Chapter 12 #2
Lorenzo was one of four doctors—a Southeast Asian female who looked to be around fifty; a young Black woman, who was maybe thirty-five; then, oddly, two white males—Lorenzo and an older man with white hair and a white beard. Weird that half the panel was white men, given the subject.
Lorenzo looked bored, staring at the table rather than the audience as the older man spoke. Winnie hoped his hangover was better (but it was pretty adorable that he’d had one and hadn’t been able to diagnose it himself).
A glance at the program showed Winnie that Lorenzo had more titles after his name than anyone else, though Dr. Jackson (the other white guy) was professor emeritus at Baylor.
Dr. Kharal was the vice chair of the surgical department in Cleveland, and Dr. Bahrani-Jones, the youngest panel member, was simply listed as surgeon at a hospital in California. She had the floor now.
“A more diverse group of surgeons builds trust in marginalized communities,” she said. “A survey done last year said that Black and Hispanic people were less likely to follow through on recommendations for surgery, and that the race of the surgeon—88% white—was definitely a factor.”
“So you’re saying minorities won’t come to me because I’m white?” Dr. Jackson said sarcastically. “Come on now. That’s overly simplistic, even for you, Dr.…” He paused and looked at the card that bore her name. “Dr. Bayron-Jones, is it?”
“And right there is an example of racial and gender bias, with a microaggression thrown in for good measure,” Dr. Bahrani-Jones said.
“My name is not hard to pronounce. As for my comment being overly simplistic, even for me…We’ve never met before, Dr. Jackson.
You have no idea of my intellect, yet you’ve already implied that I’m not very smart, based on my gender and skin color.
You’re also trying to negate the facts of this study because I’m the one who presented them. ”
“Being politically correct is not good for science,” Dr. Jackson said. “This is medicine. We can’t hire people just because it looks good.” An uncomfortable murmur went through the audience.
Lorenzo sighed but didn’t look up from his staring contest with the table.
“I would also like to address your statement and way of thinking, Dr. Jackson,” Dr. Kharal said.
“Thinking like that is part of the problem. You assume my colleague here, and perhaps I as well, had an advantage because of gender and race. In fact, we have had to work twice as hard as our white male colleagues.”
“Oh, please. Don’t try to beat that dead horse.
Surgeons have to be the best of the best. You ladies got your feathers ruffled.
And don’t try to play the racist card. I’ve got Black friends.
” Dr. Bahrani-Jones rolled her eyes. “In surgery, we need the finest candidates, like Dr. Santini here. We can’t be hiring just anyone to make us look woke. ” He used finger-quotes.
“Being woke is better than being asleep at the wheel,” Dr. Bahrani-Jones said.
“Dr. Santini, you haven’t said much,” said the moderator. “Care to comment?”
“Yes,” Lorenzo said, finally looking up.
He leaned forward to his microphone and looked at the crowd.
For a second, he didn’t say anything, and the crowd grew silent.
Winnie bet it was a well-used trick of his, staring people down before he spoke.
“Dr. Jackson is part of a dying breed of outdated physicians who believe that equity and inclusion weakens quality.” Winnie stood up straighter.
His tone dripped with the quiet, lethal venom he’d used on the nurse who hadn’t checked his patient the other day.
He was about to live up to his nickname, and a ripple of electricity went through the room.
“Dr. Jackson’s assumption is a rejection to every fact we have available.
Dr. Jackson’s bias is an example of how archaic thinking creates an institutional environment of hostility and exclusion,” Lorenzo went on.
“His definition of quality depends on the exclusion of certain types of people. He is confusing his own insecurity with a decline in quality where no such decline exists.” He turned to face the older man.
“Dr. Jackson, your words have revealed you to be what most of us in this room already know—you are ignorant of facts, dismiss data and, if we are to believe you, are racist and misogynistic as well. In other words, Tom, your ass is showing.”
Spontaneous applause broke out, with a few hoots and whistles.
“No,” Lorenzo said sharply, death-staring at the audience—mostly white men, Winnie noted.
“You didn’t applaud my female colleagues when they said the same thing in more polite language.
Listen to them. They have lived experience.
They are each gifted surgeons who have faced prejudice and a lack of opportunity.
I’m a white male with every privilege of education, financial security and opportunity.
Neither Dr. Jackson nor I should even be on this panel.
Where is Dr. Ruiz? Dr. Hussein? Dr. Hughes?
Dr. Kagame?” He stood up. “Dr. Jackson, you should probably leave, since your paleolithic mind has been closed for decades. As for me, I’m going to sit in the audience with my mouth shut so I can listen and learn. ”
Someone started to clap, then abruptly stopped when Lorenzo cast them a look so sharp it could’ve drawn blood.
He left the dais, and Dr. Kharal leaned forward.
“Thank you, Dr. Santini,” she said smoothly.
“I believe the next topic on our agenda is the lack of mentorship programs for women and people of color in residency programs. Dr. Bahrani-Jones, would you care to discuss this?”
Heads were careful not to turn as Lorenzo took a seat in the back third of the room. Winnie pulled out her phone and texted him.
Well said, Dr. Satan.
A second later, he texted back—a devil emoji. That was it.
She looked at the back of his head, where every hair was in place, and smiled.