There are some things you learn from books and school. Some
things you learn from others’ experiences. Some things you have to live through
to really understand. Finally, some things you learn through the collective
memory of growing up in a culture, and with a history that is passed down from
generation to generation and that is reinforced as part of your growth and development. In healthcare, we learn from patients and
others in need every time we interact with them. However, what we learn and how we learn will
always be limited, to some extent, by our own lack of having lived through the
experience and by having a different collective memory -- no matter how caring,
skilled and empathetic we are. I am
reminded of this every year at Martin Luther King Day as, for me, that day is
the embodiment of my belief that we must acknowledge how we are different in
order to respect and appreciate the unique characteristics of each person and
the collective memory that shapes each one of us.
My own collective memory is shaped by the reminder -- every
year at Passover -- of my tradition that I was a slave in Egypt. It is shaped by being an inheritor of Abraham,
who was a stranger and also welcomed strangers, as I am kind to those who are strangers
as they arrive on these American shores and as they migrate across our country. My memory is shaped by Emma Lazarus’ words on
the Statue of Liberty to “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses
yearning to breathe free”; those words inspired my parents as they came to the
United States, passing through Ellis Island and New York Harbor. It is shaped
by my remembering my uncles and aunts who perished in the Holocaust and truly
feeling their pain and their helplessness.
I can’t help, when I meet people, wanting to know if they are “members
of the tribe” -- fellow Jews -- and I make no apology for that desire.
On Martin Luther King Day, I think about those friends and
fellow Americans who lived through slavery, repression, and bigotry -- and who
still live through it -- sometimes directly, but even more often through the
collective memory that is part of their unique heritage. I think about our need
as a society to address not only the reality of bigotry and intolerance, but
the feelings and the values that this memory invokes in all who share it. This
type of collective memory is not limited to race and religion, but also is seen
in gender and sexual preference. Women
grow up with a shared memory of struggling for the right to vote, of being
blocked from education and opportunities, and even of the unique aspects of
childbirth and motherhood, for example, that men can never fully incorporate
into their own psyche.
This weekend I had a vivid example of that difference in
experience and collective memory when I had the opportunity to attend a
fundraising reception for Spelman College, a historically black college for
women in Atlanta. I spoke to a bright
idealistic young woman --originally from an upper-class neighborhood in the San
Francisco Bay area -- who told me that the decision to go to Spelman was “the
best decision I ever made” because growing up, she was always just the “smart
black girl” at mainly white schools. At Spelman, where everyone was a “smart
black girl,” she was able to find her own individuality and set her goal toward
being a doctor in Oakland.
Two articles caught my attention as I thought about all this. The first is a short study entitled “Minority Physicians’ Role in the Care of Underserved Patients: Diversifying the Physician Workforce May Be Key in Addressing Health Disparities.” The study points out that non-white
populations have a much higher proportion of non-white physicians and makes the
argument that to address underserved nonwhite populations, we have to train
more nonwhite physicians. “Nonwhite
physicians provide a disproportionate share of care to underserved
populations. Hence, increasing the
racial and ethnic diversity of the physician workforce may be key to meeting
national goals to eliminate health disparities.” That young woman at Spelman is
headed toward filling that need for nonwhite physicians, and we should be
grateful to her and to Spelman College for that commitment.
When I was in practice on the south side of Chicago, the majority
of my practice consisted of black Americans.
I realized that while I believed I could relate well to my patients by digging
into my own collective memory of being the Jewish minority, I could never fully
understand the unique generational memory that my patients had. I had the good
fortune of taking that as a challenge to learn from them -- and that helped
create the relationship between me and my patients. At the same time, I know that my physician colleagues
who were black could relate and be trusted in a way that, for me, could only
come with time and work, and even then, could never match the brotherhood that
was possible when the collective memory was fully shared.
At the same time, the differences between us cannot stop or
impair care from happening. The bigotry that sometimes accompanies group
identification that is too strong must also be acknowledged when we care for
people in need. Dr. Meghan Lane-Fall
writes about the dilemma of a black physician and a white bigoted patient in an
article entitled “Accommodating Bigotry.”
The question she asks is whether patient autonomy and patients’ right to
make decisions for themselves is so important that issues of bigotry should be
sublimated to the patient’s right to decide on the professionals caring for
them. She writes, “Does patient-centered
care, then, justify tolerating bigotry?
In my opinion, yes. I cannot
countenance bigotry and other forms of prejudice, but my discomfort with a
patient’s belief does not trump their right to specify the conditions of their
care. It is my hope that by affording all patients with the respect that was so
often denied to my forebears, the questions I have considered here will
eventually become irrelevant to the practice of medicine.”
I share Dr. Lane-Fall’s hope that the question she asks will
be unnecessary, and at the same time, do not expect or even want a world in
which there is only one collective memory and set of values that all cultures
agree on. For me that would be a boring
world indeed. Instead I hope that we
develop the capacity to acknowledge and celebrate our differences. The part of
my collective memory that is distinctly American is a strong, almost religious,
belief in equality of opportunity and pluralism. Acknowledging that while there may be one
path for me, others will have different paths that are as valid and as strong
as mine. That is the American dream and
the American ethos. I hope in healthcare
and in all aspects of life in these United States, we come to a point at which
we celebrate the pluralism, recognize those differences, and plan and act
accordingly. We should encourage more diversity in the healthcare workforce, on
boards of directors and in the “C” suites of corporations -- and see it as the
strong positive it is. It is, in many ways, what makes America so great.