New Narratives of Hope This Black History Month–And Beyond

Feb 22, 2018, 1:00 PM, Posted by Dwayne Proctor

More than 50 years after the civil rights movement, an RWJF-funded survey shows we still have a lot to do to reduce discrimination and increase health equity. Dwayne Proctor reflects on these findings and the role of stories in the search for solutions.

An older student plays around with a younger student in a school auditorium.

One of my earliest and most vivid childhood memories is watching from my bedroom window as my city burned in the riots that erupted after Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s assassination 50 years ago.  

The next afternoon, my mother brought me to the playground at my school in Southeast Washington, D.C., which somehow was untouched. As she pushed me in a swing, she asked if I understood what had happened the day before and who Dr. King was.

“Yes,” I said. “He was working to make things better for Negroes like you.”

My mother, whose skin is several tones darker than mine, stared at me in surprise. Somehow, even at 4 years old, I had learned to observe differences in complexion.

That is particularly interesting to me now, as I eventually came to believe that “race” is a social construct.

Of course racism and discrimination exist. They are deeply embedded in America’s history and culture—but so too is the struggle against them.

Over 50 Years After the Civil Rights Act, Discrimination Persists

We are now more than 50 years beyond the civil rights movement, yet change has been excruciatingly slow. For example, despite passage of the Fair Housing Act in 1968, housing discrimination persists. Forty-five percent of black people surveyed in an NPR/Harvard T.H. Chan School of Public Health/RWJF poll say they have faced discrimination when trying to rent a room or apartment or buy a house.

While racial discrimination in hospitals nominally ended in 1964 with the signing of the Civil Rights Act, racial health gaps not only continue; in some cases, they have gotten worse. As recently as 2015, black babies are more than twice as likely as white babies to die before their first birthdays. And death rates from breast cancer are 42 percent higher among black women than white women, even though the prevalence is about the same.

I see inequity wherever it exists, call it by name, and work to eliminate it. –Shalon Irving (July 9, 1980–January 28, 2017)

The numbers themselves are startling. But they take on added meaning when you consider the stories—millions of them—of real people, who face discrimination every day of their lives.

Sharing Your Story With the World

I’m reminded of the words of Carter Woodson, the black historian and educator who established Negro History Week, the precursor of Black History Month, which we are in the midst of celebrating.  “You must give your own story to the world,” Woodson declared.

How true that is.

Through our stories we call attention to racism and discrimination and assert our fundamental human dignity.

And by telling our stories, we demand solutions.

I see storytelling as essential to building a Culture of Health, where everyone—no matter where they live, how much money they make, or who they are—has the opportunity to live the healthiest life possible. By acknowledging each other’s stories, we recognize that racism and discrimination are monumental barriers to our goal of achieving health equity. We simply can’t have a Culture of Health without health equity. Dr. King himself noted that “of all the forms of inequality, injustice in health care is the most shocking and inhumane.”

Everyday Discrimination Measurably Diminishes Health

Take the tragic story of Shalon Irving, a brilliant epidemiologist at the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Shalon was working to understand how structural inequality, trauma and violence made people sick. She asserted her commitment on her Twitter bio, noting “I see inequity wherever it exists, call it by name, and work to eliminate it.” In a tragic irony, Shalon’s life was abruptly cut short at the age of 36 when she collapsed and died three weeks after giving birth. In the weeks leading up to her death, Shalon’s futile attempts to bring attention to concerning postpartum symptoms were dismissed by medical professionals according to Shalon’s mother. Shalon’s socioeconomic advantages and expertise in health inequity could not protect her from the reality that black mothers in the United States die at 3 to 4 times the rate of white mothers.

Higher educational attainment—which can lead to higher incomes and the ability to live in healthier neighborhoods and to access high-quality health care—can’t protect African-Americans from the disparities leading to higher mortality rates. This was also the case for Clyde Murphy, a renowned civil-rights attorney who died of a blood clot in his lungs 41 years after graduating from Yale University. Soon after Clyde’s death, his African-American classmates Ron Norwood and Jeff Palmer each succumbed to cancer. In fact, it turned out that more than 10 percent of African-Americans in the Yale class of 1970 had died—a mortality more than 3 times higher than that of their white classmates.

Clyde and Shalon’s disturbing stories and the stories of too many others force us to confront the injustice of discrimination—how the toll of incessant stress and implicit bias within the health care system can progressively erode one’s health.

Love means acknowledging and respecting the pain of others. When people do that, they can focus on how to heal and move forward, together.

Research shows how discrimination influences and determines how long and healthy our lives are. Experiencing discrimination day after day creates physiological responses that lead to premature aging (meaning that people are biologically older than their chronological age), as well as poorer health compared to other groups, and even premature death.

Through the NPR/Harvard T. H. Chan School of Public Health/RWJF poll we sought to gain a deeper understanding of daily personal experiences with discrimination from members of different ethnic, racial, and LGBTQ groups. As Woodson has suggested, this can help us better understand the reality of everyday discrimination that people face when looking for housing, interacting with police, seeking medical care, and getting a job.

Specific findings from the survey include:

  • Half or more of African-Americans say they have personally been discriminated against because they are black when interacting with police (60%); when applying for jobs (56%); and when it comes to being paid equally or considered for promotion (57%).
  • Four in 10 African-Americans say people have acted afraid of them because of their race, and 42% have experienced racial violence.
  • African-Americans also report attempting to avoid potential discrimination or to minimize their interactions with police. Nearly a third (31%) say they have avoided calling the police, and 22% say they have avoided seeking medical care, even when in need, both for fear of discrimination.
  • Similarly, 27% of black Americans say they have avoided doing things they might do normally, like driving a car or going out socially, to avoid encounters with police.

These poll findings—along with stories of Clyde and Shalon—underscore an urgent need to join in working harder than ever to shape solutions—solutions that spawn new stories where everyone enjoys an equal opportunity to live longer, healthier, and happier lives without the constant fear of discrimination.

Shaping New Stories of Hope

Through our work to understand everyday discrimination and its impact on health, we’re also learning about communities across the nation that are striving to shape these new stories of hope.

One such story is unfolding in Louisville, Ky., where more than 60 community- and faith-based organizations are collaborating with the Campaign for Black Male Achievement to create better futures for young African-American men and boys. This coalition has created an initiative called “Zones of Hope” designed to restore a sense of place and connection for some of Louisville’s most marginalized neighborhoods, families, and young people. The idea is to reduce violence among young black men and boys (ages 16–27 years old) by increasing high school graduation rates, improving access to after-school programs, and expanding job opportunities. As Louisville’s Rashaad Abdur-Rahman noted at an RWJF-sponsored event examining discrimination’s effect on health, this project has transformed relationships; built new partnerships; and rallied the education, government, and justice systems—to invest in supporting boys and young men of color so they can achieve their full potential.    

This is the kind of comprehensive, community-based approach that fills me with hope for better, brighter stories in the future.

Not believing in race means believing in love—and love means acknowledging and respecting the pain of others. When people do that, they can focus on how to heal and move forward, together.

Take the time to listen to these stories of how communities are coming together to root out Discrimination in America.


Headshot of Dwayne Proctor

Dwayne Proctor, PhD, senior adviser to the President, believes that the Foundation’s vision for building a Culture of Health presents a unique opportunity to achieve health equity by advancing and promoting innovative systems changes related to the social determinants of health. Read his full bio.