Professional obligation
“You say that we are in a dangerous time…. If you really feel that way, it is your obligation to write something.”
The resident’s face brightened with a dawning realization. “So, you’re saying that Marcus is an innocent casualty of the war on drugs and the battle to keep our school’s safe?”
The preceptor smiled at her quick grasp of the issue. “Yes. Zero tolerance is for hardcore felons, not ten-year-old boys. In our rush to attack problems, we forget that wars inevitably produce civilian casualties.”
“That’s a pretty fatalistic way of looking at the problem,” the resident chided.
“Perhaps,” her preceptor replied. “I prefer to think of it as realistic. Marcus is wounded and we can only treat his injuries. If the family had come to you earlier, you could have found out the principal’s side of the story and advocated for the child. But it’s too late for that.
“Marcus’ story is just one more example of how our country has entered a dangerous time. Because of our rage over 9/11, we have ‘let slip the dogs of war.’4 I wish I could think of some way to change the path that our nation is on. When I was a teenager, I participated in the peace movement protesting the Vietnam War. I was so certain about things back then. Now, I don’t know what to do.”
For a moment, both were silent—two physicians, a generation apart, struggling to find something meaningful to say. The resident finally broke the silence: “You should write something. You’ve always been able to get your points across through stories.”
“And say what? That Americans should be less belligerent? That not all cultures and societies share our beliefs? That we need to spend more time understanding the depth and breadth of problems rather than rushing to judgment? That ultimatums, incarcerations and invasions should be solutions of last resort, not our national modus operandi? All of this has been said before.
“There is another problem this time around. Americans who speak for peace have been unfairly vilified for being unpatriotic and not supporting our troops. In the 60s and early 70s, there was a more balanced political debate. Some labeled peaceniks as un-American. But others praised their efforts as democracy in action. I thought it was healthy that our nation struggled to find the right path rather than striding forward with self-righteous certainty.
“Perhaps I should be more patient. A debate is beginning to emerge.” Now his voice grew darker—a strange mix of despair, frustration, and anger. “It is just so damn sad. Americans had the world’s sympathy after 9/11, but we lost it. We lost it in a wave of unapologetic nationalism. In two short years we have gone from victim to bully. The world could really have united behind the notion that terrorism is destructive and wrong. But we let that opportunity slip through our fingers. Because of our actions, the world is more dangerous and divided than it was two years ago.”
A dark cloud hung over the two physicians. The resident finally broke the spell. “Did fear stop you when you were a teenager?”
“What?” he replied, surprised that she had thrown down this gauntlet.
“You heard me. Did fear of criticism stop you when you were young? You say that we are in a dangerous time and that we need people to speak up. If you really feel that way, it is your obligation to say or write something.”
The middle-aged man had to smile at the resolve of the confident young woman. “I will if you help.”
“Deal,” she said, and rose to see her next patient.
—Article submitted December 2003.
