This feels all too familiar.
After watching the violence unfold in Charlottesville, Virginia, over the weekend, after watching white supremacists descend on the city where I went to medical school, and onto the University of Virginia campus where I became a doctor, this is what I said to myself.
I’ve seen this anger before.
For four years, my task was to learn to treat people who were sick. Even the ones who wore their Confederate pride openly, even the ones who threatened to shoot me on home health visits. My task was to learn from experienced physicians how to help people get well. Even when they witnessed racist behavior directed toward me. Even when they glossed over that bigotry.
The response to the violence in Charlottesville has had its fair share of denial — people saying, this is not the city I know, the protesters came from elsewhere, this is not the America I know.
Such statements are infuriating.
In Charlottesville, this was exactly the America I knew. This was the Virginia I knew. This was the medicine I knew.
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