Across the Aisle

I have two friends who are Islamic. Both are from Arabic countries, both are intelligent, civil, religiously devout, and extraordinarily friendly. Both are going to become doctors and I'm certain, excellent ones. With one I shared the podium during our annual cadaver memorial service and her sentiments were very similar to my own.

I wasn't particularly expecting medical school to be a multicultural experience. Maine, like my native Colorado, is not exactly a melting pot. Living in Boston, I worked with physicians who were Russian immigrants and it was commonplace to see Orthodox Jews walking to synogogue on the Sabbath.

Nevertheless, it was here that I became acquainted with persons who call upon the name of Allah and discovered that, even during a time of suspicion and mistrust, the barriers of politics and national loyalty can be overcome in the name of humanity. I'm not sure it has always been easy for my friends, living in post-9/11 America. We are still entrenched in a war and only two months ago, some expressed concern (to put it mildly) about electing a President who had an Arabic middle name.

Yet my friends are just that and even though they are now far away, learning patient care first-hand in hospitals and clinics, I hear from them. Their letters reveal their enthusiasm and they remind me of our friendship. Bonds that are much deeper than race, gender, and nationality have been formed between us.

We talk about reaching across the aisle to work with those of different political persuasions, but I think its equally important that we learn to reach across the artificial space that stands between us as persons. Our mutual experiences in anatomy taught us that beneath the skin, people are virtually identical. Maybe we are alike in other ways, too. Maybe what frightens some the most is the fact that we are.