Presenting What's Ray Saying?: Black Medicine

Summary

Podcast Summary: RISK! Episode – Presenting What's Ray Saying?: Black Medicine

Introduction

In this compelling episode of RISK!, host Kevin Allison invites listeners to delve into a profound exploration of Black medicine through the storytelling prowess of Dr. Ray Christian. Known for his insightful narratives that intertwine personal experiences with broader cultural and historical contexts, Ray delivers a poignant account of the enduring mistrust between the Black community and the medical establishment. This summary captures the essence of Ray's story, highlighting key discussions, insights, and concluding reflections.

Background: The Roots of Mistrust in Black Medicine

Dr. Ray Christian begins by tracing the origins of skepticism towards medical institutions within the Black community. He recounts his experience during his first flu shot in the army at the age of 17 ([05:32]). Standing in line with fellow soldiers, Ray observes a palpable fear among Black men, a fear rooted in historical injustices such as the Tuskegee Syphilis Study. This distrust, he explains, is not a recent phenomenon but a legacy passed down through generations.

Personal Anecdotes: Family Remedies and Early Encounters with Medicine

Ray shares intimate memories of his family's reliance on home remedies, a necessity born from systemic neglect. His sister Janice reminisces about unconventional treatments like "taping a copper penny to a rash" and using "pee to gargle a sore throat" ([09:29] – [10:25]). These anecdotes illustrate how, in the absence of trustworthy medical care, families turned to traditional and often makeshift solutions to address health issues.

A pivotal moment in Ray's narrative is his severe illness at age 11 ([10:48] – [23:39]). Despite multiple home remedies and spiritual interventions, his condition worsened until his mother reluctantly took him to a white doctor's office. Ray describes the stark contrast between the sterile environment of the medical facility and the lived reality of his home: "Our house smelled like grease, coal and wood. It had the smell of mold, while white people's houses smell like bleach, brick and plaster" ([23:07]).

Historical Context: The Legacy of Slavery and Segregation

Ray provides a historical overview, explaining how the transatlantic slave trade and Jim Crow laws systematically deprived Black individuals of adequate medical care. He details how plantation owners neglected the health of enslaved people, leveraging their pain tolerance for economic gain. This historical neglect fostered a culture of self-reliance and skepticism towards white medical professionals, a sentiment that persisted long after the abolition of slavery.

Encounter with a White Doctor: A Turning Point

The crux of Ray's story revolves around his first encounter with a white doctor in Richmond. He vividly describes the doctor's demeanor and intrusive questioning: "He had on a brown tie and he wore a white shirt that looked really tight... 'You having sex? You drink? You work?'" ([23:39]). This invasive approach compounded Ray's fear and discomfort, highlighting the impersonal and often discriminatory practices faced by Black patients.

Despite enduring a painful injection, Ray eventually recovered, thanks to modern medicine. However, this experience didn't fully bridge the trust gap. Ray reflects, "We just don't trust people" ([36:46]), emphasizing that the mistrust isn't directed at medicine itself but at the people administering it—stemming from generational trauma and systemic racism.

Evolution of Trust: Bridging the Divide

In the latter part of his narrative, Ray acknowledges progress while recognizing ongoing challenges. He cites examples of improved medical care and increased Black representation in healthcare but underscores that deep-seated mistrust remains. Ray's perspective evolves from fear to indifference, illustrating a complex relationship with medicine shaped by both personal and collective experiences.

Conclusion: Insights and Reflections

Dr. Ray Christian concludes by affirming the necessity of trust and understanding in the patient-provider relationship. He highlights the importance of cultural competence in healthcare and the need for systemic changes to address historical injustices. Ray's story is a testament to resilience and the ongoing journey toward equitable medical care for the Black community.

Notable Quotes

• Ray Christian ([05:32]): "I'm not defined with a singular salutation... a student of the past or the source of all black knowledge, ready to explore and talk with you about it."

• Janice ([09:29]): "He would pee in a cup and use the pee to gargle his throat with. When he wasn't gargling his throat with the pee, he was using it on his face to make his skin clear."

• Ray Christian ([23:39]): "We just don't trust people."

Final Thoughts

This episode of RISK! masterfully intertwines personal storytelling with historical analysis, shedding light on the complex dynamics between the Black community and the medical establishment. Dr. Ray Christian's narrative not only educates but also fosters empathy, urging listeners to reflect on the enduring impacts of systemic racism in healthcare.

For those seeking a deeper understanding of Black history and its influence on contemporary issues, this episode offers a rich, engaging, and insightful experience.

Transcript

[Zola]

Okay, let's take a poll. How weird does it feel to be called someone's fiance? Right. The first time you hear it, you do like a double take. Your heart kind of flutters and before you know it, you go from let's just enjoy this moment to we're planning a fall wedding. That's where Zola comes in. Zola has everything you need to plan your wedding in one place and have fun along the way. From free planning tools like a budget tracker super necessary and and website to a venue and vendor discovery tool that matches you with your dream team. Everything on Zola is designed to make your wedding journey as easy as possible. And with invites that can be completely customized and a wedding registry packed with gifts you actually want, Zola takes you from Save our date to thanks so much without breaking a sweat. From getting engaged to getting married, Zola has everything you need to plan your wedding in one place. Start [e-mail] that's z o l a.com Happy wedding.

[DSW]

Where'd you get those shoes? Easy. They're from dsw. Because DSW has the exact right shoes for whatever you're into right now. You know, like the sneakers that make office hours feel like happy hour, the boots that turn grocery aisles into runways, and all the styles that show off the many sides of you, from daydreamer to multitasker and everything in between. Because you do it all in really great shoes. Find a shoe for every you at your DSW store or DSW.com as a parent, you always want to set your child up for success, so when they're struggling in school or they need help with homework, you try your best to step up. But sometimes you might not be equipped to answer, and it's better to leave that to the experts. From IXL Learning IXL Learning is an online learning program for kids. It covers math, language arts, science, and social studies. IXL can help your child really understand and master topics in a fun way with POP positive feedback. Powered by advanced algorithms, IXL gives the right help to each kid, no matter the age of personality. And when you sign up, one subscription gets you everything you need for all the kids in your home, from Pre K to 12th grade. IXL is used in 95 of the top 100 school districts in the US with 1 in 4 students across the country using the program. So don't wait any longer. Make an impact on your child's learning. Get IXL now and listeners can get an exclusive 20% off IXL membership when they sign up today at ixcellearning.com audio Visit ixcellearning.com audio to get the most effective learning program out there at the best price. Start fresh in the New Year as you set resolutions for 2024, consider how learning a new language can enrich your life, whether through travel, career advancement, or cultural appreciation. Keeping in mind everything you've learned over the last year, it's time to build on that, and learning a new language can help you connect with others and explore new cultures. With that in mind, there's no better tool than Rosetta Stone, the most trusted language learning program available on DES and mobile. Rosetta Stone immerses you in the language so you truly learn to think, speak and understand it naturally with Rosetta Stone's intuitive approach. There are no English translations, you're fully immersed, and the built in Truaxent feature acts like a personal accent coach, giving you real time feedback to make sure you sound just right. Don't put off learning that language. There's no better time than right now to get started. Start the new year off with a resolution you can reach today. Listeners can take advantage of this Rosetta Stones lifetime membership for off, visit rosettastone.com Rs10. That's 50% off unlimited access to 25 language courses for the rest of your Life. Redeem your 50% [e-mail] Rs10 today.

[Kevin]

Hey folks, this is Kevin. You probably know that one of our dearest friends and favorite guests on the show over the years has been the one of a kind Dr. Ray Christian. Ray credits Risk as being the show that finally gave him his big break into storytelling, and he has given us so many classic stories over the years. We have had wonderful times with Ray in North Carolina, New York, Los Angeles, and during the COVID lockdown on our live streams. Ray has guest hosted one of our Black Lives episodes. And we love Ray's family too. For many years we've been knocked out by all the heart and soul, not to mention the brains that Ray has poured into producing his own podcast, what's Ray Saying? Among other things. For years, Ray has been a history teacher, and on what's Ray Saying he shares how his own personal narratives intersect with the larger story of Black culture and history in America. And the show just gets better and better. I mean, it's something to witness. So we thought it would be a real treat to feature an entire episode of what's Ray Saying on our podcast feed today so you can hear what you're missing or if you've heard the show way back when you'll love hearing how much it's evolved, you're in for a treat. Here now is the episode of what's Ray saying? Called black medicine.

[Ray Christian]

A few months ago, I got a shot for the flu. I get flu shots every year. I've been getting them for about 40 years at this point. 40 years. Ever since 1978, my first year in the army, when I was 17. We're standing in this line in our white tees and boxers. There were people on both sides of us with automatic injection machines. We were all waiting to get about 10 injections each. And while we were instructed to remain silent and move along quickly, there were still pauses in the line created by the sporadic rhythm of sounds made by those who jumped suddenly, shrieked, or otherwise reacted with fear or pain to the injections. The line had a couple hundred people. A lot of black guys on the line were even more hesitant. There were guys who hadn't even seen a doctor or gotten a shot in their whole life. It was a range of experiences that were worse than mine. They'd pause, make comments. You could feel the reverberation of fear. Enough black guys were hesitating that a white guy in the line was like, why are all the black dudes freaked out about getting shots? Some guys were saying, because we don't trust you. It got kind of sketchy until a drill sergeant was like, break that shit up. I remember several times throughout the period I was in the army that black soldiers refused to get shots and would be brought up on charges. They'd mention a Tuskegee study, say they were scared of aids. But this aversion to the shots goes way back. And the question that the white guy asked, I still hear it. It's just gotten more sophisticated as I get older, from why are you so scared to get a shot? To what's wrong with getting a vaccine? It's always been some variation of, why don't black people trust medicine? And I've got some answers. Who am I? Well, I'm not defined with a singular salutation. Some might call me a ghetto kid or a southern black gentleman, a retired army paratrooper or a doctor of education, a teller of stories, a student of the past or the source of all black knowledge, ready to explore and talk with you about it. From prx. I'm Ray Christian, and this is what's Ray saying in today's episode. We talk shots and my personal history with black medicine. If I get a strong need to reminisce, there's one person I call usually When I call my sister on the phone, she'll never answer the damn telephone quick enough.

[Janice]

I told you, I'm old and slow. It takes me time to get to the phone.

[Ray Christian]

Ain't no damn old and slow. You probably owe money to somebody. We had ways of taking care of ourselves when we were younger. Home remedies, if that's what you want to call them. Cure for ringworm, Tape a copper penny to the rash, upset stomach. Eat white coal ash, bleeding nose. Put salt pork in your nostrils. You get the picture. And no one remembers these sorts of treatments better than my sister Janice. Like how our Uncle Alvin cured his sore throat.

[Janice]

He would pee in a cup and use the pee to gargle his throat with. When he wasn't gargling his throat with the pee, he was using it on his face to make his skin clear.

[Ray Christian]

I guess the question would be, did it work?

[Janice]

Well, I ain't never seen him go to the doctor for a sore throat and his skin was kind of clear.

[Ray Christian]

We ingested a lot of things people may consider strange. Eating blocks of magnesium, laundry starch. Some of our neighbors ate charcoal lashes. Sometimes when we got colds, they'd give us a special syrup.

[Janice]

When children had cold, they used to give them alcohol. They would give you a teaspoon of liquor. Silly. Me and Colin used to pretend like we had cough on.

[Ray Christian]

That whiskey, coffee. I can remember that drink from, like, elementary school. I'd be really sick and get that whiskey, coffee. I'm almost always certain that if I talk to my sister, we're going to talk about how uninformed we were, how dangerous the world used to be and how different it is now.

[Janice]

You went to the doctor then and you tell them what? Whatever was wrong with you, they would give you a prescription, didn't tell you what they thought was wrong with you. And you couldn't ask for so many questions because they would cut you off. The doctors back then made you feel like you were insignificant.

[Ray Christian]

You think that was because we were black?

[Janice]

Mostly, yes. Uneducated black folks. They ain't understand if I told them so.

[Ray Christian]

The mistrust of medicine didn't come out of a vacuum. It actually goes back generations. During the transatlantic slave trade, peoples of African descent were taken from all parts of the continent. And they came with all kinds of experiences and knowledge, including the use of plants and medicines for healing, such as herbs, on slave ships and plantations. This medical knowledge from home blended with new practices picked up from some of their white captors. This wasn't out of curiosity. This was A survival mechanism. Many plantation owners simply left it to slaves to take care of themselves. And why would white captors who treated these human beings as financial capital not want better medical care to maintain their investment? Because from its origins, even until now, peoples of African descent have been viewed as having very different biology than whites. From immunity to most tropical illnesses and a higher tolerance for pain. Slaves were as a whole treated similar to or less than any other livestock. Slaveholders didn't have to worry about the pain threshold of their property. So self care practices developed, using plants for healing, merging their own knowledge with that acquired from whites and native peoples where possible. Because no matter what the level of pain was or the treatment slaves sought, they damn well better show up and work the next day. Our grandmother was a daughter of slaves. My mother knew her slave grandfather. Every old person I knew grew up in Jim Crow. Originating from Africa to the Caribbean, we had our own traditions like root medicine, a belief in spirits and the power of the supernatural. These practices were generally forbidden on plantations and in conflict with Christianity. The services of root doctors and practitioners were utilized for illness and injury, for good luck, to ward off evil, to find love and to curse someone or have curses removed. When you don't trust the white man's medicine, you go back to ancient practices. And these traditions continued, even for me, the way I grew up, the way many of us grew up. When you were sick, you didn't go to the hospital. For me, that experience came 50 years ago. Back then, we lived in the cold, drafty second floor of this dilapidated row house in Richmond. It was January and I had been sick for I don't know how many days, but too many days to count at this point. There had been times before, in the winter, when I felt a little sick and had a really bad cold or something, and Mama would just wrap me up tight in coats and sweaters and scarves and give me handkerchiefs and send me off to school. But this time was different. This time she decided I was just too sick to go to school and Mama was going to have to leave me for the day. Mama had to go to work to clean white folks houses and ironically, care for their children. She knew she had done all she could do for me and she couldn't afford for us to lose a single day's pay of about $15. She could not take care of me if she did not take care of those white families. The first remedy, Mama wouldn't let it be cold in the house. We had three stoves in the house, one big kerosene stove that didn't work anymore. In the living room, another medium sized wood and coal burning stove. The third was a portable kerosene stove that could be moved by the wide hanger from room to room, but it had an old wick that not been changed in years. Mama lit that kerosene wick. She twisted the center part by the handle as it caught fire. And she put an old coffee can full of water on top to keep the air from being too dry. That was good for your chest, people would say about this. At first it gave off a puff of city smoke that made me cough and hack out loud and desperate. After that, Mama made sure the stove was filled with kerosene. She turned it down and she told me, let this burn all day. But that didn't work. My chest was heavy, my throat hurt, I had trouble swallowing and breathing, and I had a fever. I started to see things on the wall from my imagination and the flickering lights from the burning stove. And I spoke to God about baloney. And I asked God, why am I so sick? Why do I feel so bad? And God said, it's probably because you ate that green bologna instead of feeding it to the dog. I felt extremely hot, but Mama insisted that I stay wrapped in the covers. She gave me two teaspoons full of kerosene and sugar, but this helped nothing. Having seen many times what happens when you throw kerosene on a fire, I imagined at the time that if I messed with that wood and coal fired stove, I might have blown my head off. This was the sickest I had ever been. I'd missed maybe a day or two of school before, but not multiple days. Some kids got terrible injuries from falling and breaking bones to others who got their arms caught up in the wringer, which was a set of rollers that squeezed the water out of clothes. And for those kids that got their arms mangled up by it, well, I never once saw one of them come to school with a cast on. Over time, some white peers would ask me, hey, did your mama ever take you to the hospital after you broke your arm when you were young? And my answer would always be no. You just had a broken arm. You go to school with your injury and then you get a nickname like stiff for the rest of your school days. But the hospital, we weren't going to any hospital. We had our own remedies. That's what black folks did, and that's what Mama did. When the special medicine Mama gave me didn't work, she called on the pastor, the grand bishop, of our small storefront Holiness Pentecostal Church, the Reverend Moore. She called on him to seek God's intervention. And he came over with his waters and oils that had been blessed by God, rubbed them on my head and chest, and he prayed aloud over my body. But this helped nothing. And when my mama's appeal to heavenly God seemed to have failed through Reverend Moore, she went to the dark side. She called on the root lady with her charms and things. See, being a Christian meant if you went to the dark side, you had a lack of faith. And that's why she kept it a secret. Right away, the rude lady insisted I be naked. But up to this point in my life, I don't know if I ever had anybody see me naked other than my mama. But she let me know right away this is how it was gonna work. And I got naked and I prepared myself, and she slapped me several times with a broom, made me drink from a cup, had mama wrap a cloth bag around my belly filled with rotten fish heads, herbs, rocks and sticks and things. And that thick odor made it hard to breathe or even for me to stay still. And I jumped and twisted violently against the salt to my nose. I mean, I could taste the sickening, sticky fumes coming from this poultice. Thinking about it now brings back memories that I can taste and smell with the accompanying feelings of nausea and disgust. I swung back and forth while mama, my steps daddy and one of her friends held me down. But the rude lady yelled that it was working, the dark energy and the devil's energy was being expelled from my body. But this helped nothing. And the hospital. We still weren't going to the hospital. When these remedies failed, my mama lost hope and faith that I would get better. She cried every time she asked me how I was feeling. The following morning, she got me dressed, and to my surprise, we were going to see a doctor. A white doctor. Now, in all of our area of Richmond, there were only two white doctors that were willing to see black people. And at the age of 11, this would be my first time at the doctor's office. After we come back, I'll take you there. What's racing? What's racing?

[Zola]

If you have health insurance, you might be able to see a personal dietitian for $0 out of pocket. Nourish connects you with a dietitian that fits your needs, covered by your insurance. Nourish accepts hundreds of insurance plans, and 94% of patients pay $0 out of pocket. Meet with your dietitian online and message them anytime. Through the Nourish app. With hundreds of five star reviews from real patients, you know you're in good hands. Find your [e-mail] that's usenourish.com what is.

[DSW]

DAX, Are you tracking all our cars.

[Ray Christian]

On Carvana Value Tracker on all our devices? Yes, Kristen, yes I am.

[DSW]

Well, I've been looking for my phone.

[Ray Christian]

For In Dax's domain we see all so we always know what our cars are worth.

[DSW]

All of them?

[Ray Christian]

All of them. Value surge trucks up 3.9%.

[DSW]

That's a great offer.

[Ray Christian]

I know. Sell.

[DSW]

Sell. Track your car's value with Carvana Value Tracker. Today I can say to my new Samsung Galaxy S25 Ultra, hey, find a keto friendly restaurant nearby and text it to Beth and Steve. And it does without me lifting a finger so I can get in more squats anywhere I can. 1, 2, 3. Will that be cash or credit? Credit.

[Kevin]

4 Galaxy S25 Ultra. The AI companion that does the heavy lifting. So you can do you get [e-mail] compatible with select apps.

[DSW]

Requires Google Gemini account. Results may vary based on input. Check responses for accuracy.

[Ray Christian]

What's Ray saying? How often do you remember ever seeing an ambulance?

[Janice]

Ambulance? When I was growing up, I'd never seen an analyze.

[Ray Christian]

That's my sister Janice again.

[Janice]

Somebody gets sick if it was serious, like somebody laying on the sidewalk dying, got shot or stabbed. But what they used to call the paddy wagon would take them to the hospital or somebody put them in their car and take them and never saw an ambulance.

[Ray Christian]

Sometimes when I think about it, it's like I have to have saw one. But you know what it was? I saw him on tv. You know. You know on TV they would come pick up white people. But I never saw one until I left home. Never saw an ambulance. And it wasn't just ambulances. Doctors and doctor's offices too. I'd only ever seen them on TV. Like Marcus Welby, M.D. you have plenty of qualified doctors in Orange County. Why come to me? They don't have the faith in them.

[DSW]

I haven't you Dr. Welby.

[Ray Christian]

Julia with dying curl. She was a nurse. But the black folks that showed up in her show weren't like me if they were black. They weren't like any black people I ever knew.

[Janice]

Mrs. Faker washed my clothes and fixed my dress.

[Ray Christian]

Well, thank you Mrs. Baker. Julia. But on TV and in the movies, black folks didn't go to the hospital or doctors either. Even in the movie Shaft after the famous private detective got shot up, even he didn't go to the hospital. He went to his girlfriend and she nursed him up. John shaft just got right back up the next day and did his thing. And that personified us. There are reasons we didn't go to the hospital. There are reasons many black folks didn't go to the hospital. There's nothing a hospital would or could do. This sort of thing might be difficult to understand. And again, it goes way back. Following the end of slavery, some private institutions that were poorly funded did emerge. But following the end of reconstruction, blacks had to depend on private organizations to provide care and build hospitals. In most of the nation and the entirety of the old south, no medical care or support was provided for blacks, and blacks were specifically refused care and support. It was seen as a waste of limited resources. With limited training and support for black medical professionals, the black american community increasingly depended on private donations. Throughout the 20th century century, there were some signs of improvement, like how black soldiers stationed in the south during the 1940s created another benefit that required the federal government to build hospitals and medical resources in and around the bases. But with integration came the closing of all black hospitals, many in much needed repair and lacking adequate facilities. Now, it may be obvious, but doing this created an absence of care in many of these communities. You take all that and you add stories that have been with the black community for generations, like the tuskegee experiments, where black men were infected with syphilis and were not given treatment so they could be studied during the entire course of the disease until they died and could be autopsied. But the story that never seems to go away is about Dr. Charles Drew, a black surgeon and the scientist who invented the process for storing blood. In 1950, Dr. Drew was in a car accident, and the story for generations had said that he was denied blood when he was taken to a white hospital. This part of the story isn't true. Dr. Drew died, even despite the doctor's efforts. But it didn't matter, not to us. Because the moral of this story was, if you're black and you go to the hospital, you're going to die. The hospital was a place for desperate people, and mama was desperate. See, here I was at age 11, sick as a dumb dog, sicker than a dog, going to the doctor for the first time. I was only about seven blocks away, but in the crisp, cool air, struggling to breathe, the walk to the doctor's office nearly killed me. This doctor's office was small, but large enough to contain five or six rows of wooden chairs at each of the chairs set about 30 black women, like my mama, all dressed like they were going to church. Floors were dark, polished wood. The walls were white, with various large paintings of flowers and portraits of white men. I didn't know, but it smelled like white people's houses, which meant it had lack of certain smells. Our house smelled like grease, coal and wood. It had the smell of mold, while white people's houses smell like bleach, brick and plaster. Between the smells and the vibe, I was super nervous. I worried about what kind of shameful shit this was gonna be. Then arrived Dr. Martin, a huge white man with a thick neck that reminded me of a roll of bologna meat from the store before they sliced it. He had on a brown tie and he wore a white shirt that looked really tight. I could see that the white doctor's jacket was a struggle for him to put on. As he sat down and took off his outer jacket, he greeted everyone by saying, how are y'all doing this morning? Ain't it good that God has allowed you to live and be here? And the women, including my mama, all nodded in unison, said variations of yes, that's right. Uh huh. Yes, sir. Then he lit up the first of many cigarettes and coughed and said, you know, a lot of colored people would have better health if they had a better spirit about things. Now he went on to talk about how colored women should treat their children, their husbands, the vile nature of TV and music. I mean, it was almost like a chapel. His ruminations on life in the black community, his lectures, went on for more than 30 minutes. And through the haze of pain, fever and discomfort, it seemed like days. A nurse finally called my name. The doctor met me inside his adjacent office, still smoking a cigarette, and he motioned to my mama to sit back down. She didn't need to come in. And he started asking questions, something that became a pattern in my life and in the lives of many black Americans, doctors and authority figures. Having this deep interest in our personal life, especially when you went to the health department. From as long as I remember, white adults would pepper black children with questions like that all the time, like when people from the school board would come and we had to put on shows for them. I was not unaccustomed to that and asking about personal life. My mama cautioned us not to talk about these subjects. Playing ignorant was a survival mechanism. As he dropped cigarette ashes on my shoulder, Dr. Martin asked, what's wrong with you? Open your mouth, boy. Then you having sex? He asked, no, sir. You. You drink? No, sir. Then he asked whether I Worked. And if my daddy worked and what my daddy did for a living, and on and on. Then he stopped asking questions and told me to do something. Bend over and pull down your pants. And faster than I could react, he gave me a painful injection in the ass. Now, from exam to treatment, it only took a few moments. I got better over the next few days. This treatment did seem to work. The doctor told mom I had strep throat and probably pneumonia. And in the following weeks, various people who took part in my healing protocols took credit for what was a miracle. Healing, prayer, faith in water, oils, the root lady inspired with the fish head poultice or the piercing, thick penicillin. I survived the illness, the medicines and the healers. And yet, from the healing I received from the shot, from all my shots over the years, for all the things I know about science, about medicines, about health, now I still understand why we do these remedies. But I think about my mom when I think about my kids. My parents were illiterate. They had to ask the drugstore guy what the label said and either trust that information or try some home remedies. Now we don't waste any time getting our kids what they need, whether shots or medical care. Like the one time my daughter had this really bad stomachache. And at a certain point, my wife just said, let's take her to the doctor and see what the doctor says. And as it turned out, she had appendicitis and an obstructed bowel, and they had to perform emergency surgery. Now, she recovered swiftly, but using my mama's health care matrix, my daughter would have died. Now, I can't blame my mama. She was doing what she thought was right. I'm still here. I know a lot more now. A lot of us black folks do. I've gotten shot since that day nearly 50 years ago. And I've been to see many doctors. What's changed? Sure, I got more education on how things work, but the cynicism did grow over time. If the army gave me 100 shots before I was 20 years old, what's 100 more gonna do? I went from absolute fear to I don't care. I still get why other brave black soldiers were freaking out about getting a shot. And I still get why other black folks freak out today about getting a shot. When people ask about why we're so scared of shots and why we don't trust medicine, I just have to say, it's not that we don't trust medicine. We just don't trust people. Next time on What's Ray Saying? How black fashion influenced American culture, impacted the black community and almost changed the course of my life. Do you remember bobos? Yeah, I remember bobos, man. You got explain what bobos are. Bobos is a cheap pair of tennis shoes that you get them from the supermarket, you walk in, you go to the meat counter, you get your milk and all that. Oh, by the way, come on, you need some tennis shoes. You know, dressing black.

[Tiffany Christian]

You have just finished another episode of what's Ray Saying? This podcast was created, hosted and written by Ray Christian and was recorded in the great state of North Carolina. Mark Pagan is the senior producer. Jonathan Cabral is the associate producer. Story editing by Mark Pagan with development support from the Moth. Sound designed by Rebecca Sidel. Photos for the show come from Samantha J. Massey. Original music comes from our son RJ Christian, with additional music from Blue Dot Sessions. What's Ray Saying is derived from Ray's personal life, thoughts and research. His views, opinions and perceptions of the world and history are completely his own. But hey, get in touch if you want to debate. To find out more about what's Ray Saying, head to Facebook and Twitter at what's Raysaying or our website what'sraysaying.com Ray builds this podcast with mountain spring water, deep fried fat, fat sunshine and cracklin bread. In turn, he enjoys the love and appreciation you give in the form of comments and 5 star reviews in Apple Podcasts and Spotify. To find out more about what's Ray Saying, head to Facebook and twitter @whatsraysaying or our website whatsraysaying.com this series is supported by PRX, the Moth and Listeners Channel. Just like you. If you would like to translate your enjoyment and support into dollars, go to whatsraysayan.com and click on donate. I'm Tiffany Christian, the woman who had his babies and finds his keys saying goodbye to you from our magical home in Boone, North Carolina. Y'all take care and we'll be saying hey again soon in the next episode of what's Ray.

[Ray Christian]

That's all I got.

[Janice]

They see, you know, sisters know all the secrets.

[Ray Christian]

Counseling for that now, right? What the hell was my problem?