It’s hard to pin him down. He is willing to condemn fee-for-service reimbursement and endorse an accountable care organization model but the conversation stops there. He doesn’t even give me a chance to finish asking about his thoughts on single payer; he talks right over me. He’s most famous for both working in the pharmaceutical industry and also being a champion of increased access to medicines. When I ask him how he personally navigates the tension between the “incentive for innovation” and increasing access to medications worldwide, he describes the financial strategy of providing funding to help defray cost and risk to pharmaceutical companies, but there is no mention of his own inner, ethical dialogue.
This is my chance to take advantage of the “old boys’ club” network and I feel it being schmoozed and side-stepped away with tangentially related anecdotes.
I get the distinct feeling that this is how it feels to be a member of the press interviewing a politician and that confuses me even more because the context of our conversation is not an antagonistic one. We were invited to chat with him over a meal so that we could learn from him -- we were even asked to submit questions ahead of time!
I’m also pretty sure that he doesn’t like me.
Dammit. How depressing. I can’t even make friends when I want to.
Camille, my partner, snaps it all into focus for me, “Jess, he’s not a radical. He’s not your role model.” And then she scoffs, “Of course he wasn’t going to answer your questions! The risk of saying something controversial is far greater than the benefit of being honest with some random medical student.”
Sadness spreads through my being. I will never be like him. My own blinders had me focused on content. I wanted to be enriched by his insights into fixing the healthcare system and combating injustice. I was disappointed because nothing groundbreaking was revealed. I missed that what he really had to teach me was his behavior.
He’s soft spoken. He has the ability of being simultaneously humble and confident. He uses storytelling. He picks his battles. He projects ethics while at the same time being flexible. He is everything that I am not, and coupled with impressive smarts, it’s the overwhelming ingredient in his success.
Every time that I feel like the isolated angry radical, each time that I’m brushed off as unreasonable, I envy those around me that seem so much more facile at working within the system. It seems like they’re actually accomplishing something while I’m just spinning my wheels.
When you live in a system that is built on hierarchy, it’s hard to remember the value of fiery opposition. Instead I often find myself focusing on my inability to coax. I’m known for making important people blush and shift in their seat, but I’m never the one to get them to say that they agree with me.
It reminds me of when I was in high school. I was afraid to tell people that I wasn’t straight. Even without stating my identity, I’d been ostracized and bullied enough to not want to claim any more differences from mainstream America.
But I found it much easier to be a straight ally. It seemed so much more convenient. No societal shame. No guilt for hiding something about yourself. And most importantly, no self-loathing. In my eyes, the straight ally got to claim open-mindedness and a clear moral conscious without having to suffer through the pain of true stigma.
There were times that I so desperately longed to be the straight ally instead of queer kid that I nearly convinced myself I was. But I am queer and fiery opposition is essential. I am not the palatable bridge-builder. No amount of temperance will change me and so even if it was all that I worked on, I’d probably never become more than a middler. A career as one of the socially maladjusted probably holds more promise for me.
This is not to say that improving my ability to work within a system is not important. Building a diverse set of tools to maximize one’s impact is essential and the value of being well-rounded cannot be overstated. However, beyond the practical considerations of being effective, there are the emotional ones.
It’s been stated before that “coming out” is a process, not an event. I’ve found this to be true in my own life as well. There are days when I’m so happy and proud to be queer that I’m even glad that I’m not straight. There are also days when the stigma is acutely painful and the discrimination palpable. Those days are hard, but even more difficult for me are the days where that pain is internalized and transformed into self-loathing and shame.