Human Essay: The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks

 The Immoral Life of HeLa Cells

Many incredibly influential discoveries go unattributed to those that aided in their development. While the “discovery” of countries and continents can be used as examples in this statement, so can the consistent medical advancements made by exploiting unwilling or uneducated “participants” into potentially dangerous studies. In this field, many of the most recognized examples are of those too desperate for medical help to refuse additional experimentation. A power dynamic is then created, a destructive relationship between doctor and patient. This was the case for Henrietta Lacks, a woman who developed cervical cancer in the 1950s, and whose cells, which were taken without her consent, became the first scientifically “immortal” cells, HeLa. Rebecca Skloot, the author of The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks, sought the story of the woman behind these cells, contacting anyone she could to discover the truth. In her research, she found evidence of the consistent exploitation of the Lacks family, by scientists and reporters alike. The family barely knew of the cells, even though they were direct descendants of one of the most medically important humans to have their cells collected. To be human within the Lacks’  story is to learn and know, to have agency, and to strive for the discovery of what has been kept hidden. 

Henrietta Lacks is no stranger to dehumanization, especially after her death. She was known as “the woman behind HeLa,” the object of scientific exploration without any recognition herself. Her life was not only a mystery to the scientific community, though, as she passed at 30, too young for many of her family members to truly remember her. When interviewed by Skloot, Henrietta’s daughter Deborah is quoted saying: “You know what I really want? I want to know, what did my mother smell like? For all my life I just don’t know anything, not even the little common little things, like what color she like? Did she like to dance? Did she breastfeed me? Lord, I’d like to know that. But nobody ever say nothing.” (Skloot, 2010, p. 42) Through almost every remaining echo of her life, Henrietta Lacks is sought after, people who never got a chance to know her seeking a glimpse of the woman she was. This dehumanization is oddly gentle, an example of the fading of memories over time. 

The family of Henrietta Lacks is explored in great detail by Skloot, as many of them were still alive when this book was being written. Another facet of this story, however, is the reason we know of Henrietta in the first place: the doctors behind her treatment and the subsequent acquiring of her cells. Both the Lacks family and the doctors are identified by their knowledge and opinion on the treatment of HeLa cells. Many doctors align with the idea that the cells were taken correctly and, as it was accepted at the time, in the proper context. This isn’t the opinion of some of Henrietta’s family members, however, who believe that her cells were taken unjustly and that they should have some sort of reparation or compensation for the billions of dollars made in the market that centers around their relative’s cells. Deborah stands outside of these groups, with Rebecca Skloot alongside her. Henrietta’s daughter seeks understanding, above all else. She seeks the world’s understanding of the person her mother was, and she seeks a personal understanding of her family’s history.

In the insurmountable past, present, and future progress of scientific markets, it is up to the patient to become educated on the situations of their treatment as well as the ownership of their body and agency. In many of the cases Skloot presents for scientific discoveries using patient cells, the unwilling participant often simply desires knowledge of the situation. The rise of informed consent, giving pause to the long-accepted “benevolent deception” of a patient, allows education to be used in a medical setting. It is the responsibility of those undergoing medical treatment to be inquisitive, and it is the responsibility of those engaging in scientific markets to be just the same. Striving to uncover stories like Henrietta’s makes way for the voices of future patients to speak out about their treatment, and, most importantly, humanizes those covered up by a system willing to obscure their faces.

As someone who has undergone years of medical treatment for chronic pain, while I cannot fully identify with any situation present in this book, I can understand the desperation of a patient seeking any cure for their ailment. In situations like Henrietta’s, desperation can drive a patient to ignore warning signs or suspicious situations. One of the doctors in the book mentioned, on the topic of tissues being used: “I guess you could sit there with your ruptured appendix and negotiate.” (Skloot, 2010, p. 148) This highlights the ever-present dynamic of doctor and patient power disparities, allowing the outsider to see just how much authority a doctor has over a suffering patient. In the moment, it seems impossible to get over pain, so why would a patient refuse current help for the possibility of future trouble? Those in distress are unable to think long-term due to this fact. Henrietta Lacks may have allowed the doctors to remove her tissue if they asked, for the simple fact that those treating her could always choose to stop due to uncooperative behaviors. It seems difficult to truly grasp Henrietta’s situation from anywhere but the present, which is why previous attempts to explain her story have been difficult. Skloot’s travels through the Lacks family’s past and future allow exploration to a degree that no one else had sought to explore. The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks, no matter how you look at it, is about seeking information and explanation. I hope that with the elaboration of stories like this, we may finally see the truth behind situations like the previously unknown woman from which HeLa cells were taken.

Human Essay: When They Call You A Terrorist

 What They Call You and What You Call Yourself

As prevalent as it is in modern-day culture, the Black Lives Matter movement has consistently lacked a driving leader. The campaign is seen in marches and protests, articles and memoirs, but there has been an intentional effort to present the victims as the sole focus of the movement. Instead of a targetable leader, one that defines and details the group’s focus, the “BLM” community focuses on specific current stories, highlighting victims of the crimes they are fighting against. If anyone was to be defined as a leader of the movement, or at least a founder, Patrisse Khan-Cullors should be considered. In her memoir When They Call You A Terrorist, Cullors details her life and struggles, starting from witnessing racial divides in her Los Angeles neighborhood. Cullors consistently experienced new harm done under racial bias to both her and those she cared about. The world has been built and shifted to accommodate the majority, to provide aid to those who fit a certain description, and little else. This effect is seen in the lives of many marginalized groups, and modern society has often placed limits on the accessibility of stories that actively challenge oppressive groups. To be human within the reflection of Cullors’ memoir is to be influenced by and to influence the world around you.

The influence of the world on small children has been prevalent since the start of society as a whole, but the existence of normative systems and structures frequently harms small children attempting to grow and flourish in their own ways. When Cullors recounted her experiences of switching to a mostly-white school at twelve years old, she was hit with the realization that those around her would take note of her differences and use them as ways to pass judgment. Reflecting on her past, she explains how “[this time was when she] learned that being black and poor defined [her] more than being bright and hopeful and ready.” The influence of this one school experience isn’t to be undermined in the context of Cullors’ life, as it taught her the lesson many members of any minority will learn: there are times when you cannot help the stereotypes that precede you. No matter how hard an individual pushes, they will face situations where they cannot overcome the predefinition that others have assigned to them which strips them of their room for individuality. This textbook example of dehumanization is ever-present in daily life, but its effect on those able to be shaped by it is devastating.

Cullors’ identity is rooted in her race, as this book defines, but also in the separate factors that define her as “other.” One example of this is Cullors’ relationship with attraction, as she considers herself queer, and actively fights for the rights of LGBTQ people. Her identity is present, not only in the ways that society has defined her but also in the ways she has actively expressed love. While discussing her sexuality and relationships, Cullors mentions that “to outsiders… [the queer community’s] relationships may have seemed complex, odd, or even dangerous. But to [the community], they made sense. To [them], they were oxygen and still are…” This quote struck me as a reader, specifically a queer one. Though I don’t define my identity by it, and often don’t tell those around me, I acknowledge that my way of loving is seen as different from those around me. From my perspective, however, this is the most accurate statement on queer love that I’ve ever heard. Cullors’ gentle but firm way of writing leaves no room for argument, as oxygen cannot be taken without harm done. To queer people, our relationships matter because they are full of love, but also because they are hard to hide. Here, especially at SPU, I fear bringing my partner to open events or shows, having them on my floor, or introducing them to those I consider tentative friends. Our relationship is a lifeline, but the common experience of queer people is still present: you never know who might mind, what they might do, how they might express distaste toward a love they consider dangerous.

It is the responsibility of those outside marginalized groups to take note of their influence. Similar to the themes of many of the books we’ve read so far, Cullors’ story accentuates that a specific gain of one group often negatively impacts another. An example within her memoir of this is the treatment of her brother Monte within the prison system. In this case, a flawed system established by majority groups treats an individual who has done no harm with harm of their own, simply because he fits categories that they consider to be dangerous and violent. As a neurodivergent person, this treatment was sickening to read about, but it brought to light the intense discrimination against a neurological “other” in judicial systems. While the preservation of human rights is brought up frequently in the case of some prisoners, frequently white people, there is an avoidance of this topic when those with mental health conditions are displayed. It is the responsibility of people in power to not only provide equality in their delegation of human rights but to educate themselves on the varieties present within their systems of influence.

As people, we are consistently separated from those different than us. Wherever that difference may be found, we constantly shy away from the stories of others in favor of the familiar. Stories like Patrisse Khan-Cullors’ open our eyes to the effects of a society that may or may not favor us over marginalized groups. This memoir aided my understanding of both the Black Lives Matter Movement and queer expression in the black community. Cullors’ was raised influenced by the world, and grew to influence it. She turned the trouble of her childhood into empowerment for change. Stories of growth such as this are integral to the understanding of differences among humans, and the effects of strong empowerment never truly fade.

Human Essay: The Death and Life of Aida Hernandez

 The Borders of Belonging

We are social creatures. It is an unavoidable fact of human existence that we collect ourselves in groups, striving to fit into the bubbles of social cohorts. Most of the time, these groups are small, contained, but this is mostly because monumentally overwhelming groups have been constructed centuries ago, forming population groups and country borders that seem difficult to comprehend, and even more so to challenge. In Aaron Bobrow-Strain’s book, The Death and Life of Aida Hernandez: A Border Story, these groups are questioned, investigated, due to the life of a woman caught between them. To be human in Aida's story is to strive to safely belong despite opposition. She is consistently seeking belonging from both people and living situations, as many people displaced by life are. This consistent motivation allows those in her situation the ability to make a stand against the systems oppressing them.

In stories of empowerment, oppressors are inevitable, although they can vary drastically. Within Aida’s story in particular, a border story, these oppressors come in the forms of border agents, law enforcement officials, and the nameless, faceless restrictors that keep the borders of their country “safe.” Individuals on either ideal-based side of this story are defined by what they seek; the future and perceived security they strive for. Members of the United States seeking to remove people like Aida are defined by their opposition to sharing a relatively safe environment with those seeking security. Aida and those like her looking to immigrate to the States are identified by their willpower to challenge this system of borders, a line drawn in the sand to keep “those people” out. Perceived safety is a large factor in the drawing of these invisible lines, as countries and civilizations are centered on many of the ideals they were constructed by. These beliefs will impact their policies, as we have seen in the United States. Since the country was founded on conquest, taking land and building a country on a limited set of opinions, backgrounds, and outlooks, the policies continuing to take hold will favor the limited group of individuals who sought to enact it in the first place.

The systems within the States specifically favor white, middle-class, heterosexual, Christian, English-speaking, able-bodied, cisgender men. As many figures within this book do not fit that description, it is not difficult to identify the places where they are discriminated against, and how these instances contribute to an overwhelming dehumanization among these people. Dehumanization in The Death and Life of Aida Hernandez is seen in the enforcement of policies that reduce human beings to an “other,” a figure that does little other than break rules and cross borders. Books like this give a reader insight into the lives of those reduced to a separate group, providing names, faces, and life stories for people who would be otherwise overlooked by those with privilege enough to shut them out. 

With the influence of books like these, society is given a chance to change, to see the world as someone other than the role they have been handed. People in places of power are provided with an opportunity for empathy, whether or not they engage with it, and people who are oppressed similarly are gifted the reassurance that they are not alone in their struggles. Similar to many previous books this quarter, Aida Hernandez’s undisputable story is given to the reader without room for negotiation. The facts of the situation are presented, the systems are revealed, and the inner workings of a society built to oppress are brought forth in detail. Systems that enforce borders such as the ones seen in this narrative should be held responsible for the harm they cause, harm such as detention centers, family separation, and community conflict brought about by the enforcing of borders to keep “safety” as a priority within a country gifted resources that could accommodate those less fortunate. In the poem “Home,” Warsan Shire writes that “no one puts their children in a boat unless the water is safer than the land.” Narratives like Aida’s are essential to the understanding of those seeking something “better,” or even somewhere they can belong. In contrast to problems like poverty and class discrepancies, border enforcement has the opportunity to physically separate families along a near-arbitrary line that has been drawn to distinguish “us” from “them.” It is the duty of those considered fellowship among the enforcers to seek understanding with the enforced.

As someone who has been kept on the favored side of a conflict such as this one, I seek to understand situations such as Aida’s. While I was raised in the States, my home is in Mid City Los Angeles, a diverse hub of culture and communication. The area prides itself on diversity, and the world apart from it has been somewhat of a shock to me as I’ve made my way out of my own contained bubble. While I am from a white family, my parents consistently sought out places where those with different stories would surround me, and our neighborhoods have always been diverse and different while accepting and communal. General hostility toward those of different races or documentation statuses was never tolerated, but Aida’s story still opened my eyes to a specific type of personal resonance with this enforcement. I’ve heard less intense stories from a close friend of mine, mostly centered around stories of the intolerance of non-white immigrants to the States combined with the persistence of travelers due to the opportunities that the country offers. As we within this country pat ourselves on the back for our sustainability and idyllic situations, we must also recognize the appeal of this flawed utopia to those outside of it. While the water may not be safer than the land, there is always another place to go. Why wouldn’t a traveler try it? The worst they can do is get sent back to their home. Seeking belonging is important for any human, but the connections between belonging and desire can be found in the oppressors’ actions, the inner workings of a society that prevent those “outside” from having a place within.

Human Essay: Evicted

 Humanity to Housing: Community Building in Evicted

Nationwide economic difficulties are not very frequent occurrences in the States, but each time they do happen, much of the country is taken by surprise, the poorest often unable to recover from the massive blow often dealt to both their livelihood and living conditions. In Evicted, Matthew Desmond follows the stories of eight families in Milwaukee, documenting their struggles during the Financial Crisis of 2007-2008, and the aftermaths that this tragedy prompted within their lives. People within Desmond’s documentation come from various backgrounds, experiences, and socio-economic statuses, all providing a different view of the devastated state of the housing market after the Financial Crisis. In these stories of desperation, care, and recovery, humanity is expressed through a need or desire for empathy. Much like other tales of community, Evicted elaborates on the community built through struggle, care, and empathy and the effects of these situations on those within.

Desmond’s way of storytelling allows the reader to empathize with many if not all of the figures in his book, even if their viewpoints and interests contradict one another. For example, Sherrena is the root of many individuals’ troubles within her story. She is an ambitious person, but often an unsympathetic landlord. While the time that this documentation focuses on was hard for most, at the end of the day, Sherrena still had a roof over her head. She still owed property and had a support system many of her residents couldn’t dream of. Desmond tells her story at length anyway, allowing a voice to someone many readers would be hesitant to listen to. Part of the crafting of Evicted is centered around being understanding and empathetic toward those who society often looks down on. People living in trailer parks and roach-infested apartments aren’t typically the people society highlights to speak about poverty. Ironically enough, we hear news about economic struggle from those who experience the least of it: news stations looking for a drastic statistic or heartwarming story to catch the attention of viewers, impersonal websites and articles reducing people to numbers within an equation, and the highest, most vocal of society, people with power, wealth, and status who talk about the “devastating” effects this statistical decrease has made in their incalculable profits.

Taking a very human approach, Desmond documents each interaction and story he tells with care and interest, truly presenting an unbiased opinion of each individual. One recurring theme throughout these narratives is a sense of dehumanization found in a lack of empathy. When asked about the characters within this book, my peers highlighted Sherrena as a character they were able to identify with the least. I believe that this isn’t strictly centered in Sherrena’s story alone, but in the effect she had on others and their lives. With Arleen and Lamar in particular, Sherrena expressed casual care and interest in her tenants until they fell behind in rent or particularly frustrated her in another way. One situation where this feeling of separation may have solidified for a reader was when Sherrena met with other members of her community’s real estate association. While talking with friends after the meeting, Sherrena expressed disdain for Lamar, who has been consistently highlighted as caring and kind among her tenants. While her concerns with him were warranted, he was behind on rent and had done a sub-par job on a task he’d asked Sherrena for, the reader still is led to sympathize with him, whether that’s due to his disability, his care for his boys, or simply the way Desmond portrayed him. Arleen also highlights a situation easy to sympathize with, as she is a mother of four, constantly evicted and separated from her children due to her circumstances. An opposition to Sherrena after hearing these stories is understandable, but Desmond still attempts to tell her story authentically.

Dehumanization in Evicted isn’t seen in the writer’s words, but in the reader's responses and the individuals’ actions. People like Arleen are often seen by society as unwell or even unwise, but Desmond’s gentle ventures into humanity for the individuals of his story allow these walls between reader and character to be broken down. Rather than active dehumanization within this book, there is a focus on the building of humanity for individuals, giving the reader enough context to truly care about the people within.

This book, along with the previous one, gave me insight into perspectives I have not experienced but have lived adjacent to. Desmond creates a very important perspective as a writer, one that highlights all stories, giving the reader a choice on who to agree or sympathize with. Books like Evicted are crucial to the overall growth of understanding within a society thriving off exploitation and separation. When presented with a piece of media as all-encompassing as this book, a reader is forced to see all perspectives of a situation they had no say in, limiting separation from others. I believe it is the responsibility of citizens within societies that hold this type of exploitation to educate themselves by engaging in stories that foster empathy. Without care for others, how are we to know or care what our actions do to others?

Evicted is a book that fixates on the individualization of people present in a system that seeks to group them under a statistic. Matthew Desmond ventures into this space without bias, seeking an understanding of these people and their identities. Those represented in this book are individualized by their experiences, but also by their trust and care for others. The hope that they have is perpetuated by some dream of a better situation for themselves and those they care for. From the simplicity of Scott’s dream to return to medicine to the undeniable empathy shared between Crystal and Arleen when they met, Desmond is intentional about the identities of those he writes about, telling the nuances of their stories to allow a reader sight through their eyes. This book as a whole is centered around the fact that humans will lean toward care unless interrupted by self-interest.