Nili Kaplan-Myrth: Vaccination nation – or, a word with the prime minister

From our family doctor:
As a family doctor, I never dreamed I’d speak to the prime minister about a life and death issue for Canadians. But this afternoon (Thursday), joined by my RN colleague Amie Varley, I am moderating a panel of health-care workers and community advocates across the country. We’ve been called “front-line heroes” throughout the COVID-19 pandemic, but our voices are often excluded from decision-making tables. I put together this panel to have a national conversation about COVID-19 vaccination strategies. Many of the issues that keep me up at night are similar to the issues that keep my colleagues, patients, friends and family awake.
What it is that we are all worrying about? Geographic disparities. My friend is a doctor in Kenora. She told me that in a 700-km corridor, from Winnipeg to Thunder Bay, none of the doctors and nurses in intensive care units (ICUs) and emergency departments, staff in LTC, health workers in any setting – has received the vaccine. She told me how fragile their hospital is in a remote area, where their entire system could collapse if anyone on their team gets sick.
We’re worried about systemic inequalities in our health-care system. First Nations, Inuit and Metis patients, and racialized Canadians, occupy a disproportionate number of the beds in our ICUs, and make up a disproportionate number of deaths from COVID-19. People who live in poverty, or are homeless, are far less likely to access the vaccine than affluent people are. Registration for vaccination may be entirely online, reliant on individuals to act as if they are buying tickets to a rock concert. How will my patients who are in their 80s, or my patients who do not own computers, who have already struggled to book COVID-19 tests, ensure that they get their shots?
There are so many issues of equity and diversity. In the process of putting together our panel, I was approached by people who wanted to know if we would talk about the vulnerability of seniors who live in the community, people with disabilities, caregivers outside of institutional settings. I spoke with people who were concerned we’d forget about Canadians who live or work in shelters, in jails. I was also approached by women’s health experts, discussing the need for national standards to support pregnant and lactating women as recipients of the COVID-19 vaccine.
I couldn’t include every advocate or every subject in our conversation with the prime minister, let alone every province and territory. How does one cover issues of racism, ableism, ageism, sexism, language barriers, socioeconomic barriers, discrimination faced by LGBTQ patients, and all the ways in which our health care fundamentally disadvantages members of our society, all in a one-hour conversation about access to COVID-19 vaccine across the country?
I also wanted to address the idea that we are “in this together,” when in fact we tend to work in silos. Our panel brings us together: Nurses, doctors, midwives, pharmacists, personal support workers, health policy researchers, patient advocates, essential caregivers. We end the panel by talking about how we can collaborate to get the COVID-19 vaccine into the arms of Canadians.
While I am still pinching myself, amazed that this is possible – I’ve told my children to speak up for what matters, but who’d have thought I’d speak directly to the prime minister? – our panel is an example of the diverse voices that should be at every decision-making table. This is only the beginning of a collaborative conversation that I hope will continue.
Dr. Nili Kaplan-Myrth, MD, CCFP, PhD, is a family doctor and anthropologist who writes about health policy and politics. She also co-hosts the podcast

Source: Nili Kaplan-Myrth: Vaccination nation – or, a word with the prime minister

Before COVID-19, inequity in healthcare was, in effect, a pandemic for Black communities. Here are five issues that need to be addressed

Of note. Good list of issues:

Toronto has a new, $6.8-million plan to fight the disproportionate impact of COVID-19 on the Black community. But the roots of health inequity were taking hold long before the pandemic started.

“These are conversations we have been having. We’ve been advocating, we’ve been speaking about it,” said Lydia-Joi Marshall, president of the Black Health Alliance. “This is not a new crisis for the Black community …. This is just highlighting the inequities that have been happening all along.”

Marshall, who has worked in healthcare research for more than 15 years and was a speaker at this month’s TEDxToronto: Uncharted, spoke with the Star to explain five long-standing issues that have made the healthcare system unequal for the Black community. Many of these still need to be addressed.

It’s not biology, it’s racism: As a geneticist, Marshall said she does not believe in race as a biological construct. “Race is not the determinant of health. Racism is,” she said.

“We often hear all these higher rates of illness in Black people — Black people have higher hypertension and diabetes,” and we can see that and think there must be a “very specific biological reason,” Marshall said. But, really, it’s more to do with systemic barriers that make these illnesses more likely, such as disproportionate stress and lack of access to nutritious food. “What are the other social determinants?” she said.

For instance, a 2019 study by FoodShare and the University of Toronto showed that Black Canadians are twice as likely as white Canadians to be food insecure. Without access to affordable, healthy food, health problems can fester.

“This idea that it is biological, we have to come away from that, because it allows people to dismiss the systemic and institutionalized racism of why we’re seeing such different rates.”

Microaggressions take a toll on physical health: Dealing with small, daily instances of racism can overtime lead to poorer health outcomes. “It takes a toll on our health,” Marshall said.

A study conducted by Harvard University and NPR in 2017 found that people who reported high numbers of daily indignities, such as receiving poor service in a restaurant or being treated with less courtesy than others, also ranked high in developing heart disease, or, in the case of pregnant women, ranked high in giving birth to babies of a lower weight.

“This stress, whether it is daily stress or overt … can result in illness,” Marshall said.

Mental health and wellness has a ripple effect: Marshall notes that mental health can affect other branches of health, and yet have so far not received as much attention.

Much of Marshall’s research relates to other clinical and chronic illnesses, but rates of under-diagnosed or misdiagnosed mental illness in the Black community, have “shocked” her, when she has looked at them.

Black respondents ranked the lowest in a December 2020 mental health surveyconducted by Morneau Shepell.

Barriers to mental healthcare for the Black community must be reduced, and a better understanding at the point of diagnosis developed, so the rates of under- and misdiagnosis are addressed.

Bias affects quality of care: Marshall recalls a time when her aunt called Telehealth to assess her symptoms when she was feeling ill. The questions went: “Are you healthy? Does your skin look pink?” Marshall said.

“I had to explain to her that this is just the ingrained bias — that here in Canada, the normal is not us.”

Apart from small instances such as this, the phenomenon also manifests in textbooks that are used in medical schools, hospital visits and is a hardship shared by Indigenous communities.

Mistrust of the system lingers: As concerns about hesitancy around taking the vaccine get more attention in public policy, it’s worth really considering the questions Black communities have and the source of their concerns, Marshall says.

Mistreatment has been both on a large scale historically — as with the Tuskegee study in the U.S. and nutrition experiments in the Indigenous community in Canada — but also on a smaller scale in the form of personal trips to the hospital.

Many are “asking valid questions, because of a historical pattern of the system not catering to our needs,” she said.

“Why would we trust a system that has not been built for us?”

This approach can inform the way Canada addresses vaccine concerns in the Black community.

Source: Before COVID-19, inequity in healthcare was, in effect, a pandemic for Black communities. Here are five issues that need to be addressed

Knock down anti-Black racism in medicine, two powerhouse advocates tell health-care sector in new CMAJ article

More on process-type recommendations to identify approaches to address issues, many of which reflect social determinants of health:

When rapper John River went to a hospital emergency room in 2017 with shortness of breath and severe headaches, he was treated like he was faking his symptoms to get drugs. When he turned to social media for help, well-wishers told him how he and his family acted and dressed at the hospital would impact the kind of care he would receive. No hoodies, for instance. His mother tried to button a dress shirt on to him as he lay unconscious on a stretcher. He was eventually diagnosed with a spontaneous cerebrospinal fluid leak from a prior procedure.

For years, Black people have shared, with data scientists, governments, academics, journalists and each other, terrifying stories of not being believed in hospitals, of receiving substandard care, of feeling like they were left to die.

In this COVID-era, race-aggregated data showing Black people disproportionately impacted by the virus has rightly raised awareness and alarm over the impact of racism across systems leading to that outcome.

“The field of medicine can no longer deny or overlook the existence of systemic anti-Black racism in Canada and how it affects the health of Black people and communities,” write OmiSoore Dryden of Dalhousie University and Onye Nnorom from the University of Toronto. 

In a Canadian Medical Association Journal article released Monday, the two powerhouse experts in the field of anti-Black racism in medicine say the health-care system needs to focus on — and redress — not only the reasons that send Black Canadians to hospitals but how they’re treated when they get there. 

Despite protests against anti-Black racism this summer, despite the UN expressing concern in 2017 of the plight of Black Canadians, “the impression that we got is that many Canadian physicians did not think that anti-Black racism is a problem in Canada,” Nnorom told the Star. And that “most physicians do not have an understanding of how racism operates as a system such that some groups are disproportionately disadvantaged.” 

With this article, Dryden said, the authors aimed to “tell practitioners and clinicians that your patients are not just bodies in front of you. They come with experiences. One of the experiences your Black patients come with is anti-Black racism.” 

Dryden is the James R. Johnston (JRJ) Chair in Black Canadian Studies at Dalhousie University’s faculty of medicine. Nnorom is trained as a public health physician and a family physician and has published several articles in medicine.

About a year ago, they set up Canada’s Black Health Education Collaborative by bringing together a group of scholars of Critical Race Theory from across Canada and working on creating curriculum around how anti-Black racism affects health outcomes in medical schools.

The many manifestations of racism in society — being passed over for a job or a promotion, being treated with suspicion in public spaces, being denied homes to rent, being unduly disciplined in school — all boil down to one unspoken assumption: that the person in question is not credible because they are not innocent. An assumption we like to give the innocuous label of “implicit” bias, even though its consequences can be tragically explicit. 

“This article and the conversations many of us have been having is identifying that racism is not an anomaly, it’s an everyday experience,” Dryden said. 

When Black people go to the hospital in pain, they are profiled as drug seeking, she said. Or the assumption is they don’t feel pain at the same level. Or if they are given medication that they’re not compliant and won’t follow guidelines. 

In her many public talks to health and medical professionals, Dryden tells them, “If you have a patient that doesn’t return, instead of thinking they’re not compliant, you might want to start with, ‘Did something racist happen and how do I find out?’

Although modern science conclusively busts the myth that race has biological origins, medical stereotypes rely on the belief that Black people are a different genetic species of humans. 

“Yes, the human genome has been mapped,” Nnorom said. “Yes, we know a person’s postal code has more impact on their health than their genetic code but it is difficult to completely remove that type of thinking. The history of medicine and these genetic biological associations with race dates back centuries.” 

The first program of medical education began in Montreal about 20 years before the end of slavery in Canada, Dryden said. “So it began at a time when Black and Indigenous are enslaved and that becomes the continuing flavour of education in Canada.”

If studies show how African-Americans have higher rates of diabetes or hypertension, the medical approach is there’s something wrong with their genetics or their culture or their practices that needs to be fixed. 

“The way we’ve been traditionally taught in medicine is to pathologize the marginalized group.” Nnorom said. “We’ve been taught to assume there is something wrong with the group that has been marginalized as opposed to thinking there was something wrong with society to create the conditions in which those communities find themselves.

“The process (of learning), you’d almost have consider it an unlearning.”

To address racism, the authors say health-care professionals should acknowledge its existence first. “We can do this by listening to the voices of Black Canadians, patients and health care professionals who have been grappling with anti-Black racism for generations, and by engaging with the many communities that have made recommendations for meaningful change to address the problem,” they write.

What would listening look like? 

“That’s a very good question,” said Nnorom, because while organizations might engage in consultations with focus groups in different communities, “what ends up coming out of that is not what the community has recommended. That is not true listening.”

Hospital leaders, administrators and academics would have to take up hard, uncomfortable work of “actually looking at recommendations by Black communities, to hold town halls start, to have Black community members at the board — and not just with one person because that would be tokenism.” 

Said Dryden: “There’s always an excuse for why something isn’t anti-Black racism as opposed to sitting with it for a moment (and thinking) ‘If this is racism what should I be doing differently?’ And nobody asks themselves that question. That’s the thing we want them to ask themselves.” 

This article is intended as a building block in that journey towards change, Nnorom said. 

“So that we can see a Black patient can come into a hospital and be treated with dignity, where their pain is recognized and they receive respect and empathy and not be treated worse because of the colour of their skin.”


Groundbreaking investigation shows ‘pervasive racism’ against Indigenous people in B.C. health-care system

Of note:

Racism against Indigenous people is pervasive in British Columbia’s health-care system, concludes an investigation that is being touted as the first complete review of racism in a Canadian medical system.

It’s racism that is hurting the health of Indigenous people and leaving them more harshly affected by health crises in the province, including the opioid crisis and the COVID-19 pandemic, finds the newly released report.

“What it looks like are abusive interactions at the point of care; verbal and physical abuse; denial of service,” Mary Ellen Turpel-Lafond, a well-known Indigenous lawyer and former B.C. advocate for children and youth, who led the investigation at the request of the provincial government, said Monday.

“We have a major problem with Indigenous-specific racism and prejudice in B.C. health care.”

Turpel-Lafond said her team’s recommendations could provide a blueprint for the rest of the country for rooting out racism and discrimination.

The B.C. probe was initiated in June, after B.C. Health Minister Adrian Dix said he found out about allegations that health-care workers in an emergency room had played a game in which they guessed the blood-alcohol level of largely Indigenous patients before they received treatment.

Métis Nation British Columbia told CBC that health-care staff called the game “The Price Is Right.”

Turpel-Lafond said the investigation did not find evidence of an organized “Price is Right” game, but that it unearthed an even more insidious picture of a system rife with racism and prejudice, that is making the B.C. health-care system an unsafe place for Indigenous people to seek care.

The report, called In Plain Sight, is based on input from 9,000 people, including Indigenous people and health-care workers.

Turpel-Lafond said a second report, a data-analysis of Indigenous-specific health outcomes, will be released in the next month.

The report’s 24 recommendations deal with implementing systems and cultural expectations to root our implicit and explicit racism in B.C.’s health-care system, including the creation of a B.C. Indigenous officer of health and an associate deputy minister of Indigenous health at the provincial government.

Dix on Monday offered an “unequivocal” apology for the findings of racism in the report, and vowed to implement recommendations immediately, including by introducing new Indigenous health liaisons in each of the province’s health authorities.

Indigenous leaders were quick to express their support for the recommendations, saying they were especially urgent in view of the ongoing pandemic.

“There is no time to wait; the current COVID-19 pandemic necessitates constant engagement by First Nations with the health care system, and we categorically demand a safe health care system for our people at this time and going forward,” reads a portion of a statement by the First Nations Leadership Council.

The treatment of a Quebec woman in hospital earlier this year also served to highlight the barriers Indigenous people face to getting care.

Joyce Echaquan, an Atikamekw mother of seven, died soon after she filmed herself from her hospital bed in late September while she was in clear distress and pleading for help. Toward the end of the video, which was streamed live, two female hospital staff enter her room and are heard making degrading comments, including calling her stupid and saying she’d be better off dead.

The video has created widespread indignation, several inquiries and a lawsuit from Echaquan’s family against the hospital where she died in Joliette, Que.

Source: Groundbreaking investigation shows ‘pervasive racism’ against Indigenous people in B.C. health-care system

Philpott: A call to end #racism in Canada’s health care systems

Of note the emphasis on practical initiatives:

I wish I could say with certainty that the death of 37-year-old Joyce Echaquan will be a wake-up call for health systems in Canada. It should be. But history gives us no confidence to make such a claim. Joyce Echaquan is not the first person to die as a direct or indirect result of racism in Canadian health care systems. Tragically she won’t be the last. But her death comes at a point in our history where Canadians may be more attuned to the dangers of systemic racism than we were, for example, when 45-year-old Brian Sinclair died in a Winnipeg hospital in 2008.

We must seize this moment in history and act to prevent more senseless deaths. There is no better place to start than with changing the way we train health professionals. A 2019 international consensus statement on Indigenous health equity notes that “Medical education institutions must acknowledge their historical and contemporary role in the colonial project and engage in an institutional decolonization process.”

Here at Queen’s University, our principal, Patrick Deane, has not shied away from declaring that racism and other forms of oppression, including colonialism, “deeply affect our institution, as they do the systems and formations of our society at large.” Such a categorical admission of institutional racism from the leader of a prominent post-secondary institution is not something we heard a decade ago. The open admission that an organization like ours is plagued with structural injustices, which permit some to be privileged and others to be harmed, is an essential step on our journey to changing those deep-rooted patterns of injustice. That kind of openness leads me to think that we are at a point in time when we can more effectively take on racism and colonialism in health care; in hopes that Joyce Echaquan’s death will not be in vain.

There is no single intervention that leads to the reduction or the elimination of racism and colonialism in health systems or in the training of health professionals. We need comprehensive and collaborative cultural transformation. We don’t need more studies; we need action on a suite of reforms. Steps have been laid out in multiple reports including the Calls to Action of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission and the Calls for Justice from the Inquiry on Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls. The Association of Medical Faculties of Canada tabled its own commitment last year entitled a Joint Commitment to Action on Indigenous Health.

As dean of the Faculty of Health Sciences at Queen’s, I’m determined to work with my colleagues to breathe life into those reports. We have hired new staff including an elder-in-residence to provide ceremonial and cultural supports. Last week we opened an Office of Equity, Diversity, and Inclusion and we now have over 150 volunteers from students, staff, and faculty participating in a Dean’s Action Table on Equity, Diversity, and Inclusion.

We have an obligation to expand the Indigenous health workforce by increasing the number of First Nations, Inuit and Métis students in medicine, nursing and rehabilitation therapy. Indigenous Peoples must see themselves reflected in the health professionals who treat them. We must continue to identify structural biases in our admissions processes and make amendments, accordingly, including diversifying the membership of admissions committees and introducing cultural safety training for their members.

We’ve already changed the focus of the Queen’s Accelerated Route to Medical School to enable 10 students who identify as Indigenous or Black to begin a pathway to medical education that addresses some of the well-known systemic barriers to access. We know this means we’ll need a broad community of support for growing numbers of Indigenous and Black students on campus and in our health professions programs, but we’ve already taken steps to enable that, by hiring mentors such as Wendy Phillips, elder-in-residence and former MP Celina Caesar-Chavannes, senior advisor on equity, diversity and inclusion.

Just as important as the diversity of our student body is what we teach our students. Our curricula must include Indigenous perspectives of history and culture. It should include concepts of power, privilege and conflict resolution. This work is underway. We have professional development courses in cultural safety, anti-racism and anti-oppression. We have started to diversify our workforce, recognizing the importance of having staff and faculty from under-represented groups in leadership positions and on decision-making bodies.

We also need tools to help us identify personal, institutional and systemic forms of racism. As we use these tools, there will be an obligation to act on what we learn, with cycles of self-reflection and informed action. Increasingly, we must learn safe and effective ways to speak up when we recognize bias, harassment, and micro-aggressions.

Speaking up is the minimum response. Our collective goal is to change the entrenched patterns of injustice in our health systems. In some cases, it’s a matter of life or death.

Source: A call to end racism in Canada’s health care systems

University of Toronto research to explore racism in health care during pandemic

Should be an interesting study which hopefully will identify some pragmatic approaches:

A new research project will look at the impact of the COVID-19 pandemic on racialized communities as well as existing biases in the health-care system.

The national project was launched by Roberta Timothy, an assistant professor with the University of Toronto’s Institute for Pandemics.

Timothy says many members of the Black and Indigenous communities already avoid interacting with the health-care system mostly due to experiences with racism and biases.

During a global pandemic, Timothy says that can have grave consequences for the well-being of those communities.

“People will seek help when it’s an emergency and by then it’s too late,” she says. “Because of the bias, because of anti-Black racism, because of violence they experience, their health becomes more at risk.”

Timothy says there’s a need for more data to effectively understand the impact of COVID-19 on racialized communities.

The Ontario government refused to collect race-based data earlier in the pandemic, but it was forced to change course in June. Now it mandates the collection of data around race, income, household size and language when following up with people who’ve been infected with COVID-19.

A spokesman for the Ministry of Health said the government is engaging with people from racialized communities and other health equity experts regarding the data collection.

“We plan to share findings of this data collection, informed by this engagement,” David Jensen said in an email.

Jensen said the ministry is concerned about the spread of the virus in “certain groups of people and in certain neighbourhoods,” and would welcome additional insights and information about how COVID-19 is affecting racialized communities.

Early data compiled by Toronto Public Health showed that 83 per cent of COVID-19 cases occurred in racialized people. Black people represented 21 per cent of cases in Toronto, but only nine per cent of the city’s population.

“There is growing evidence in North America and beyond that racialized people and people living in lower-income households are more likely to be affected by COVID-19,” said Dr. Christine Navarro,  associate medical officer of health for Toronto.

“While the exact reasons for this have yet to be fully understood, we believe it is related to both poverty and racism.”

Timothy’s project will collect more data about how Black people interact with the health-care system, but also about economic impacts, evictions, support networks and essential work being done by marginalized communities.

“An underlying part of the project is not only to bring better data, but to support the community in strategizing and finding interventions to find how we get through this,” said Timothy.

Rudayna Bahubeshi, a Toronto resident and post-graduate student in public policy, says she has first-hand experience with racism in the health-care system. During a stint in a mood disorder ward when she was 18, Bahubeshi said a nurse mistook her for a 30-year-old patient — the only other Black person in the ward at the time — and tried to make her take the other person’s medication.

Bahubeshi says she argued but was ignored, and believes her race was a factor in the way she was treated by staff. She says the nurse only realized the mistake when the other patient happened to walk by.

In another hospital visit during the pandemic, Bahubeshi says she was taken to a “COVID ward” because she had fever. She says staff would not answer simple questions about whether there were risks involved with using a shared washroom, or about the fact that some staff weren’t wearing PPE.

“The way she (the nurse) was engaging with me was very much that I was the problem,” says Bahubeshi. “When I talked to a doctor afterwards they told me I was fully in the right and that was unacceptable.”

Bahubeshi says experiences like those erode her trust in the public health system and its ability to provide quality care for her. She says more data about the experience of Black people in health care will be a first step in the right direction.

“The fact that we don’t have race-based data is a way we’ve decided that Black communities are not a priority,” said Bahubeshi.

Timothy’s national project is set to begin in a few months, and will involve surveys and focus groups among Black Canadians.

Source: University of Toronto research to explore racism in health care during pandemic

Le PLQ et QS dénoncent un programme de régularisation discriminatoire

Appropriate criticism over the narrowness of the program;

Le Parti libéral du Québec et Québec solidairejugent trop sévères les conditions d’admission au Programme spécial visant à faciliter l’octroi de la résidence permanente aux demandeurs d’asile qui, au plus fort de la crise sanitaire, suaient sang et eau dans les résidences pour personnes âgées assaillies par la COVID-19.

« On circonscrit l’accès à la mesure à un secteur [la santé], et à l’intérieur du secteur, même si tout le monde a eu un risque [de contracter le coronavirus], on circonscrit encore plus… Ça, ça ne serait pas discriminatoire ? » a demandé l’élu libéral Gaétan Barrette en commission parlementaire lundi.

Le Programme spécial des demandeurs d’asile en période de COVID-19 (PSDAPC) s’adresse aux « anges gardiens » qui étaient « sur la ligne de front » à prodiguer des « soins directs à la population pendant la pandémie », a expliqué la ministre de l’Immigration, Nadine Girault. « Ceux qui ont pris le plus de risque », a-t-elle résumé.

Le PLQ et QS se sont tour à tour désolés de voir les autres travailleurs du secteur de la santé — les préposés à l’entretien des résidences pour aînés frappés de plein fouet par le coronavirus, par exemple — laissés en plan par le PSDAPC. Un « vrai, vrai, vrai geste d’humanité » serait de « remercier […] tous les gens qui ont pris un risque ». « Que je sois préposé à l’entretien ménager ou gardien de sécurité, quand le virus je l’attrape, puis que je meure, c’est moi qui suis mort, c’est ma famille qui pâtit. C’est ça un risque », a souligné M. Barrette.

On circonscrit l’accès à la mesure à un secteur [la santé], et à l’intérieur du secteur, même si tout le monde a eu un risque [de contracter le coronavirus], on circonscrit encore plus…

« On a envoyé au combat […] une armée de gens sans arme », a-t-il ajouté, tout en rappelant l’absence d’équipements de protection individuelle en quantité suffisante dans les milieux de vie pour personnes âgées après l’arrivée de la COVID-19 en sol québécois.

L’ex-ministre de la Santé soupçonne le gouvernement caquiste d’avoir « mis un frein » à la volonté du gouvernement fédéral de régulariser les employés du réseau de la santé en situation de précarité afin de respecter les seuils d’immigrationqu’il s’est fixés.

Le député solidaire Andrés Fontecilla a suggéré lundi d’accroître la portée du Programme spécial afin que les préposés à l’entretien, les agents de sécurité, les travailleurs agricoles, les travailleurs d’abattoirs ou d’entrepôts en situation de précarité puissent aussi s’y inscrire.

La ministre de l’Immigration, Nadine Girault, a dit être en paix avec sa décision de permettre seulement aux demandeurs d’asile ayant prodigué des soins directs à des patients — dont des préposées aux bénéficiaires et des aides-infirmières — de s’inscrire au PSDAPC, ce qui leur permettra de s’établir au Québec. « Ce n’était pas un programme discriminatoire. C’était un programme pour remercier les gens qu’on voulait remercier chez les “anges gardiens” qui ont pris soin de nos gens. C’est tout simplement ça », a-t-elle fait valoir.

Puis, elle a cédé, sans avertissement, la parole au nouveau sous-ministre de l’Immigration, Benoit Dagenais. Béant de surprise, le haut fonctionnaire s’est mis à la tâche d’énumérer les 10 orientations de la Planification pluriannuelle de l’immigration 2020-2022 léguée par l’ex-ministre Simon Jolin-Barrette.

Il a par la suite mentionné que le Plan d’immigration du Québec 2021 sera établi à la lumière de la situation économique du Québec, qui a été fragilisée par l’arrivée du coronavirus en sol québécois le printemps dernier. « La crise sanitaire, évidemment, on va la prendre en considération », a souligné M. Dagenais.

De son côté, Mme Girault a indiqué qu’« il n’y aura pas de baisse des seuils d’immigration ».

Lutte contre le racisme

Le PLQ a aussi jeté le doute sur la volonté du gouvernement de lutter contre le racisme au Québec, lundi, après que Mme Girault eut refusé net de nommer les groupes rencontrés jusqu’à aujourd’hui par le Groupe d’action contre le racisme (GACR), dont elle assure la coprésidence.

Le « groupe des sept » élus de la Coalition avenir Québec, qui a été mis sur pied au lendemain de la mort de l’Afro-Américain George Floyd sous le genou d’un policier de Minneapolis, doit présenter une série d’actions visant à faire reculer le racisme au cours de l’automne.

« C’est malheureux et c’est décevant de ne pas avoir l’information », a dit la députée libérale Jennifer Maccarone, tout en invitant le GACR à solliciter sans délai l’avis de la Ligue des Noirs, du Congrès maghrébin au Québec, de la Ligue des droits et libertés…

Source: Le PLQ et QS dénoncent un programme de régularisation discriminatoire

‘Why not us?’: Asylum seekers on COVID-19 front lines demand permanent residency

All too predictable, the understandable debates over who’s in and who’s out, which happens with respect to most government programs, whether immigration or other:

Doll Jean Frejus Nguessan Bi says he couldn’t sleep at all last night.

The asylum seeker from Ivory Coast works as a security guard in hospitals and long-term care homes in the Montreal area, where he watched many of his colleagues stop coming in as deaths linked to COVID-19 began to mount this spring.

But while Nguessan Bi kept working, he said he found out Friday that he would be excluded from a new government program to fast-track the permanent residency applications of some asylum seekers working on the front lines during the pandemic.

“Why (not) us? We who gave our hearts and our love… Why are we abandoned?” he said in an interview at a protest camp across the street from Prime Minister Justin Trudeau’s Montreal riding office Saturday. “What did we do to deserve this?”

Ottawa announced Friday that asylum seekers working in specific jobs in the health-care sector would be eligible for permanent residency without first having to wait for their asylum claims to be accepted, as is typically the process.

Immigration Minister Marco Mendicino said the move came in response to public demand for so-called “Guardian Angels” — many in Quebec — to be recognized for their work.

“They demonstrated a uniquely Canadian quality in that they were looking out for others and so that is why is today is so special,” Mendicino said in an interview Friday afternoon.

But asylum seekers and their supporters say Ottawa’s plan excludes thousands of workers without permanent status in Canada who have laboured on the front lines during the pandemic, often at great personal risk to themselves and their families.

That includes security guards and janitorial staff, factory workers, and farm labourers, among others.

“I have friends who worked with me in security that abandoned (their posts) because they were afraid of getting infected. But I stayed,” said Nguessan Bi.

He said he wants Trudeau and Quebec Premier Francois Legault to do something to help asylum seekers who are not eligible for the new program.

Several dozen people rallied in front of Trudeau’s office on Saturday to demand permanent residency for all asylum seekers.

“It’s an act of recognition. They deserve status,” Joseph Clormeus, a member of Debout pour la dignite, a Montreal advocacy group that organized the rally, told the crowd.

Anite Presume, a Haitian asylum seeker who came to Quebec in August 2017 from the United States, was among the protesters.

She works in a medication factory, and said she kept working during the pandemic despite the risks.

“To take the bus, we were all stressed, but we still went to work because it was essential. They needed medication for the hospitals,” she said in an interview.

She said she has not received a response yet to her application for asylum in Canada, and lives under a cloud of uncertainty and stress about her future.

“It’s a feeling of rejection,” Presume said, about not being included in Ottawa’s regularization program. “They rejected us as if we did nothing.”

To apply for residency under the new program, applicants must have claimed asylum in Canada prior to March 13 and have spent no less than 120 hours working as an orderly, nurse or another designated occupation between the date of their claim and Aug. 14.

They must also demonstrate they have six months of experience in the profession before they can receive permanent residency and have until the end of August 2021 to meet that requirement.

The program was the result of negotiations between the federal government and Quebec, who have had a strained relationship on the question of immigration, and in particular the asylum claimants, in recent years.

Public support has been building for asylum seekers’ demand for permanent residency after it was revealed that refugee claimants were among those toiling in Quebec’s long-term care facilities, which were hard-hit by COVID-19.

Source: ‘Why not us?’: Asylum seekers on COVID-19 front lines demand permanent residency

For Doctors of Color, Microaggressions Are All Too Familiar

Of note:

When Dr. Onyeka Otugo was doing her training in emergency medicine, in Cleveland and Chicago, she was often mistaken for a janitor or food services worker even after introducing herself as a doctor. She realized early on that her white male counterparts were not experiencing similar mix-ups.

“People ask me several times if the doctor is coming in, which can be frustrating,” said Dr. Otugo, who is now an emergency medicine attending physician and health policy fellow at Brigham and Women’s Hospital in Boston. “They ask you if you’re coming in to take the trash out — stuff they wouldn’t ask a physician who was a white male.”

After years of training in predominantly white emergency departments, Dr. Otugo has experienced many such microaggressions. The term, coined in the 1970s by Dr. Chester Pierce, a psychiatrist, refers to “subtle, stunning, often automatic, and nonverbal exchanges which are ‘put downs’” of Black people and members of other minority groups; “micro” refers to their routine frequency, not the scale of their impact. Dr. Otugo said the encounters sometimes made her wonder whether she was a qualified and competent medical practitioner, because others did not see her that way.

Other Black women doctors, across specialties, said that such experiences were all too common. Dr. Kimberly Manning, an internal medicine doctor at Grady Memorial Hospital in Atlanta, recalled countless microaggressions in clinical settings. “People might not realize you’re offended, but it’s like death by a thousand paper cuts,” Dr. Manning said. “It can cause you to shrink.”

The field of medicine has long skewed white and male. Only 5 percent of the American physician work force is African-American, and roughly 2 percent are Black women. Emergency medicine is even more predominantly white, with just 3 percent of physicians identifying as Black. The pipeline is also part of the problem; at American medical schools, just 7 percent of the student populationis now Black.

But for Black female physicians, making it into the field is only the first of many challenges. More than a dozen Black women interviewed said that they frequently heard comments from colleagues and patients questioning their credibility and undermining their authority while on the job. These experiences damaged their sense of confidence and sometimes hampered teamwork, they said, creating tensions that cost precious time during emergency procedures.

Some physicians said they found the microaggressions particularly frustrating knowing that, as Black doctors, they brought an invaluable perspective to the care they offer. A 2018 study showed that Black patients had improved outcomes when seen by Black doctors, and were more likely to agree to preventive care measures like diabetes screenings and cholesterol tests.

In May, four female physicians of color published a paper in Annals of Emergency Medicine on microaggressions. The authors, Dr. Melanie Molina, Dr. Adaira Landry, Dr. Anita Chary and Dr. Sherri-Ann Burnett-Bowie, said they hoped that, by shining a spotlight on the problem, they might reduce the sense of isolation that Black female physicians experience and compel their white colleagues to take specific steps toward eliminating conscious and unconscious bias.

Discussions about lack of diversity in medicine resurfaced in early August, when the Journal of the American Heart Association retracted a paper that argued against affirmative action initiatives in the field and said that Black and Hispanic trainees were less qualified than their white and Asian counterparts.

Dr. Phindile Chowa, 33, an assistant professor of emergency medicine at Emory University, was in her second year of an emergency-medicine residency when an attending in her department mistook her for an electrocardiogram technician, even though she had previously worked with him on rotations. She approached him to give a report on her patients, and he wordlessly put out his hand, expecting her to hand over an electrocardiogram scan.

“He never apologized,” Dr. Chowa said. “He did not think he did a single thing wrong that day. I was the only Black resident in my class. How could he not know who I am?”

The derogatory encounters continued from there. Colleagues have referred to her as “sweetie” or “honey.” She recalled one patient who asked repeatedly who she was over the course of a hospital visit, while quickly learning the name of her white male attending physician. When she was first admitted to her residency, at Harvard, a medical school classmate suggested that she had had an “edge” in the selection process because of her race.

Such comments can create an environment of fear for Black women. Dr. Otugo recalled overhearing her Black female colleagues in Chicago discuss how they were going to style their hair for their clerkships. Many of them worried that if they wore their hair naturally, instead of straightening it or even changing it to lighter colors, their grades and performance evaluations from white physicians might suffer.

Dr. Sheryl Heron, a Black professor of emergency medicine at Emory University School of Medicine, who has worked in the field for more than two decades, said microaggressions can exact a long-lasting toll. “After the twelve-thousandth time, it starts to impede your ability to be successful,” she said. “You start to go into scenarios about your self-worth. It’s a head trip.”

This comes on top of the stresses that are already pervasive in emergency departments. A 2018 survey of more than 1,500 early-career doctors in emergency medicine found that 76 percent were experiencing symptoms of burnout.

But Black women doctors said they have seen how Black patients rely on their presence to get the best care. Monique Smith, a physician in Oakland, Calif., was working in the emergency room one night when a young Black man came in with injuries from a car accident. She was confused when some of her colleagues called him a “troublemaker,” so she visited the patient’s bed and asked him about his experience being admitted. He told her that he had begun to lash out when he felt he was being stereotyped by staff members because of his skin color and the neighborhood he came from.

“I was able to go into the room and say, ‘Hey dude, Black person to Black person, what’s up?’” Dr. Smith said. “Then I advocated for him and made sure he got streamlined care.”

The conversation made Dr. Smith more attuned to the degrading comments that Black patients experience at hospitals, and she now tries to intervene and identify her colleagues’ biases. She believes, for example, that physicians are sometimes quicker to order drug testing for Black patients, even if their symptoms are most likely unrelated to substance abuse.

But many Black physicians find it challenging to be advocates for themselves and their patients, particularly within the rigid hierarchies of the medical system. “You’re faced with situations where you’re going to be perceived as the angry Black woman even though you’re just being your own advocate,” said Dr. Katrina Gipson, an emergency medicine physician. “You’re constantly walking the line of how to be a consummate professional.”

Dr. Landry, an author of the recent paper and an emergency medicine physician at Brigham and Women’s Hospital, said that hospital and residency directors who are looking to address the deep-rooted problem should begin with hearing and validating the personal experiences of Black doctors. Continuing to diversify emergency medicine departments is also critical, she added, so that Black physicians are not working in isolation to implement cultural changes and arrange mentorship from more senior Black colleagues.

“I’m the only African-American female physician faculty member in my department, and that creates this feeling of not having a support system to speak up when something happens to you,” Dr. Landry said. “Having this paper is a validating tool for people to say, ‘See, I’m not the only one this is happening to.’”

Dr. Molina, an emergency medicine resident at Brigham and Women’s Hospital and one of the paper’s authors, said that spotlighting diversity in medicine was particularly important amid a pandemic that disproportionately impacts Black patients. “The Covid pandemic has served to emphasize health disparities and how they impact Black populations,” she said. “As emergency physicians, we have to present a united front recognizing racism is a public health issue.”


ICYMI: Black Children Are More Likely to Die After Surgery Than White Peers, Study Shows

Yet another study showing racial disparities in healthcare:

Black children are more than three times as likely to die within a month of surgery as white children, according to a study published in the journal Pediatrics on Monday.

Disparities in surgical outcomes between Black and white patients have been well established, with researchers attributing some of the difference to higher rates of chronic conditions among Black people. But this study, which looked at data on 172,549 children, highlights the racial disparities in health outcomes even when comparing healthy children.

Researchers found that Black children were 3.4 times as likely to die within a month after surgery and were 1.2 times as likely to develop postoperative complications. The authors performed a retrospective study based on data on children who underwent surgery from 2012 through 2017.

Olubukola Nafiu, the lead author of the study and a pediatric anesthesiologist at Nationwide Children’s Hospital in Columbus, Ohio, said the authors were not surprised to find that healthy children, across the board, had extremely low rates of mortality and rates of complications after surgery. But what surprised them was the magnitude of the difference in mortality and complication rates by race.

“The hypothesis we had when we started was that if you studied a relatively healthy cohort of patients, there shouldn’t be any difference in outcomes,” Dr. Nafiu said.

The authors, in their paper, acknowledged limitations of the study: They did not explore the site of care where patients received their treatments or the insurance status of patients, which can be used as a proxy for socioeconomic status. This meant they could not account for differences in the quality of care that patients received or the economic backgrounds of the patients.

Another limitation was that because mortality and postoperative complications are so uncommon among healthy children, it is possible that most of the cases came from a few hospitals, Dr. Nafiu said.

But while Black people are more likely to receive care in low-performing hospitals, that may not be the main factor driving the gap this study found, Dr. Nafiu said. The hospitals examined in the study were all part of the National Surgical Quality Improvement Program, a voluntary program, meaning they had the resources to be part of the program and the belief that quality improvement is important.

Adil Haider, dean of the medical college at Aga Khan University, who was not involved with the study, said that it told a key piece of the story about racial disparities in surgical outcomes, but that there were still many questions about what drives disparities.