The College of Medicine’s Committee for Diversity & Inclusive Excellence is charged with a number of goals related to diversity, equity and inclusion. In addition to recommending processes for a more diverse and inclusive academic community, we monitor and recommend policies and procedures, as well as programming for faculty, professional staff and students who are underrepresented in medicine and science. I was nominated as chair after the previous chair transitioned out of the institution earlier this year. Because of the highly distributed educational model at Drexel, a big goal is figuring out how to foster connections across campuses and hospitals, since networking and support are big drivers of success, especially among folks from underrepresented and historically excluded backgrounds. We also want to make sure that the College of Medicine community knows that the committee exists, so we will be working toward visibility in addition to recruitment, retention and expansion this year.

I got into medicine because I was very into science as a kid, and it seemed like a field where science and service intersect. That was a naïve perspective. I was unclear about the realities of the world and what a harmful and oppressive system health care is. Throughout my training, it became clear that the people who were most rewarded and celebrated by those in power were those who upheld the status quo. It seemed as I was going through medical school and then residency that the message was often “It will get better when…” — when you’re in your third or fourth year, when you get to residency, when you’re an attending. All that mindset does is suppress any attempts at meaningful change.

Throughout my medical career, I’ve become more interested in incorporating abolition and liberation frameworks into medicine. I am heartened by some changes I’ve seen recently. For example, doctors have historically been deeply anti-union, and during the pandemic, that started to change. Instead of division and hierarchy between physicians and other health care workers like nurses and physician assistants, we recognized that we were being gaslighted in the same way: being told we were valued and that our safety mattered while being expected to work endless shifts with inadequate protective equipment, or having administrators telling us that patient care was the number one priority when we didn’t have enough ventilators and other equipment to care for people, while hospital leadership got hefty bonuses.

I also feel energized by my work with patients. I had a mentor in medical school who described the exam room as a “sacred space,” and I try to foster that. Patient care provides the opportunity for a physician and patient to share both vulnerabilities and strengths to improve health outcomes. When patients share their lives with me — their fears, their wins, their strengths — my job is to respond in a way that is not paternalistic or judgmental. On a more practical level, if a patient needs something like medical documentation for time off from work, for example, I will provide it, no questions asked. My job does not require me to gate-keep care, nor is it my duty to police my patients. No health care worker should comply with calling law enforcement on patients who are undocumented, using drugs, undergoing abortions or getting gender-affirming care.

It’s an honor to care for so many Black patients, since Black people have been so brutalized by the medical profession. Many of my patients have experienced various forms of oppression in addition to anti-Black racism — misogyny, transphobia, homophobia — and many have been involved in the carceral system, experienced housing instability or substance use disorder. Black and non-Black people of color are significantly more likely to be outright harmed by medicine, so it feels good to be providing folks with care that is respectful and affords them autonomy as much as possible.