{"id":18624,"date":"2019-05-29T07:48:28","date_gmt":"2019-05-29T12:48:28","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/feminem.org\/?p=18624"},"modified":"2020-03-30T11:18:55","modified_gmt":"2020-03-30T16:18:55","slug":"why-i-public-health-a-reflection-on-my-privilege","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/feminem.org\/2019\/05\/29\/why-i-public-health-a-reflection-on-my-privilege\/","title":{"rendered":"Why I Public Health: A Reflection on My Privilege"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
I have the privilege of living in suburbia, but I get my hair done\nin the city. Each time I venture downtown, it is nothing short of adventurous,\nand today was no exception. As usual, I stop by the local corner store and\nget all the nostalgic two for a dollar “strawberry flavored” sandwich\ncookies, and 25 cent giant, “mystery” white Icee’s that my children love\n(because you can’t tell what flavor they are until you bite into them, what\ncould be better?). All the (good) memories of my childhood rush back, and I get\ntons of (bad) goodies for the kids. The visit to the corner is a must whenever\nmommy goes to the hairdresser.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Today\u2019s visit, however, was a little different. Maybe it\u2019s because\nI\u2019m more steeped in my career, or that I have a few more grey hairs, but the\nreflective nature of my interactions was difficult to escape.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
As soon as I enter the store, the Middle-Eastern store clerk (he’s\nstill the owner!) says to me, “We have good food here…BIIIGG steak\nsandwich, $5.” <\/p>\n\n\n\n
I chuckle at the irony. Corner store and good food do NOT go\nhand in hand, buddy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“How much is your ice?” I ask. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
“5-pound bag, $1.75”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I put it back. Expensive. I want to strike a deal because I know\nthis is overpriced. I attempt to bargain (the audacity!). The man is not having\nit.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“You high class or something?” He asks me<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I respond in my accented African-British English, “If I was\ntrying to be high class, you would know.” <\/p>\n\n\n\n
He smiles irritatingly. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
I realize. I sound high class-y!<\/p>\n\n\n\n
As I’m cashing out with my artificially flavored strawberry cookies\nand mystery freezies, sans the overpriced ice, he says, “You want slice of\npizza for 75 cents?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Again, I chuckle, thinking, “I would take all those rotting\nbananas for 75 cents for a mean banana bread” but I’m sure the man has had\nenough of my bourgeoisie self. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
I cash out and leave.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I retreat to suburbia, where a 20-pound bag of ice costs $2.99,\nlike it should. Where instead of artificially flavored strawberry cookies, I\ncan get real strawberries, sliced, diced and overpriced. Ready to eat for $9 a\npound at the food buffet, if I want. They are fresh, and I can even get the\norganic variety if I want. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
I can CHOOSE, I have the CHOICE to enter and exit each of these\ndichotomous universes at will. This is the luxury that privilege has afforded\nme.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But as I meander through these two worlds, I cannot shake the\nrealization that my luxuries are someone else’s reality. The lead laden house\nnext door to my hairdresser’s house is her everyday reality. The BIIGG\nsteak sandwich that has been under the hot light for Lord knows how long?\nSomeone\u2019s dinner. No fresh strawberries, just rotting bananas.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Yet these realizations are also MINE. For they are what motivate my\nwork. These disparate differences between the two worlds I navigate, motivate\nme to continue the work that I do, in Clinical Medicine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We, I, must not forget the reason why I Public Health.<\/p>\n\n\n\n