Ask. Learn. Do: Small Steps We Can All Take Toward Racial Justice

I’m embarrassed to say I don’t really know many Black people. Where I live, only about two percent of the population is African American. I have no close friends who are Black; no one I can ask about race and the current unrest in our society.

But I want to learn. So, I reached out to an African American colleague I have known for years, Dr. Ryan Brown, Specialty Medical Director for Hospital Medicine at Atrium Health in Charlotte, NC. Ryan graciously agreed to talk with me about his experiences and perspectives on race. I know there are some people now saying, “White people, stop asking your Black friends to teach you about racism.” If I approach a person of color and he or she doesn’t want to take on that obligation, I understand and respect their perspective. Learning about race in America is my responsibility, after all, not theirs. And I do want to take a broad approach to learning about issues of race in America that includes reading and listening to a variety of voices in the media and elsewhere, more thoughtful observation of the world around me, and deeper introspection and prayer. But I’m profoundly grateful that Ryan was willing to engage with me one-to-one to help further my understanding – and hopefully, through my platform on this blog, to further the understanding of others as well.

It turns out that Ryan has an amazing story, and while aspects of it will undoubtedly be familiar to Black readers, it has come as illumination to me. After spending his early years in the mostly Black Washington, D.C. neighborhood where his parents grew up, Ryan’s family moved to a predominantly white Maryland suburb during his school years. His father, a produce clerk at Safeway, wanted his two sons to have a safer neighborhood and a better education than was possible in D.C., leading to greater opportunity.

Ryan’s family had a healthy mistrust of the healthcare system, informed in part by an uncle who had attended college in Tuskegee in the ‘40s and been committed to a mental health facility. No one knows why for sure, but the words “Tuskegee Syphilis Study” were often whispered in speculation. While Ryan’s white friends went to the doctor “all the time,” Ryan and his brother only went for required vaccinations and school physicals. His mother was diagnosed with high blood pressure, and because no doctor explained the potential side effects of her medication and she was skeptical of the medical establishment to begin with, when the side effects appeared she wondered if she was being given something “wrong” and stopped taking it. This resulted in an intra-cranial bleed, near-death in surgery, and chronic disability – all of which were preventable. These experiences drove Ryan’s determination from an early age to become a doctor.

When I asked about his experience with racial prejudice Ryan described his father, determined to go to the 1963 March on Washington despite threats of being fired. He talked about a time in the 1970s when his parents took him and his brother to Walt Disney World in Orlando. He remembers his mom wanting to stop somewhere around Savannah for the night, but his dad insisted on driving the 18 hours straight through to Disney World, unwilling to risk stopping at a hotel in the Deep South. He told me about his parents’ fears for him going to college in the South, in part because of his uncle’s mysterious illness in Tuskegee, and their lectures about how to interact with the police and watch out for the KKK. About being told, during his time at Duke University, not to go to the counseling office because they would try to talk him out of pursuing medicine.

One day while in medical school at the University of North Carolina, Ryan was driving to a free clinic to provide volunteer medical services. A white classmate was in the passenger seat, and they were following four other white classmates in another car. After a while he noticed a police officer following him, and soon three more police cars pulled up with lights flashing, cutting him off on each side and in front. After pulling over, the police officers drew weapons and made him get out of the car. He kept his cool, remembering his dad’s advice: keep your hands on the steering wheel where they can be seen. Be sure to verbalize in a calm, measured voice. No sudden movements. But his white classmate in the passenger seat had obviously never received “the talk” and was completely freaked out, yelling and waving his hands; Ryan was sure they were both going to get shot.

The police officers handcuffed Ryan and put him in the police car, with no explanation. The classmates in the leading car saw what was happening, stopped, and walked back; the police tried to make them leave, but they insisted on staying. Eventually, in the face of five white witnesses, the police let Ryan go; but they never explained the terrifying incident.

Ryan told me he knows very few Black men of any socioeconomic status who have not experienced some sort of scary negative interaction with the police. He said, “You know it’s a common experience when we all teach our children over and over what to do in such situations: not just our own kids, but friends of the family, kids at church…”

Wait a minute! This is a guy I know; a guy I like and greatly respect! I felt shivers run down my spine when he said, “When I’m walking down the street, nobody knows I’m a doctor; I’m just another Black man. What happened to George Floyd or Ahmaud Arbery or the others could happen to me.”

But this is only part of Ryan’s story, and not the most compelling part. He talked movingly about the significant mentors – mostly white – that he had along the way. The parents of a white friend who served as surrogate parents when his own folks were busy at work. Teachers who went out of their way to tutor and encourage him in science and math. One particular teacher, an especially influential mentor and Duke University alumna, who brought him an application to Duke and encouraged him to apply. Ryan wanted to be sure I know that while he has experienced racial bias at many points in his story, there were also many times when people looked past his color and helped him on his way. “If you look hard enough, there are as many people who want to do the right thing as there are people who carry their biases forward. It’s important to focus on this,” he says.

Our conversation turned to what he hopes white people like me will understand, and do, to help move racial equality forward. Ryan talked passionately about how important it is for each of us to get involved, and several key themes emerged.

Focus on Incremental Progress

I asked Ryan what seems different this time, compared to other times that similar protests have erupted. He said it’s different every time. We took a step forward with the Civil War, and another with the end of the Jim Crow era. We took a few more steps forward with Brown vs. Board of Education and Rosa Parks, and again during the civil rights movement of the 1960s. We’ve taken more steps forward as interracial marriages have become accepted, with the presidency of Barack Obama, with a Black Surgeon General, and now with a Black Chief of Staff of the Air Force.

He says the current unrest is a wake-up call to our generation that it’s our turn to make more incremental progress. And we need to do it right, because our kids are watching. In another 20 years or so, it will be their turn to make their own contribution to progress.

Hold Our Institutions Accountable

Ryan said many African Americans have a fundamental distrust of the institutions that form the backbone of our society — government, the healthcare system, the criminal justice system, the educational system, big corporations; these institutions have not lived up to their potential, especially for people of color. He encourages us not to blindly trust in these institutions, but to measure them by their actions and hold them accountable for equality and justice.

Understand the Story Behind the Behavior

In healthcare, we are too quick to label a patient as non-compliant — or maybe even stupid. But one of the things Ryan has learned from his own experience is that there is always a story behind the behavior. And in the case of people of color, sometimes that’s a story of mistrust of the healthcare system — justified or not. When we understand that mistrust and the experiences that inform it, we are better positioned to engage in dialogue and build relationships that can, eventually, overcome it.

Be a Mentor

Ryan came back time and again to the influence his white mentors had on his life. If we look around us, we all have opportunities – and the responsibility – to influence the lives of young people, especially young people of color. “Mentor someone who does not look like you,” he said. “You will gain as much as they will.”

Talk with Other White People

Protesting the status quo, advocating for change, teaching others – this can’t be a charge that falls solely on people of color. One of the things that does seem different during our current racial awakening is that it’s not just African Americans demonstrating. And white people are talking with other white people about these issues. This is an encouraging sign that we’re getting closer to addressing the wrongs, because it’s not just the folks who are being wronged who are engaged.

Finally, Don’t Lose Hope

Ryan expressed concern that white people will lose hope or interest in pursuing racial justice; that they will get tired of the fight, decide the problems are intractable, or simply move on to something else. He said, “Black people have had to hold on to hope for 400 years; we need you to hold on to hope, too.” I pray that I do.

This was a long blog post, because ours was a long and fruitful conversation. But I want to say in closing that the very best part of this experience for me is that I started out interviewing a colleague and ended up chatting with a friend. If I can keep doing that with people of color around me, I know I can — in the words of Gandhi — be the change I want to see in the world.