The flight crew might have been better off asking this question. They showed little interest in the assistance that my husband, a black doctor, could provide.
Some years ago, my spouse, our baby, and I were traveling internationally to visit family. The journey was long, tiring, and overnight. As we flew over the Atlantic Ocean, the cabin lights dimmed and we settled into our seats, hoping for some sleep. A few hours later, our rest was interrupted by an announcement over the loudspeaker: "Is there a doctor on the plane?”
Suddenly it seemed everyone on the aircraft was alert and anxious to know what was happening. We could see what the stir was about from our seats. A fellow passenger, a white woman, was physically unwell. She was receiving considerable attention, particularly from the airline staff. Everyone surrounding her looked concerned.
When he heard the request for medical assistance, my husband shook off his slumber and stood up to help. Another passenger, a white man, also stepped forward. I heard the white man announce himself as a psychiatrist after which he walked over to the ailing passenger and began talking to her. Next, my husband introduced himself as an internal medicine doctor.
As he spoke, the flight crew members, who were white, started positioning themselves between my husband and the sick passenger, and the white psychiatrist tending to her. Initially, I didn't want to accept it, but I couldn't deny it. Here he was, confronted with blatant public racism. The white flight crew viewed my husband as a potential threat to the white woman, or at least they treated him as such.
Unlike with the white man, they did not permit him to approach the ill passenger. Instead, they inquired about where he practiced as a doctor and requested proof of his medical license. Given that we were on an international trip and he didn't anticipate needing proof of his employment or medical license, he didn't have such documentation with him. They responded that without this information, they could not allow him to assist. Then they asked him to return to his seat.
He stood there momentarily, seeming uncertain. The woman appeared seriously unwell, and among everyone on the plane, he was one of the most qualified to help. His hesitation to leave was evident. His concern for her wellbeing seemed to prevent him from walking away. But he soon realized that, despite the passenger's health crisis, the white flight crew would remain unmoved. Silently, my husband returned and sat next to me, the weight of racism hanging heavily over us.
The other passengers, who were going to spend many more hours on the plane with us, saw the whole event unfold. They observed as the white man wasn't questioned about his qualifications or seemingly regarded as a potential risk to the white sick woman. I could feel their eyes on us, as if they too had begun to regard my husband with suspicion.
This moment held significance beyond the present instance of racism. My partner's experience on the plane was not unfamiliar; I had witnessed the impact of racism on him before. This incident highlighted the recurring theme and cumulative effect of his daily experiences, where his blackness often eclipses all other aspects of his identity. It served as another reminder that irrespective of his achievements and the number of people who appreciate, admire, and love him, as a black man, many will view him as inherently untrustworthy and dangerous. It also underscored our fear, knowing that change will not occur quickly enough and our brown baby boy is likely to encounter similar instances of racism in his lifetime.
The stark contrast in the treatment my husband received from the white staff, compared to the white man, sparked my outrage and moved me to act. I was on the verge of confronting the apparent bias of the white flight crew when my husband, a man of exceptional compassion and kindness, urged me to let it go. He believed that my protest might detract attention from the person who needed it most - the ill woman. Following his display of wisdom and goodness, I silently stayed in my seat.
Despite experiencing racism, my husband prioritized caring for the ill woman, tapping into a level of humanity the white staff seemed unable to access. He set aside his hurt and anger to focus on the most pressing concern - the sick woman in desperate need of help. The staff's racism did more than just undermine his professional abilities and personal worth; it exacerbated the situation for the sick traveller. As her condition worsened and the possibility of an emergency landing was considered, the white flight crew still refused the assistance of a black doctor. They were unaware of what I knew for certain - my husband's calming and gentle demeanor, coupled with his training, made him ideally suited to handle the emergency.
Some of you reading this might feel inclined to propose alternative reasons for why race wasn't the determining factor in the white airline staff's treatment of my black spouse. I used to react similarly. Often, when confronted with a story where it was suggested that race significantly influenced the situation, my most immediate response was to reject that premise. I would argue that it's impossible to definitively understand another person's motives. At the same time, when I would respond this way, I claimed to have a better interpretation of a situation I didn't personally experience and couldn't fully comprehend as a white person in the US.
Why couldn't I recognize the racism ingrained in my culture and surroundings? Partly, it was due to my upbringing that taught me to ignore race and racism. In my mostly white community and family, it was common to dismiss racism, and open discussions about race felt disruptive and unwelcome. However, beyond the unwillingness to challenge these norms, the more profound reason was my reluctance to acknowledge whiteness and the role we, white people, play in perpetuating racial disparity.
Although the topic of race made me uncomfortable, I never questioned why. I didn't consider that my unease might be because I had dismissed the experiences, narratives, and voices of people of color, as well as the history of whiteness in my country. I was also unable to admit how ill-equipped I am to determine whether something is racially motivated, considering my long-standing ignorance about race and racism. Above all, it was challenging for me, an average white person who considers themselves not racist, to accept that my behavior could inadvertently prioritize the knowledge and opinions of white people over those of people of color.
Yet, that's exactly what I've done for much of my life. Acknowledging that my words, beliefs, and actions are influenced by whiteness is difficult and ongoing. The thought that I inadvertently contribute to racism fills me with shame. However, I've learned that ignoring shame doesn't make the shame go away. I've also come to understand that confronting whiteness provides opportunities to respond to racism differently.
If you feel compelled to offer an alternate explanation for the incident on the plane, I encourage you to pause and consider why. As a witness to it, I have no doubt that my husband's education and experience were overlooked because of his skin color. More importantly, my husband interpreted his interaction with the white staff in the same way. He understands that the white people in charge quickly dismissed him as a competent professional or a well-intentioned human being because of his blackness.
Why do I share stories like this? My goal, both in this context and in my daily work, is to foster connection, ensure accountability, and contribute to change. I often discuss and write about the concept of whiteness because actively counteracting it is an ongoing process in my life. Even now, I sometimes feel tempted to ignore race and racism due to discomfort, societal pressure, or ingrained habits. However, such behavior benefits no one - disregarding racism and the enduring influence of whiteness solves nothing.
That day on the plane, I personally saw how whiteness adversely affected the sick white woman and the white flight crew - it clouded their judgment and hindered their ability to respond efficiently to a medical emergency. I also saw its exhausting effect on my husband. Little by little, I'm recognizing its detrimental impact on humanity as a whole.
Just as he did on that flight, my husband excels at reminding me of the importance of identifying, prioritizing, and addressing the most urgent issues. Currently, one such issue is racism and the role that whiteness plays in perpetuating it. If we focus on this issue, reject the concept of whiteness, and eliminate distractions such as denying the influence of whiteness or the existence of racism, we can contribute to the solution. The path to ending racism involves acknowledging the problem, making amends, and healing collectively. Whiteness remains a barrier to this process.
Furthermore, addressing how whiteness and racism operate is practical. The actions of the white flight crew were irrational - as is racism. I can confidently say that if I were to fall ill on a plane, I would hope to receive the most appropriate help - the assistance of a general practitioner rather than a psychiatrist, regardless of race.
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