Narrative Inquiry in Bioethics

Despite the endless battle for racial equality in the United States, justice still does not seem palpable. One would believe all is fair and equal between differing ethnicities after the Civil Rights Movement, which ended in 1954 followed by the Civil Rights Act of 1964, but after living through the year 2020, so much has transpired, showing otherwise. The COVID-19 pandemic forced the entire country to "stay still," limiting activity and TV entertainment. So, when the tragic deaths of George Floyd, Ahmad Arbery, and Breonna Taylor happened, an uproar ensued, bringing most attention to news stations and news outlets about the continuous racial divide that has been neglected for years. People from all ethnicities, especially those of the Black and African American communities, were—and still are—angry and tired of the blatant disrespect and broken systems dictating how minorities are treated.

No matter the level of education or socioeconomic status, racism is deeply felt by all, evolving from generation to generation. The topic of racism is discussed commonly amongst others, but one would never think he or she would experience racism or be targeted for one's ethnic background. As an inpatient nurse working in a predominantly White population, I'm constantly reminded of my differences and have had to deal with hardships as well. I'm unapologetically going to talk about what it is like to be a Black nurse in 2021, and how my past experiences fuel my anxiety and discomfort in situations today. I hope you all truly listen and are able to learn from me; together is the only way any of this will change.

Never did I ever expect the start of 2020 to trigger feelings that had been subconsciously suppressed for several years. While at work, I unintentionally overheard a conversation that referred to Blacks negatively, specifically Nigerians. The skin color of Nigerians was compared to the darkness outside on that weeknight, and the comment was followed by endless laughter. I was immediately taken aback by the statement—why? Because I am of Nigerian descent, raised by immigrant parents born in Nigeria, who are of darker skin. In that moment, I was then pointed out as being a young Nigerian woman, which only made the situation worse. Shock and embarrassment were all I felt working the rest of that shift. It was not until when I got home from work early that next morning that I could no longer control my emotions. Lying in bed, tears fell from [End Page 241] my eyes—two hours went by and I could not stop the never-ending replay of the trauma I had faced since childhood.

The bullying started the very first day I stepped into my first-grade classroom. I was one of many students chosen to be in the METCO program, allowing inner-city Boston students access to better education in the surrounding schools of the suburbs. Many of the students in METCO are Black as well. Immediately upon entering the classroom, a few of the girls pointed at me and started laughing. This moment started my lifelong insecurity. From elementary school through college, I dealt with the teasing—from the color of my skin, to the texture of my hair, to the size of my lips, to my ethnicity. I was called an "African booty scratcher" while others made fun of the African dialect. It was not until college, after meeting others like me, that I finally was proud of who I was—Black, American, and African.

The incident at work did not just upset me for the time being. It affected me for months. Many do not understand the impact of a "simple" joke—words and actions that affect others remain in one's memory for years; it is never forgotten. My emotions and insecurities were at an all-time high, so much so that I was no longer comfortable coming into work. Do my coworkers also joke about my culture, my skin tone? Do my patients and families feel uncomfortable with me being their nurse? These were the questions I frequently asked myself as I anxiously braced myself...