A chance meeting with Paul Farmer helped shape the course of my life | Opinion

As I was finishing college in the mid-1990s, I attended a global health conference breakfast meeting in Washington, D.C. Armed with a combination of youthful cluelessness and naiveté, I asked if I could occupy the lone seat open at one of the round tables. I was met with awkward silence and bemused looks until the man sitting next to the open seat said, “Of course! Join us.” Although I stayed mostly silent, waiting for the morning speaker to start, the man asked me about myself, my interests, and my reasons for being at the conference.

Eventually, the conference organizer walked on stage to welcome everyone and introduce the “man of the hour.” Then the man in the seat next to me stood up and walked to the stage, ready to discuss his work in Haiti and the organization he ran, Partners in Health.

I wanted to dive under the table and hide my mortification. But just before he left the table, the man leaned over and said: “Priya, good luck in what lies ahead. Feel free to reach out,” and slid a card near me. Paul Farmer.

When I heard that Paul had died this week at the age of 62, I was devastated. Despite being worlds away, Farmer was a beacon for me, a personal hero who was committed deeply to helping those in need. He would go on to indelibly change the world of global health, unwavering in his commitment to the health and wellness of those whom others appeared to have forgotten. He saw health as inextricably linked to empowerment, equity, and justice.

» READ MORE: Dr. Paul Farmer, Partners in Health co-founder, dies at 62

Over the course of my career, I have been so fortunate to have been touched by humble giants who were steadfast in their work, but were willing to extend support to those coming behind them. Paul Farmer was one.

In truth, I don’t remember much else from that morning; my head was ringing from embarrassment and I was consumed with self-consciousness. I do remember Farmer discussing what is known as his guiding mantra: “The idea that some lives matter less is the root of all that is wrong with the world.” He put words to ideas I had always felt before I understood them, or could articulate them to others. Even more, Farmer put into action his fundamental beliefs, working for and helping anyone around him — most especially those with less. I remember the determination and dedication in his voice; I was moved by his fearlessness to challenge those in the room to do the same and better.

“He put words to ideas I had always felt before I understood them, or could articulate them to others.”

Some months later, I got my first job in global health. I was part of a team in war-torn Cambodia, working to help rebuild the health infrastructure as the country was emerging from a horrific period under the Khmer Rouge, followed by a decade of Vietnamese occupation. At the time, more than half the population was less than 18 years old, women outnumbered men by almost three to one, and much of the educated class had been murdered in an attempt to return Cambodia to its agrarian roots.

Just like Farmer, I decided to come back to the U.S. to attend medical school. Unlike Paul, I never returned to the country that confirmed my focus on health as a tool of social justice, as I saw that many of the disparities and inequities I had seen or experienced in the international setting existed within the bounds of my new city of Philadelphia, where people born less than five miles apart had a 20-year gap in life expectancy.

I followed Farmer’s career. I daydreamed of joining groups like Partners in Health when my children were in college. I imagined what it would have been like had I known who he was on our one chance encounter.

Meanwhile, I tried to keep the lessons of his life and example central to how I approached my work in the emergency department and in the public health of my local community. What Paul and others like him illustrated is that a focus on illness alone is not enough; to truly improve the health of a person and community, we need to address the issues they face beyond biology — access to care, education, housing security, food security. This comes through collaborations and partnerships with community organizations, local champions, and community leaders.

In reading through some of the numerous tributes to Farmer from across the world as I tried to process his sudden death, it was his unapologetic authenticity, steadfast integrity, and disarming humility that were most salient. He saw the issues around him (and the patients and systems he served) as far more important than himself — so much so that the banalities of life, such as having a change of clothes, were often overlooked. When asked what kept him motivated after decades, he responded simply, “Doing hard things with friends.”

Many of us have lost our heroes in these last few years — people who served as our personal guideposts, who had the courage to stand apart and even stand alone for their principles and integrity, who led by example and wasted no time on hollow words or insincere actions. It is disorienting to look up and not see them. What my heroes — like Paul Farmer, Jeremy Nowak, Ruth Bader Ginsberg, bell hooks, among others — did was tell us that we each have the ability to help those in need, even if only by not looking away; we each belong to a community, and we have a responsibility to help those pushed to the margins. We each have the power to change the world.

In honor of those who came before us, but most especially for the generations who are coming behind us, we must keep walking the path our heroes paved, and continue doing hard things with friends. Every step is worth the effort.

Priya E. Mammen is an emergency physician and public health consultant. She is chair of the section on public health and preventive medicine at the College of Physicians of Philadelphia and adjunct faculty of health and societies at the University of Pennsylvania. She writes a monthly column on the future of public health in the region. @PEMammen