What If I Can’t Hide?
Akl C. Fahed and Utibe R. Essien
Racism terrorizes me more than ISIS.
“You have a beautiful accent, doctor, where are you from?”
“Lebanon,” I said, as I heard the glass shattering in the background. All the trust that I had built with Mr. S over the past year while managing his hypertension and diabetes vanished in a fraction of a second. I could see it on his face. The genuine smile he always wore was gone, and his eyes revealed what was truly on his mind: Muslim. Terrorist. Arab. Savage.
After an awkward silence, he began to hammer me with questions as if trying to find answers that would ease his fears. The fact that I had been in Boston for a couple of years was helpful. My distance from politics reassured him. But what finally did the trick was learning that I was a Christian, which was followed by a sigh of relief. We could finally continue discussing his blood sugar control.
Unfortunately, this experience with Mr. S was not an isolated incident. Every day, whether with patients or co-workers, I feel I have to prove myself. At times, I fake an American accent. At other times, I explain away my brown skin not as Latino, as many people assume, but simply Middle Eastern. Whenever the “secret” is revealed, I feel I have to shame politics and reveal my religious background before I can be redeemed. I have become so good at “hiding” over the past few years that people can no longer tell that I am “different”.
As Americans, we pride ourselves on being a melting pot, a nation of all shapes, colors and sizes. Yet somehow our diversity does not feel genuine. You are welcome to be different, but be prepared to be at a great disadvantage because of it.
A few weeks ago, one of my co-residents showed me that my experience is far from unique. He spoke about how his patients and colleagues often assume he isn’t a physician. He ends up playing a number of characters in the hospital, from nurse to patient transporter, janitor to interpreter. He is rarely the expected doctor. His skin color is black.
While I can fake my accent and decide whether or not to divulge my Middle Eastern origin, conveniently fitting in as a white American, he cannot hide the color of his skin.
Four years ago, I decided to immigrate to the United States and the hospitality and career opportunities provided to me have been tremendous. I do not have the right to complain. If I do not like it here, I can go back to my birth country where I am also a citizen. But where would my colleague go? With what other nation can he identify? I can endlessly blame terrorist groups, foreign policy, and biased media for creating prejudice and promoting Islamophobia and discrimination against Arabs. Who is he to blame?
Being a physician is arguably one of the noblest careers. It requires years of hard work but comes with considerable prestige and is a great privilege. If my co-resident, in spite of all that, deals with persistent discrimination because of his skin color, what is happening to the other 45 million African Americans who do not have this privilege? What must they be going through every day?
Racism still exists and thrives. It is the evil in every one of us. As an outsider, it terrorizes me much more than ISIS does. Does it terrorize you? We have accomplished so much over the past half-century since the civil rights movement. We have done an incredible job with our legal system to help prevent discrimination. Yet unfortunately what is on paper cannot change our neural networks. For this, we should constantly remind ourselves that we still have a long way to go. Because unlike me, not everyone can hide.
