August 28, 2007 – 3:33 pm
A few years ago, I boarded a plane heading to a small American college-town. It was my first time in the United States, and I was starting my freshman year at a prominent institution of higher learning I will call Undisclosed University. I had traveled from my country of birth to Chicago, where I spent a week with a former classmate, before heading down South.
I am originally from a Muslim country. I’d lived in the UK before, and had traveled extensively throughout the world, but the US had hitherto been something of an enigma to me. I was incredibly excited at the prospect of spending the next four years of my life at one of the U.S.’s premier institutions. I remember sitting at O’Hare, waiting to board my flight. At one point, I asked one of the airport staff as to the reason for the seemingly unending delays. The staff member in question happened to be an African-American. As much as I tried to decipher his response, it was completely beyond my grasp – his manner of speech was completely unfamiliar to me, and took me by surprise. I had never before interacted with an individual who spoke what I would later learn to be Ebonics, or African American Vernacular English. At first I assumed that it was a regional American accent, and was surprised to discover its racial history. Over the coming four years I would learn that the colour of one’s skin determined a whole lot more than merely a way of talking. Read More »
August 23, 2007 – 9:25 pm
There is a strange truism at work in modern society: people who are capable of instigating real change, those who possess intellect and charisma as well as the circumstantial power to influence and motivate others on a massive scale, have a tendency to end up dead under suspicious circumstances. Read More »
August 23, 2007 – 6:50 pm
“Miss, I don’t believe in God, but can I talk with you for a minute?” He held his red bandana in his hand with a sense of awe and reverence not typically observed in our simple, one-room chapel on the first floor of the shelter. Jon was a tall, muscular young man whose quiet confidence instantly commanded my respect. I may have been older, but I could tell he was much wiser than I.
“You don’t have to believe in God to sit in the Chapel and talk. Tell me what’s on your mind,” I offered him a chair and some chocolate to share while we talked.
“Miss, I don’t really want to believe in God. I guess you could say that I got angry at God a while ago, and I can’t believe anymore.” Jon proceeded to tell me a story that I can’t forget. Read More »
August 23, 2007 – 3:47 pm
I can’t count the number of times I was asked the question, usually from locals whom I had met only moments earlier: “So, is it what you expected? Is Africa what you thought it would be like?”
Despite the (ironic) expectations that also come with such a question, I almost always disappointed my questioners with the boring truth—when I set off for Africa this past June, I really didn’t have any expectations. Nope, none at all.
I know what you’re thinking, but it’s true! As I shoved in my last few pairs of underwear and zipped up my bags for Accra, Ghana—my first trip to Africa—I was more concerned whether or not I would have internet access to update my blog than whether or not I would have cold or hot water, whether or not I would catch malaria like some of my friends had, or whether the poverty would be too much for me to handle. Read More »
August 23, 2007 – 3:13 pm
Logic as a science has its roots in the early history of some founding types of societies such as India, China and Greece, but there really wasn’t that much to be logical about in those early times. If you knew how to build a building that stood still for a while or were able to reason with people without starting a war, that was about as good as you would need. Medieval thinkers tried to ratchet things up a notch and left us with a large number of books to read, few of which can be of much help today in avoiding daily aggravations and tribulations. We now navigate in a world strewn with the need to arrive at quick and firm decisions concerning a vast array of problems and concerns, including our own daily survival and pleasures. Read More »
August 16, 2007 – 8:30 pm
On August 9th of 1997, a young Haitian immigrant by the name of Abner Louima in the New York City Borough of Brooklyn was brought to a police station after being arrested for his role in a brawl at a popular night club. While he was punched, beaten with a stick, had a plunger brutally inserted into his backside causing severe damage to his colon and bladder, while he agonized in a pool of blood, an officer from the New York Police Department told him: “it’s Giuliani Time.”
Two years later, a West African Muslim immigrant by the name of Amadou Diallo had his turn to experience Giuliani Time. The encounter would be brief, and it would cost him his life. The unarmed man was walking home in his Bronx neighborhood and was approached by the NYPD. When he made a gesture to reach for his wallet the officers fired 41 shots, killing an unarmed, hard-working man with no criminal record in cold blood. This was Giuliani Time in New York, a time when the rules and regulations on the police had been loosened and residents of many African-American, Latino and immigrant neighborhoods lived in fear of mostly white elite units in the department who, under the direction of Giuliani, often cracked down brutally on any perceived threats. Read More »
August 16, 2007 – 3:35 pm
As millions of other people in this sick, sad world of ours, I follow in the footsteps of Winston Churchill. Am I a charismatic leader who overcame the Nazis and a lisp? Am I a defiant showstopper with a knack for draining “native” rebellions of their energy and whiskey bottles of their contents? No, no, no. I’m only depressed.Watching the Premier League is not exactly an orthodox way of treating a bout of depression. I can’t, however, afford a counselor. Pills are known for their tendency to cause lethargy. Star of BBC’s resurrected and resplendent “Doctor Who” series, David Tennant, refuses to make house-calls. And so, I am forced to self-medicate.
One of the more obvious ways in which the Premiership can inspire one to crawl out of bed in the morning and do the things that the spoiled brats with normally-wired brains do, is the sense of belonging it inspires. When you are depressed, you do not want to feel alone (alone with mounds of chocolate, alone with sharp objects, etc.). And as the dark universe stretches out in infinite directions all around you, it’s a comfort to know that there are, out there, small pockets of warmth: pubs full of like-minded individuals spilling beer down the front of their shirts and yelling rude things at the television. Read More »
I was recently asked to give a speech to a first year medical school class on the occasion of their finishing their first session. The class session was entitled Doctor, Patient and Society and it introduced the students to the ethical and moral issues that relate to being a practitioner of medicine on people.
I was never good at giving speeches, nor particularly good at writing. I have a mild voice that drifts into a whisper because of shyness. This same shyness becomes apparent in my style of writing. However, it was a challenge to get me out of my cocoon and therefore, I accepted.
The subject of the speech revolved around humanism in medicine. It is an important concept that is very close to my heart. However, as I started to write this speech, I was facing the question: What does humanism in medicine even mean? What does it take for a person to be humanist within his or her profession? Read More »
