Kaiser Health News
Epidemic: What Good Is a Vaccine When There Is No Rice?

Tue, 24 Oct 2023 09:00:00 +0000
The 1970s was the deadliest decade in the “entire history of Bangladesh,” said environmental historian Iftekhar Iqbal. A deadly cyclone, a bloody liberation war, and famine triggered waves of migration. As people moved throughout the country, smallpox spread with them.
In Episode 7 of “Eradicating Smallpox,” Shohrab, a man who was displaced by the 1970 Bhola cyclone, shares his story. After fleeing the storm, he and his family settled in a makeshift community in Dhaka known as the Bhola basti. Smallpox was circulating there, but the deadly virus was not top of mind for Shohrab. “I wasn’t thinking about that. I was more focused on issues like where would I work, what would I eat,” he said in Bengali.
When people’s basic needs — like food and housing — aren’t met, it’s harder to reach public health goals, said Bangladeshi smallpox eradication worker Shahidul Haq Khan.
He encountered that obstacle frequently as he traveled from community to community in southern Bangladesh.
He said people asked him: “There’s no rice in people’s stomachs, so what is a vaccine going to do?”
To conclude this episode, host Céline Gounder speaks with Sam Tsemberis, president and CEO of Pathways Housing First Institute.
He said when public health meets people’s basic needs first, it gives them the best shot at health.
The Host:
Céline Gounder
Senior Fellow & Editor-at-Large for Public Health, KFF Health News
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.
In Conversation With Céline Gounder:
Sam Tsemberis
Founder, president, and CEO of Pathways Housing First Institute
Voices From the Episode:
Shohrab
Resident of the Bhola basti in Dhaka
Iftekhar Iqbal
Associate professor of history at the Universiti Brunei Darussalam
Shahidul Haq Khan
Former World Health Organization smallpox eradication program worker in Bangladesh
Click to open the transcript
Transcript: What Good Is a Vaccine When There Is No Rice?
Podcast Transcript
Epidemic: “Eradicating Smallpox”
Season 2, Episode 7: What Good Is a Vaccine When There Is No Rice?
Air date: Oct 24, 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.
[Ambient sounds from a ferry play softly.]
Céline Gounder: I’m on a boat in southern Bangladesh, headed toward Bhola, the country’s largest island.
We’re traveling by ferry on calm waters. But my head spins — and my stomach roils just a bit — as I imagine how these same waters nearly destroyed Bhola Island.
[Tense instrumental music begins playing.]
It was 1970.
In November, under an almost-full moon and unusually high tides.
The island was hit by one of the most destructive tropical storms in modern history: the Bhola cyclone.
[Shohrab speaking in Bengali fades under English translation.]
Shohrab: There were floods. Back then there weren’t any embankments to stop the water from rising.
Céline Gounder: Counterclockwise winds, torrential rains, and treacherous waves swept entire villages into the sea. People held onto whatever they could to keep their heads above water.
[Shohrab speaking in Bengali fades under English translation.]
Shohrab: I remember at that time the water level rose so high that people ended up on top of trees. The water had so much force. Many people died.
Céline Gounder: The Bhola cyclone killed some 300,000 people. And for those who survived, there wasn’t much left to return to. Hundreds of thousands of people lost their homes, their farms, and their access to food.
The man whose voice you’ve been hearing was one of the survivors.
[Shohrab speaking in Bengali fades under English translation.]
Shohrab: My name is Shohrab. I am 70 years old.
Céline Gounder: Shohrab was a teenager when the cyclone hit. And in the days and weeks after the storm, he and his family joined a mass migration of people who fled southern Bangladesh.
They traveled about a hundred miles north from Bhola Island to the streets of Dhaka, the busy capital of Bangladesh.
There, they settled in a makeshift community, a kind of unsanctioned encampment dubbed the Bhola basti.
In Bengali that word,“basti,” means settlement — or “slum,” in some translations.
The residents forged a community, but soon, the poor people there — and what they built — would be seen as a threat to the effort to keep smallpox in check.
Not just in South Asia — but around the world.
I’m Dr. Céline Gounder. This is “Epidemic.”
[“Epidemic” theme music plays.]
[Ambient sounds from the Bhola basti, including voices of people speaking Bengali, play softly.]
Céline Gounder: More than 50 years after the cyclone, Shohrab lives in the same area in Dhaka.
I interviewed him at a tea stall near his home. It’s the kind of place where men gather to gossip and share stories over hot drinks.
Inside there’s a colorful display of snacks and sweets hanging from the ceiling. Just outside we sat on well-worn wooden benches.
And as we sip our tea, he tells me about life in the encampment in the 1970s …
[Sparse music plays softly.]
[Shohrab speaking in Bengali fades under English translation.]
Shohrab: I used to rent a place there. Five or six of us used to live in one room. Sometimes it was eight people in a room.
Céline Gounder: To cover his portion of the rent he worked as a day laborer, doing odd jobs here and there. Over time the basti became home.
But Shohrab’s new home was likely seen as an eyesore by outsiders — and by the Bangladeshi government.
Such settlements often lack running water, or electricity, or access to proper sanitation. Those conditions spotlight suffering — and for local leaders that spotlight can be uncomfortable.
But, public health experts had a different concern: that the settlement of Bhola migrants in Dhaka would become a deadly stronghold for smallopox. Cramped and unsanitary living conditions put the residents at high risk.
I ask Shohrab if he remembers seeing or hearing about people with smallpox when he first arrived.
[Shohrab speaking in Bengali fades under English translation.]
Shohrab: I wasn’t thinking about that. I was more focused on issues like where would I work, what would I eat, etc.
Céline Gounder: As he tried to rebuild his life, other things — like food and shelter — were more urgent.
[Music fades to silence.]
Widening beyond that one migrant encampment in Dhaka, researchers say the picture was similar in cities and villages all across the country.
Bangladesh was hit with a series of crises. Environmental historian Iftekhar Iqbal says each brought human suffering — and that each was a blow to the smallpox eradication effort.
Iftekhar Iqbal: Seventies was really a time when, the coming of the smallpox couldn’t come at a, at a more unfortunate time.
Céline Gounder: In 1970 the Bhola cyclone hit. In 1971, just four months later, the country fought a bloody liberation war. Then, in 1974, heavy rain and flooding triggered a famine. And in 1975 there was a military coup.
Iftekhar Iqbal: The 1970s was the deadliest decade in the history of Bangladesh.
Céline Gounder: This period is when the country became Bangladesh — winning its independence from Pakistan in the liberation war. But residents of the young nation faced cascading upheaval and turmoil. And too much death.
[Instrumental music plays softly.]
On the global stage stopping smallpox was important, but many in Bangladesh were just trying to make it to the next day.
Daniel Tarantola: No. 1 priority is food and food and food. And the second priority is food and food and food.
This was an area where survival was always in question.
Céline Gounder: That’s Daniel Tarantola.
He’s from France and arrived in the region with the mission of helping to eradicate smallpox, but he says the people in front of him needed help with many other things.
Besides hunger, some of the villages he visited were dealing with two epidemics: smallpox and cholera.
Daniel Tarantola: And we were not equipped to do anything but smallpox containment and smallpox eradication. By design or by necessity, we didn’t have the means to do anything much more than that.
Céline Gounder: Over the course of this season we’ve talked about big, complicated issues — like stigma and bias, distrust, or First World arrogance — that threatened to derail the smallpox eradication campaign. We’ve documented the public health workers who found a way around those roadblocks.
But sometimes the need is so big, so entrenched, that your inability to meet it can be demoralizing. I sometimes felt that during my own fieldwork: battling HIV and tuberculosis in Brazil and southern Africa, and during an Ebola outbreak in Guinea, West Africa.
Daniel Tarantola says in South Asia the best he could do was focus on the task at hand.
Daniel Tarantola: Meaning that you had to set up a program to eradicate smallpox or at least eliminate it from Bangladesh and at the same time not get … if I can use the word distracted, um, by other issues that prevailed in Bangladesh.
[Music fades out.]
Céline Gounder: Those were tough emotional realities for health workers and the people they wanted to care for.
But …
Daniel Tarantola: The level of resilience of this population is absolutely incredible given the number of challenges that they have had to survive.
Céline Gounder: One of the main ways people survived the upheaval in Bangladesh was by picking up and moving away from the things trying to kill them.
Remember how Shohrab fled to Dhaka after the cyclone?
Well, mass migration is a survival strategy — but one that can worsen disease.
When the cyclone refugees from Bhola landed in that under-resourced basti in Dhaka, all smallpox needed was an opportunity to spread.
[Solemn music begins playing.]
That opportunity came in 1975 when the Bangladeshi government decided to bulldoze the Bhola basti.
Daniel Tarantola says it was a bad idea.
Daniel Tarantola: We knew there was smallpox transmission in this particular area and therefore they should wait until the outbreak subsides before dismantling the shanties.
Céline Gounder: Government officials did not wait for the outbreak to subside. They bulldozed the basti anyway.
Daniel Tarantola: That resulted in a wide spread of smallpox.
Céline Gounder: Here’s environmental historian Iftekhar Iqbal again.
Iftekhar Iqbal: This eviction is considered one of the policy errors that led to the second wave of postwar smallpox.
Céline Gounder: In the wake of that eviction in 1975, thousands of people scattered. Some surely returned back home to Bhola.
[Music fades out.]
Céline Gounder: Public health’s failure — the government’s failure — to meet the basic need for safety, for food and housing, delayed the goal to stop the virus.
Shahidul Haq Khan, the Bangladeshi public health worker and granddad we met in Episode 4, says he learned that lesson over and over as he urged people to accept the smallpox vaccination.
Their frustration with him — and by extension public health — was clear.
[Shahidul speaking in Bengali fades under English translation.]
Shahidul Haq Khan: There was no rice in people’s stomachs, so what is a vaccine going to do? “You couldn’t bring rice? Why did you bring all this stuff?” That was the type of situation we had to deal with.
[Atmospheric music begins playing.]
Céline Gounder: What good is a vaccine when there is no rice?
Next up, I speak with Sam Tsemberis, founder of Pathways Housing First Institute. It’s an organization that advocates for meeting people’s basic needs first, so they’ll have the best shot at health.
But in the beginning, he found out convincing institutions was easier said than done:
Sam Tsemberis: I try to explain this rationale that I’m telling you, like people need housing first and then services. The hospital is like, “No, no, we’re in the hospital business. We’re not in the housing business.”
Céline Gounder: That’s after the break.
[Music fades to silence.]
Céline Gounder: One of my mentors was Dr. Paul Farmer, the legendary doctor and anthropologist whose work in Haiti was documented by Tracy Kidder in the book “Mountains Beyond Mountains.” Paul always pushed us to look beyond the symptoms to root causes. It’s a lesson we keep having to learn in public health again and again.
Sam Tsemberis is one of the first to apply it to homelessness. He’s the CEO of a nonprofit called the Pathways Housing First Institute. The organization promotes a model of addressing homelessness that begins with putting people into housing.
That idea seems pretty obvious. But back when Sam first started working on homelessness — in New York City in the 1980s — the prevailing model was more like a staircase. People had to work their way up to show they were ready for, or even worthy of, housing.
Sam Tsemberis: If you showed up applying for housing, you had to acknowledge you had a mental illness, you had to demonstrate that you were taking medication, and that you understood why you were taking medication. And you also had to have — if you had any history of alcohol or substance use, you also had to demonstrate a period of sobriety.
It was a very tough regimen to get into housing.
Céline Gounder: Sam said he quickly realized that wasn’t working, even though it was the only approach at the time.
Sam Tsemberis: I was working very hard to help people navigate that. I was doing street outreach. So, “Come come to the shelter, come to the hospital, come to a treatment program, a drop-in center,” hoping that they would engage and successfully make it up the stairs and get housing eventually.
And what began to emerge was that even if people were willing to take the first step — let’s say go to detox or go to the hospital — far too many people ended up returning to the street, which was, which was a signal that, you know, something was wrong with this system. It’s like, why are people falling back?
And the stories on the street were compelling. You know, people would say, “No, I don’t need to go to detox. What I need is a safe place to stay.”
Or, “Yeah, I’ve been diagnosed with schizophrenia, but … you know, and I still hear voices, but I don’t pay attention to them. Right now, I’m just cold, I’m tired, I’m hungry, I need a place to be safe. I need to go inside. That’s what I need first.”
And the repeated pleas for safety, security, a place to call home, from people that had tried and failed and tried and failed that staircase system is what compelled me to, you know, try something different, because what we were doing wasn’t working. And that’s when we started this housing-first approach.
Céline Gounder: Can you explain: What is that, and what’s its impact?
Sam Tsemberis: Housing-first is the answer to a question that we ask people. “OK, what is it that you want?” And people would inevitably say, “I want a place to live, isn’t it obvious?”
So our job as providers, then, was to figure out a way to have a program that we can get money for rent, and money for case management services, and give people who had previously no opportunity to get into housing on their own terms, and also offer the kind of clinical or social or emotional support that’s needed after people get housed.
Céline Gounder: So how did you pilot or how did you jump-start this effort? What did that look like?
Sam Tsemberis: So we ended up having to start our own nonprofit agency, apply for a grant, and we, with fingers crossed, we started to take people that were actively using and in some cases actively symptomatic and put them into apartments of their own and visit them a lot, not knowing how it would turn out.
What we found, much to our shock and surprise, very pleasant surprise, is that 85% of the people we housed, even in that first year, remained housed. And we thought, well, you know, we’re onto something here.
Céline Gounder: So instead of insisting that people be treated for addiction and mental health issues before they got into housing, you gave them housing first. And that was really sort of the measure of success.
Sam Tsemberis: Yes.
Céline Gounder: How successful was the program in treating addiction and mental health?
Sam Tsemberis: The addiction and mental health treatment outcomes were modestly better for the housing-first group that didn’t require to be in treatment. But you know, their treatment was no worse and a little better than the group that required treatment and sobriety.
And there, a measure called the overall quality of life, you know, like, how happy are you with living in the community, with your contacts with relatives, and so on. The group that went into housing first had a significantly higher quality of life than the treatment-first group.
Céline Gounder: So I know there are people out there who will say, Well, you didn’t solve their addiction issue or their mental health issue; how is that a success? How would you respond to that criticism?
Sam Tsemberis: This was never advertised as a program that cures addiction or cures mental illness. Recovery, in some ways, is not abstinence. Recovery, at least in the mental health business, is having a life in spite of your diagnosis.
The main thing is you’re no longer homeless. You know, you don’t have to be on the street until you’ve cured your illness. Because if that was the case, people would likely die on the street before they cured their illness because we don’t have cures for some of these illnesses.
Céline Gounder: So, Sam, Dr. Paul Farmer was a mentor of mine, actually, over the course of my training. And in Tracy Kidder’s biography of Paul, there’s a quote of one of Paul’s colleagues, Haitian colleagues, who says that, “Giving people medicine for tuberculosis and not giving them food is like washing your hands and drying them in the dirt.”
Sam Tsemberis: That is so on target for what all of these issues are about. I think of homelessness, actually, as a poorly named term for all of the systemic failures that people have faced in order to end up homeless.
We need to get, you know, take care of the emergency, put everyone in housing, but that’s sort of the beginning of the job. Then the real work starts to address the root causes that contribute and continue to increase the problem as opposed to just dealing with the symptom all the time.
[“Epidemic” theme music begins playing.]
Céline Gounder: Next time, on the series finale of “Epidemic: Eradicating Smallpox” …
Rahima Banu.
Redwan Ahmed: Rahima Banu.
Daniel Tarantola: Rahima Banu.
Iftekhar Iqbal: Rahima Banu.
Larry Brilliant: The last case …
Steve Jones: The last case …
Alan Schnur: The last case of variola major smallpox. I think this time we’ve got it.
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 Taylor Cook, Zach Dyer, Bram Sable-Smith, and me.
Saidu Tejan-Thomas Jr. was scriptwriter for the episode.
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 Susheel C. and Pinaki Kar.
Music in this episode is from the Blue Dot Sessions and Soundstripe.
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If you enjoyed the show, please tell a friend. And leave us a review on Apple Podcasts. It helps more people find the show.
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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 “Epidemic.”
[“Epidemic” theme fades out.]
Credits
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Taunya is senior editor for broadcast innovation with KFF Health News, where she leads enterprise audio projects.
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Title: Epidemic: What Good Is a Vaccine When There Is No Rice?
Sourced From: kffhealthnews.org/news/podcast/epidemic-season-2-episode-7-what-good-is-a-vaccine/
Published Date: Tue, 24 Oct 2023 09:00:00 +0000
Did you miss our previous article…
https://www.biloxinewsevents.com/quick-genetic-test-offers-hope-for-sick-undiagnosed-kids-but-few-insurers-offer-to-pay/
Kaiser Health News
US Judge Names Receiver To Take Over California Prisons’ Mental Health Program

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.
If you or someone you know may be experiencing a mental health crisis, contact the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline by dialing or texting “988.”
The post US Judge Names Receiver To Take Over California Prisons’ Mental Health Program appeared first on kffhealthnews.org
Kaiser Health News
Amid Plummeting Diversity at Medical Schools, a Warning of DEI Crackdown’s ‘Chilling Effect’

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.
The post Amid Plummeting Diversity at Medical Schools, a Warning of DEI Crackdown’s ‘Chilling Effect’ appeared first on kffhealthnews.org
Kaiser Health News
Tribal Health Leaders Say Medicaid Cuts Would Decimate Health Programs

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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