My White Coat Won't Save My Black Life
Spring 2020: America, like much of the world, went into lock down.
As a medical student, I suddenly found myself faced with doubt and uncertainty. My classmates and I had just transitioned from being in class everyday with our colleagues to a remote learning environment for an unknown period. While navigating these difficult times, we witnessed the death of George Floyd. As a Black student, that was not the first time I’d seen one of my own killed by police.
Most of the time, these killings happen to non-violent Black men and Black women who are just living while Black in America. When I see these atrocities, I don't have the luxury to simply feel sorry and move on with my medical education. Instead, I reflect on the killings, wondering if someone I know -- a husband, brother, wife or sister -- would be next; wondering if I would be next.
The truth of the matter is, the death of George Floyd and others is a continuing trauma that many Black people, including myself, have to live with daily.
Nothing can equate to the feeling of fear and stress that comes from seeing all of this violence against people who look like me; people who are just trying to live while Black. Every time I step out the door, even from my own home, I know I am not safe from being seen as a threat and, therefore, deserving of violence.
In reality, even my white coat cannot save me from racism.
PNWU Student Doctor Amineta Sy, centered in a black dress, receives her white coat during PNWU’s annual White Coat Ceremony.
In the face of racism, my education, my white coat, my commitment to serving others? None of it matters. My skin color determines if I am seen as a human who deserves protection, or at least the benefit of the doubt. Because of my skin, I am only Black -- nothing more. Because of my skin, I am a threat.
The continuing trauma and fear is unbearable.
George Floyd was murdered in broad daylight, handcuffs on his wrists and a police officer’s knee pressed on his neck. His murder was filmed, and the video circulated around the world, hitting airwaves at the peak of quarantine. Everybody seemed to be connected; glued to phones for news about the pandemic, or for any distraction to make the time pass. The eight minute and 46-seconds of agony that George Floyd endured didn’t allow anyone to look away. This time enough was enough. Change was needed.
Protests followed, and big names released statements in support of Black Lives Matter. For us medical students, change had to come not only on through the criminal justice system, but through the medical system.
“Because of my skin, I am only Black — nothing more. Because of my skin, I am a threat.”
The continued murdering of unarmed Black men and women prompted self-reflection within the medical community. We have long known about health disparities facing Black and Person of Color (POC) communities caused by years of disenfranchisement. We are well aware of the high mortality rates of Black patients, their lack of health care access, food deserts, and racism in medical care toward Black patients. Now, we needed to act.
I am a medical student, but I am Black first. That means, just like my Black patients, I experience racism, both in the community and in the medical field. As a Black medical student who has made the commitment to serve, I wish there was a concrete solution to protect my future patients from this trauma; an intervention to cure the disease and attenuate the pain.
Our school made a powerful statement to support the Black Lives Matter (BLM) movement and encourage diversity, equity and inclusion, not only through words, but through real action. I’ve felt welcomed to reach out to PNWU about my concerns as a Black medical student and ally. I, and some of my classmates, wrote letters to the school about the lack of representation of dark skin in our lecture materials, in the makeup of our faculty and staff, and even amongst our peers. We discussed representation and other issues we felt could be resolved.
PNWU graduate Dr. Mahelate Theodros took initiative and started a group chat with a few Black students, offering an opportunity for us to connect as Black medical students and share our experience, resources and advice in a safe and understanding environment. It provided a welcoming space for us to express our feelings and fears.
“Nothing can equate to the feeling of fear and stress that comes from seeing all of this violence against people who look like me; people who are just trying to live while Black”
From there, our non-Black colleagues started reaching to us on how they could help and be allies. PNWU Student Doctor Katie Buckman initially reached out to some of us to see if we would be interested in helping to organize a demonstration for White Coats for Black Lives. The march was made possible by the incredible work of students who took time away from their preclinical education and rotations to organize and march for Black lives. In addition to marching, we also handed out flyers with resources and information about disparities in medicine and how to support BLM.
After this successful march, where a good number of our colleagues and faculty showed up, we felt more heard and more motivated. We then decided to keep meeting biweekly under the Student Medical National Association (SNMA) club, discussing projects that would help to make our school more inclusive. These meetings have become the framework for a safe space where POC students at PNWU can share their experiences and concerns with the support of their colleagues.
We have experienced consistent faculty support from Dr. Janelle Mapes, PNWU assistant professor of anatomy, and Dr. Edward Bilsky, PNWU provost, who have each voluntarily attended our biweekly SNMA task force meetings. The faculty collaborates with students to take on projects that they are passionate about and work with other clubs to organize events.
We have also seen the support from our PNWU President, Dr . Michael Lawler, who attended some of our events. He recently attended our meeting after the new rise of violence against the Asian community and, once again, showed his and PNWU’s support for POC students.
This amazing group reflects PNWU's statement of diversity and inclusion. We were able to accomplish many projects because we feel that our school is truly committed to being a part of the changes that are going to make our community, and this country, a better, more diverse and inclusive place. I jokingly like to call ourselves the underground heroes of PNWU. In reality, we are just heroes in white coats like everyone at PNWU.
Still, however, the same trauma is happening over and over again. In fact, I’ve been struggling to finish this piece of writing, as every day I seem to wake up to more bad news, no matter how much progress we make on campus.
I want to say that it is getting better, but I’m still afraid. I want to celebrate our progress, but it is overshadowed every time another life is cut short in America.
“I want to say that it is getting better, but I’m still afraid. I want to celebrate our progress, but it is overshadowed every time another life is cut short in America. ”
I want to wake up and not be in fear of the next headline, but we’re not there yet. I hope it won’t take much longer. I don’t know how much more we can take.
Amineta Sy
Second-Year Osteopathic Medical Student (OMS II)
Pacific Northwest University of Health Sciences