The Realities of Medical Apartheid, from Palestine to the U.S.

You should know that I’m unapologetically Palestinian. One starting point for my family is when my father and his family were expelled from their home in Palestine in 1967 and became refugees living in Jordan due to the Israeli occupation of Palestine. Several years later my parents married, had my brother, and eventually made their way to Lawndale, California in pursuit of freedom, autonomy, and opportunity — the so-called “American Dream.”

Two years later I was born. I grew up attending Palestinian events and protests with relatives who chanted “Free, Free, Palestine” with a mix of pride and pain. I was taught to be proud, to celebrate my roots and my heritage. As I got older, though, I noticed how the Arab news channels my parents watched portrayed events in Palestine and Israel differently than the English news channels.

More and more, I thought of my family in Palestine who continued to live under Israeli occupation. I wondered what their lives were like.

When I was a teenager, I got a glimpse through a visit from my maternal grandmother. My family was fortunate enough to get a visa for Teta Mary to come to the U.S. to visit us. She had sparkling silver hair, a beaming smile, and the ability to make people laugh even in the most painful moments. Her electric energy made people — and especially me — want to be around her all the time.

After Teta Mary went back to Palestine, we talked by phone frequently. Over time, her health started to decline, and we discovered she had kidney failure. Suddenly she needed dialysis treatment every two days. When I found this out, I was oddly relieved because I knew that with dialysis treatments, people can survive kidney failure for several years.

But Teta Mary was not always allowed to pass Israeli checkpoints to get to her dialysis treatment. On days where she was able to pass, the hospital’s equipment was frequently broken. There were some days where she would arrive at the hospital at 9am and not receive treatment until 9pm. Isreali citizens, however, did not have these same challenges as they have access to top quality medical treatments.

Because of the infrequency of her treatment, my grandmother’s blood poisoned her body and she passed away soon after falling ill. Teta Mary’s passing devastated and infuriated my family and me. Medical apartheid cut her life short. She died sooner than she had to because she was Palestinian.

The more I learned, the more I realized that medical apartheid exists in many places. I realized just as hospitals are purposely underfunded in Palestine, certain hospitals in the US are also purposely underfunded. Which ones? The ones that primarily serve people who have been historically marginalized based on their race, ethnicity, and socioeconomic class! The American Dream isn’t as real or accessible as we’re made to believe it is. We know that people in lower income communities and Black, Indigenous, and communities of color in the U.S. have less access to quality, affordable healthcare than their wealthy, white counterparts. At the same time, racism and classism pose serious threats to health and wellbeing.

These issues are systemic. But that doesn’t mean we’re helpless — far from it.

Systems are built and reinforced by people. So we have to consider: who are the people making decisions? What are the values that guide them as they determine the fate of others’ lives? What kind of expertise and lived experience do they bring to their influential roles?

In global health, philanthropists, investors, and funders have a huge amount of power. To me, that means they also have a responsibility to equip those most impacted by inequities to lead the way. COVID showed us how important this is. It is past time to listen to people from historically marginalized communities, to open doors for them, and to cede power.

19 years later, I am still angry about my grandmother’s death, but I’m channeling that anger into a career advancing health equity. That’s why I’ve spent my years in college, grad school, and as a GHC fellow building my knowledge and skills to be able to change this reality.

In my role at the Arab-American Family Support Center in Brooklyn, New York, I’m working to ensure that the Arab, Middle Eastern, North African, and South Asian communities in the area have access to information, education, and vaccines. I do what I can to make sure we are not forgotten, to make sure we are seen, heard, and cared for.

Because no one should have to hear that their family member died because a lifesaving treatment was just out of reach. No one’s birth community or nation, skin color or gender, ethnicity or class, should be a death sentence. It’s past time to make equity our shared goal. Equipping diverse, equity-driven leaders to drive change, individually and collectively, will get us there faster.

Ultimately, whether they exist in the West Bank and Gaza Strip or Brooklyn, inequities anywhere leave all of us less free.

Gigi Ady is a social worker and public health educator skilled in leadership development, capacity building, and program management. Currently, Gigi works at the Arab-American Family Support Center (AAFSC) in Brooklyn, NY where she serves as the Director of Community Health and Well-Being. In her current role, she oversees the organization’s mental health, public health, emergency fund, and youth and young adult programs which address the intersections between gender, race, religion, and socioeconomic class. Most recently, her work has focused on COVID-19 vaccine equity, education and addressing vaccine hesitancy among the broader NYC community. Prior to joining AAFSC, Gigi was a Global Health Corps Fellow, (2017–2018) at the Boys & Girls Club of Newark, NJ. Gigi holds an MSW and MPH from the University of Southern California.

Global Health Corps (GHC) is a leadership development organization building the next generation of health equity leaders around the world. All GHC fellows, partners, and supporters are united in a common belief: health is a human right. There is a role for everyone in the movement for health equity. To learn more, visit our website and connect with us on Twitter/Instagram/Facebook.