Student Protests Reveal a Systemic Disease
The Huffington Post, 12 April 2016. Embedding nation-wide student demonstrations on racial equity in the context of damaging implicit bias.
“As medical students, we recognize that bias in medicine is doubly damaging: it burdens our peers and it harms our patients. In the opening narratives we see both of these at play: in Micaela’s self-doubt and frustration, and in the intern’s judgment of their older, Latina patient…
Yet, in medicine we learn bias like we learn the physical exam: deliberately – and then automatically – until it becomes fixed in our muscle memory.”
It’s Not Just the Confederate Flag: The Example of New Haven
The Huffington Post, 6 July 2015. Moving inquiries into structural racism beyond the South to a liberal Northeast city.
“New Haven brandishes the scars of its imperial past like racy tattoos on wrinkled skin. Along with our quaint New England architecture and char-dusted pizza, we boast our grisly tradition of extolling whiteness in a display of perverted anachronism.”
What Emma’s Mattress Means for Medicine
The Huffington Post, 7 June 2015. My view on caring for survivors of sexual violence.
“I am a medical student, yes. I am also a survivor of sexual violence. The recent surge of articles surrounding Emma Sulkowicz prompted me to reflect on this latter identity. I know I will always carry the mark of my trauma with me, and I am learning how I will better empathize with patients because of it.”
When You Come to Me (Baltimore 2015)
in-Training, 3 May 2015. A poem situating Baltimore’s reaction to the death of Freddie Gray in the historical context of subjugation of black people.
“If you came to me then,
I might have smeared salve
into the keloid stripes
ripped into your back
by the man who owned you:
a man with the same name
as the officer who arrested you today.”
My White Coat Costume
in-Training, 8 April 2015. My reflection on the shape of my identity in medicine.
“On the day of my white coat ceremony, I felt like a pretender. I squirmed in the rigid, wooden seat, staring at the gilded columns and towering proscenium of the hall, wondering when I’d be found out. I imagined them calling me to the stage, slipping on the coat, then seeing me in it and saying, ‘Well, that doesn’t look quite right.'”