During X-ray school I was assigned to The Med for my first clinical rotation. As the closest level one trauma center for most of the mid-South, The Med’s x-ray department is notorious for its fast pace and extensive workload. Techs trained there are among the best in the city. I spent the entire first day practically shaking with anxiety. One of the techs took me under her wing to help assuage the intimidation factor. She introduced herself as Tanya but I soon learned her actual name is LaTanya. Posing the obvious question she replies, “Most people just hear the Tanya so I don’t bother with my whole name anymore.”
“But your name is right there on your badge,” I state, gesturing at the photo ID clipped to her scrub top.
“Yeah, I know,” she says with a sigh.
Over the next couple of weeks I gained some footing on my confidence but there was still plenty left for me to be nervous about. From procedure techniques to hospital protocol, every aspect of the job was something I needed to learn. I asked questions constantly and while everyone was helpful, LaTanya’s manner makes her a natural teacher. I would ask her my stupidest questions because of her consistently patient responses. I tend to pick up things quickly but there are certain aspects of a new place that always give me problems. A good example was learning the catacomb-like hallways of the basement level where x-ray was located.
After almost two weeks as a student and I still couldn’t find my way to and from the Emergency Department without help. On slow mornings, LaTanya made taking me for a walk seem like a pleasant break in the monotony. This was one such morning so naturally I go straight to her for help. Unflappable, she offers to walk with me for the umpteenth time and we set out at with her leading and me pushing the patient’s stretcher. In hindsight, this might also have been her strategy to avoid taking the portable machine up to the burn unit. Different things annoy different people, I suppose.
On the way back from the ED, we are approached by a frantic couple. LaTanya asks if they need any help. They turn to me and respond that they are looking for the ER. I immediately look to my supervisor, knowing she has the correct answer. LaTanya points down the hall behind us and tells them to turn right after going through the double doors . The middle-aged white couple gushes their thanks, still looking at me. They hurry away and we both watch them go, slightly dumbfounded. We start walking again and LaTanya looks at me with a sideways glance, “You saw that too?”
“Yeah,” I say dejectedly. “People are stupid.”
She responded with an indignant, “Hmph,” and we say no more about it.
This wasn’t my first time witnessing this type of subtle racism. It’s likely that couple was from the back country, given their accent. They were scared and I’m sure they weren’t thinking at all about their actions. The fact they don’t know they are doing it might be the worst part. Addressing the white girl while the black girl actually answered their question. It felt like a caricature of the tacit bigotry plaguing most of America. If confronted with their blatant prejudice the couple would angrily deny that such a thing even exists. Their lack of awareness is part ignorance and part social blindness.
The only thing I could do in the face of such shameful behavior is acknowledge that I see it to. My generation exists on the cusp of social change. Witnessing the worst of a dying generation and improving the world by learning from their mistakes. Declaring you aren’t racist is only the first step. Changing the way society treats sensitive issues takes so much more effort than just words. It takes courage and massive amounts of patience. Calling out that simple white couple wouldn’t have helped anyone at the time. All I could offer was acknowledging the blatantly offensive behavior and knowing I will do better than that.