Unwellness By Design

I hope you enjoyed your Valentine's Day. I want to speak to you from my heart to yours ❤️

Another week of Black History Month, and another week of learning and exploring how much our health and wellness has been shaped by our history’s racism. We must also look at how these obstacles are still in place.

The stats overwhelm me.

Poor American neighborhoods have fewer trees.

Poor American neighborhoods have fewer parks.

Poor American neighborhoods have fewer grocery stores and more fast food restaurants.

Poor American neighborhoods are less walkable.

Poor American neighborhoods have poorer air quality.

Poor American neighborhoods have less access to health care.

And poor American neighborhoods are disproportionately Black. Intentionally disproportionately Black.

Our world is built to keep Black people less healthy and less comfortable through all stages of life.

The root causes of health disparities are systemic. You can’t separate health from social determinants of health - economic opportunity, safe neighborhoods, good schools, access to food: these are all complex and interrelated issues.

There is an identifiable great divide in access to healthy fresh food when comparing the average white community to the average community of color, an inequality that is a major contributor to the disproportionately high rates of diet-related disease found in minority populations. Not to mention, poor diets are proven to impede learning, paths to empowerment, and financial success.

The number of trees affects the temperature of the surrounding area, making spending more time outside during warmer months more unpleasant, and even more deadly. The state of sidewalks and infrastructure adds to the complexity of choosing to walk somewhere over taking public transportation - an often overcrowded option that these days may cost you your livelihood or even your life if you catch Covid. There is no such thing as social distancing here.

These day-to-day choices have a compounding effect on the health of our children. So many of the neighborhoods can be identified where people have been pushed to the margins of society by cycles of generational poverty. These are places where our children don’t grow up thinking of outside as a safe and fun place to spend time and play.

When I lived near Baltimore, it was not uncommon to hear about a child being hospitalized for injuries, too often resulting in death, from being struck by a stray bullet. In these socioeconomically deprived areas, even the air that is meant to be life sustaining creates or exacerbates asthma, allergies, and other breathing problems.

From childhood, Black Americans are intentionally subjugated to living less healthy lives as choices to live otherwise are not accessible. A system-forced over-dependence on processed fast foods with the lack of markets for fresh fruits and vegetables, unsafe drinking water, and little if any access to quality healthcare, on top of so many - too many - other factors, all leads to the development of health issues.

There are endless options for further reading, and the New York Times put together a striking overview of the impact of something as seemingly frivolous as how many trees are in a neighborhood. Something that goes right along with the name that has been given to neighborhoods where the economically disadvantaged reside - food deserts.

And though rebuilding the bridges that our differences broke will always be where my heart lives most days, ending racial disparities in America goes far beyond simply being nice to each other.

The overwhelming depth of these issues that are visible and tangible must first be believed and accepted, then they must be consciously and intentionally addressed.

While compassion may be the first step, it can’t stop there.

Our lives depend on it.

COVID: The Magnifying Glass to America's Health Problem

Black History month is a celebration of black lives, tradition, and culture, but it’s just as importantly also a month of advocacy for change.

And our country has a health problem.

This year’s “Black Health and Wellness” theme for the month feels especially timely as our country continues to struggle with the impacts of the COVID-19 pandemic. The disparities in health outcomes for minorities in America were hardly a secret before COVID-19, but lately it feels like a magnifying glass has been put over the issue, making it harder than ever to ignore.

“Health disparities” refers to the myriad health outcomes that are worse for some people than others. These disparities impact our Black communities and communities of color at higher rates than white communities. In 2019, a Pew Research Center report found a heartbreaking 76% of Black people have faced discrimination when receiving medical treatment.

Vulnerable populations who are struggling have spent the last two years more at risk, with illness and death rates from COVID for Black people being consistently and proportionally higher than for white people. More broadly, maternal and infant mortality rates are higher for Black people, even when you control for education and socio-economic. Black people receive worse pain management than white people, their pain often diminished or even ignored entirely. Black women get diagnosed with breast cancer at later stages in the disease, despite similar access to mammograms. The list goes on.

Just living with the stress of being Black in America, a stress validated by endless statistics and anecdotes, takes a toll on physical and mental health.

And for people of color and other disadvantaged populations, there aren’t a lot of resources for help, often producing a self-perpetuating cycle of, “No matter how hard I try, I can’t get out of this rut.”

Disparities affect health outcomes, quality of life, and a person’s ability to act as an advocate for their own health. A major issue is that medical providers, by virtue of being human, can struggle with relating to people of different cultures and backgrounds. It requires listening, being open-minded, respectful, and empathetic. When we don’t take the time to listen, we can miss the cues and opportunities to meet people where they are.

According to the CDC, the hospitalization rate of COVID-19 among black people is 4.7 times higher than for white people. At the start of COVID, Black Americans were also less likely to get vaccinated, a trend that left an unfair label of being anti-vax - all because basic questions weren’t being asked, questions as simple as “Do people have access to vaccines? Do they have the ability to take time off from work?”

But with a little work, solutions can be found. With the current pandemic, offering testing at community clinics dramatically increases the number of tests that are taken by making the process more accessible and less intimidating than, say, going into the emergency department or medical offices.

Similarly simple solutions can be found for other issues that perpetuate health disparities. The most basic solution? Getting more people of color in positions of power - and being a doctor, working in a hospital, being in a position to hear and truly understand someone in need, that’s a position of power.

And while I embrace having a month dedicated to celebrating how far we have come in this country and the world, if we don’t use this time to assess where we’re still weak and make a group effort to get stronger, to me we are missing out on an incredible opportunity to make Black History Month the tool for betterment that it can be.

The Light and Shadow of Black History Month

Welcome to Black History Month, one the most important months of the year for reflection, education and awareness. While Black history surrounds and affects us every day, I relish the dedication of this month to digging deep into how Black people have shaped our world - efforts and accomplishments that have too often been hidden or lost to bias, bigotry, ignorance and hatred.

This is a month that reminds me of how far we have come and how much every one of us still has to contribute. It should be a month of hope, joy, and celebration, however there is still a shadow that looms over our capacity to truly own this celebration.

Since 1976, every United States president has designated the month of February as Black History Month, 28 (or 29) days dedicated to celebrating Black heritage and the achievements of people of African descent, worldwide. In the United States, this is a time for recognizing our central role in U.S. history.

The story of Black History Month begins in 1915, exactly 50 years after the Thirteenth Amendment abolished slavery in the United States. That year, the Association for the Study of Negro Life and History (ASNLH) was started by Harvard-trained historian Carter G. Woodson and prominent minister Jesse E. Moorland to research and promote achievements by people of African descent.

In 1926, the ASALH sponsored the first Negro History Week, choosing the second week in February to align with the birthdays of Abraham Lincoln and Frederick Douglass. Schools and communities around the country were inspired to organize their own local celebrations and events, beginning a history of honoring Black presence in America.

As time progressed, the week gained traction and more and more communities began taking part. Cities around the country began formally recognizing "Negro History Week" every year in February, and by the late 1960s, thanks in part to the civil rights movement and a growing awareness of Black identity, "Negro History Week" had evolved into Black History Month on many college campuses.

In 1976, Black History Month finally became what we know of it today when President Gerald Ford granted official recognition, calling upon the American public to “seize the opportunity to honor the too-often neglected accomplishments of Black Americans in every area of endeavor throughout our history.” Today, museums, college campuses, government agencies, and nationwide communities rally together to recognize contributions that people of African descent have made throughout American and world history and their legacies.

So why the shadow? The battle for equity, acceptance and inclusion is still a part of the daily struggle for Black people. The battle for justice and peace continues as we hold our heads high and stand on the shoulders of our ancestors. Our shared dream is to live our lives knowing that we will be treated fairly and respected for the content of our character and not disrespected because of the color of our skin. The shadow looms until the dream becomes a reality.