Why I do equity work
Story by Lydia Guy-Ortiz, Department of Health program manager within the Office of Disease Control and Health Statistics
This is the weekend of June 19, or Juneteenth, the oldest nationally celebrated commemoration of the ending of slavery in the United States, which is significant to me as a descendant of slaves but is also the anniversary of the killing of my Uncle William Banner, Jr. by a deputy sheriff in Lynwood, Washington. He died June 19, 1979, over 40 years ago.
- He was a Black man.
- He was unarmed.
- He was 30 years old.
- He was 6 foot 2 inches and 180 lbs.
- He had a dark complexion.
- He was a Vietnam vet.
- He was mentally ill.
- He was great mechanic.
- He was my mother’s favorite brother.
He was my uncle and he was completely ordinary in both his death and his life.
I was 12 when he died and it changed my world. One of my core memories was riding in the back of the limo at his funeral and seeing a mass of Black people as we approached the church. They were angry and grieving and they were mourning what he represented. To my left and my right were two motorcycle officers tasked with keeping our family safe, and it was surreal. There was a lawsuit that was settled out of court, there was newspaper coverage, but what I took away from that experience was profound confusion, sadness and anger, and a commitment to make this better, somehow.
At the same time, I was preparing to go to high school and my local high school was Inglewood High School, which was located in Southcentral Los Angeles at the beginning of the “crack epidemic” and subsequent “war on drugs.” My middle school counselor approached me knowing my family situation and suggested that I had an alternative — St. Bernard High School. A private high school located in Playa del Rey, the beach of kings. It was five miles away but a complete world away. I went to high school. I continued on to University of California, Santa Barbara, on another beautiful campus. These educational opportunities gave me the skill set necessary to do the work I do today professionally.
In my formative years, I attempted to reconcile these two worlds to understand why inequity exists, why my blackness causes fear, and what the systems that perpetuate these inequities are. I wanted to understand the world in which I live, in which we all live. I have worked on a variety of health issues in a variety of positions, trying to make sense of this world. For the past seven years, I have worked as a bureaucrat and program administrator and have had the opportunity to continue to answer these questions and apply a public health lens to my work.
Three years ago, my stepbrother Irving Guy died, and he died of complications due to HIV. My brother was diagnosed as HIV positive and I had my first occurrence of breast cancer in our late twenties. My family celebrated me with pink ribbons and praised me for surviving. My family never spoke in public of my brother’s HIV status and chastised him for his poor life choices.
- He was a Black man.
- He was 52 years old.
- He was 6 foot 4 inches and 200 lbs.
- He had one leg; the other was amputated as result of a motorcycle accident.
- He had a dark complexion.
- He struggled with addiction.
- He was more a “grasshopper” than an ant.
- He could tell a great story.
- He used his charm to put people at ease.
He was my stepbrother and he was completely ordinary in both his death and his life.
In August 2019, my Uncle Phillip Banner died from of massive heart attack. He refused to go to the doctor because of previous negative interactions and lack of faith in the health care system, and he died on his living room floor in front of his 11-year-old son.
- He was a Black man.
- He was 61 years old.
- He was 6 foot 2 inches and 220 lbs.
- He owned his own business.
- He was hypertensive.
- He was more like my brother than my uncle.
- He took me out to my first bar.
- He knew exactly how to “push my buttons.”
- He restored classic cars.
He was my uncle and he was completely ordinary in both his death and his life.
Therefore, from my perspective, it is a multitude of systems that we need to impact. It is multi-faceted and complex and needs an intersectional approach. It’s work I am compelled to do on a professional and personal level.
I have a daughter and a son. She is nine and he is 12, the same age as Tamir Rice when he was killed. As we have stayed home to stay healthy, he has reached the milestone of becoming taller than me, more a man than a boy becomes. Sometimes, I cry when I cannot be with him. I implore him to stay safe knowing that it is an unreasonable request.
His name is Gabriel Ortiz.
He will be a Black man.
Working for equity and optimal health for all
At Department of Health, we understand that the public’s health is greatly impacted by inequity and racism embedded in our systems. Our agency’s vision is to achieve equity and optimal health for all Washingtonians. We are committed to fairness and justice to ensure equitable access to services, programs, opportunities, and information for all. And we know this work is ongoing. We have room to improve and still have a lot of work ahead of us to protect and improve the health of all people in Washington state. Learn more about health equity in Washington state.
