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Epidemic: The Scars of Smallpox

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Tue, 07 Nov 2023 10:00:00 +0000

In 1975, smallpox eradication workers in the capital of Bangladesh, Dhaka, rushed to Kuralia, a village in the country’s south. They were abuzz and the journey was urgent because they thought they just might get to document the very last case of variola major, a deadly strain of the virus.  

When they arrived, they met a toddler, Rahima Banu. 

She did have smallpox, and five years later, in 1980, when the World Health Organization declared smallpox eradicated, Banu became a symbol of one of the greatest accomplishments in public health. 

That’s the lasting public legacy of Rahima Banu, the girl. 

Episode 8, the series finale of “Eradicating Smallpox,” is the story of Rahima Banu, the woman — and her life after smallpox. 

To meet with her, podcast host Céline Gounder traveled to Digholdi, Bangladesh, where Banu, her husband, their three daughters, and a son share a one-room bamboo-and-corrugated-metal home with a mud floor. Their finances are precarious. The family cannot afford good health care or to send their daughter to college.

The public has largely forgotten Banu, while in her personal life she faced prejudice from the local community because she had smallpox. Those negative attitudes followed her for decades after the virus was eradicated.

“I feel ashamed of my scars. People also felt disgusted,” Banu said, crying as she spoke through an interpreter.

Despite the hardship she’s faced, she is proud of her role in history, and that her children never had to live with the virus.

“It did not happen to anyone, and it will not happen,” she said.

The Host:

Céline Gounder
Senior fellow and editor-at-large for public health, KFF Health News


@celinegounder


Read Céline’s stories

Céline is senior fellow and editor-at-large for public health with KFF Health News. She is an infectious diseases physician and epidemiologist. She was an assistant commissioner of health in New York City. Between 1998 and 2012, she studied tuberculosis and HIV in South Africa, Lesotho, Malawi, Ethiopia, and Brazil. Gounder also served on the Biden-Harris Transition COVID-19 Advisory Board. 

Voices From the Episode:

Rahima Banu
The last person in the world to have a naturally occurring case of the deadliest strain of smallpox 

Nazma Begum
Rahima Banu’s daughter

Rafiqul Islam
Rahima Banu’s husband

Alan Schnur
Former World Health Organization smallpox eradication program worker in Bangladesh

Click to open the transcript

Transcript: The Scars of Smallpox

Podcast Transcript Epidemic: “Eradicating Smallpox” Season 2, Episode 8: The Scars of Smallpox Air date: Nov. 7, 2023 

Editor’s note: If you are able, we encourage you to listen to the audio of “Epidemic,” which includes emotion and emphasis not found in the transcript. This transcript, generated using transcription software, has been edited for style and clarity. Please use the transcript as a tool but check the corresponding audio before quoting the podcast. 

Céline Gounder: Just when you thought smallpox was gone someplace, it could roar back. 

Alan Schnur: We were aware that in some other countries there had been celebrations and then later found, uh, there had been ongoing transmission that wasn’t detected. 

Céline Gounder: The virus was persistent and slippery, but smallpox did end, and Alan Schnur was there when it did. 

Alan Schnur: I was one of the team members who was the first international responders to the last case of variola major smallpox. 

[Upbeat music begins playing.] 

Céline Gounder: The beginning of the end was 1975 in Bangladesh. Alan was in the capital city of Dhaka, meeting with other fieldworkers from the World Health Organization. They were gathered in a Quonset hut. If you’ve ever seen a World War II movie, you know what it looks like: Picture a big tin can cut down the middle — resting on its side. 

The meeting was uneventful, which was a change of pace. When Alan first came to Bangladesh, smallpox cases had exploded. The country was reeling from a war for liberation. 

But by that day, the outbreak had fizzled. 

Alan Schnur: Things had gone very quiet. No reports of any active smallpox cases despite searches going on for several weeks. 

Céline Gounder: Alan remembers that the walls of the Quonset hut were covered with maps and manuals documenting their work, and they kept a running tally of suspected cases. 

Alan Schnur: And there was a big zero up there on the wall staring down at us for this whole meeting. So we were feeling pretty good at the time. 

Céline Gounder: Not a single case of smallpox across the entire country. The team was starting to let themselves feel optimistic. Maybe they’d stamped out the disease here. 

[Upbeat music ends.] 

Alan Schnur: And then there was a telegram received saying one smallpox case found in Kuralia village in Bhola. 

[Suspenseful music begins playing.] 

Céline Gounder: The next morning, Alan and the head of the W–H–O mission in Bangladesh took a slow boat through snaking canals to Bhola Island. 

[Ambient sounds of a boat on the water play in the background.] 

Céline Gounder: Day turned into night. Night into day. 

Another boat, then a Land Rover. 

Alan Schnur: And the last half-mile, we had to walk to the house where the case was. 

Céline Gounder: Finally, they made it. 

Alan Schnur: It was a very simple house, certainly poorer than the average Bangladeshi house. 

Céline Gounder: Inside was the patient, a little girl. Rahima Banu. 

Alan Schnur: She was very scared. She was trying to hide behind her mother’s sari. So she was frightened and trying to to run back inside the house, but her mother kept her there. 

Céline Gounder: There’s an iconic photo of Rahima and her mother from that day. Sitting on her mother’s hip, Rahima looks wary. But Alan says all around her there was an air of excitement among the public health workers. 

This could finally be it: the last person with naturally occurring variola major smallpox. 

Alan Schnur: And we didn’t find any more active cases after Rahima Banu. 

[Suspenseful music fades out.] 

Céline Gounder: The WHO continued to monitor Bangladesh for a couple of years, but that’s where the story ends for the deadliest version of smallpox. With Rahima Banu, the girl. 

She became a symbol of — a poster child for — one of public health’s greatest achievements. But she did not share in the prestige or rewards that came after. 

In this final episode of our series “Eradicating Smallpox,” I travel to Bangladesh to meet with Rahima Banu, the woman. We’ll hear how smallpox shaped her life and wrestle with some of the questions that her reality demands of public health. 

I’m Dr. Céline Gounder, and this is “Epidemic.” 

[“Epidemic” theme music plays then fades to silence.] 

[Ambient sounds of chickens squawking in the courtyard outside of Rahima Banu’s home play.] 

Céline Gounder: Many people have tracked down Rahima Banu since 1975. 

I’m just the latest in a line of public health specialists and curious journalists. 

She lives in a village not far from where smallpox workers found her nearly 50 years ago. 

As I enter the courtyard of her home, there are clothes hanging on the line. The house is made from bamboo and corrugated metal. The mud stairs that lead inside are dotted with moss. 

Inside is one giant room with a partition. On the far side are cots where the family sleeps. On the near side is a table, where I sit with Rahima. 

She introduces herself while her husband and two of her daughters sit behind her. 

[Rahima speaking in Bengali fades under English translation.] 

Rahima Banu: I am Rahima Banu from Bangladesh. Rahima Banu of smallpox fame. 

Céline Gounder: Rahima wears a cobalt-blue scarf with white flowers — it’s draped over her head and shoulders and modestly tucked under her chin. A small gold stud sparkles from her nose. 

[Sparse music begins playing softly.] 

Céline Gounder: She has only a few memories of smallpox. She remembers health workers drawing blood from her fingers, for example. But most of the story that’s made her famous, she knows only from what she’s been told. 

[Rahima speaking in Bengali fades under English translation.] 

Rahima Banu: There were lesions like this all over the body. My mother said that if you poked them with a lemon cutter, the water rolled down all over the body. As the juice of the dates rolled down when being cut, my blood also dripped like that. 

Céline Gounder: While Rahima recovered from smallpox, her family was forced to stay at home while the health workers set a mile-and-a-half radius where they monitored every fever and vaccinated every person. 

Two guards monitored the doors of Rahima’s home 24 hours a day. Otherwise, Rahima says, her father would have tried to leave to go find work. He was the lone income earner in the family. 

[Rahima speaking in Bengali fades under English translation.] 

Rahima Banu: If he had run away, the disease would have spread to other places. That’s why they did not allow us to go anywhere. 

Céline Gounder: Alan Schnur says he hired Rahima’s father so the family would have food and an income while they were isolated. And later — a small group of public health workers tried to cobble together some kind of sustainable support for Rahima’s family. 

But, eventually the WHO’s help ended. And, ultimately, attempts to prop up the family’s future fell through. 

[Sparse music swells, then fades to silence.] 

Céline Gounder: Little Rahima grew up. She married and had a family of her own. 

The scars of smallpox are visible on her face, but they are faint. Mostly you notice her eyes. They are warm; her slight smile is welcoming. 

But Rahima says when visitors like me come to visit, they mostly want to know one thing: Is she still alive? 

[Rahima speaking in Bengali fades under English translation.] 

Rahima Banu: But no one wants to know how I am living my life with my husband and children, whether I am in a good condition or not, whether I am settled in my life or not. 

Céline Gounder: The stories about Rahima are not usually about her life today. They’re about her place in history — as an international symbol of one of the crowning achievements of public health. 

But listening to Rahima speak, I’m caught off guard by the pain in her voice. 

[Rahima speaking in Bengali fades under English translation.] 

Rahima Banu: I feel ashamed of my scars. People also felt disgusted. [Rahima cries.

Céline Gounder: Rahima is in tears. My reporting partner, Redwan, asks Rahima’s daughter to bring some water. 

Redwan Ahmed [in Bengali]: Will you give her some water? 

[Solemn music begins playing.] 

Céline Gounder: She is around 50 years old when I visit — and the faded pockmarks on her body are perhaps the least of what smallpox left behind. Rahima begins to talk about the emotional scars smallpox left on her family, her life. 

And how living in poverty has made things even harder. As an adult, when she had health problems, there was no outside care. No public health workers bustling around, ready to help. 

She tells me about a time when she had intense vomiting and fevers. 

[Rahima speaking in Bengali fades under English translation.] 

Rahima Banu: I was bedridden for three months, but I still could not go to a good doctor because I could not afford it. 

Céline Gounder: Rahima says the doctor she did see prescribed her cooked fish heads. She also had trouble with her vision for years. 

[Rahima speaking in Bengali fades under English translation.] 

Rahima Banu: I cannot thread a needle because I cannot see clearly. I cannot examine the lice on my son’s head. I cannot read the Quran well because of my vision. 

[Solemn music fades out.] 

Céline Gounder: Rahima and her husband, Rafiqul Islam, have four nearly grown children, three daughters and a son. 

The couple’s marriage was arranged, and Rafiqul didn’t know Rahima had had smallpox. 

After he found out, people would taunt him, saying he’d married a cursed girl. Still, Rafiqul accepted her. 

His family did not. 

[Somber music begins playing.] 

Céline Gounder: Rahima says her in-laws thought her scars — or smallpox itself — would be passed on to her children. 

[Rahima speaking in Bengali fades under English translation.] 

Rahima Banu: My father-in-law and mother-in-law never touched my children with their fingers like one touches other children. 

My father-in-law, mother-in-law,  sister-in-law, and brother-in-law never saw me in a good light. 

Céline Gounder: Rahima says she is still living in that suffering. Rafiqul becomes tearful as we sit around their table listening. And at times he gets up and stands behind the partition, as if he doesn’t want us to see his emotion. 

Rafiqul says he felt powerless watching how his family treated his wife. 

[Rafiqul speaking in Bengali fades under English translation.] 

Rafiqul Islam: Do you get it? As a husband, I couldn’t do anything to stop my parents or my siblings. One of my sisters did most of the abuse. I couldn’t do anything but stand in a corner as she was abused. 

[Somber music ends.] 

Céline Gounder: Their middle daughter is named Nazma Begum. She is tall like her dad — you can tell she’s an eager student. For most of Nazma’s life, people like me have come here to talk with her mother about smallpox. 

I ask Nazma what it’s like to be the child of an international symbol. 

[Nazma speaking in Bengali fades under English translation.] 

Nazma Begum: The good effect is that it is nice to see that you and other people come here. When people come, I like that a lot. The way I feel nice when guests come — it is the same feeling. Apart from that, there was no other effect. It did not help me in any way in my studies or financially. 

Céline Gounder: The family’s only income is the money Rafiqul earns peddling a rickshaw. On a good day, he brings home 500 takas — not quite 5 U.S. dollars. 

Sometimes he brings home  nothing. 

Nazma finished a year of college, but her parents can’t afford to pay for her education anymore. She seems desperate to go back to school, but at the time of my visit, the family had arranged for her to get married instead. 

The cost of a dowry is less than the cost of sending her to school. It’s a common story here in Bangladesh. But, Nazma says, the people who seek out her mother to talk about smallpox are not really curious about Rahima’s children. 

[Nazma speaking in Bengali fades under English translation.] 

Nazma Begum: What are their children doing? Up to what class have they studied? In what condition are they living? What do their children want? I think that’s what they should have asked more about. But in this matter, they have no interest or do not want to know. 

[Reflective music plays softly.] 

Céline Gounder: Nazma is talking to me, but maybe she’s indicting me, too. 

Journalists, public health experts, and government officials — we all return to Rahima again and again. Whenever there’s a big anniversary. Or when we’re looking for smallpox lessons — to get through the latest pandemic. And it is a story worth telling. 

But then we leave. And Rahima is left behind. 

We write up our reports, or publish our podcasts — then raise money around that research and journalism. 

In these sometimes sanitized stories, the reality of Rahima’s life after smallpox is left out. 

She goes back to her family that can’t afford to see a doctor or send their daughter to university. 

It feels extractive — as if we take from Rahima only what we need. And I can’t help but wonder whether I owe her something more. 

[Reflective music fades out.] 

Céline Gounder: There’s this moment from my time with Rahima that I found later, when I was reviewing the tape from the interview. Initially, I missed it because I don’t speak Bengali. While I was adjusting my recording levels, Rahima and the interpreter are talking about how she’ll introduce herself, and she says maybe we could publish that her son is looking for work. 

[Clip of Redwan and Rahima speaking Bengali plays in the background.

Céline Gounder: It’s such a simple request, so core to what’s on her mind and what she wants. 

The interpreter is skilled and polite. He tells her he can’t promise anything but maybe it will come up in the interview. 

Of course, it doesn’t — at least not exactly. But at the end of our time together, I ask Rahima what she thinks people should know about her experience. 

[Optimistic music begins playing.] 

[Rahima speaking in Bengali fades under English translation.] 

Rahima Banu: Who wants to know about me? My only dream was to make my son a man. And I wanted to repair the condition of my house, live a better life with my family, and keep my children well. This is my only dream. If I had some financial ability, I would have arranged my daughter’s marriage to a better family. It is the pride of my heart. 

It is my dream. And it is my pride. This is my imagination. 

Céline Gounder: There is one way, though, that Rahima says her role in history has helped her family. 

Her children did not get smallpox. They don’t live with those particular scars. 

[Rahima speaking in Bengali fades under English translation.] 

Rahima Banu: It did not happen to anyone, and it will not happen. 

[Optimistic music fades out.] 

[“Epidemic” theme music plays.] 

Céline Gounder: “Eradicating Smallpox,” our latest season of “Epidemic,” is a co-production of KFF Health News and Just Human Productions. 

Additional support provided by the Sloan Foundation. 

This episode was produced by Zach Dyer, Taylor Cook, and me. 

Bram Sable-Smith was scriptwriter for the episode, with help from Zach Dyer and Taunya English. 

Redwan Ahmed was our translator and local reporting partner in Bangladesh. 

Our managing editor is Taunya English. 

Oona Tempest is our graphics and photo editor. 

The show was engineered by Justin Gerrish. 

We had extra editing help from Simone Popperl. 

Voice acting by Rashmi Sharma, Priyanka Joshi, and Paran Thakur. 

Music in this episode is from the Blue Dot Sessions and Soundstripe. 

We’re powered and distributed by Simplecast. 

If you enjoyed the show, please tell a friend. And leave us a review on Apple Podcasts. It helps more people find the show. 

Follow KFF Health News on X (formerly known as Twitter), Instagram, and TikTok

And find me on X @celinegounder. On our socials, there’s more about the ideas we’re exploring on our podcasts. 

And subscribe to our newsletters at kffhealthnews.org so you’ll never miss what’s new and important in American health care, health policy, and public health news. 

I’m Dr. Céline Gounder. Thanks for listening to this season of “Epidemic.” 

[“Epidemic” theme fades to silence.] 

Credits

Taunya English
Managing editor


@TaunyaEnglish

Taunya is senior editor for broadcast innovation with KFF Health News, where she leads enterprise audio projects.

Zach Dyer
Senior producer


@zkdyer

Zach is senior producer for audio with KFF Health News, where he supervises all levels of podcast production.

Taylor Cook
Associate producer


@taylormcook7

Taylor is associate audio producer for Season 2 of Epidemic. She researches, writes, and fact-checks scripts for the podcast.

Oona Tempest
Photo editing, design, logo aArt


@oonatempest

Oona is a digital producer and illustrator with KFF Health News. She researched, sourced, and curated the images for the season.

Additional Newsroom Support

Lydia Zuraw, digital producer Tarena Lofton, audience engagement producer Hannah Norman, visual producer and visual reporter Simone Popperl, broadcast editor Chaseedaw Giles, social media manager Mary Agnes Carey, partnerships editor Damon Darlin, executive editor Terry Byrne, copy chief Gabe Brison-Trezise, deputy copy chiefChris Lee, senior communications officer 

Additional Reporting Support

Swagata Yadavar, translator and local reporting partner in IndiaRedwan Ahmed, translator and local reporting partner in Bangladesh

Epidemic” is a co-production of KFF Health News and Just Human Productions.

To hear other KFF Health News podcasts, click here. Subscribe to “Epidemic” on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Google, Pocket Casts, or wherever you listen to podcasts.

——————————
Title: Epidemic: The Scars of Smallpox
Sourced From: kffhealthnews.org/news/podcast/season-2-episode-8-scars-of-smallpox/
Published Date: Tue, 07 Nov 2023 10:00:00 +0000

Kaiser Health News

US Judge Names Receiver To Take Over California Prisons’ Mental Health Program

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kffhealthnews.org – Don Thompson – 2025-03-20 12:46:00

SACRAMENTO, Calif. — A judge has initiated a federal court takeover of California’s troubled prison mental health system by naming the former head of the Federal Bureau of Prisons to serve as receiver, giving her four months to craft a plan to provide adequate care for tens of thousands of prisoners with serious mental illness.

Senior U.S. District Judge Kimberly Mueller issued her order March 19, identifying Colette Peters as the nominated receiver. Peters, who was Oregon’s first female corrections director and known as a reformer, ran the scandal-plagued federal prison system for 30 months until President Donald Trump took office in January. During her tenure, she closed a women’s prison in Dublin, east of Oakland, that had become known as the “rape club.”

Michael Bien, who represents prisoners with mental illness in the long-running prison lawsuit, said Peters is a good choice. Bien said Peters’ time in Oregon and Washington, D.C., showed that she “kind of buys into the fact that there are things we can do better in the American system.”

“We took strong objection to many things that happened under her tenure at the BOP, but I do think that this is a different job and she’s capable of doing it,” said Bien, whose firm also represents women who were housed at the shuttered federal women’s prison.

California corrections officials called Peters “highly qualified” in a statement, while Gov. Gavin Newsom’s office did not immediately comment. Mueller gave the parties until March 28 to show cause why Peters should not be appointed.

Peters is not talking to the media at this time, Bien said. The judge said Peters is to be paid $400,000 a year, prorated for the four-month period.

About 34,000 people incarcerated in California prisons have been diagnosed with serious mental illnesses, representing more than a third of California’s prison population, who face harm because of the state’s noncompliance, Mueller said.

Appointing a receiver is a rare step taken when federal judges feel they have exhausted other options. A receiver took control of Alabama’s correctional system in 1976, and they have otherwise been used to govern prisons and jails only about a dozen times, mostly to combat poor conditions caused by overcrowding. Attorneys representing inmates in Arizona have asked a judge to take over prison health care there.

Mueller’s appointment of a receiver comes nearly 20 years after a different federal judge seized control of California’s prison medical system and installed a receiver, currently J. Clark Kelso, with broad powers to hire, fire, and spend the state’s money.

California officials initially said in August that they would not oppose a receivership for the mental health program provided that the receiver was also Kelso, saying then that federal control “has successfully transformed medical care” in California prisons. But Kelso withdrew from consideration in September, as did two subsequent candidates. Kelso said he could not act “zealously and with fidelity as receiver in both cases.”

Both cases have been running for so long that they are now overseen by a second generation of judges. The original federal judges, in a legal battle that reached the U.S. Supreme Court, more than a decade ago forced California to significantly reduce prison crowding in a bid to improve medical and mental health care for incarcerated people.

State officials in court filings defended their improvements over the decades. Prisoners’ attorneys countered that treatment remains poor, as evidenced in part by the system’s record-high suicide rate, topping 31 suicides per 100,000 prisoners, nearly double that in federal prisons.

“More than a quarter of the 30 class-members who died by suicide in 2023 received inadequate care because of understaffing,” prisoners’ attorneys wrote in January, citing the prison system’s own analysis. One prisoner did not receive mental health appointments for seven months “before he hanged himself with a bedsheet.”

They argued that the November passage of a ballot measure increasing criminal penalties for some drug and theft crimes is likely to increase the prison population and worsen staffing shortages.

California officials argued in January that Mueller isn’t legally justified in appointing a receiver because “progress has been slow at times but it has not stalled.”

Mueller has countered that she had no choice but to appoint an outside professional to run the prisons’ mental health program, given officials’ intransigence even after she held top officials in contempt of court and levied fines topping $110 million in June. Those extreme actions, she said, only triggered more delays.

The 9th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals on March 19 upheld Mueller’s contempt ruling but said she didn’t sufficiently justify calculating the fines by doubling the state’s monthly salary savings from understaffing prisons. It upheld the fines to the extent that they reflect the state’s actual salary savings but sent the case back to Mueller to justify any higher penalty.

Mueller had been set to begin additional civil contempt proceedings against state officials for their failure to meet two other court requirements: adequately staffing the prison system’s psychiatric inpatient program and improving suicide prevention measures. Those could bring additional fines topping tens of millions of dollars.

But she said her initial contempt order has not had the intended effect of compelling compliance. Mueller wrote as far back as July that additional contempt rulings would also be likely to be ineffective as state officials continued to appeal and seek delays, leading “to even more unending litigation, litigation, litigation.”

She went on to foreshadow her latest order naming a receiver in a preliminary order: “There is one step the court has taken great pains to avoid. But at this point,” Mueller wrote, “the court concludes the only way to achieve full compliance in this action is for the court to appoint its own receiver.”

This article was produced by KFF Health News, which publishes California Healthline, an editorially independent service of the California Health Care Foundation. 

The post US Judge Names Receiver To Take Over California Prisons’ Mental Health Program appeared first on kffhealthnews.org

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Kaiser Health News

Amid Plummeting Diversity at Medical Schools, a Warning of DEI Crackdown’s ‘Chilling Effect’

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kffhealthnews.org – Annie Sciacca – 2025-03-20 04:00:00

The Trump administration’s crackdown on DEI programs could exacerbate an unexpectedly steep drop in diversity among medical school students, even in states like California, where public universities have been navigating bans on affirmative action for decades. Education and health experts warn that, ultimately, this could harm patient care.

Since taking office, President Donald Trump has issued a handful of executive orders aimed at terminating all diversity, equity, and inclusion, or DEI, initiatives in federally funded programs. And in his March 4 address to Congress, he described the Supreme Court’s 2023 decision banning the consideration of race in college and university admissions as “brave and very powerful.”

Last month, the Education Department’s Office for Civil Rights — which lost about 50% of its staff in mid-March — directed schools, including postsecondary institutions, to end race-based programs or risk losing federal funding. The “Dear Colleague” letter cited the Supreme Court’s decision.

Paulette Granberry Russell, president and CEO of the National Association of Diversity Officers in Higher Education, said that “every utterance of ‘diversity’ is now being viewed as a violation or considered unlawful or illegal.” Her organization filed a lawsuit challenging Trump’s anti-DEI executive orders.

While California and eight other states — Arizona, Florida, Idaho, Michigan, Nebraska, New Hampshire, Oklahoma, and Washington — had already implemented bans of varying degrees on race-based admissions policies well before the Supreme Court decision, schools bolstered diversity in their ranks with equity initiatives such as targeted scholarships, trainings, and recruitment programs.

But the court’s decision and the subsequent state-level backlash — 29 states have since introduced bills to curb diversity initiatives, according to data published by the Chronicle of Higher Education — have tamped down these efforts and led to the recent declines in diversity numbers, education experts said.

After the Supreme Court’s ruling, the numbers of Black and Hispanic medical school enrollees fell by double-digit percentages in the 2024-25 school year compared with the previous year, according to the Association of American Medical Colleges. Black enrollees declined 11.6%, while the number of new students of Hispanic origin fell 10.8%. The decline in enrollment of American Indian or Alaska Native students was even more dramatic, at 22.1%. New Native Hawaiian or other Pacific Islander enrollment declined 4.3%.

“We knew this would happen,” said Norma Poll-Hunter, AAMC’s senior director of workforce diversity. “But it was double digits — much larger than what we anticipated.”

The fear among educators is the numbers will decline even more under the new administration.

At the end of February, the Education Department launched an online portal encouraging people to “report illegal discriminatory practices at institutions of learning,” stating that students should have “learning free of divisive ideologies and indoctrination.” The agency later issued a “Frequently Asked Questions” document about its new policies, clarifying that it was acceptable to observe events like Black History Month but warning schools that they “must consider whether any school programming discourages members of all races from attending.”

“It definitely has a chilling effect,” Poll-Hunter said. “There is a lot of fear that could cause institutions to limit their efforts.”

Numerous requests for comment from medical schools about the impact of the anti-DEI actions went unreturned. University presidents are staying mum on the issue to protect their institutions, according to reporting from The New York Times.

Utibe Essien, a physician and UCLA assistant professor, said he has heard from some students who fear they won’t be considered for admission under the new policies. Essien, who co-authored a study on the effect of affirmative action bans on medical schools, also said students are worried medical schools will not be as supportive toward students of color as in the past.

“Both of these fears have the risk of limiting the options of schools folks apply to and potentially those who consider medicine as an option at all,” Essien said, adding that the “lawsuits around equity policies and just the climate of anti-diversity have brought institutions to this place where they feel uncomfortable.”

In early February, the Pacific Legal Foundation filed a lawsuit against the University of California-San Francisco’s Benioff Children’s Hospital Oakland over an internship program designed to introduce “underrepresented minority high school students to health professions.”

Attorney Andrew Quinio filed the suit, which argues that its plaintiff, a white teenager, was not accepted to the program after disclosing in an interview that she identified as white.

“From a legal standpoint, the issue that comes about from all this is: How do you choose diversity without running afoul of the Constitution?” Quinio said. “For those who want diversity as a goal, it cannot be a goal that is achieved with discrimination.”

UC Health spokesperson Heather Harper declined to comment on the suit on behalf of the hospital system.

Another lawsuit filed in February accuses the University of California of favoring Black and Latino students over Asian American and white applicants in its undergraduate admissions. Specifically, the complaint states that UC officials pushed campuses to use a “holistic” approach to admissions and “move away from objective criteria towards more subjective assessments of the overall appeal of individual candidates.”

The scrutiny of that approach to admissions could threaten diversity at the UC-Davis School of Medicine, which for years has employed a “race-neutral, holistic admissions model” that reportedly tripled enrollment of Black, Latino, and Native American students.

“How do you define diversity? Does it now include the way we consider how someone’s lived experience may be influenced by how they grew up? The type of school, the income of their family? All of those are diversity,” said Granberry Russell, of the National Association of Diversity Officers in Higher Education. “What might they view as an unlawful proxy for diversity equity and inclusion? That’s what we’re confronted with.”

California Attorney General Rob Bonta, a Democrat, recently joined other state attorneys general to issue guidance urging that schools continue their DEI programs despite the federal messaging, saying that legal precedent allows for the activities. California is also among several states suing the administration over its deep cuts to the Education Department.

If the recent decline in diversity among newly enrolled students holds or gets worse, it could have long-term consequences for patient care, academic experts said, pointing toward the vast racial disparities in health outcomes in the U.S., particularly for Black people.

A higher proportion of Black primary care doctors is associated with longer life expectancy and lower mortality rates among Black people, according to a 2023 study published by the JAMA Network.

Physicians of color are also more likely to build their careers in medically underserved communities, studies have shown, which is increasingly important as the AAMC projects a shortage of up to 40,400 primary care doctors by 2036.

“The physician shortage persists, and it’s dire in rural communities,” Poll-Hunter said. “We know that diversity efforts are really about improving access for everyone. More diversity leads to greater access to care — everyone is benefiting from it.”

This article was produced by KFF Health News, which publishes California Healthline, an editorially independent service of the California Health Care Foundation. 

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Tribal Health Leaders Say Medicaid Cuts Would Decimate Health Programs

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kffhealthnews.org – Jazmin Orozco Rodriguez – 2025-03-19 04:00:00

As Congress mulls potentially massive cuts to federal Medicaid funding, health centers that serve Native American communities, such as the Oneida Community Health Center near Green Bay, Wisconsin, are bracing for catastrophe.

That’s because more than 40% of the about 15,000 patients the center serves are enrolled in Medicaid. Cuts to the program would be detrimental to those patients and the facility, said Debra Danforth, the director of the Oneida Comprehensive Health Division and a citizen of the Oneida Nation.

“It would be a tremendous hit,” she said.

The facility provides a range of services to most of the Oneida Nation’s 17,000 people, including ambulatory care, internal medicine, family practice, and obstetrics. The tribe is one of two in Wisconsin that have an “open-door policy,” Danforth said, which means that the facility is open to members of any federally recognized tribe.

But Danforth and many other tribal health officials say Medicaid cuts would cause service reductions at health facilities that serve Native Americans.

Indian Country has a unique relationship to Medicaid, because the program helps tribes cover chronic funding shortfalls from the Indian Health Service, the federal agency responsible for providing health care to Native Americans.

Medicaid has accounted for about two-thirds of third-party revenue for tribal health providers, creating financial stability and helping facilities pay operational costs. More than a million Native Americans enrolled in Medicaid or the closely related Children’s Health Insurance Program also rely on the insurance to pay for care outside of tribal health facilities without going into significant medical debt. Tribal leaders are calling on Congress to exempt tribes from cuts and are preparing to fight to preserve their access.

“Medicaid is one of the ways in which the federal government meets its trust and treaty obligations to provide health care to us,” said Liz Malerba, director of policy and legislative affairs for the United South and Eastern Tribes Sovereignty Protection Fund, a nonprofit policy advocacy organization for 33 tribes spanning from Texas to Maine. Malerba is a citizen of the Mohegan Tribe.

“So we view any disruption or cut to Medicaid as an abrogation of that responsibility,” she said.

Tribes face an arduous task in providing care to a population that experiences severe health disparities, a high incidence of chronic illness, and, at least in western states, a life expectancy of 64 years — the lowest of any demographic group in the U.S. Yet, in recent years, some tribes have expanded access to care for their communities by adding health services and providers, enabled in part by Medicaid reimbursements.

During the last two fiscal years, five urban Indian organizations in Montana saw funding growth of nearly $3 million, said Lisa James, director of development for the Montana Consortium for Urban Indian Health, during a webinar in February organized by the Georgetown University Center for Children and Families and the National Council of Urban Indian Health.

The increased revenue was “instrumental,” James said, allowing clinics in the state to add services that previously had not been available unless referred out for, including behavioral health services. Clinics were also able to expand operating hours and staffing.

Montana’s five urban Indian clinics, in Missoula, Helena, Butte, Great Falls, and Billings, serve 30,000 people, including some who are not Native American or enrolled in a tribe. The clinics provide a wide range of services, including primary care, dental care, disease prevention, health education, and substance use prevention.

James said Medicaid cuts would require Montana’s urban Indian health organizations to cut services and limit their ability to address health disparities.

American Indian and Alaska Native people under age 65 are more likely to be uninsured than white people under 65, but 30% rely on Medicaid compared with 15% of their white counterparts, according to KFF data for 2017 to 2021. More than 40% of American Indian and Alaska Native children are enrolled in Medicaid or CHIP, which provides health insurance to kids whose families are not eligible for Medicaid. KFF is a health information nonprofit that includes KFF Health News.

A Georgetown Center for Children and Families report from January found the share of residents enrolled in Medicaid was higher in counties with a significant Native American presence. The proportion on Medicaid in small-town or rural counties that are mostly within tribal statistical areas, tribal subdivisions, reservations, and other Native-designated lands was 28.7%, compared with 22.7% in other small-town or rural counties. About 50% of children in those Native areas were enrolled in Medicaid.

The federal government has already exempted tribes from some of Trump’s executive orders. In late February, Department of Health and Human Services acting general counsel Sean Keveney clarified that tribal health programs would not be affected by an executive order that diversity, equity, and inclusion government programs be terminated, but that the Indian Health Service is expected to discontinue diversity and inclusion hiring efforts established under an Obama-era rule.

HHS Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. also rescinded the layoffs of more than 900 IHS employees in February just hours after they’d received termination notices. During Kennedy’s Senate confirmation hearings, he said he would appoint a Native American as an assistant HHS secretary. The National Indian Health Board, a Washington, D.C.-based nonprofit that advocates for tribes, in December endorsed elevating the director of the Indian Health Service to assistant secretary of HHS.

Jessica Schubel, a senior health care official in Joe Biden’s White House, said exemptions won’t be enough.

“Just because Native Americans are exempt doesn’t mean that they won’t feel the impact of cuts that are made throughout the rest of the program,” she said.

State leaders are also calling for federal Medicaid spending to be spared because cuts to the program would shift costs onto their budgets. Without sustained federal funding, which can cover more than 70% of costs, state lawmakers face decisions such as whether to change eligibility requirements to slim Medicaid rolls, which could cause some Native Americans to lose their health coverage.

Tribal leaders noted that state governments do not have the same responsibility to them as the federal government, yet they face large variations in how they interact with Medicaid depending on their state programs.

President Donald Trump has made seemingly conflicting statements about Medicaid cuts, saying in an interview on Fox News in February that Medicaid and Medicare wouldn’t be touched. In a social media post the same week, Trump expressed strong support for a House budget resolution that would likely require Medicaid cuts.

The budget proposal, which the House approved in late February, requires lawmakers to cut spending to offset tax breaks. The House Committee on Energy and Commerce, which oversees spending on Medicaid and Medicare, is instructed to slash $880 billion over the next decade. The possibility of cuts to the program that, together with CHIP, provides insurance to 79 million people has drawn opposition from national and state organizations.

The federal government reimburses IHS and tribal health facilities 100% of billed costs for American Indian and Alaska Native patients, shielding state budgets from the costs.

Because Medicaid is already a stopgap fix for Native American health programs, tribal leaders said it won’t be a matter of replacing the money but operating with less.

“When you’re talking about somewhere between 30% to 60% of a facility’s budget is made up by Medicaid dollars, that’s a very difficult hole to try and backfill,” said Winn Davis, congressional relations director for the National Indian Health Board.

Congress isn’t required to consult tribes during the budget process, Davis added. Only after changes are made by the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services and state agencies are tribes able to engage with them on implementation.

The amount the federal government spends funding the Native American health system is a much smaller portion of its budget than Medicaid. The IHS projected billing Medicaid about $1.3 billion this fiscal year, which represents less than half of 1% of overall federal spending on Medicaid.

“We are saving more lives,” Malerba said of the additional services Medicaid covers in tribal health care. “It brings us closer to a level of 21st century care that we should all have access to but don’t always.”

This article was published with the support of the Journalism & Women Symposium (JAWS) Health Journalism Fellowship, assisted by grants from The Commonwealth Fund.

KFF Health News is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues and is one of the core operating programs at KFF—an independent source of health policy research, polling, and journalism. Learn more about KFF.

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