfound problems of exclusion – I wanted to be a part of the solution.

In my hospital medicine fellowship, I was lucky to have Flora Kisuule, MD, as a mentor who encouraged me to take my prior work with LGBTQ health and leverage it into hospital medicine projects. As such, I was able to combine a topic I was passionate about with my interests in research and teaching so that they work synergistically. After all, the social issues affect our medical histories, just as our medical issues affect our social being. They go hand in hand.

Keshav Khanijow, MD, is a hospitalist at Northwestern Memorial Hospital and assistant professor at Northwestern University, Chicago. Originally from the San Francisco Bay area, he studied anthropology as an undergrad at Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, then went to medical school at the University of California, San Francisco, followed by internal medicine residency and a hospital medicine fellowship at Johns Hopkins Bayview Medical Center. He came out as gay in 2006 as an undergrad. He is a founding member of the Society of Hospital Medicine’s LGBTQ+ Task Force and is involved with SHM’s Diversity and Inclusion Special Interest Group.

What challenges have you faced because of your sexual orientation in the different stages of your career, from training to now as a practicing physician?

In my early training, there weren’t a lot of accessible LGBTQ role models to talk about balancing my personal identities with my professional aspirations. Being a double minority as both South Asian and a gay male, made it that much more difficult. “What is it like to work in health care as a gay cismale? Will being out on my personal statement affect my entry into medical school? Should I list my LGBTQ activism activities or not?” Those were important to me.

And did you make your activism known?

Thankfully, I did. I joke that my application might as well have been printed on rainbow paper, if you will. I decided to be out because I wanted to be part of an environment that would accept me for who I was. But it was a difficult decision.

In medical school at UCSF, it’s San Francisco, so they were a little ahead of the game. They had a lot of social networking opportunities with LGBTQ and ally faculty. Those connections were important in helping me explore different fields, and I even got to write my first publication. That said, networking could sometimes be challenging, especially when it came to residency interviews. While many people would talk about family activities and engagements, I’d only been out to my family for a few years. As such, there would be somewhat of a disconnect. On the flip side, there were LGBTQ celebrations and cultural concepts important to me, but I couldn’t always connect on those fronts either.

When it comes to patients, I do have a bit of a higher-pitched voice, and my mannerisms can be gender nonconforming. While it did make me the target of some cruel middle school humor, I’ve come to be proud of myself, mannerisms and all. That said, I have had patients make remarks to me about being gay, whether it be positive or negative. For LGBTQ patients, they’re like, “this is great, I have a gay doctor. They’ll know a bit more about what I’m talking about or be able to relate to the community pressures I face.”

But sometimes homophobic patients can be a bit more cold. I’ve never had anyone say that they don’t want to have me as their physician, but I definitely have patients who disagree with me and say, essentially, “oh well, you don’t know what you’re talking about because you’re gay.” Of course, there have also been comments based on my ethnicity as well.
 

What specific progress could you point to that you’ve seen over the course of your training and your career so far with regard to LGBTQ health care workers’ experience and LGBTQ patients?

When I was in college, there was a case in 2007 where a woman wasn’t able to see her partner or children before dying in a Florida hospital. Since then, there’s been great strides with a 2011 executive order extending hospital visitation rights to LGBTQ families. In 2013, there was the legalization of same-sex marriage. More recently, in June 2020, the Supreme Court extended protections against workplace discrimination to LGBTQ employees.

But there are certain things that continue to be problems, such as the recent Final Rule from the Department of Health & Human Services that fails to protect our LGBTQ patients and friends against discrimination in health care.
 

Can you remember a specific episode with a patient who was in the LGBTQ community that was particularly satisfying or moving?

There are two that I think about. In medical school, I was working in a more conservative area of California, and there was a patient who identified as lesbian. She felt more able to talk about her fears of raising a family in a conservative area. She even said, “I feel you can understand the stuff, I can talk to you a bit more about it freely, which is really nice.” Later on, I was able to see them on another rotation I was on, after she’d had a baby with her partner. I was honored that they considered me a part of their family’s journey.

A couple years ago as an attending hospitalist, I had a gay male patient that came in for hepatitis A treatment. Although we typically think of hepatitis A as a foodborne illness, oral-anal sex (rimming) is also a risk factor. After having an open discussion with him about his sexual practices, I said, “it was probably an STI in your case,” and was able to give him guidelines on how to prevent giving it to anyone else during the recovery period. He was very appreciative, and I was glad to have been there for that patient.
 

What is SHM’s role in regard to improving the care of LGBTQ patients, improving inclusiveness for LGBTQ health professionals?

Continuing to have educational activities, whether it be lectures at the annual conference or online learning modules, will be critical to care for our LGBTQ patients. With regard to membership, we need to make sure that hospitalists feel included and protected. To this end, our Diversity and Inclusion Special Interest Group was working toward having gender-neutral bathrooms and personal pronoun tags for the in-person 2020 annual conference before it was converted to an online format.

Does it ever get tiring for you to work on “social issues” in addition to strictly medical issues?

I will say I definitely experienced a moment in time during residency where I had to take a step back and recenter myself. Sometimes, realizing how much work needs to get done, coupled with the challenges of one’s personal life, can be daunting. That said, I can only stare at a problem so long before needing to work on creating a solution. At the end of the day I didn’t want to run away from these newfound problems of exclusion – I wanted to be a part of the solution.

In my hospital medicine fellowship, I was lucky to have Flora Kisuule, MD, as a mentor who encouraged me to take my prior work with LGBTQ health and leverage it into hospital medicine projects. As such, I was able to combine a topic I was passionate about with my interests in research and teaching so that they work synergistically. After all, the social issues affect our medical histories, just as our medical issues affect our social being. They go hand in hand.

This column is adapted from Dr. Eleryan’s speech at the George Washington University dermatology residency program’s virtual graduation ceremony on June 12.
 

I’ve been reflecting on my entire residency and the last 2 weeks have stood out the most. I have to admit that I’ve been angry, and so are numerous others who look like me. However, after conversations with a few important people in my life, I’ve realized that people care and are open to listening and changing if I give them the opportunity to see through my lens. I don’t want my legacy to be one of anger, but to be one of change, one of activism, one of heroism, and one of taking a stand in the midst of adversity.

So thank you to everyone who has played a part in my residency and is here to celebrate as I transition to the next step in my career.

But I must pause for a moment to say “I can’t breathe.” I can’t breathe because while I sit here in a place of honor for my accomplishments, I can’t forget that I’m standing in the gap for all of the black men and women who will never have the opportunity to experience a moment like this.

I can’t breathe because George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, Tony McDade, Trayvon Martin, Philando Castile, Sandra Bland, Eric Garner, Tamir Rice, Mike Brown, Emmett Till, and so many others will never get to experience a celebratory occasion such as this because of their senseless executions as a likely result of racial bias.

As a black person in “the land of the free,” I have to live with the fact that my life may be taken for simply taking a stroll through a park, jogging through a neighborhood, driving down the street, walking back home from the store, or even sitting in my own home!

As a black physician, I must contend with the very notion that my privilege as a physician does not shield me from discrimination and bias. I recognize that my race walks into the room before I ever do. I know that many of my patients will question my abilities or my title – thinking I am the receptionist, food services worker, or even part of the janitorial staff – simply because of the color of my skin. And what’s even more disturbing is that some of my colleagues will confuse me with another black woman whom I look nothing like or challenge my intelligence and abilities and how I got my position.

All of this boils down to racism – pure and simple. Black people in this country don’t have the privilege of ignoring this truth. We know that this world is not colorblind; neither is anyone in it. We know that this is entrenched racism that for generations has created racial disparities in health care, education, housing, employment, and law enforcement. We weren’t born into a fragile or vulnerable state, yet we were born into a system of dis-enfranchisement, dis-investment, dis-crimination, dis-advantage, and dis-respect.

As physicians, we must recognize and acknowledge the lived experiences that walk through the door with our black patients. And we must understand that black patients walk around with the effects of trauma and toxic stress from just being black in America. That trauma and stress show up in very real ways that contribute to black people experiencing the brunt of chronic diseases and poorer health outcomes. There is no better example than the current COVID-19 pandemic. We are in the midst of a global pandemic from a virus that does not discriminate based on race, but black people are almost three times as likely to be hospitalized as are white people with COVID-19 . And why is that? Because of the “comorbidity” of racism that black people in this country live with. It is not a mere coincidence that the black population is overrepresented in essential jobs and black people are more likely to work in health care than are white people – all positions that increase the risk of infection and death from the virus. So, if we call COVID-19 a pandemic, racism most certainly has been a pandemic that this country has refused to acknowledge, treat, and vaccinate for centuries. We cannot ignore that both have tragically affected black people.

So as Pastor Reginald Sharpe Jr. in Chicago recently said, we’re dealing with two pandemics: One has no vaccination and one has no explanation; one can physiologically take your breath away because it affects the respiratory system, while the second can also take your breath away. Just ask Eric Garner and George Floyd.

As physicians, we must recognize that the mechanisms that tragically resulted in the deaths of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, and so many other black men and women are the same mechanisms that are harming and killing black people in our health care system. It’s not acceptable for institutions that built themselves on black and brown bodies to offer condolences, but to continue to do nothing about the racism that still runs rampant within. It’s not acceptable to do nothing. It’s important to note: Racist systems do not perpetuate themselves – the individuals operating within them do.

Martin Luther King Jr. once said, “He who passively accepts evil is as much involved in it as he who helps to perpetuate it. He who accepts evil without protesting against it is really cooperating with it.” Being well-intentioned, good-hearted, sad, or disheartened is not enough. We won’t be able to tear down the systems and institutions that have been a breeding ground for racism until outrage is met by action, not just from black people and people of color, but also by the white majority.

As physicians it’s time for us to look at how our health care institution – an institution instrumental in the victimization of black people – is affecting the health and well-being of our black patients. (For example, increased maternal mortality among black women.)

Are they being seen and heard? Are they receiving culturally relevant and sensitive care? Are their needs and concerns receiving the same amount of time and attention as other patients? It’s time to understand that, for many black patients, the health care system is another place of injustice that has not proved itself to be trustworthy or inclusive of black culture.

As physicians, we must affirm that the lives and health of black and brown people matter to us, that we see the racism they experience, and that we will use our platform as physicians to eliminate racism not just in the hospitals but in the world our patients live in.

So while I didn’t choose the body that I was born into, I fully embrace it and the challenges that come with it. I’m not here to make people feel comfortable, I’m here to continue the work of my ancestors, accomplish the dreams that they fought and lost their lives for, and most importantly, I’m here to continue the fight against the systems that work to prevent other marginalized persons from getting to where I am and even further.

The author James Baldwin once wrote, “Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced.” So, I urge you to be loudly antiracist in every space that you hold. I urge you to educate yourselves about racism and white supremacy and privilege and how it permeates our health care system. I urge you to stand beside black people rather than in front of them. Use your privilege to amplify underheard voices and to challenge the biases of your peers, friends, and family members. Use your platform as physicians to advocate for a more just and equitable health care system.

So let me repeat ... we as physicians have the responsibility to eliminate racial bias in the practice of medicine and recognize racism as a threat to the health and well-being of black people and other people of color.

How do we do this? We are beyond lengthy dialogue and “Black History Month” talks. Now is the time for action. Taking action includes the following:
 

1. Medical academic institutions committing to having a diverse and inclusive faculty. We know it is critical and vital to the recruitment, success, and matriculation of medical students and residents of color to see faculty, particularly senior level faculty in their specialty, who look like them and can serve as mentors. Every year, these institutions need to set a goal that they will take additional steps to have at least one-third of their faculty be black and another third persons of color. In addition, senior faculty positions – those setting curricula, selecting incoming students and residents – must include at least one-third from underrepresented backgrounds (black, Hispanic, Native American/Indigenous).

2. Hospital administration has to resemble the communities in which the hospital serves. Unfortunately, all too often, we know this is not the case, and as a result, decisions that affect the care of black and brown people are often to their detriment because they perpetuate the racism within the existing system. In order to dismantle racism in the hospital system, hospital administrations must consist of diverse individuals. Therefore, hospitals need to commit to hiring and promoting black and brown staff to ensure one-third of its senior leaderships consists of individuals from underrepresented backgrounds.

3. Improving the pipeline that matriculates black and brown students into medical school and residency programs. Lack of access to mentors within the medical field, lack of funding for travel to/from interviews, and lack of knowledge of the overall application process are a few barriers faced by students of color seeking to enter into the medical field. In addition to current scholarship opportunities, medical schools need to allocate funds to connect underrepresented minority students with a range of lived experiences (not just those from impoverished backgrounds but also those from middle class backgrounds who face difficulty gaining acceptance into medical school and residency programs), such as connecting them with mentors by opening opportunities for them to shadow professionals at a conference, travel to residency interviews with most, if not all, expenses covered up front, and have access to local programs that expose them to physicians in several specialties.

These are just a few examples of the active steps we can take to dismantle racism and reconcile the effects of it in the medical field. So if I may borrow from other movements, “Time’s Up” for silence regarding the existence of racism and white supremacy, and now it’s time to truly show that “We are all in this together.”

It is not just my duty but yours also – to ensure that we never have to hear another black man, woman, or child say “I can’t breathe” at the hands of injustice.


Dr. Eleryan (@skinclusionMD) is a social justice activist and was co-chief resident in dermatology (2019-2020) at George Washington University, Washington, DC, and is an Alpha Omega Alpha inductee (2020). She will be a micrographic surgery and dermatologic oncology fellow at the University of California, Los Angeles, in July 2020.

This column is adapted from Dr. Eleryan’s speech at the George Washington University dermatology residency program’s virtual graduation ceremony on June 12.
 

I’ve been reflecting on my entire residency and the last 2 weeks have stood out the most. I have to admit that I’ve been angry, and so are numerous others who look like me. However, after conversations with a few important people in my life, I’ve realized that people care and are open to listening and changing if I give them the opportunity to see through my lens. I don’t want my legacy to be one of anger, but to be one of change, one of activism, one of heroism, and one of taking a stand in the midst of adversity.

So thank you to everyone who has played a part in my residency and is here to celebrate as I transition to the next step in my career.

But I must pause for a moment to say “I can’t breathe.” I can’t breathe because while I sit here in a place of honor for my accomplishments, I can’t forget that I’m standing in the gap for all of the black men and women who will never have the opportunity to experience a moment like this.

I can’t breathe because George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, Tony McDade, Trayvon Martin, Philando Castile, Sandra Bland, Eric Garner, Tamir Rice, Mike Brown, Emmett Till, and so many others will never get to experience a celebratory occasion such as this because of their senseless executions as a likely result of racial bias.

As a black person in “the land of the free,” I have to live with the fact that my life may be taken for simply taking a stroll through a park, jogging through a neighborhood, driving down the street, walking back home from the store, or even sitting in my own home!

As a black physician, I must contend with the very notion that my privilege as a physician does not shield me from discrimination and bias. I recognize that my race walks into the room before I ever do. I know that many of my patients will question my abilities or my title – thinking I am the receptionist, food services worker, or even part of the janitorial staff – simply because of the color of my skin. And what’s even more disturbing is that some of my colleagues will confuse me with another black woman whom I look nothing like or challenge my intelligence and abilities and how I got my position.

All of this boils down to racism – pure and simple. Black people in this country don’t have the privilege of ignoring this truth. We know that this world is not colorblind; neither is anyone in it. We know that this is entrenched racism that for generations has created racial disparities in health care, education, housing, employment, and law enforcement. We weren’t born into a fragile or vulnerable state, yet we were born into a system of dis-enfranchisement, dis-investment, dis-crimination, dis-advantage, and dis-respect.

As physicians, we must recognize and acknowledge the lived experiences that walk through the door with our black patients. And we must understand that black patients walk around with the effects of trauma and toxic stress from just being black in America. That trauma and stress show up in very real ways that contribute to black people experiencing the brunt of chronic diseases and poorer health outcomes. There is no better example than the current COVID-19 pandemic. We are in the midst of a global pandemic from a virus that does not discriminate based on race, but black people are almost three times as likely to be hospitalized as are white people with COVID-19 . And why is that? Because of the “comorbidity” of racism that black people in this country live with. It is not a mere coincidence that the black population is overrepresented in essential jobs and black people are more likely to work in health care than are white people – all positions that increase the risk of infection and death from the virus. So, if we call COVID-19 a pandemic, racism most certainly has been a pandemic that this country has refused to acknowledge, treat, and vaccinate for centuries. We cannot ignore that both have tragically affected black people.

So as Pastor Reginald Sharpe Jr. in Chicago recently said, we’re dealing with two pandemics: One has no vaccination and one has no explanation; one can physiologically take your breath away because it affects the respiratory system, while the second can also take your breath away. Just ask Eric Garner and George Floyd.

As physicians, we must recognize that the mechanisms that tragically resulted in the deaths of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, and so many other black men and women are the same mechanisms that are harming and killing black people in our health care system. It’s not acceptable for institutions that built themselves on black and brown bodies to offer condolences, but to continue to do nothing about the racism that still runs rampant within. It’s not acceptable to do nothing. It’s important to note: Racist systems do not perpetuate themselves – the individuals operating within them do.

Martin Luther King Jr. once said, “He who passively accepts evil is as much involved in it as he who helps to perpetuate it. He who accepts evil without protesting against it is really cooperating with it.” Being well-intentioned, good-hearted, sad, or disheartened is not enough. We won’t be able to tear down the systems and institutions that have been a breeding ground for racism until outrage is met by action, not just from black people and people of color, but also by the white majority.

As physicians it’s time for us to look at how our health care institution – an institution instrumental in the victimization of black people – is affecting the health and well-being of our black patients. (For example, increased maternal mortality among black women.)

Are they being seen and heard? Are they receiving culturally relevant and sensitive care? Are their needs and concerns receiving the same amount of time and attention as other patients? It’s time to understand that, for many black patients, the health care system is another place of injustice that has not proved itself to be trustworthy or inclusive of black culture.

As physicians, we must affirm that the lives and health of black and brown people matter to us, that we see the racism they experience, and that we will use our platform as physicians to eliminate racism not just in the hospitals but in the world our patients live in.

So while I didn’t choose the body that I was born into, I fully embrace it and the challenges that come with it. I’m not here to make people feel comfortable, I’m here to continue the work of my ancestors, accomplish the dreams that they fought and lost their lives for, and most importantly, I’m here to continue the fight against the systems that work to prevent other marginalized persons from getting to where I am and even further.

The author James Baldwin once wrote, “Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced.” So, I urge you to be loudly antiracist in every space that you hold. I urge you to educate yourselves about racism and white supremacy and privilege and how it permeates our health care system. I urge you to stand beside black people rather than in front of them. Use your privilege to amplify underheard voices and to challenge the biases of your peers, friends, and family members. Use your platform as physicians to advocate for a more just and equitable health care system.

So let me repeat ... we as physicians have the responsibility to eliminate racial bias in the practice of medicine and recognize racism as a threat to the health and well-being of black people and other people of color.

How do we do this? We are beyond lengthy dialogue and “Black History Month” talks. Now is the time for action. Taking action includes the following:
 

1. Medical academic institutions committing to having a diverse and inclusive faculty. We know it is critical and vital to the recruitment, success, and matriculation of medical students and residents of color to see faculty, particularly senior level faculty in their specialty, who look like them and can serve as mentors. Every year, these institutions need to set a goal that they will take additional steps to have at least one-third of their faculty be black and another third persons of color. In addition, senior faculty positions – those setting curricula, selecting incoming students and residents – must include at least one-third from underrepresented backgrounds (black, Hispanic, Native American/Indigenous).

2. Hospital administration has to resemble the communities in which the hospital serves. Unfortunately, all too often, we know this is not the case, and as a result, decisions that affect the care of black and brown people are often to their detriment because they perpetuate the racism within the existing system. In order to dismantle racism in the hospital system, hospital administrations must consist of diverse individuals. Therefore, hospitals need to commit to hiring and promoting black and brown staff to ensure one-third of its senior leaderships consists of individuals from underrepresented backgrounds.

3. Improving the pipeline that matriculates black and brown students into medical school and residency programs. Lack of access to mentors within the medical field, lack of funding for travel to/from interviews, and lack of knowledge of the overall application process are a few barriers faced by students of color seeking to enter into the medical field. In addition to current scholarship opportunities, medical schools need to allocate funds to connect underrepresented minority students with a range of lived experiences (not just those from impoverished backgrounds but also those from middle class backgrounds who face difficulty gaining acceptance into medical school and residency programs), such as connecting them with mentors by opening opportunities for them to shadow professionals at a conference, travel to residency interviews with most, if not all, expenses covered up front, and have access to local programs that expose them to physicians in several specialties.

These are just a few examples of the active steps we can take to dismantle racism and reconcile the effects of it in the medical field. So if I may borrow from other movements, “Time’s Up” for silence regarding the existence of racism and white supremacy, and now it’s time to truly show that “We are all in this together.”

It is not just my duty but yours also – to ensure that we never have to hear another black man, woman, or child say “I can’t breathe” at the hands of injustice.


Dr. Eleryan (@skinclusionMD) is a social justice activist and was co-chief resident in dermatology (2019-2020) at George Washington University, Washington, DC, and is an Alpha Omega Alpha inductee (2020). She will be a micrographic surgery and dermatologic oncology fellow at the University of California, Los Angeles, in July 2020.

This column is adapted from Dr. Eleryan’s speech at the George Washington University dermatology residency program’s virtual graduation ceremony on June 12.
 

I’ve been reflecting on my entire residency and the last 2 weeks have stood out the most. I have to admit that I’ve been angry, and so are numerous others who look like me. However, after conversations with a few important people in my life, I’ve realized that people care and are open to listening and changing if I give them the opportunity to see through my lens. I don’t want my legacy to be one of anger, but to be one of change, one of activism, one of heroism, and one of taking a stand in the midst of adversity.

So thank you to everyone who has played a part in my residency and is here to celebrate as I transition to the next step in my career.

But I must pause for a moment to say “I can’t breathe.” I can’t breathe because while I sit here in a place of honor for my accomplishments, I can’t forget that I’m standing in the gap for all of the black men and women who will never have the opportunity to experience a moment like this.

I can’t breathe because George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, Tony McDade, Trayvon Martin, Philando Castile, Sandra Bland, Eric Garner, Tamir Rice, Mike Brown, Emmett Till, and so many others will never get to experience a celebratory occasion such as this because of their senseless executions as a likely result of racial bias.

As a black person in “the land of the free,” I have to live with the fact that my life may be taken for simply taking a stroll through a park, jogging through a neighborhood, driving down the street, walking back home from the store, or even sitting in my own home!

As a black physician, I must contend with the very notion that my privilege as a physician does not shield me from discrimination and bias. I recognize that my race walks into the room before I ever do. I know that many of my patients will question my abilities or my title – thinking I am the receptionist, food services worker, or even part of the janitorial staff – simply because of the color of my skin. And what’s even more disturbing is that some of my colleagues will confuse me with another black woman whom I look nothing like or challenge my intelligence and abilities and how I got my position.

All of this boils down to racism – pure and simple. Black people in this country don’t have the privilege of ignoring this truth. We know that this world is not colorblind; neither is anyone in it. We know that this is entrenched racism that for generations has created racial disparities in health care, education, housing, employment, and law enforcement. We weren’t born into a fragile or vulnerable state, yet we were born into a system of dis-enfranchisement, dis-investment, dis-crimination, dis-advantage, and dis-respect.

As physicians, we must recognize and acknowledge the lived experiences that walk through the door with our black patients. And we must understand that black patients walk around with the effects of trauma and toxic stress from just being black in America. That trauma and stress show up in very real ways that contribute to black people experiencing the brunt of chronic diseases and poorer health outcomes. There is no better example than the current COVID-19 pandemic. We are in the midst of a global pandemic from a virus that does not discriminate based on race, but black people are almost three times as likely to be hospitalized as are white people with COVID-19 . And why is that? Because of the “comorbidity” of racism that black people in this country live with. It is not a mere coincidence that the black population is overrepresented in essential jobs and black people are more likely to work in health care than are white people – all positions that increase the risk of infection and death from the virus. So, if we call COVID-19 a pandemic, racism most certainly has been a pandemic that this country has refused to acknowledge, treat, and vaccinate for centuries. We cannot ignore that both have tragically affected black people.

So as Pastor Reginald Sharpe Jr. in Chicago recently said, we’re dealing with two pandemics: One has no vaccination and one has no explanation; one can physiologically take your breath away because it affects the respiratory system, while the second can also take your breath away. Just ask Eric Garner and George Floyd.

As physicians, we must recognize that the mechanisms that tragically resulted in the deaths of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, and so many other black men and women are the same mechanisms that are harming and killing black people in our health care system. It’s not acceptable for institutions that built themselves on black and brown bodies to offer condolences, but to continue to do nothing about the racism that still runs rampant within. It’s not acceptable to do nothing. It’s important to note: Racist systems do not perpetuate themselves – the individuals operating within them do.

Martin Luther King Jr. once said, “He who passively accepts evil is as much involved in it as he who helps to perpetuate it. He who accepts evil without protesting against it is really cooperating with it.” Being well-intentioned, good-hearted, sad, or disheartened is not enough. We won’t be able to tear down the systems and institutions that have been a breeding ground for racism until outrage is met by action, not just from black people and people of color, but also by the white majority.

As physicians it’s time for us to look at how our health care institution – an institution instrumental in the victimization of black people – is affecting the health and well-being of our black patients. (For example, increased maternal mortality among black women.)

Are they being seen and heard? Are they receiving culturally relevant and sensitive care? Are their needs and concerns receiving the same amount of time and attention as other patients? It’s time to understand that, for many black patients, the health care system is another place of injustice that has not proved itself to be trustworthy or inclusive of black culture.

As physicians, we must affirm that the lives and health of black and brown people matter to us, that we see the racism they experience, and that we will use our platform as physicians to eliminate racism not just in the hospitals but in the world our patients live in.

So while I didn’t choose the body that I was born into, I fully embrace it and the challenges that come with it. I’m not here to make people feel comfortable, I’m here to continue the work of my ancestors, accomplish the dreams that they fought and lost their lives for, and most importantly, I’m here to continue the fight against the systems that work to prevent other marginalized persons from getting to where I am and even further.

The author James Baldwin once wrote, “Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced.” So, I urge you to be loudly antiracist in every space that you hold. I urge you to educate yourselves about racism and white supremacy and privilege and how it permeates our health care system. I urge you to stand beside black people rather than in front of them. Use your privilege to amplify underheard voices and to challenge the biases of your peers, friends, and family members. Use your platform as physicians to advocate for a more just and equitable health care system.

So let me repeat ... we as physicians have the responsibility to eliminate racial bias in the practice of medicine and recognize racism as a threat to the health and well-being of black people and other people of color.

How do we do this? We are beyond lengthy dialogue and “Black History Month” talks. Now is the time for action. Taking action includes the following:
 

1. Medical academic institutions committing to having a diverse and inclusive faculty. We know it is critical and vital to the recruitment, success, and matriculation of medical students and residents of color to see faculty, particularly senior level faculty in their specialty, who look like them and can serve as mentors. Every year, these institutions need to set a goal that they will take additional steps to have at least one-third of their faculty be black and another third persons of color. In addition, senior faculty positions – those setting curricula, selecting incoming students and residents – must include at least one-third from underrepresented backgrounds (black, Hispanic, Native American/Indigenous).

2. Hospital administration has to resemble the communities in which the hospital serves. Unfortunately, all too often, we know this is not the case, and as a result, decisions that affect the care of black and brown people are often to their detriment because they perpetuate the racism within the existing system. In order to dismantle racism in the hospital system, hospital administrations must consist of diverse individuals. Therefore, hospitals need to commit to hiring and promoting black and brown staff to ensure one-third of its senior leaderships consists of individuals from underrepresented backgrounds.

3. Improving the pipeline that matriculates black and brown students into medical school and residency programs. Lack of access to mentors within the medical field, lack of funding for travel to/from interviews, and lack of knowledge of the overall application process are a few barriers faced by students of color seeking to enter into the medical field. In addition to current scholarship opportunities, medical schools need to allocate funds to connect underrepresented minority students with a range of lived experiences (not just those from impoverished backgrounds but also those from middle class backgrounds who face difficulty gaining acceptance into medical school and residency programs), such as connecting them with mentors by opening opportunities for them to shadow professionals at a conference, travel to residency interviews with most, if not all, expenses covered up front, and have access to local programs that expose them to physicians in several specialties.

These are just a few examples of the active steps we can take to dismantle racism and reconcile the effects of it in the medical field. So if I may borrow from other movements, “Time’s Up” for silence regarding the existence of racism and white supremacy, and now it’s time to truly show that “We are all in this together.”

It is not just my duty but yours also – to ensure that we never have to hear another black man, woman, or child say “I can’t breathe” at the hands of injustice.


Dr. Eleryan (@skinclusionMD) is a social justice activist and was co-chief resident in dermatology (2019-2020) at George Washington University, Washington, DC, and is an Alpha Omega Alpha inductee (2020). She will be a micrographic surgery and dermatologic oncology fellow at the University of California, Los Angeles, in July 2020.

It’s been about two months since I volunteered in a hospital in Brooklyn, working in an ICU taking care of patients with COVID-19. I’m back home in California now but with new perspectives, not only on the pandemic, but on those who are affected by it the most.

Courtesy Dr. Arghavan Salles

Everyone seems to have forgotten the early days of the pandemic – the time when the ICUs were overrun, we were using FEMA ventilators, and endocrinologists and psychiatrists were acting as intensivists.

Even though things are opening up and people are taking summer vacations in a seemingly amnestic state, having witnessed multiple daily deaths remains a part of my daily consciousness. As I see the case numbers climbing juxtaposed against people being out and about without masks, my anxiety level is rising.

A virus doesn’t discriminate. It can fly through the air, landing on the next available surface. If that virus is SARS-CoV-2 and that surface is a human mucosal membrane, the virus makes itself at home. It orders furniture, buys a fancy mattress and a large high definition TV, hangs art on the walls, and settles in for the long haul. It’s not going anywhere anytime soon.

Even as an equal opportunity virus, what SARS-CoV-2 has done is to hold a mirror up to the healthcare system. It has shown us what was here all along. When people first started noticing that underrepresented minorities were more likely to contract the virus and get sick from it, I heard musings that this was likely because of their preexisting health conditions. For example, commentators on cable news were quick to point out that black people are more likely than other people to have hypertension or diabetes. So doesn’t that explain why they are more affected by this virus?

That certainly is part of the story, but it doesn’t entirely explain the discrepancies we’ve seen. For example, in New York 14% of the population is black, and 25% of those who had a COVID-related death were black patients. Similarly, 19% of the population is Hispanic or Latino, and they made up 26% of COVID-related deaths. On the other hand, 55% of the population in New York is white, and white people account for only 34% of COVID-related deaths.

Working in Brooklyn, I didn’t need to be a keen observer to notice that, out of our entire unit of about 20-25 patients, there was only one patient in a 2-week period who was neither black nor Hispanic.

As others have written, there are other factors at play. I’m not sure how many of those commentators back in March stopped to think about why black patients are more likely to have hypertension and diabetes, but the chronic stress of facing racism on a daily basis surely contributes. Beyond those medical problems, minorities are more likely to live in multigenerational housing, which means that it is harder for them to isolate from others. In addition, their living quarters tend to be further from health care centers and grocery stores, which makes it harder for them to access medical care and healthy food.

As if that weren’t enough to put their health at risk, people of color are also affected by environmental racism . Factories with toxic waste are more likely to be built in or near neighborhoods filled with people of color than in other communities. On top of that, black and Hispanic people are also more likely to be under- or uninsured, meaning they often delay seeking care in order to avoid astronomic healthcare costs.

Black and Hispanic people are also more likely than others to be working in the service industry or other essential services, which means they are less likely to be able to work from home. Consequently, they have to risk more exposures to other people and the virus than do those who have the privilege of working safely from home. They also are less likely to have available paid leave and, therefore, are more likely to work while sick.

With the deck completely stacked against them, underrepresented minorities also face systemic bias and racism when interacting with the health care system. Physicians mistakenly believe black patients experience less pain than other patients, according to some research. Black mothers have significantly worse health care outcomes than do their non-black counterparts, and the infant mortality rate for Black infants is much higher as well.

Dr. Salles is a bariatric surgeon and is currently a Scholar in Residence at Stanford (Calif.) University. Find her on Twitter @arghavan_salles.

It’s been about two months since I volunteered in a hospital in Brooklyn, working in an ICU taking care of patients with COVID-19. I’m back home in California now but with new perspectives, not only on the pandemic, but on those who are affected by it the most.

Courtesy Dr. Arghavan Salles

Everyone seems to have forgotten the early days of the pandemic – the time when the ICUs were overrun, we were using FEMA ventilators, and endocrinologists and psychiatrists were acting as intensivists.

Even though things are opening up and people are taking summer vacations in a seemingly amnestic state, having witnessed multiple daily deaths remains a part of my daily consciousness. As I see the case numbers climbing juxtaposed against people being out and about without masks, my anxiety level is rising.

A virus doesn’t discriminate. It can fly through the air, landing on the next available surface. If that virus is SARS-CoV-2 and that surface is a human mucosal membrane, the virus makes itself at home. It orders furniture, buys a fancy mattress and a large high definition TV, hangs art on the walls, and settles in for the long haul. It’s not going anywhere anytime soon.

Even as an equal opportunity virus, what SARS-CoV-2 has done is to hold a mirror up to the healthcare system. It has shown us what was here all along. When people first started noticing that underrepresented minorities were more likely to contract the virus and get sick from it, I heard musings that this was likely because of their preexisting health conditions. For example, commentators on cable news were quick to point out that black people are more likely than other people to have hypertension or diabetes. So doesn’t that explain why they are more affected by this virus?

That certainly is part of the story, but it doesn’t entirely explain the discrepancies we’ve seen. For example, in New York 14% of the population is black, and 25% of those who had a COVID-related death were black patients. Similarly, 19% of the population is Hispanic or Latino, and they made up 26% of COVID-related deaths. On the other hand, 55% of the population in New York is white, and white people account for only 34% of COVID-related deaths.

Working in Brooklyn, I didn’t need to be a keen observer to notice that, out of our entire unit of about 20-25 patients, there was only one patient in a 2-week period who was neither black nor Hispanic.

As others have written, there are other factors at play. I’m not sure how many of those commentators back in March stopped to think about why black patients are more likely to have hypertension and diabetes, but the chronic stress of facing racism on a daily basis surely contributes. Beyond those medical problems, minorities are more likely to live in multigenerational housing, which means that it is harder for them to isolate from others. In addition, their living quarters tend to be further from health care centers and grocery stores, which makes it harder for them to access medical care and healthy food.

As if that weren’t enough to put their health at risk, people of color are also affected by environmental racism . Factories with toxic waste are more likely to be built in or near neighborhoods filled with people of color than in other communities. On top of that, black and Hispanic people are also more likely to be under- or uninsured, meaning they often delay seeking care in order to avoid astronomic healthcare costs.

Black and Hispanic people are also more likely than others to be working in the service industry or other essential services, which means they are less likely to be able to work from home. Consequently, they have to risk more exposures to other people and the virus than do those who have the privilege of working safely from home. They also are less likely to have available paid leave and, therefore, are more likely to work while sick.

With the deck completely stacked against them, underrepresented minorities also face systemic bias and racism when interacting with the health care system. Physicians mistakenly believe black patients experience less pain than other patients, according to some research. Black mothers have significantly worse health care outcomes than do their non-black counterparts, and the infant mortality rate for Black infants is much higher as well.

Dr. Salles is a bariatric surgeon and is currently a Scholar in Residence at Stanford (Calif.) University. Find her on Twitter @arghavan_salles.

It’s been about two months since I volunteered in a hospital in Brooklyn, working in an ICU taking care of patients with COVID-19. I’m back home in California now but with new perspectives, not only on the pandemic, but on those who are affected by it the most.

Courtesy Dr. Arghavan Salles

Everyone seems to have forgotten the early days of the pandemic – the time when the ICUs were overrun, we were using FEMA ventilators, and endocrinologists and psychiatrists were acting as intensivists.

Even though things are opening up and people are taking summer vacations in a seemingly amnestic state, having witnessed multiple daily deaths remains a part of my daily consciousness. As I see the case numbers climbing juxtaposed against people being out and about without masks, my anxiety level is rising.

A virus doesn’t discriminate. It can fly through the air, landing on the next available surface. If that virus is SARS-CoV-2 and that surface is a human mucosal membrane, the virus makes itself at home. It orders furniture, buys a fancy mattress and a large high definition TV, hangs art on the walls, and settles in for the long haul. It’s not going anywhere anytime soon.

Even as an equal opportunity virus, what SARS-CoV-2 has done is to hold a mirror up to the healthcare system. It has shown us what was here all along. When people first started noticing that underrepresented minorities were more likely to contract the virus and get sick from it, I heard musings that this was likely because of their preexisting health conditions. For example, commentators on cable news were quick to point out that black people are more likely than other people to have hypertension or diabetes. So doesn’t that explain why they are more affected by this virus?

That certainly is part of the story, but it doesn’t entirely explain the discrepancies we’ve seen. For example, in New York 14% of the population is black, and 25% of those who had a COVID-related death were black patients. Similarly, 19% of the population is Hispanic or Latino, and they made up 26% of COVID-related deaths. On the other hand, 55% of the population in New York is white, and white people account for only 34% of COVID-related deaths.

Working in Brooklyn, I didn’t need to be a keen observer to notice that, out of our entire unit of about 20-25 patients, there was only one patient in a 2-week period who was neither black nor Hispanic.

As others have written, there are other factors at play. I’m not sure how many of those commentators back in March stopped to think about why black patients are more likely to have hypertension and diabetes, but the chronic stress of facing racism on a daily basis surely contributes. Beyond those medical problems, minorities are more likely to live in multigenerational housing, which means that it is harder for them to isolate from others. In addition, their living quarters tend to be further from health care centers and grocery stores, which makes it harder for them to access medical care and healthy food.

As if that weren’t enough to put their health at risk, people of color are also affected by environmental racism . Factories with toxic waste are more likely to be built in or near neighborhoods filled with people of color than in other communities. On top of that, black and Hispanic people are also more likely to be under- or uninsured, meaning they often delay seeking care in order to avoid astronomic healthcare costs.

Black and Hispanic people are also more likely than others to be working in the service industry or other essential services, which means they are less likely to be able to work from home. Consequently, they have to risk more exposures to other people and the virus than do those who have the privilege of working safely from home. They also are less likely to have available paid leave and, therefore, are more likely to work while sick.

With the deck completely stacked against them, underrepresented minorities also face systemic bias and racism when interacting with the health care system. Physicians mistakenly believe black patients experience less pain than other patients, according to some research. Black mothers have significantly worse health care outcomes than do their non-black counterparts, and the infant mortality rate for Black infants is much higher as well.

Dr. Salles is a bariatric surgeon and is currently a Scholar in Residence at Stanford (Calif.) University. Find her on Twitter @arghavan_salles.

The Society of Hospital Medicine deplores the negative impact of racism in our nation and will always strive to remedy racial inequities in our health care system. Racism in our society cannot be ignored. Nor will SHM ignore racism’s impact on public health. SHM enthusiastically supports its members working to promote equity and reduce the adverse impact of racism. We are committed to using our platform to improve the health of patients everywhere.

SHM would like to reaffirm its long-valued dedication to diversity and inclusion. We remain committed to promoting healthy discussions and action throughout our publications, resources and member communities, as outlined by our diversity and inclusion statement.
 

SHM Diversity and Inclusion Statement

Hospitalists are charged with treating individuals at their most vulnerable moments, when being respected as a whole person is crucial to advance patients’ healing and wellness. Within our workforce, diversity is a strength in all its forms, which helps us learn about the human experience, grow as leaders, and ultimately create a respectful environment for all regardless of age, race, religion, national origin, gender identity, sexual orientation, socioeconomic status, appearance, or ability.

To this end, the Society of Hospital Medicine will work to eliminate health disparities for our patients and foster inclusive and equitable cultures across our care teams and institutions with the goal of moving medicine and humanity forward.

The Society of Hospital Medicine deplores the negative impact of racism in our nation and will always strive to remedy racial inequities in our health care system. Racism in our society cannot be ignored. Nor will SHM ignore racism’s impact on public health. SHM enthusiastically supports its members working to promote equity and reduce the adverse impact of racism. We are committed to using our platform to improve the health of patients everywhere.

SHM would like to reaffirm its long-valued dedication to diversity and inclusion. We remain committed to promoting healthy discussions and action throughout our publications, resources and member communities, as outlined by our diversity and inclusion statement.
 

SHM Diversity and Inclusion Statement

Hospitalists are charged with treating individuals at their most vulnerable moments, when being respected as a whole person is crucial to advance patients’ healing and wellness. Within our workforce, diversity is a strength in all its forms, which helps us learn about the human experience, grow as leaders, and ultimately create a respectful environment for all regardless of age, race, religion, national origin, gender identity, sexual orientation, socioeconomic status, appearance, or ability.

To this end, the Society of Hospital Medicine will work to eliminate health disparities for our patients and foster inclusive and equitable cultures across our care teams and institutions with the goal of moving medicine and humanity forward.

The Society of Hospital Medicine deplores the negative impact of racism in our nation and will always strive to remedy racial inequities in our health care system. Racism in our society cannot be ignored. Nor will SHM ignore racism’s impact on public health. SHM enthusiastically supports its members working to promote equity and reduce the adverse impact of racism. We are committed to using our platform to improve the health of patients everywhere.

SHM would like to reaffirm its long-valued dedication to diversity and inclusion. We remain committed to promoting healthy discussions and action throughout our publications, resources and member communities, as outlined by our diversity and inclusion statement.
 

SHM Diversity and Inclusion Statement

Hospitalists are charged with treating individuals at their most vulnerable moments, when being respected as a whole person is crucial to advance patients’ healing and wellness. Within our workforce, diversity is a strength in all its forms, which helps us learn about the human experience, grow as leaders, and ultimately create a respectful environment for all regardless of age, race, religion, national origin, gender identity, sexual orientation, socioeconomic status, appearance, or ability.

To this end, the Society of Hospital Medicine will work to eliminate health disparities for our patients and foster inclusive and equitable cultures across our care teams and institutions with the goal of moving medicine and humanity forward.

A “growing and disturbing” increase in suicidal behavior among black youth has quietly been underway in the United States during the past several decades, even while rates in white and Latino youth have declined, Michael A. Lindsey, PhD, MSW, MPH, declared at the virtual annual meeting of the American Association of Suicidology.

Until recently this trend remained below the radar of public awareness. That’s changing. Dr. Lindsey was coauthor of a December 2019 report to Congress prepared in collaboration with the Congressional Black Caucus entitled, “Ring the Alarm: The Crisis of Black Youth Suicide In America.” Release of the report was accompanied by submission of an omnibus bill aimed at addressing the issue comprehensively, including what Dr. Lindsey considers to be the single most important policy imperative: providing federal resources to support more and better school mental health services proportionate to student needs.

“Black youth, relative to white youth, do not receive treatment for depression, which may be a precursor issue. They’re often disconnected from mental health therapy. This is perhaps a reason why we’re seeing this uptick in suicide expression among black youth,” according to Dr. Lindsey, executive director of the McSilver Institute for Poverty Policy and Research and professor of poverty studies at New York University.

Investigators at Ohio State University analyzed youth suicide data for the years 2001-2015 obtained from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. They determined that black children aged 5-12 years had an 82% higher incidence of completed suicide than white children (JAMA Pediatr. 2018 Jul 1;172[7]:697-9).

This report was followed by a study of trends in suicidal behaviors among U.S. high school students during 1991-2017. The study, led by Dr. Lindsey, used data from the Youth Risk Behavior Survey covering the years 1991-2017 to document an overall 19% prevalence of thoughts about suicide, while 15% of high school students had a suicide plan. During the study years there was a 73% increase in suicide attempts among black adolescents, while rates in white and Latino teens fell by 7.5% and 11.4%, respectively (Pediatrics. 2019 Nov;144[5]:e20191187).

Dr. Lindsey cited multiple reasons for undertreatment of depression in black youth. The lack of adequate mental health services in many schools figures prominently. As a result of this situation, mental health problems in black youth are often misinterpreted as conduct problems, leading to well-documented overuse of school suspensions and expulsions.

“We tend to oversuspend and expel black kids from school for problems that are treatable. This becomes a major, major issue in the pathway from schools to prisons,” he said.

Another factor in underutilization of mental health services by black youth is the stigma involved. Many black families see mental health therapy as irrelevant. Dr. Lindsey has received grant support from the National Institute of Mental Health for development of engagement interventions that focus on stigma reduction and enhancing family support for mental health therapy in black youth. He has found that, once those barriers are lowered, therapies seem to be as effective in black youth as in other populations, despite the cultural differences.

Yet another potential explanation for the racial disparity in pediatric suicide might be that suicide may, in some cases, be more of an impulsive behavior in black youth. Dr. Lindsey presented data from a soon-to-be-published analysis of Youth Risk Behavior Survey data on nearly 5,000 adolescents with suicidal thoughts, plans, and/or attempts within the previous 12 months. About 23% had suicidal thoughts only, 37% had suicidal thoughts and a plan, another 37% had thoughts, plans, and suicide attempts, and 3% had attempts without thoughts or a plan.

Black youth were 3.7 times more likely than white youth to have attempted suicide in the absence of background suicidal thoughts and 3.3 times more likely to have attempted suicide without having suicidal thoughts and plans.

He and his coinvestigators identified a similar pattern of suicide as an impulsive behavior in youths of all races with a history of sexual assault. They were 4.2 times more likely to have attempted suicide without prior suicidal thoughts than individuals without such a history and 3.9 times more likely to have attempted suicide without thinking about it or having a plan.

“This has implications for screening and prevention; warning signs may not be present,” he said.

Dr. Lindsey reported having no financial conflicts regarding his presentation.

[email protected]

A “growing and disturbing” increase in suicidal behavior among black youth has quietly been underway in the United States during the past several decades, even while rates in white and Latino youth have declined, Michael A. Lindsey, PhD, MSW, MPH, declared at the virtual annual meeting of the American Association of Suicidology.

Until recently this trend remained below the radar of public awareness. That’s changing. Dr. Lindsey was coauthor of a December 2019 report to Congress prepared in collaboration with the Congressional Black Caucus entitled, “Ring the Alarm: The Crisis of Black Youth Suicide In America.” Release of the report was accompanied by submission of an omnibus bill aimed at addressing the issue comprehensively, including what Dr. Lindsey considers to be the single most important policy imperative: providing federal resources to support more and better school mental health services proportionate to student needs.

“Black youth, relative to white youth, do not receive treatment for depression, which may be a precursor issue. They’re often disconnected from mental health therapy. This is perhaps a reason why we’re seeing this uptick in suicide expression among black youth,” according to Dr. Lindsey, executive director of the McSilver Institute for Poverty Policy and Research and professor of poverty studies at New York University.

Investigators at Ohio State University analyzed youth suicide data for the years 2001-2015 obtained from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. They determined that black children aged 5-12 years had an 82% higher incidence of completed suicide than white children (JAMA Pediatr. 2018 Jul 1;172[7]:697-9).

This report was followed by a study of trends in suicidal behaviors among U.S. high school students during 1991-2017. The study, led by Dr. Lindsey, used data from the Youth Risk Behavior Survey covering the years 1991-2017 to document an overall 19% prevalence of thoughts about suicide, while 15% of high school students had a suicide plan. During the study years there was a 73% increase in suicide attempts among black adolescents, while rates in white and Latino teens fell by 7.5% and 11.4%, respectively (Pediatrics. 2019 Nov;144[5]:e20191187).

Dr. Lindsey cited multiple reasons for undertreatment of depression in black youth. The lack of adequate mental health services in many schools figures prominently. As a result of this situation, mental health problems in black youth are often misinterpreted as conduct problems, leading to well-documented overuse of school suspensions and expulsions.

“We tend to oversuspend and expel black kids from school for problems that are treatable. This becomes a major, major issue in the pathway from schools to prisons,” he said.

Another factor in underutilization of mental health services by black youth is the stigma involved. Many black families see mental health therapy as irrelevant. Dr. Lindsey has received grant support from the National Institute of Mental Health for development of engagement interventions that focus on stigma reduction and enhancing family support for mental health therapy in black youth. He has found that, once those barriers are lowered, therapies seem to be as effective in black youth as in other populations, despite the cultural differences.

Yet another potential explanation for the racial disparity in pediatric suicide might be that suicide may, in some cases, be more of an impulsive behavior in black youth. Dr. Lindsey presented data from a soon-to-be-published analysis of Youth Risk Behavior Survey data on nearly 5,000 adolescents with suicidal thoughts, plans, and/or attempts within the previous 12 months. About 23% had suicidal thoughts only, 37% had suicidal thoughts and a plan, another 37% had thoughts, plans, and suicide attempts, and 3% had attempts without thoughts or a plan.

Black youth were 3.7 times more likely than white youth to have attempted suicide in the absence of background suicidal thoughts and 3.3 times more likely to have attempted suicide without having suicidal thoughts and plans.

He and his coinvestigators identified a similar pattern of suicide as an impulsive behavior in youths of all races with a history of sexual assault. They were 4.2 times more likely to have attempted suicide without prior suicidal thoughts than individuals without such a history and 3.9 times more likely to have attempted suicide without thinking about it or having a plan.

“This has implications for screening and prevention; warning signs may not be present,” he said.

Dr. Lindsey reported having no financial conflicts regarding his presentation.

[email protected]

A “growing and disturbing” increase in suicidal behavior among black youth has quietly been underway in the United States during the past several decades, even while rates in white and Latino youth have declined, Michael A. Lindsey, PhD, MSW, MPH, declared at the virtual annual meeting of the American Association of Suicidology.

Until recently this trend remained below the radar of public awareness. That’s changing. Dr. Lindsey was coauthor of a December 2019 report to Congress prepared in collaboration with the Congressional Black Caucus entitled, “Ring the Alarm: The Crisis of Black Youth Suicide In America.” Release of the report was accompanied by submission of an omnibus bill aimed at addressing the issue comprehensively, including what Dr. Lindsey considers to be the single most important policy imperative: providing federal resources to support more and better school mental health services proportionate to student needs.

“Black youth, relative to white youth, do not receive treatment for depression, which may be a precursor issue. They’re often disconnected from mental health therapy. This is perhaps a reason why we’re seeing this uptick in suicide expression among black youth,” according to Dr. Lindsey, executive director of the McSilver Institute for Poverty Policy and Research and professor of poverty studies at New York University.

Investigators at Ohio State University analyzed youth suicide data for the years 2001-2015 obtained from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. They determined that black children aged 5-12 years had an 82% higher incidence of completed suicide than white children (JAMA Pediatr. 2018 Jul 1;172[7]:697-9).

This report was followed by a study of trends in suicidal behaviors among U.S. high school students during 1991-2017. The study, led by Dr. Lindsey, used data from the Youth Risk Behavior Survey covering the years 1991-2017 to document an overall 19% prevalence of thoughts about suicide, while 15% of high school students had a suicide plan. During the study years there was a 73% increase in suicide attempts among black adolescents, while rates in white and Latino teens fell by 7.5% and 11.4%, respectively (Pediatrics. 2019 Nov;144[5]:e20191187).

Dr. Lindsey cited multiple reasons for undertreatment of depression in black youth. The lack of adequate mental health services in many schools figures prominently. As a result of this situation, mental health problems in black youth are often misinterpreted as conduct problems, leading to well-documented overuse of school suspensions and expulsions.

“We tend to oversuspend and expel black kids from school for problems that are treatable. This becomes a major, major issue in the pathway from schools to prisons,” he said.

Another factor in underutilization of mental health services by black youth is the stigma involved. Many black families see mental health therapy as irrelevant. Dr. Lindsey has received grant support from the National Institute of Mental Health for development of engagement interventions that focus on stigma reduction and enhancing family support for mental health therapy in black youth. He has found that, once those barriers are lowered, therapies seem to be as effective in black youth as in other populations, despite the cultural differences.

Yet another potential explanation for the racial disparity in pediatric suicide might be that suicide may, in some cases, be more of an impulsive behavior in black youth. Dr. Lindsey presented data from a soon-to-be-published analysis of Youth Risk Behavior Survey data on nearly 5,000 adolescents with suicidal thoughts, plans, and/or attempts within the previous 12 months. About 23% had suicidal thoughts only, 37% had suicidal thoughts and a plan, another 37% had thoughts, plans, and suicide attempts, and 3% had attempts without thoughts or a plan.

Black youth were 3.7 times more likely than white youth to have attempted suicide in the absence of background suicidal thoughts and 3.3 times more likely to have attempted suicide without having suicidal thoughts and plans.

He and his coinvestigators identified a similar pattern of suicide as an impulsive behavior in youths of all races with a history of sexual assault. They were 4.2 times more likely to have attempted suicide without prior suicidal thoughts than individuals without such a history and 3.9 times more likely to have attempted suicide without thinking about it or having a plan.

“This has implications for screening and prevention; warning signs may not be present,” he said.

Dr. Lindsey reported having no financial conflicts regarding his presentation.

[email protected]

I’m a black man, husband, father, son, brother, and a board-certified psychiatrist, child and adolescent psychiatry fellow, and addiction medicine fellow. I write this article as the latter, a colleague, from the former’s perspective, which you would not need to verify via Google, social media, or a badge upon meeting me.

Motortion/Getty Images

July is Minority Mental Health Awareness Month, established to bring awareness to the unique struggles that marginalized groups face concerning mental illness in the United States.

Given the events of the last few months, including a global pandemic and videotaped killings of Ahmaud Arbery and George Floyd, two unarmed black men, America’s structural racism and inequality are being challenged in historic ways. Black people are suffering. In fact, I was not surprised to learn¹ that some black families with sons have expanded the “talk” – which traditionally has focused on dealing with police officers – to include vigilantes.

Because of my extensive work with and treatment of men of color, I would like to answer a key question: “How do psychiatrists and other mental health clinicians better engage men of color? Before the “how,” let’s review the state of black men’s mental health.

According to Healthy People 2020, mental disorders are the leading cause of disability in the United States.² Among those with diagnosable mental disorders, black people are more likely than are their white counterparts to experience severe symptoms and protracted diseases. Roughly 7% of black men meet the criteria for a lifetime prevalence of major depressive disorder.³ Applying that figure to recent national population estimates means that there are 1.4 million black men currently suffering from major depression. Suicide has been on a continued uptrend among black male youth for more than 2 decades. Moreover, given the high rates of stigma and unmet need in this population, it is likely that these figures are even more dire.

Compared with other groups, black men in the United States face a disproportionate burden of preventable morbidity and mortality rates. Of all the health concerns faced by black men, mental health challenges may be among the most stigmatized.⁴ Evidence suggests that black men have more adverse life experiences than do men of other racial/ethnic groups, and consequently, experience poorer mental health.⁵ Black men experience high rates of poverty, unemployment, and underemployment, and are incarcerated at much higher rates than those of men of other racial/ethnic groups.⁶ It is notable that black male youth are often perceived as older by law enforcement, beginning as early as 10 years old, often resulting in negative interactions.⁷

Despite those challenges, black men are often expected to project strength, they are expected to minimize displays of emotion when off the field or court (i.e., “Just shut up and dribble”), and they are expected to be true versions of folk hero John Henry. This caricature of black males is used at times to validate shootings of unarmed black males (adults and youth).

Black men’s mental health should be a priority for those in the mental health field. This is particularly the case light of our field’s historical involvement in and promotion of stereotyped clinical descriptions of black men and contributing to health disparities that persist. Black men are nearly six times as likely to be diagnosed with schizophrenia as are white men. To read about holdovers from the days of targeted advertising against black protesters of the 1960s and 1970s, check out “The Protest Psychosis” (Beacon Press, 2010) by psychiatrist and anthropologist Jonathan Metzl, MD, PhD. If you go further back in psychiatric history, the late 1800s, you can learn about the devious diagnosis of drapetomania attributed to enslaved people who were seeking freedom.

Those on the front lines providing mental health services should understand black men’s mental health from an ecological perspective. Beyond the emotional burden that mental illness imposes on the individual, there are more considerable interpersonal and societal implications for the state of black men’s mental health. As such, in our full capacity like other men, black men play an essential role within families, churches, neighborhoods, and organizations.

Given our brief review, we can reconsider our question, “How do psychiatrists and mental health clinicians better engage men of color?”

I will suggest a few fundamental principles that honestly can be applied to any patient but should be strongly considered with your black male patients – given they are likely not accustomed to engaging with the health care system, let alone with a mental health clinician:

1. Create a comfortable environment. Because of stigma, persistent myths, and lack of normalcy with talking to a mental health professional, many patients, including black men, do not have a framework for a psychiatric/psychological evaluation or treatment. It would be essential to set the frame of your encounter. Evidence suggests this can improve engagement and follow-up care among black men.⁸ In addition, keep in mind that “fictive kin^”9 tend to play a major role in the transmission of culture, health promotion, and decision-making in the black community. This helps explain why barbershop initiatives¹⁰ are effective. If clinicians are able to allow black male patients to feel comfortable, the clinician, too, might become part of that fictive community and enhance the patient-provider relationship.

2. Allow for storytelling. In the age of the checklist, it can be relatively easy to lose sight that our patients, including black men, have their own narratives. Evidence suggests that physicians interrupt patients early and often. Challenge yourself to allow the patient to tell his story. In consideration of an initial evaluation, it may help to begin by first gathering sociodemographic information (i.e. housing, education, employment, family, etc.); doing so will allow the patient time to get comfortable before you assess possible psychiatric symptoms.

3. Confidentiality assurance. Many black men have a distrust for the health care profession; as such, it is vital that clinicians emphasize that their patients’ information and history will be used only to help the patient. It will be important to inform black male patients of their rights, because often in the greater society, their rights seem to be negated.

4. Be aware of nonverbal language. Given black men’s stereotyped roles in society and recognition that they are regularly perceived as threats, many black men have become adept at reading nonverbal cues (i.e., purse clutched, side comment, etc.). In doing so, clinicians must be attuned to their own nonverbal language. For example, a glance at one’s watch might be interpreted as you’re not listening. It would be better to be upfront and candid by saying something like, “I need to check the time,” rather than attempting to be stealth. Being transparent in that way will let the patient know that you will be upfront with him.

5. Be respectful. During an encounter, and in particular when discussing treatment plans, clinicians must allow the patient space to process and be involved in his care. Allowing the patient time to think through how he would want to proceed provides him a sense of personal agency and lets him know that he is capable of improving his mental wellness.

Black male patients need to feel comfortable, safe, able to trust the clinician. They must feel listened to, understood, and respected. This information might help some clinicians better understand what needs to happen between a black male patient and a nonblack clinician so the patient can feel good about his mental health engagement. To some, these recommendations might seem obvious or too simple, yet if we consider the countless reports of poor patient treatment engagement, adherence, and retention, we cannot deny the need for change. Having black male patients disclose important information during encounters could prevent poor clinical interactions that leave them feeling uncomfortable, uncertain, skeptical, disrespected, and further cynical about mental health care.

 

Dr. Simon practices at Boston Children’s Hospital. He has no disclosures.

References

1. Bunn C. After Arbery shooting, black parents are rethinking “the talk” to explain white vigilantes. NBC News. 2020 May 19.

2. U.S. Department of Health and Human Services. Office of Disease Prevention and Promotion. Healthy People 2020.

3. Ward E and Mangesha M. Am J Orthopsychiatry. 2013 Apr-Jul;83(2 0 3):386-97.

4. Holden KB et al. J Mens health. 2012 Jun 1;9(2):63-9.

5. Brown TH et al. Fam Community Health. 2015 Oct-Dec;38(4):307-18.

6. Jäggi et al. Soc Ment Health. 2016 Nov;6(3):187-296.

7. Goff PA et al. J Pers Soc Psychol. 2014;106(4):526-45.

8. Alsan M et al. National Bureau of Economic Research. NBER Working Paper No. 24787. 2018 Jun. Revised 2019 Aug.

9. Spruill IJ. J Nat Black Nurses Assoc. 2014 Dec;25(2):23-30.

10. Graham LF et al. Am J Mens Health. 2018 Sep;12(5):1307-16.

I’m a black man, husband, father, son, brother, and a board-certified psychiatrist, child and adolescent psychiatry fellow, and addiction medicine fellow. I write this article as the latter, a colleague, from the former’s perspective, which you would not need to verify via Google, social media, or a badge upon meeting me.

Motortion/Getty Images

July is Minority Mental Health Awareness Month, established to bring awareness to the unique struggles that marginalized groups face concerning mental illness in the United States.

Given the events of the last few months, including a global pandemic and videotaped killings of Ahmaud Arbery and George Floyd, two unarmed black men, America’s structural racism and inequality are being challenged in historic ways. Black people are suffering. In fact, I was not surprised to learn¹ that some black families with sons have expanded the “talk” – which traditionally has focused on dealing with police officers – to include vigilantes.

Because of my extensive work with and treatment of men of color, I would like to answer a key question: “How do psychiatrists and other mental health clinicians better engage men of color? Before the “how,” let’s review the state of black men’s mental health.

According to Healthy People 2020, mental disorders are the leading cause of disability in the United States.² Among those with diagnosable mental disorders, black people are more likely than are their white counterparts to experience severe symptoms and protracted diseases. Roughly 7% of black men meet the criteria for a lifetime prevalence of major depressive disorder.³ Applying that figure to recent national population estimates means that there are 1.4 million black men currently suffering from major depression. Suicide has been on a continued uptrend among black male youth for more than 2 decades. Moreover, given the high rates of stigma and unmet need in this population, it is likely that these figures are even more dire.

Compared with other groups, black men in the United States face a disproportionate burden of preventable morbidity and mortality rates. Of all the health concerns faced by black men, mental health challenges may be among the most stigmatized.⁴ Evidence suggests that black men have more adverse life experiences than do men of other racial/ethnic groups, and consequently, experience poorer mental health.⁵ Black men experience high rates of poverty, unemployment, and underemployment, and are incarcerated at much higher rates than those of men of other racial/ethnic groups.⁶ It is notable that black male youth are often perceived as older by law enforcement, beginning as early as 10 years old, often resulting in negative interactions.⁷

Despite those challenges, black men are often expected to project strength, they are expected to minimize displays of emotion when off the field or court (i.e., “Just shut up and dribble”), and they are expected to be true versions of folk hero John Henry. This caricature of black males is used at times to validate shootings of unarmed black males (adults and youth).

Black men’s mental health should be a priority for those in the mental health field. This is particularly the case light of our field’s historical involvement in and promotion of stereotyped clinical descriptions of black men and contributing to health disparities that persist. Black men are nearly six times as likely to be diagnosed with schizophrenia as are white men. To read about holdovers from the days of targeted advertising against black protesters of the 1960s and 1970s, check out “The Protest Psychosis” (Beacon Press, 2010) by psychiatrist and anthropologist Jonathan Metzl, MD, PhD. If you go further back in psychiatric history, the late 1800s, you can learn about the devious diagnosis of drapetomania attributed to enslaved people who were seeking freedom.

Those on the front lines providing mental health services should understand black men’s mental health from an ecological perspective. Beyond the emotional burden that mental illness imposes on the individual, there are more considerable interpersonal and societal implications for the state of black men’s mental health. As such, in our full capacity like other men, black men play an essential role within families, churches, neighborhoods, and organizations.

Given our brief review, we can reconsider our question, “How do psychiatrists and mental health clinicians better engage men of color?”

I will suggest a few fundamental principles that honestly can be applied to any patient but should be strongly considered with your black male patients – given they are likely not accustomed to engaging with the health care system, let alone with a mental health clinician:

1. Create a comfortable environment. Because of stigma, persistent myths, and lack of normalcy with talking to a mental health professional, many patients, including black men, do not have a framework for a psychiatric/psychological evaluation or treatment. It would be essential to set the frame of your encounter. Evidence suggests this can improve engagement and follow-up care among black men.⁸ In addition, keep in mind that “fictive kin^”9 tend to play a major role in the transmission of culture, health promotion, and decision-making in the black community. This helps explain why barbershop initiatives¹⁰ are effective. If clinicians are able to allow black male patients to feel comfortable, the clinician, too, might become part of that fictive community and enhance the patient-provider relationship.

2. Allow for storytelling. In the age of the checklist, it can be relatively easy to lose sight that our patients, including black men, have their own narratives. Evidence suggests that physicians interrupt patients early and often. Challenge yourself to allow the patient to tell his story. In consideration of an initial evaluation, it may help to begin by first gathering sociodemographic information (i.e. housing, education, employment, family, etc.); doing so will allow the patient time to get comfortable before you assess possible psychiatric symptoms.

3. Confidentiality assurance. Many black men have a distrust for the health care profession; as such, it is vital that clinicians emphasize that their patients’ information and history will be used only to help the patient. It will be important to inform black male patients of their rights, because often in the greater society, their rights seem to be negated.

4. Be aware of nonverbal language. Given black men’s stereotyped roles in society and recognition that they are regularly perceived as threats, many black men have become adept at reading nonverbal cues (i.e., purse clutched, side comment, etc.). In doing so, clinicians must be attuned to their own nonverbal language. For example, a glance at one’s watch might be interpreted as you’re not listening. It would be better to be upfront and candid by saying something like, “I need to check the time,” rather than attempting to be stealth. Being transparent in that way will let the patient know that you will be upfront with him.

5. Be respectful. During an encounter, and in particular when discussing treatment plans, clinicians must allow the patient space to process and be involved in his care. Allowing the patient time to think through how he would want to proceed provides him a sense of personal agency and lets him know that he is capable of improving his mental wellness.

Black male patients need to feel comfortable, safe, able to trust the clinician. They must feel listened to, understood, and respected. This information might help some clinicians better understand what needs to happen between a black male patient and a nonblack clinician so the patient can feel good about his mental health engagement. To some, these recommendations might seem obvious or too simple, yet if we consider the countless reports of poor patient treatment engagement, adherence, and retention, we cannot deny the need for change. Having black male patients disclose important information during encounters could prevent poor clinical interactions that leave them feeling uncomfortable, uncertain, skeptical, disrespected, and further cynical about mental health care.

 

Dr. Simon practices at Boston Children’s Hospital. He has no disclosures.

References

1. Bunn C. After Arbery shooting, black parents are rethinking “the talk” to explain white vigilantes. NBC News. 2020 May 19.

2. U.S. Department of Health and Human Services. Office of Disease Prevention and Promotion. Healthy People 2020.

3. Ward E and Mangesha M. Am J Orthopsychiatry. 2013 Apr-Jul;83(2 0 3):386-97.

4. Holden KB et al. J Mens health. 2012 Jun 1;9(2):63-9.

5. Brown TH et al. Fam Community Health. 2015 Oct-Dec;38(4):307-18.

6. Jäggi et al. Soc Ment Health. 2016 Nov;6(3):187-296.

7. Goff PA et al. J Pers Soc Psychol. 2014;106(4):526-45.

8. Alsan M et al. National Bureau of Economic Research. NBER Working Paper No. 24787. 2018 Jun. Revised 2019 Aug.

9. Spruill IJ. J Nat Black Nurses Assoc. 2014 Dec;25(2):23-30.

10. Graham LF et al. Am J Mens Health. 2018 Sep;12(5):1307-16.

I’m a black man, husband, father, son, brother, and a board-certified psychiatrist, child and adolescent psychiatry fellow, and addiction medicine fellow. I write this article as the latter, a colleague, from the former’s perspective, which you would not need to verify via Google, social media, or a badge upon meeting me.

Motortion/Getty Images

July is Minority Mental Health Awareness Month, established to bring awareness to the unique struggles that marginalized groups face concerning mental illness in the United States.

Given the events of the last few months, including a global pandemic and videotaped killings of Ahmaud Arbery and George Floyd, two unarmed black men, America’s structural racism and inequality are being challenged in historic ways. Black people are suffering. In fact, I was not surprised to learn¹ that some black families with sons have expanded the “talk” – which traditionally has focused on dealing with police officers – to include vigilantes.

Because of my extensive work with and treatment of men of color, I would like to answer a key question: “How do psychiatrists and other mental health clinicians better engage men of color? Before the “how,” let’s review the state of black men’s mental health.

According to Healthy People 2020, mental disorders are the leading cause of disability in the United States.² Among those with diagnosable mental disorders, black people are more likely than are their white counterparts to experience severe symptoms and protracted diseases. Roughly 7% of black men meet the criteria for a lifetime prevalence of major depressive disorder.³ Applying that figure to recent national population estimates means that there are 1.4 million black men currently suffering from major depression. Suicide has been on a continued uptrend among black male youth for more than 2 decades. Moreover, given the high rates of stigma and unmet need in this population, it is likely that these figures are even more dire.

Compared with other groups, black men in the United States face a disproportionate burden of preventable morbidity and mortality rates. Of all the health concerns faced by black men, mental health challenges may be among the most stigmatized.⁴ Evidence suggests that black men have more adverse life experiences than do men of other racial/ethnic groups, and consequently, experience poorer mental health.⁵ Black men experience high rates of poverty, unemployment, and underemployment, and are incarcerated at much higher rates than those of men of other racial/ethnic groups.⁶ It is notable that black male youth are often perceived as older by law enforcement, beginning as early as 10 years old, often resulting in negative interactions.⁷

Despite those challenges, black men are often expected to project strength, they are expected to minimize displays of emotion when off the field or court (i.e., “Just shut up and dribble”), and they are expected to be true versions of folk hero John Henry. This caricature of black males is used at times to validate shootings of unarmed black males (adults and youth).

Black men’s mental health should be a priority for those in the mental health field. This is particularly the case light of our field’s historical involvement in and promotion of stereotyped clinical descriptions of black men and contributing to health disparities that persist. Black men are nearly six times as likely to be diagnosed with schizophrenia as are white men. To read about holdovers from the days of targeted advertising against black protesters of the 1960s and 1970s, check out “The Protest Psychosis” (Beacon Press, 2010) by psychiatrist and anthropologist Jonathan Metzl, MD, PhD. If you go further back in psychiatric history, the late 1800s, you can learn about the devious diagnosis of drapetomania attributed to enslaved people who were seeking freedom.

Those on the front lines providing mental health services should understand black men’s mental health from an ecological perspective. Beyond the emotional burden that mental illness imposes on the individual, there are more considerable interpersonal and societal implications for the state of black men’s mental health. As such, in our full capacity like other men, black men play an essential role within families, churches, neighborhoods, and organizations.

Given our brief review, we can reconsider our question, “How do psychiatrists and mental health clinicians better engage men of color?”

I will suggest a few fundamental principles that honestly can be applied to any patient but should be strongly considered with your black male patients – given they are likely not accustomed to engaging with the health care system, let alone with a mental health clinician:

1. Create a comfortable environment. Because of stigma, persistent myths, and lack of normalcy with talking to a mental health professional, many patients, including black men, do not have a framework for a psychiatric/psychological evaluation or treatment. It would be essential to set the frame of your encounter. Evidence suggests this can improve engagement and follow-up care among black men.⁸ In addition, keep in mind that “fictive kin^”9 tend to play a major role in the transmission of culture, health promotion, and decision-making in the black community. This helps explain why barbershop initiatives¹⁰ are effective. If clinicians are able to allow black male patients to feel comfortable, the clinician, too, might become part of that fictive community and enhance the patient-provider relationship.

2. Allow for storytelling. In the age of the checklist, it can be relatively easy to lose sight that our patients, including black men, have their own narratives. Evidence suggests that physicians interrupt patients early and often. Challenge yourself to allow the patient to tell his story. In consideration of an initial evaluation, it may help to begin by first gathering sociodemographic information (i.e. housing, education, employment, family, etc.); doing so will allow the patient time to get comfortable before you assess possible psychiatric symptoms.

3. Confidentiality assurance. Many black men have a distrust for the health care profession; as such, it is vital that clinicians emphasize that their patients’ information and history will be used only to help the patient. It will be important to inform black male patients of their rights, because often in the greater society, their rights seem to be negated.

4. Be aware of nonverbal language. Given black men’s stereotyped roles in society and recognition that they are regularly perceived as threats, many black men have become adept at reading nonverbal cues (i.e., purse clutched, side comment, etc.). In doing so, clinicians must be attuned to their own nonverbal language. For example, a glance at one’s watch might be interpreted as you’re not listening. It would be better to be upfront and candid by saying something like, “I need to check the time,” rather than attempting to be stealth. Being transparent in that way will let the patient know that you will be upfront with him.

5. Be respectful. During an encounter, and in particular when discussing treatment plans, clinicians must allow the patient space to process and be involved in his care. Allowing the patient time to think through how he would want to proceed provides him a sense of personal agency and lets him know that he is capable of improving his mental wellness.

Black male patients need to feel comfortable, safe, able to trust the clinician. They must feel listened to, understood, and respected. This information might help some clinicians better understand what needs to happen between a black male patient and a nonblack clinician so the patient can feel good about his mental health engagement. To some, these recommendations might seem obvious or too simple, yet if we consider the countless reports of poor patient treatment engagement, adherence, and retention, we cannot deny the need for change. Having black male patients disclose important information during encounters could prevent poor clinical interactions that leave them feeling uncomfortable, uncertain, skeptical, disrespected, and further cynical about mental health care.

 

Dr. Simon practices at Boston Children’s Hospital. He has no disclosures.

References

1. Bunn C. After Arbery shooting, black parents are rethinking “the talk” to explain white vigilantes. NBC News. 2020 May 19.

2. U.S. Department of Health and Human Services. Office of Disease Prevention and Promotion. Healthy People 2020.

3. Ward E and Mangesha M. Am J Orthopsychiatry. 2013 Apr-Jul;83(2 0 3):386-97.

4. Holden KB et al. J Mens health. 2012 Jun 1;9(2):63-9.

5. Brown TH et al. Fam Community Health. 2015 Oct-Dec;38(4):307-18.

6. Jäggi et al. Soc Ment Health. 2016 Nov;6(3):187-296.

7. Goff PA et al. J Pers Soc Psychol. 2014;106(4):526-45.

8. Alsan M et al. National Bureau of Economic Research. NBER Working Paper No. 24787. 2018 Jun. Revised 2019 Aug.

9. Spruill IJ. J Nat Black Nurses Assoc. 2014 Dec;25(2):23-30.

10. Graham LF et al. Am J Mens Health. 2018 Sep;12(5):1307-16.

Editor’s Note: This transcript from the June 5 special episode of the Psychcast has been edited for clarity.

Nick Andrews: This is the Psychcast, the official podcast of MDedge Psychiatry. I am the voice of the MDedge podcasts, Nick Andrews. We are bringing this special edition of the Psychcast from MDedge in response to all of the unrest, peaceful or otherwise, in the United States in the aftermath of the shocking murder of George Floyd in late May of 2020.

Dr. Lorenzo Norris agreed to have this “after hours” discussion, believing the most appropriate response would be for us to have a real conversation about it. So welcome aboard.

Lorenzo Norris, MD: I’m happy to be here, Nick, and I’m so pleased to be talking with our guest, Dr. Brandon Newsome, a young black male psychiatrist. Dr. Newsome, sir, tell us a little about yourself and where you’re coming from.

Brandon Newsome, MD: I’m a 4th-year psychiatry resident at Boston Medical Center, so I’m about to graduate and to become a first-year fellow, as of July, at Children’s National Medical Center in Washington, D.C. I was born and raised in the South so I can talk about those experiences, and now I’ve been in the Northeast for the past 4 years.

Dr. Norris: Let’s get right into it. This is a time in our country that we’ve not seen – I shouldn’t say we, because depending on where you live in America, you have seen this and you’ve seen this multiple times.

I see a lot of myself in Dr. Newsome right now, and I am struggling with this: I’m talking to you about the same stuff I was talking about when I was a 4th-year resident. I’m talking to you about the same stuff I was talking about when I was a college student. I’m still talking about the same stuff I was talking about when I was a medical student. I’m still talking about the same things that were the impetus for the hip-hop generation regarding police brutality and violence.

We are still talking about the use of lethal force and abuse of power, particularly by police or law enforcement officers, and how that is perpetrated against African American men in particular, and the unfortunate and tragic murder of Mr. George Floyd. Dr. Newsome, tell me how you’re thinking about this. Before we even get into how our patients or our colleagues are doing, how are you doing with this?

Dr. Newsome: It’s been difficult. Like you, I’ve heard this story time and time again. I was just on a panel, having a conversation about race and policing, and I realized we had the same conversation during my first or second year of residency because there had been another death. But even though all of these unfortunate deaths are triggering us, this one is a little different for me for a few reasons. As you know, this is happening with the backdrop of the COVID-19 crisis and we’re already seeing so many people, especially from black and brown communities, dying from that.

And then I’m witnessing what happened, watching that video and thinking about all the interventions we’ve already tried. We tried body cameras, and the dude was wearing a body camera. We tried to get our police officers to be engaged, to try to check their roles, but people were there, witnessing everything, and nothing happened. An upstander was there, a white upstander, a firefighter who was telling them to check his pulse. Still nothing happened; it didn’t stop them.

I believe the backdrop of the COVID-19 crisis makes it a whole lot more painful for me and many others. I am part of a black physician email group and it’s been triggering for all of us because we all imagine that this could be me one day, especially when you think about the Amy Coopers of the world, among other things.

Dr. Norris: I completely agree. We’re dealing with loss of life due to a virus, including, [personally speaking] that of my departed grandmother Why am I bringing this up? I bring it up because, regardless of one’s socioeconomic strata or title or whatnot, particularly in the black community, this is the kind of mess we’re dealing with. We’re dealing with the stress of COVID-19 that is disproportionately affecting African Americans. We’re dealing with social isolation, we’re dealing with the economic recession and the collapse that everyone else is dealing with, and on top of that we are now dealing with another murder. But this particular murder resonates very differently because, as you said, it seemed like every single thing that could have been done was done.

You will read reports that Mr. Floyd was resisting arrest. But you look at this video; this is not a man resisting arrest. This is a man trying to say, please, you are killing me. These are other people saying the same thing. These are police officers not acting right. This is so many different things going on, and when you hear this and look at this video, you can come to no other conclusion than it is murder.

As psychiatrists, we frequently have to restrain people, and it is always understood that restraint can turn into assault extremely quickly. But in this particular case, there was no thought or concern about this man’s life or his health. There are many good police officers that do think of that, and so this was shocking. It was jarring. It was another thing piled on an already taxed black America. I was talking with my black male colleagues about this, and I think a lot of people don’t actually realize that, while there are black male psychiatrists, there are only a few of us.

Dr. Newsome: True that.

Dr. Norris: There are only so many black male physicians, period, and black male psychiatrists in particular. At different points in time we are called on to take leadership roles, and to talk, to speak on things and be a voice. Well, I have to tell you, after a while, this is pretty goddamn tiring for us to contain our disappointment, our anger, and our rage and still stay hopeful, optimistic, and still be a voice for those who are not able to speak.

Dr. Newsome: I agree that sometimes it can be tiring to have to take leadership roles and continue to talk about all these things, but I also feel that, at least for me, it gives me some sort of route to address the angst and do something with it. I believe all of us are just figuring out how to deal with these feelings that we shouldn’t have to feel because of a murder that was televised.

Dr. Norris: Thank you. For a murder that was televised; that was tweeted; that was broadbanded; that was streamed.

Now we’ve laid the framework, in terms of what we’re feeling. Let’s move on to why you and I are in this profession, and that’s our patients. What are you seeing on the front lines? What are you seeing with our patients?

Dr. Newsome: I was speaking with one of my black male patients, and he was fearful. He had been perfectly fine, even in the COVID crisis, he was doing well. But when you get this milieu of police violence, now he’s feeling this intense fear. Should I be walking alone at night? What happens if I am the one who is at the wrong place at the wrong time?

I also find that some of my nonminority patients sometimes find difficulty making sense of it. Minority individuals already know these things are happening. But some of the nonminorities are wondering how or why would something like this happen in America? This is just how America is for the black folks.

Dr. Norris: Could you elaborate on that? I always found that to be a very interesting dynamic for those who are not minorities or people of color. I will have folks in a psychotherapy session who are just bewildered by events like this. It is not the America they think they know – they are shocked that this is actually what’s going on.

Dr. Newsome: It’s all about experiences. If you didn’t grow up around a lot of minorities, you haven’t necessarily had these conversations. Even speaking for myself, sometimes I don’t want to discuss these things; you never know what you’re going to get. You might find an ally, or you might find someone who isn’t at all supportive. I think the surprise is from lack of exposure. If you don’t have to live through racism, you can most certainly have blinders on and not notice.

Dr. Norris: Can you comment on the fear you’re seeing in some folks? Can it get to the point of reactivating PTSD?

Dr. Newsome: I notice it more with black individuals, a fear that they might be the ones who may die; or with black mothers, wondering, what about my child? Is this what they are going to have to live with for the rest of their lives? Older people would say that we fought already and it’s still going on. What are the fruits of the labor we put in?

Dr. Norris: I agree with you completely. What are the fruits? You’re going to see those strong reactions. You’re going to see fear, you’re going to see anger, and you’re also going to see guilt that they could not stop this. I’m speaking particularly about some of my nonminority patients. It goes along with that confusion. This manifests in a desperate need to do something.

But here’s the problem: You don’t really know what to do because no one is educated on it. And as you said before, race is a very polarized subject. No one even likes to talk about racism because it’s so, oh my goodness. We’ve run away from it so much to the point that we can’t deal with it. Racism, whether or not you witness it, whether or not you participate in it, whether or not you are the subject of it, affects and hurts us all. We all have to start to own that. You can’t just stay siloed, because eventually, it’s going to come back and affect you.

I could easily be Mr. Floyd, but at the same time, due to my station and things of that nature, I have a certain level of privilege and autonomy. There could be a tendency to put your head under the sand, you know, look at how far we’ve come, Barack Obama. But you’ve got to say, no, we still have enormous amounts of work to do.

We’ve been talking about the patients. What have you noticed in your colleagues and how they’ve been feeling about this?

Dr. Newsome: Again, I see them feeling saddened by the events. One of the other things I’ve noticed is that some people are in environments where they have program directors and chairs who will directly condemn certain behaviors and say, “This is racist, this shouldn’t happen.” But then there are other programs that have been more silent. I’ve had people say that this is the first time that they have felt isolated in a long while.

We all participate in these physician WhatsApp groups, and according to some of the comments, people are realizing that these folks that they were just on the front lines with, fighting COVID, are perhaps not the allies that they originally thought they were, based on the things these people are saying.

Dr. Norris: Wow. It’s good that we’re talking about this from the viewpoint of two different generations. You’ve got the WhatsApp group and Google Hangouts and all that kind of good stuff, and I’m still with pagers and such. That’s interesting – the reality that folks you thought were your allies turn out not to be, because you’re bringing up difficult conversations that we don’t normally talk about.

I have noticed that some people around me have been silent because they don’t know what to say. They’re so concerned that I’m going to be offended or they’re going to hurt me or say the wrong thing, so they stay quiet. As I reflect now, this is the wrong thing to do. Own your concern. I’ve been in two large meetings now, and I’ve had multiple people whom I consider friends say, I wanted to email or text you right then and ask you how you’re doing, but I didn’t because I didn’t know what to say. I have entered meetings recently, and the meeting felt tense, and I’m thinking, what’s going on? And now I realize they did not know what to say or how to approach it.

That’s been a very interesting dynamic and tells us where we are with this. Today, for example, I was pleased to have the support of my dean’s group. I felt I had to speak out, I just had to straight out tell them. Do you want to know what I’m feeling? I’m feeling rage. I’m feeling rage. And you all have to understand that, because I have to speak for those who aren’t necessarily going to be able to express themselves. More importantly, I have to speak for myself and I’m feeling rage.

How our colleagues are processing this and how they’re thinking about this runs the gamut. But I think about people not necessarily knowing what to say or how to approach it. I absolutely agree that with the leadership, you’re going to get many different responses, and sometimes you’re left to wonder, do I have to watch what I say? But I’m definitely supported at my institution.

What else are you seeing out there in terms of your colleagues or how people think about it?

Dr. Newsome: This also spurs some folks to activism. Some have been participating in protests. There will be White Coats for Black Lives protests, among other things. So it’s spurred folks to action, and it’s also spurred folks to try to be part of a community. Of course, with the whole COVID crisis, we can’t necessarily come together, so we’ve been doing Zoom gatherings more than anything else. But it has encouraged folks to want to do that more, too, because they want to check in on their brother or their sister to make sure they are doing well, and also to be able to express what’s going on with them in a community where they know they can get validation.

Courtesy George Washington University Hospital Internal Medicine, Instagram @gtwon_medres

Dr. Norris: I’m going to push you a bit because I detect in your tone something similar to what I’m feeling. I just got the email, the White Coats For Black Lives email. But I think your feeling is similar to mine – I’ve done this before. I’ve done White Coats for Black Lives. You all may have protested. But this display in Washington, D.C., of the use of military and law enforcement to clear a public square of peaceful protesters is above and beyond the pale of anything I’ve ever seen in my life. We have to label that for the danger it is, for the threat to everything this country and the people that bled for this country stand for.

So while I’m going to participate in White Coats for Black Lives and many other things, I am looking for what is actually going to move the needle. I think the protests are great, but at this point in time I want institutions, I want money, I want lawyers, I want a systematic approach.

Dr. Newsome: I most certainly agree. Of course, the protests are really important, but depending on where you are, you have a different lens. As physicians, especially as black physicians, since there are so few of us, we have a unique opportunity to leverage that, whether that means communicating through op-eds or calling your senators and talking with them to try to move things forward.

Physicians are mobilizing. In the last few days, a physician created a Zoom event and hundreds of physicians joined to try to figure out how we can structurally fix this problem. So I most certainly believe that in this effort to address racism, we physicians will need to lend our voices and our privilege to move the needle as best we can.

Dr. Norris: Some of our colleagues in Black Psychiatrists of America have put out a press release on racism in which they propose some actions that should be taken immediately. I think this is a useful thing to talk about.

The first action: “Declare racism a public health problem and establish national goals for addressing this as a health equity issue. Give priority to addressing the issues of health care disparities, including the mental health needs of historically marginalized communities across the U.S.”

What do you think about that?

Dr. Newsome: Those are two extremely important steps. The question is: How do you make that happen?

Dr. Norris: You’re reading my mind. I love that our colleagues put that out there, but that was my next question.

Dr. Newsome: There is going to be a town hall about this and I’m hoping that we can plan how we envision this happening. I can imagine that 20 or 30 years ago there was also a fear in society that there would be episodes of police brutality. I can imagine that there were similar ideals and hopes. But I think we need to put all of our minds together and ask: How are we going to accomplish this? Is this going to be something we’re going to put our money into? Is this going to be something we’re going to get senators and legislatures onboard with to make policy?

Dr. Norris: Let me read off some of the other action points they put out. There are six of them.

“Establish a governmental multidisciplinary and ethnically diverse commission with representatives from the major health care professional associations in medicine, nursing, psychiatry, public health, psychology, social work, etc., and the faith-based community to provide recommendations to Congress regarding policies on how to best improve the health and well-being of our nation’s black citizens.”

That’s a very solid overall recommendation. My question is, doesn’t that, in some way, shape, or form already exist? Could we not put up policy statements from all of these folks regarding racism and things of that nature? I agree with what they’re saying, but part of me wonders why certain things in the current system aren’t working. That becomes the question. Are we not integrated enough? Do we not have enough cross talk? Do we not have enough money behind it? So I agree with that goal, but I would be curious if that doesn’t already exist. What are your thoughts about that, Dr. Newsome?

Dr. Newsome: I would imagine that the National Institute on Minority Mental Health and Health Disparities would have something similar. I believe one of the things you mentioned is really important. In addition to making these recommendations, we need to be looking at where these leaks are occurring that keep them from working. What is the current structure and why is it the way it is with regard to the governance?

Dr. Norris: Here is another of their action statements: “Declare ‘civic mental health’ a national priority and incorporate it into the educational curriculum from K through college, as well as in the training of local, state, and national officials, law enforcement, and the criminal justice system.”

Let me be clear, I like every single one of these action statements. I encourage everyone to participate in dialogue and discussion. You may agree with some of these, and some of them you may not, but if there is one you agree with, that you really are motivated about, that’s one that you need to explore and dig into a bit more, because it’s too big for us to handle on our own, just like racism and equality.

I’m going to tell you, I like this statement. I do like this. Obviously these are broad points, but I do like the idea of training law enforcement officers about “civic mental health.” For example, Dr. Michael Compton, who has done a lot of great work in the area of mental health and prevention, has worked with police officers to help them interact with those with mental health conditions by modulating their own emotional response. I’m very interested in these types of recommendations that particularly target law enforcement officers, and helping with that ”emotional quotient.” I’m interested in seeing how far that can spread in the country. What do you think, Dr. Newsome?

Dr. Newsome: Educating police officers about how to interact would be quite important. I believe the National Alliance on Mental Illness does some of that work, partnering with law enforcement agencies, talking about mental health and cues to look at. There also are some programs where people ride along with mental health clinicians and police officers, which I find to be really helpful. But clearly, what’s going on right now isn’t working. So I would be open to any reasonable idea.

Dr. Norris: Here’s one last action point: “Establish police community review boards with power to take action in areas of police misconduct pending formal review by the appropriate authorities. This will offer a level of empowerment when communities feel they have a voice that can be heard.”

This is where I want my focus to be, as I move forward to try to do something sustainable. To deal with police brutality and abuse of power in general, but specifically as it relates to African American men and the lethal use of force. We need to work on policies that will enable African American men to make it to court, so that every encounter with a police officer is not literally viewed as a potentially lethal encounter.

A lot of people aren’t going to like me saying that, but it’s the absolute truth. You have to think like that, as an African American male, regardless of your station, regardless of where you live, this is the reality. There are many, many good police officers out there. I have a few friends who are law enforcement officers. I work with security at the George Washington Hospital constantly. But that still does not change the fact that if I get pulled over at a traffic stop, I know precisely certain things I need to do and not do, or the encounter could end badly. By that I mean loss of life.

So I encourage anything where we can start to take a systematic look at law enforcement and empower communities to look at who is doing it right and who is doing it wrong. Information is coming out now about the man who murdered Mr. Floyd, and this was not the first time he was involved in misconduct. There were red flags; we have to start to confront this. We have to learn from every single one of these situations and grow because another one is going to happen next week, it’s just whether or not you hear about it. That’s the reality of the state of America. You may not like to hear it, but that’s just a fact.


To hear the entire conversation, go to mdedge.com/podcasts or listen wherever you find your podcasts.
 

Editor’s Note: This transcript from the June 5 special episode of the Psychcast has been edited for clarity.

Nick Andrews: This is the Psychcast, the official podcast of MDedge Psychiatry. I am the voice of the MDedge podcasts, Nick Andrews. We are bringing this special edition of the Psychcast from MDedge in response to all of the unrest, peaceful or otherwise, in the United States in the aftermath of the shocking murder of George Floyd in late May of 2020.

Dr. Lorenzo Norris agreed to have this “after hours” discussion, believing the most appropriate response would be for us to have a real conversation about it. So welcome aboard.

Lorenzo Norris, MD: I’m happy to be here, Nick, and I’m so pleased to be talking with our guest, Dr. Brandon Newsome, a young black male psychiatrist. Dr. Newsome, sir, tell us a little about yourself and where you’re coming from.

Brandon Newsome, MD: I’m a 4th-year psychiatry resident at Boston Medical Center, so I’m about to graduate and to become a first-year fellow, as of July, at Children’s National Medical Center in Washington, D.C. I was born and raised in the South so I can talk about those experiences, and now I’ve been in the Northeast for the past 4 years.

Dr. Norris: Let’s get right into it. This is a time in our country that we’ve not seen – I shouldn’t say we, because depending on where you live in America, you have seen this and you’ve seen this multiple times.

I see a lot of myself in Dr. Newsome right now, and I am struggling with this: I’m talking to you about the same stuff I was talking about when I was a 4th-year resident. I’m talking to you about the same stuff I was talking about when I was a college student. I’m still talking about the same stuff I was talking about when I was a medical student. I’m still talking about the same things that were the impetus for the hip-hop generation regarding police brutality and violence.

We are still talking about the use of lethal force and abuse of power, particularly by police or law enforcement officers, and how that is perpetrated against African American men in particular, and the unfortunate and tragic murder of Mr. George Floyd. Dr. Newsome, tell me how you’re thinking about this. Before we even get into how our patients or our colleagues are doing, how are you doing with this?

Dr. Newsome: It’s been difficult. Like you, I’ve heard this story time and time again. I was just on a panel, having a conversation about race and policing, and I realized we had the same conversation during my first or second year of residency because there had been another death. But even though all of these unfortunate deaths are triggering us, this one is a little different for me for a few reasons. As you know, this is happening with the backdrop of the COVID-19 crisis and we’re already seeing so many people, especially from black and brown communities, dying from that.

And then I’m witnessing what happened, watching that video and thinking about all the interventions we’ve already tried. We tried body cameras, and the dude was wearing a body camera. We tried to get our police officers to be engaged, to try to check their roles, but people were there, witnessing everything, and nothing happened. An upstander was there, a white upstander, a firefighter who was telling them to check his pulse. Still nothing happened; it didn’t stop them.

I believe the backdrop of the COVID-19 crisis makes it a whole lot more painful for me and many others. I am part of a black physician email group and it’s been triggering for all of us because we all imagine that this could be me one day, especially when you think about the Amy Coopers of the world, among other things.

Dr. Norris: I completely agree. We’re dealing with loss of life due to a virus, including, [personally speaking] that of my departed grandmother Why am I bringing this up? I bring it up because, regardless of one’s socioeconomic strata or title or whatnot, particularly in the black community, this is the kind of mess we’re dealing with. We’re dealing with the stress of COVID-19 that is disproportionately affecting African Americans. We’re dealing with social isolation, we’re dealing with the economic recession and the collapse that everyone else is dealing with, and on top of that we are now dealing with another murder. But this particular murder resonates very differently because, as you said, it seemed like every single thing that could have been done was done.

You will read reports that Mr. Floyd was resisting arrest. But you look at this video; this is not a man resisting arrest. This is a man trying to say, please, you are killing me. These are other people saying the same thing. These are police officers not acting right. This is so many different things going on, and when you hear this and look at this video, you can come to no other conclusion than it is murder.

As psychiatrists, we frequently have to restrain people, and it is always understood that restraint can turn into assault extremely quickly. But in this particular case, there was no thought or concern about this man’s life or his health. There are many good police officers that do think of that, and so this was shocking. It was jarring. It was another thing piled on an already taxed black America. I was talking with my black male colleagues about this, and I think a lot of people don’t actually realize that, while there are black male psychiatrists, there are only a few of us.

Dr. Newsome: True that.

Dr. Norris: There are only so many black male physicians, period, and black male psychiatrists in particular. At different points in time we are called on to take leadership roles, and to talk, to speak on things and be a voice. Well, I have to tell you, after a while, this is pretty goddamn tiring for us to contain our disappointment, our anger, and our rage and still stay hopeful, optimistic, and still be a voice for those who are not able to speak.

Dr. Newsome: I agree that sometimes it can be tiring to have to take leadership roles and continue to talk about all these things, but I also feel that, at least for me, it gives me some sort of route to address the angst and do something with it. I believe all of us are just figuring out how to deal with these feelings that we shouldn’t have to feel because of a murder that was televised.

Dr. Norris: Thank you. For a murder that was televised; that was tweeted; that was broadbanded; that was streamed.

Now we’ve laid the framework, in terms of what we’re feeling. Let’s move on to why you and I are in this profession, and that’s our patients. What are you seeing on the front lines? What are you seeing with our patients?

Dr. Newsome: I was speaking with one of my black male patients, and he was fearful. He had been perfectly fine, even in the COVID crisis, he was doing well. But when you get this milieu of police violence, now he’s feeling this intense fear. Should I be walking alone at night? What happens if I am the one who is at the wrong place at the wrong time?

I also find that some of my nonminority patients sometimes find difficulty making sense of it. Minority individuals already know these things are happening. But some of the nonminorities are wondering how or why would something like this happen in America? This is just how America is for the black folks.

Dr. Norris: Could you elaborate on that? I always found that to be a very interesting dynamic for those who are not minorities or people of color. I will have folks in a psychotherapy session who are just bewildered by events like this. It is not the America they think they know – they are shocked that this is actually what’s going on.

Dr. Newsome: It’s all about experiences. If you didn’t grow up around a lot of minorities, you haven’t necessarily had these conversations. Even speaking for myself, sometimes I don’t want to discuss these things; you never know what you’re going to get. You might find an ally, or you might find someone who isn’t at all supportive. I think the surprise is from lack of exposure. If you don’t have to live through racism, you can most certainly have blinders on and not notice.

Dr. Norris: Can you comment on the fear you’re seeing in some folks? Can it get to the point of reactivating PTSD?

Dr. Newsome: I notice it more with black individuals, a fear that they might be the ones who may die; or with black mothers, wondering, what about my child? Is this what they are going to have to live with for the rest of their lives? Older people would say that we fought already and it’s still going on. What are the fruits of the labor we put in?

Dr. Norris: I agree with you completely. What are the fruits? You’re going to see those strong reactions. You’re going to see fear, you’re going to see anger, and you’re also going to see guilt that they could not stop this. I’m speaking particularly about some of my nonminority patients. It goes along with that confusion. This manifests in a desperate need to do something.

But here’s the problem: You don’t really know what to do because no one is educated on it. And as you said before, race is a very polarized subject. No one even likes to talk about racism because it’s so, oh my goodness. We’ve run away from it so much to the point that we can’t deal with it. Racism, whether or not you witness it, whether or not you participate in it, whether or not you are the subject of it, affects and hurts us all. We all have to start to own that. You can’t just stay siloed, because eventually, it’s going to come back and affect you.

I could easily be Mr. Floyd, but at the same time, due to my station and things of that nature, I have a certain level of privilege and autonomy. There could be a tendency to put your head under the sand, you know, look at how far we’ve come, Barack Obama. But you’ve got to say, no, we still have enormous amounts of work to do.

We’ve been talking about the patients. What have you noticed in your colleagues and how they’ve been feeling about this?

Dr. Newsome: Again, I see them feeling saddened by the events. One of the other things I’ve noticed is that some people are in environments where they have program directors and chairs who will directly condemn certain behaviors and say, “This is racist, this shouldn’t happen.” But then there are other programs that have been more silent. I’ve had people say that this is the first time that they have felt isolated in a long while.

We all participate in these physician WhatsApp groups, and according to some of the comments, people are realizing that these folks that they were just on the front lines with, fighting COVID, are perhaps not the allies that they originally thought they were, based on the things these people are saying.

Dr. Norris: Wow. It’s good that we’re talking about this from the viewpoint of two different generations. You’ve got the WhatsApp group and Google Hangouts and all that kind of good stuff, and I’m still with pagers and such. That’s interesting – the reality that folks you thought were your allies turn out not to be, because you’re bringing up difficult conversations that we don’t normally talk about.

I have noticed that some people around me have been silent because they don’t know what to say. They’re so concerned that I’m going to be offended or they’re going to hurt me or say the wrong thing, so they stay quiet. As I reflect now, this is the wrong thing to do. Own your concern. I’ve been in two large meetings now, and I’ve had multiple people whom I consider friends say, I wanted to email or text you right then and ask you how you’re doing, but I didn’t because I didn’t know what to say. I have entered meetings recently, and the meeting felt tense, and I’m thinking, what’s going on? And now I realize they did not know what to say or how to approach it.

That’s been a very interesting dynamic and tells us where we are with this. Today, for example, I was pleased to have the support of my dean’s group. I felt I had to speak out, I just had to straight out tell them. Do you want to know what I’m feeling? I’m feeling rage. I’m feeling rage. And you all have to understand that, because I have to speak for those who aren’t necessarily going to be able to express themselves. More importantly, I have to speak for myself and I’m feeling rage.

How our colleagues are processing this and how they’re thinking about this runs the gamut. But I think about people not necessarily knowing what to say or how to approach it. I absolutely agree that with the leadership, you’re going to get many different responses, and sometimes you’re left to wonder, do I have to watch what I say? But I’m definitely supported at my institution.

What else are you seeing out there in terms of your colleagues or how people think about it?

Dr. Newsome: This also spurs some folks to activism. Some have been participating in protests. There will be White Coats for Black Lives protests, among other things. So it’s spurred folks to action, and it’s also spurred folks to try to be part of a community. Of course, with the whole COVID crisis, we can’t necessarily come together, so we’ve been doing Zoom gatherings more than anything else. But it has encouraged folks to want to do that more, too, because they want to check in on their brother or their sister to make sure they are doing well, and also to be able to express what’s going on with them in a community where they know they can get validation.

Courtesy George Washington University Hospital Internal Medicine, Instagram @gtwon_medres

Dr. Norris: I’m going to push you a bit because I detect in your tone something similar to what I’m feeling. I just got the email, the White Coats For Black Lives email. But I think your feeling is similar to mine – I’ve done this before. I’ve done White Coats for Black Lives. You all may have protested. But this display in Washington, D.C., of the use of military and law enforcement to clear a public square of peaceful protesters is above and beyond the pale of anything I’ve ever seen in my life. We have to label that for the danger it is, for the threat to everything this country and the people that bled for this country stand for.

So while I’m going to participate in White Coats for Black Lives and many other things, I am looking for what is actually going to move the needle. I think the protests are great, but at this point in time I want institutions, I want money, I want lawyers, I want a systematic approach.

Dr. Newsome: I most certainly agree. Of course, the protests are really important, but depending on where you are, you have a different lens. As physicians, especially as black physicians, since there are so few of us, we have a unique opportunity to leverage that, whether that means communicating through op-eds or calling your senators and talking with them to try to move things forward.

Physicians are mobilizing. In the last few days, a physician created a Zoom event and hundreds of physicians joined to try to figure out how we can structurally fix this problem. So I most certainly believe that in this effort to address racism, we physicians will need to lend our voices and our privilege to move the needle as best we can.

Dr. Norris: Some of our colleagues in Black Psychiatrists of America have put out a press release on racism in which they propose some actions that should be taken immediately. I think this is a useful thing to talk about.

The first action: “Declare racism a public health problem and establish national goals for addressing this as a health equity issue. Give priority to addressing the issues of health care disparities, including the mental health needs of historically marginalized communities across the U.S.”

What do you think about that?

Dr. Newsome: Those are two extremely important steps. The question is: How do you make that happen?

Dr. Norris: You’re reading my mind. I love that our colleagues put that out there, but that was my next question.

Dr. Newsome: There is going to be a town hall about this and I’m hoping that we can plan how we envision this happening. I can imagine that 20 or 30 years ago there was also a fear in society that there would be episodes of police brutality. I can imagine that there were similar ideals and hopes. But I think we need to put all of our minds together and ask: How are we going to accomplish this? Is this going to be something we’re going to put our money into? Is this going to be something we’re going to get senators and legislatures onboard with to make policy?

Dr. Norris: Let me read off some of the other action points they put out. There are six of them.

“Establish a governmental multidisciplinary and ethnically diverse commission with representatives from the major health care professional associations in medicine, nursing, psychiatry, public health, psychology, social work, etc., and the faith-based community to provide recommendations to Congress regarding policies on how to best improve the health and well-being of our nation’s black citizens.”

That’s a very solid overall recommendation. My question is, doesn’t that, in some way, shape, or form already exist? Could we not put up policy statements from all of these folks regarding racism and things of that nature? I agree with what they’re saying, but part of me wonders why certain things in the current system aren’t working. That becomes the question. Are we not integrated enough? Do we not have enough cross talk? Do we not have enough money behind it? So I agree with that goal, but I would be curious if that doesn’t already exist. What are your thoughts about that, Dr. Newsome?

Dr. Newsome: I would imagine that the National Institute on Minority Mental Health and Health Disparities would have something similar. I believe one of the things you mentioned is really important. In addition to making these recommendations, we need to be looking at where these leaks are occurring that keep them from working. What is the current structure and why is it the way it is with regard to the governance?

Dr. Norris: Here is another of their action statements: “Declare ‘civic mental health’ a national priority and incorporate it into the educational curriculum from K through college, as well as in the training of local, state, and national officials, law enforcement, and the criminal justice system.”

Let me be clear, I like every single one of these action statements. I encourage everyone to participate in dialogue and discussion. You may agree with some of these, and some of them you may not, but if there is one you agree with, that you really are motivated about, that’s one that you need to explore and dig into a bit more, because it’s too big for us to handle on our own, just like racism and equality.

I’m going to tell you, I like this statement. I do like this. Obviously these are broad points, but I do like the idea of training law enforcement officers about “civic mental health.” For example, Dr. Michael Compton, who has done a lot of great work in the area of mental health and prevention, has worked with police officers to help them interact with those with mental health conditions by modulating their own emotional response. I’m very interested in these types of recommendations that particularly target law enforcement officers, and helping with that ”emotional quotient.” I’m interested in seeing how far that can spread in the country. What do you think, Dr. Newsome?

Dr. Newsome: Educating police officers about how to interact would be quite important. I believe the National Alliance on Mental Illness does some of that work, partnering with law enforcement agencies, talking about mental health and cues to look at. There also are some programs where people ride along with mental health clinicians and police officers, which I find to be really helpful. But clearly, what’s going on right now isn’t working. So I would be open to any reasonable idea.

Dr. Norris: Here’s one last action point: “Establish police community review boards with power to take action in areas of police misconduct pending formal review by the appropriate authorities. This will offer a level of empowerment when communities feel they have a voice that can be heard.”

This is where I want my focus to be, as I move forward to try to do something sustainable. To deal with police brutality and abuse of power in general, but specifically as it relates to African American men and the lethal use of force. We need to work on policies that will enable African American men to make it to court, so that every encounter with a police officer is not literally viewed as a potentially lethal encounter.

A lot of people aren’t going to like me saying that, but it’s the absolute truth. You have to think like that, as an African American male, regardless of your station, regardless of where you live, this is the reality. There are many, many good police officers out there. I have a few friends who are law enforcement officers. I work with security at the George Washington Hospital constantly. But that still does not change the fact that if I get pulled over at a traffic stop, I know precisely certain things I need to do and not do, or the encounter could end badly. By that I mean loss of life.

So I encourage anything where we can start to take a systematic look at law enforcement and empower communities to look at who is doing it right and who is doing it wrong. Information is coming out now about the man who murdered Mr. Floyd, and this was not the first time he was involved in misconduct. There were red flags; we have to start to confront this. We have to learn from every single one of these situations and grow because another one is going to happen next week, it’s just whether or not you hear about it. That’s the reality of the state of America. You may not like to hear it, but that’s just a fact.


To hear the entire conversation, go to mdedge.com/podcasts or listen wherever you find your podcasts.
 

Editor’s Note: This transcript from the June 5 special episode of the Psychcast has been edited for clarity.

Nick Andrews: This is the Psychcast, the official podcast of MDedge Psychiatry. I am the voice of the MDedge podcasts, Nick Andrews. We are bringing this special edition of the Psychcast from MDedge in response to all of the unrest, peaceful or otherwise, in the United States in the aftermath of the shocking murder of George Floyd in late May of 2020.

Dr. Lorenzo Norris agreed to have this “after hours” discussion, believing the most appropriate response would be for us to have a real conversation about it. So welcome aboard.

Lorenzo Norris, MD: I’m happy to be here, Nick, and I’m so pleased to be talking with our guest, Dr. Brandon Newsome, a young black male psychiatrist. Dr. Newsome, sir, tell us a little about yourself and where you’re coming from.

Brandon Newsome, MD: I’m a 4th-year psychiatry resident at Boston Medical Center, so I’m about to graduate and to become a first-year fellow, as of July, at Children’s National Medical Center in Washington, D.C. I was born and raised in the South so I can talk about those experiences, and now I’ve been in the Northeast for the past 4 years.

Dr. Norris: Let’s get right into it. This is a time in our country that we’ve not seen – I shouldn’t say we, because depending on where you live in America, you have seen this and you’ve seen this multiple times.

I see a lot of myself in Dr. Newsome right now, and I am struggling with this: I’m talking to you about the same stuff I was talking about when I was a 4th-year resident. I’m talking to you about the same stuff I was talking about when I was a college student. I’m still talking about the same stuff I was talking about when I was a medical student. I’m still talking about the same things that were the impetus for the hip-hop generation regarding police brutality and violence.

We are still talking about the use of lethal force and abuse of power, particularly by police or law enforcement officers, and how that is perpetrated against African American men in particular, and the unfortunate and tragic murder of Mr. George Floyd. Dr. Newsome, tell me how you’re thinking about this. Before we even get into how our patients or our colleagues are doing, how are you doing with this?

Dr. Newsome: It’s been difficult. Like you, I’ve heard this story time and time again. I was just on a panel, having a conversation about race and policing, and I realized we had the same conversation during my first or second year of residency because there had been another death. But even though all of these unfortunate deaths are triggering us, this one is a little different for me for a few reasons. As you know, this is happening with the backdrop of the COVID-19 crisis and we’re already seeing so many people, especially from black and brown communities, dying from that.

And then I’m witnessing what happened, watching that video and thinking about all the interventions we’ve already tried. We tried body cameras, and the dude was wearing a body camera. We tried to get our police officers to be engaged, to try to check their roles, but people were there, witnessing everything, and nothing happened. An upstander was there, a white upstander, a firefighter who was telling them to check his pulse. Still nothing happened; it didn’t stop them.

I believe the backdrop of the COVID-19 crisis makes it a whole lot more painful for me and many others. I am part of a black physician email group and it’s been triggering for all of us because we all imagine that this could be me one day, especially when you think about the Amy Coopers of the world, among other things.

Dr. Norris: I completely agree. We’re dealing with loss of life due to a virus, including, [personally speaking] that of my departed grandmother Why am I bringing this up? I bring it up because, regardless of one’s socioeconomic strata or title or whatnot, particularly in the black community, this is the kind of mess we’re dealing with. We’re dealing with the stress of COVID-19 that is disproportionately affecting African Americans. We’re dealing with social isolation, we’re dealing with the economic recession and the collapse that everyone else is dealing with, and on top of that we are now dealing with another murder. But this particular murder resonates very differently because, as you said, it seemed like every single thing that could have been done was done.

You will read reports that Mr. Floyd was resisting arrest. But you look at this video; this is not a man resisting arrest. This is a man trying to say, please, you are killing me. These are other people saying the same thing. These are police officers not acting right. This is so many different things going on, and when you hear this and look at this video, you can come to no other conclusion than it is murder.

As psychiatrists, we frequently have to restrain people, and it is always understood that restraint can turn into assault extremely quickly. But in this particular case, there was no thought or concern about this man’s life or his health. There are many good police officers that do think of that, and so this was shocking. It was jarring. It was another thing piled on an already taxed black America. I was talking with my black male colleagues about this, and I think a lot of people don’t actually realize that, while there are black male psychiatrists, there are only a few of us.

Dr. Newsome: True that.

Dr. Norris: There are only so many black male physicians, period, and black male psychiatrists in particular. At different points in time we are called on to take leadership roles, and to talk, to speak on things and be a voice. Well, I have to tell you, after a while, this is pretty goddamn tiring for us to contain our disappointment, our anger, and our rage and still stay hopeful, optimistic, and still be a voice for those who are not able to speak.

Dr. Newsome: I agree that sometimes it can be tiring to have to take leadership roles and continue to talk about all these things, but I also feel that, at least for me, it gives me some sort of route to address the angst and do something with it. I believe all of us are just figuring out how to deal with these feelings that we shouldn’t have to feel because of a murder that was televised.

Dr. Norris: Thank you. For a murder that was televised; that was tweeted; that was broadbanded; that was streamed.

Now we’ve laid the framework, in terms of what we’re feeling. Let’s move on to why you and I are in this profession, and that’s our patients. What are you seeing on the front lines? What are you seeing with our patients?

Dr. Newsome: I was speaking with one of my black male patients, and he was fearful. He had been perfectly fine, even in the COVID crisis, he was doing well. But when you get this milieu of police violence, now he’s feeling this intense fear. Should I be walking alone at night? What happens if I am the one who is at the wrong place at the wrong time?

I also find that some of my nonminority patients sometimes find difficulty making sense of it. Minority individuals already know these things are happening. But some of the nonminorities are wondering how or why would something like this happen in America? This is just how America is for the black folks.

Dr. Norris: Could you elaborate on that? I always found that to be a very interesting dynamic for those who are not minorities or people of color. I will have folks in a psychotherapy session who are just bewildered by events like this. It is not the America they think they know – they are shocked that this is actually what’s going on.

Dr. Newsome: It’s all about experiences. If you didn’t grow up around a lot of minorities, you haven’t necessarily had these conversations. Even speaking for myself, sometimes I don’t want to discuss these things; you never know what you’re going to get. You might find an ally, or you might find someone who isn’t at all supportive. I think the surprise is from lack of exposure. If you don’t have to live through racism, you can most certainly have blinders on and not notice.

Dr. Norris: Can you comment on the fear you’re seeing in some folks? Can it get to the point of reactivating PTSD?

Dr. Newsome: I notice it more with black individuals, a fear that they might be the ones who may die; or with black mothers, wondering, what about my child? Is this what they are going to have to live with for the rest of their lives? Older people would say that we fought already and it’s still going on. What are the fruits of the labor we put in?

Dr. Norris: I agree with you completely. What are the fruits? You’re going to see those strong reactions. You’re going to see fear, you’re going to see anger, and you’re also going to see guilt that they could not stop this. I’m speaking particularly about some of my nonminority patients. It goes along with that confusion. This manifests in a desperate need to do something.

But here’s the problem: You don’t really know what to do because no one is educated on it. And as you said before, race is a very polarized subject. No one even likes to talk about racism because it’s so, oh my goodness. We’ve run away from it so much to the point that we can’t deal with it. Racism, whether or not you witness it, whether or not you participate in it, whether or not you are the subject of it, affects and hurts us all. We all have to start to own that. You can’t just stay siloed, because eventually, it’s going to come back and affect you.

I could easily be Mr. Floyd, but at the same time, due to my station and things of that nature, I have a certain level of privilege and autonomy. There could be a tendency to put your head under the sand, you know, look at how far we’ve come, Barack Obama. But you’ve got to say, no, we still have enormous amounts of work to do.

We’ve been talking about the patients. What have you noticed in your colleagues and how they’ve been feeling about this?

Dr. Newsome: Again, I see them feeling saddened by the events. One of the other things I’ve noticed is that some people are in environments where they have program directors and chairs who will directly condemn certain behaviors and say, “This is racist, this shouldn’t happen.” But then there are other programs that have been more silent. I’ve had people say that this is the first time that they have felt isolated in a long while.

We all participate in these physician WhatsApp groups, and according to some of the comments, people are realizing that these folks that they were just on the front lines with, fighting COVID, are perhaps not the allies that they originally thought they were, based on the things these people are saying.

Dr. Norris: Wow. It’s good that we’re talking about this from the viewpoint of two different generations. You’ve got the WhatsApp group and Google Hangouts and all that kind of good stuff, and I’m still with pagers and such. That’s interesting – the reality that folks you thought were your allies turn out not to be, because you’re bringing up difficult conversations that we don’t normally talk about.

I have noticed that some people around me have been silent because they don’t know what to say. They’re so concerned that I’m going to be offended or they’re going to hurt me or say the wrong thing, so they stay quiet. As I reflect now, this is the wrong thing to do. Own your concern. I’ve been in two large meetings now, and I’ve had multiple people whom I consider friends say, I wanted to email or text you right then and ask you how you’re doing, but I didn’t because I didn’t know what to say. I have entered meetings recently, and the meeting felt tense, and I’m thinking, what’s going on? And now I realize they did not know what to say or how to approach it.

That’s been a very interesting dynamic and tells us where we are with this. Today, for example, I was pleased to have the support of my dean’s group. I felt I had to speak out, I just had to straight out tell them. Do you want to know what I’m feeling? I’m feeling rage. I’m feeling rage. And you all have to understand that, because I have to speak for those who aren’t necessarily going to be able to express themselves. More importantly, I have to speak for myself and I’m feeling rage.

How our colleagues are processing this and how they’re thinking about this runs the gamut. But I think about people not necessarily knowing what to say or how to approach it. I absolutely agree that with the leadership, you’re going to get many different responses, and sometimes you’re left to wonder, do I have to watch what I say? But I’m definitely supported at my institution.

What else are you seeing out there in terms of your colleagues or how people think about it?

Dr. Newsome: This also spurs some folks to activism. Some have been participating in protests. There will be White Coats for Black Lives protests, among other things. So it’s spurred folks to action, and it’s also spurred folks to try to be part of a community. Of course, with the whole COVID crisis, we can’t necessarily come together, so we’ve been doing Zoom gatherings more than anything else. But it has encouraged folks to want to do that more, too, because they want to check in on their brother or their sister to make sure they are doing well, and also to be able to express what’s going on with them in a community where they know they can get validation.

Courtesy George Washington University Hospital Internal Medicine, Instagram @gtwon_medres

Dr. Norris: I’m going to push you a bit because I detect in your tone something similar to what I’m feeling. I just got the email, the White Coats For Black Lives email. But I think your feeling is similar to mine – I’ve done this before. I’ve done White Coats for Black Lives. You all may have protested. But this display in Washington, D.C., of the use of military and law enforcement to clear a public square of peaceful protesters is above and beyond the pale of anything I’ve ever seen in my life. We have to label that for the danger it is, for the threat to everything this country and the people that bled for this country stand for.

So while I’m going to participate in White Coats for Black Lives and many other things, I am looking for what is actually going to move the needle. I think the protests are great, but at this point in time I want institutions, I want money, I want lawyers, I want a systematic approach.

Dr. Newsome: I most certainly agree. Of course, the protests are really important, but depending on where you are, you have a different lens. As physicians, especially as black physicians, since there are so few of us, we have a unique opportunity to leverage that, whether that means communicating through op-eds or calling your senators and talking with them to try to move things forward.

Physicians are mobilizing. In the last few days, a physician created a Zoom event and hundreds of physicians joined to try to figure out how we can structurally fix this problem. So I most certainly believe that in this effort to address racism, we physicians will need to lend our voices and our privilege to move the needle as best we can.

Dr. Norris: Some of our colleagues in Black Psychiatrists of America have put out a press release on racism in which they propose some actions that should be taken immediately. I think this is a useful thing to talk about.

The first action: “Declare racism a public health problem and establish national goals for addressing this as a health equity issue. Give priority to addressing the issues of health care disparities, including the mental health needs of historically marginalized communities across the U.S.”

What do you think about that?

Dr. Newsome: Those are two extremely important steps. The question is: How do you make that happen?

Dr. Norris: You’re reading my mind. I love that our colleagues put that out there, but that was my next question.

Dr. Newsome: There is going to be a town hall about this and I’m hoping that we can plan how we envision this happening. I can imagine that 20 or 30 years ago there was also a fear in society that there would be episodes of police brutality. I can imagine that there were similar ideals and hopes. But I think we need to put all of our minds together and ask: How are we going to accomplish this? Is this going to be something we’re going to put our money into? Is this going to be something we’re going to get senators and legislatures onboard with to make policy?

Dr. Norris: Let me read off some of the other action points they put out. There are six of them.

“Establish a governmental multidisciplinary and ethnically diverse commission with representatives from the major health care professional associations in medicine, nursing, psychiatry, public health, psychology, social work, etc., and the faith-based community to provide recommendations to Congress regarding policies on how to best improve the health and well-being of our nation’s black citizens.”

That’s a very solid overall recommendation. My question is, doesn’t that, in some way, shape, or form already exist? Could we not put up policy statements from all of these folks regarding racism and things of that nature? I agree with what they’re saying, but part of me wonders why certain things in the current system aren’t working. That becomes the question. Are we not integrated enough? Do we not have enough cross talk? Do we not have enough money behind it? So I agree with that goal, but I would be curious if that doesn’t already exist. What are your thoughts about that, Dr. Newsome?

Dr. Newsome: I would imagine that the National Institute on Minority Mental Health and Health Disparities would have something similar. I believe one of the things you mentioned is really important. In addition to making these recommendations, we need to be looking at where these leaks are occurring that keep them from working. What is the current structure and why is it the way it is with regard to the governance?

Dr. Norris: Here is another of their action statements: “Declare ‘civic mental health’ a national priority and incorporate it into the educational curriculum from K through college, as well as in the training of local, state, and national officials, law enforcement, and the criminal justice system.”

Let me be clear, I like every single one of these action statements. I encourage everyone to participate in dialogue and discussion. You may agree with some of these, and some of them you may not, but if there is one you agree with, that you really are motivated about, that’s one that you need to explore and dig into a bit more, because it’s too big for us to handle on our own, just like racism and equality.

I’m going to tell you, I like this statement. I do like this. Obviously these are broad points, but I do like the idea of training law enforcement officers about “civic mental health.” For example, Dr. Michael Compton, who has done a lot of great work in the area of mental health and prevention, has worked with police officers to help them interact with those with mental health conditions by modulating their own emotional response. I’m very interested in these types of recommendations that particularly target law enforcement officers, and helping with that ”emotional quotient.” I’m interested in seeing how far that can spread in the country. What do you think, Dr. Newsome?

Dr. Newsome: Educating police officers about how to interact would be quite important. I believe the National Alliance on Mental Illness does some of that work, partnering with law enforcement agencies, talking about mental health and cues to look at. There also are some programs where people ride along with mental health clinicians and police officers, which I find to be really helpful. But clearly, what’s going on right now isn’t working. So I would be open to any reasonable idea.

Dr. Norris: Here’s one last action point: “Establish police community review boards with power to take action in areas of police misconduct pending formal review by the appropriate authorities. This will offer a level of empowerment when communities feel they have a voice that can be heard.”

This is where I want my focus to be, as I move forward to try to do something sustainable. To deal with police brutality and abuse of power in general, but specifically as it relates to African American men and the lethal use of force. We need to work on policies that will enable African American men to make it to court, so that every encounter with a police officer is not literally viewed as a potentially lethal encounter.

A lot of people aren’t going to like me saying that, but it’s the absolute truth. You have to think like that, as an African American male, regardless of your station, regardless of where you live, this is the reality. There are many, many good police officers out there. I have a few friends who are law enforcement officers. I work with security at the George Washington Hospital constantly. But that still does not change the fact that if I get pulled over at a traffic stop, I know precisely certain things I need to do and not do, or the encounter could end badly. By that I mean loss of life.

So I encourage anything where we can start to take a systematic look at law enforcement and empower communities to look at who is doing it right and who is doing it wrong. Information is coming out now about the man who murdered Mr. Floyd, and this was not the first time he was involved in misconduct. There were red flags; we have to start to confront this. We have to learn from every single one of these situations and grow because another one is going to happen next week, it’s just whether or not you hear about it. That’s the reality of the state of America. You may not like to hear it, but that’s just a fact.


To hear the entire conversation, go to mdedge.com/podcasts or listen wherever you find your podcasts.