A couple of weeks ago, Sarita and I went to see a documentary called “Hate” about the rise of neo-fascism in Europe. The film was made by an Israeli TV journalist, Nadav Eyal, who was here to cover the election (Remember the election? Eyal actually reported back to Israel that Trump would win). The film was quite disturbing, showing anti-Semitic and anti-Islam sentiment in Europe, particularly Germany.
After the screening there was a panel discussion during which Mr. Eyal said that we all carry prejudice in our heads, but that we must be vigilant to not express or follow those thoughts.
And that brought me back. In the winter of 1977, I was doing my 3rd year surgical rotation at Misericordia Hospital in West Philadelphia (It was called the Miz before Broadway ever caught on). The Miz was at 54th and Cedar Avenue, a really bad neighborhood and chronically understaffed – an ideal environment for a Med student.
One night at about 2am, I was admitting a young man with abdominal pain, as I examined his belly, I looked at my hand (white) and at his skin (brown) and had one of those crystal clear thoughts – “This is really the same stuff”. You don’t get many thoughts like this in a lifetime and they are so transparent in their logic that you know they’re true. I think it also helped that Roots was being shown for the first time and that I was also sleep deprived.
After I realized that color is nothing to make an issue of, I had to think – so what really are my prejudices, my biases? This is something that has occupied a great deal of my thought over the years. I suppose the issues are different for everyone. It’s just important to recognize what they are, to not give them voice, and to not act upon them.
Image: “2012 02 11 – 1303 – Washington DC – Hands” © thisisbossi used with permission via Creative Commons License.
- Only Skin Deep - Sun, Nov 20, 2016
Yasher Koach
Thank you, Lou, for your thoughtful reflections. They put me in mind of the fact that, while I was not raised with conscious prejudices–in fact, in later life my mother became friends with the wife of the pastor who took over Adam Clayton Powell’s church in Manhattan–I was made always conscious of skin color as an important marker of identity. Regrettably, that consciousness continues to this day. Thankfully, however,I have been able to relate to people in a way that does not reference that consciousness. Again, thank you, Lou.
You underscored our need to be mindful of our thoughts, those floating on the surface and those lurking in the background, and to distinguish between our thoughts, beliefs, aspirations, and actions. On reflecting on myself, I must remain aware and even vigilant, lest I be lulled into complacency.