We Denounce Racism
From our Executive Director:
Alyx Porter Umphrey MD, FAAN
I am a neurooncologist. That means on a regular basis I tell people the worst news they are going to hear in their lives. I sit with them through the trauma of hearing they have a brain cancer that cannot be cured and will likely lead to their death in the near future. I hold space for them to share whatever comes next. For some there are tears. For others, I am met with anger. Some are in this state of disbelief, unable to comprehend what I have just said. They often ask, what did I do to cause this? What will happen as a result?
When the emotion settles, I share the plan. I tell them the options and then work with them to honor their personal priorities while doing all that I know to help the quality of whatever days remain, be the best they can, in spite of the circumstances.
In the last couple of weeks, me, my family, my friends, and all who share my heritage and skin tone, have been on the other end of that traumatic news. Instead of what’s typical, hearing about the actions that led to a murder, I saw it. I saw the video. I heard the phone calls. We all did. Even if we tried to avoid it, you couldn’t help to be exposed to the injustices of this past couple of weeks and forced to reconcile the feelings that emerged.
I am skilled to teach communication tools to physicians including topics like how to deliver bad news or have difficult conversations. I teach medical students about humility when it comes to our differences and offer them tools for how to bridge gaps that are created by things like race/ethnicity/ and culture.
I was speechless.
I was speechless after watching the videos and hearing the 911 call. I could not use any of the tools I teach with my children. I could not muster empathy for a police culture, or vigilante justice, or a white privileged culture that was different that mine- all I could do was sit. In disbelief.
As the mother of a black son and the wife of a black man who wears a white coat most of of the day, I wondered what George Floyd, Breona Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, Dion Johnson, or Christian Cooper for that matter, did to deserve this. What will now happen as a result?
Our daughter asked me what happens to the police man who killed George Floyd. She thought that maybe if you kill someone, you might have to die as a result. I shared with her that usually nothing happens. As kids often do, she then asked me why? I wanted to say because when white people kill black people it’s different. I wanted to tell her because police sometimes have different rules. I settled for an “I don’t know sweetheart” knowing that I lied, and kissed her on the forehead. Knowing that at 9 years old, I didn’t want to tell her what my 42 years on this earth have taught me about being a black person in America. Knowing that both of my kids love the resource officers at their school and see them as heroes.
Many of us are experiencing a community trauma having witnessed repeated atrocities in short sequence. It’s ok to be sad. It is normal to be angry. It’s expected to be in a state of disbelief and not want to deal. I’ve been experiencing all of these stages. As I grieve, I think about the importance of physician diversity and the opportunity to lead. We bear the responsibility to speak out against racism and the health implications of the chronic stress that has been experienced in communities of color for generations. We have the opportunity to build a future of tolerance and acceptance where diversity is the norm, rather than the exception.
