March on Washington, 57 Years Later
The March on Washington, 57 years after the first march with Dr. Martin Luther King Jr, truly felt like an out of body experience. I am still working to process the fact that we are living in historic times, and that I was present for a moment of history that will be talked about for decades to come.
I had just finished my Medical Intensive Care Unit clerkship (4 week rotation where I am acting as a resident physician), and honestly, after seeing so many patients pass away, I think I dissociated myself from my emotions for a while until I had time to process the experience. So coming to Washington, DC to march alongside other people who believe that things need to change in terms of the unfair treatment and killing of Black people felt, odd to say the least. I felt like my emotions were bubbling away, like boiling water covered by a lid.
I have so many thoughts and feelings on this experience which feel a bit disjointed so I‘m going to share the photos that I took along with said thoughts. I think breaking it all up into the different hats I wear might be helpful in the many perspectives I have on the whole experience.
As a photographer: Taking these photos was one of the hardest things I have done in a while. I felt like taking photos of other people during this time of pain…tragedy…was intrusive…invasive….and manipulative. I honestly didn’t even want to take any photos because I felt they were dishonest, and I want to avoid feeling performative in any and every way. I had to make sure I wasn’t photographing these people for my own gain/notoriety but more as an attempt to document this time in history. It’s crazy. I have so much more respect for street photographers and documentary photographers than I did before. I have done some street photography in the past and have had some similar emotions that I was invading people’s privacy, but this time it felt different. Heavier. But as I stood there for the first hour, listening to speaker after speaker, I realized that there might be something beautiful that only my eye would be able to capture. So I fought through the discomfort, silently addressing my own sadness with ever click of the shutter.
As a medical student: We are living through historical times, and as healthcare workers, as HUMAN BEINGS, we are being shown all the reasons why we must care for one another. AND yet, there are those that still form their lips to say that there is a reason for the murder of ANYONE regardless of what they have or have not done. We stood there listening to countless leaders and mourning family members, exactly where thousands stood listening to Dr. Martin Luther King 57 years prior, and the chills, the tears, the emotions were overwhelming. But we all came, to support one another, to share that we are here, we believe that Black Lives Matter. Period. No question. This country needs to accept the ugly history from where we came, and acknowledge the need for systemic change. Oppression was the foundation upon which this country was built, but it does not have to be our future. As a medical student and future physician, I have to understand the history of this country as it provides a bigger context to my Black patients and the communities they might come from. Our built environment influences our ability to attain the best health outcomes. Systemic racism is one of the biggest obstacles to health equity and I truly believe that I needed to be in that space to remember that I am not alone in this fight.
Somedays, I wish I could just go to school and learn how to treat my patients without the burden of having to join more committees to advocate for the needs of minority students, educate people (classmates, faculty, doctors, patient and myself) on racial issues, macro and microaggressions, and whatever other tasks administration creates to lay on the backs of their minority students. But maybe that will be the blessing we leave for the next generation.
As a person: I have never lost a family member or close friend to police brutality, yet every time another Black person is murdered, I feel as if I lost someone. The hurt, the anger, the sadness rushes over. People need to understand the reality that it could have been me. Sleeping in my bed. Going for a run. The list goes on. Black people across the country are experiencing vicarious trauma and are being negatively impacted by it. Black Lives Matter, but Black Mental Health Matters too. So check in your Black friends. We are hurting and we are tired, all while living through an isolating pandemic. I have heard of more Black young people dying from suicide in the past three weeks than I have heard in my entire life. The ripple effects of these issues will lead to more deaths of people who were just hit too hard. So understand, this fight is for our lives.
“We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope.”