You can’t wake a person pretending to be asleep. (Navajo proverb)
Marina Tsaplina
Many people in the US diabetes sector came to know me through my work in THE BETES®, a performing arts initiative that I founded to focus on whole-person health and care. We centered the importance of the connection between body, mind and mental health in the experience of chronic illness, complications and disability. After experiencing one of our programs, Mark Heyman, a well known clinical psychologist and person with diabetes, spoke of how impactful our work was. This was a common response: our programs were deeply transformative for the majority of the thousands of people with chronic illness, caregivers and clinicians who experienced and participated in them. I cherish these engagements to this day.
To fund my work, I was advised to do as the majority of U.S. diabetes nonprofit organizations do: attain corporate sponsorships from the diabetes industry. This meant attending the big diabetes conferences and setting up business meetings. It meant navigating complex ethical scenarios that arise from partnering with for-profit partners on mission-driven work. It also required thinking about the agendas of these funders.
Let me be clear: these corporate sponsorships made my work under THE BETES® possible. Some of the partnerships were very fruitful, and (almost) mutually collaborative.
But these contracts also meant something else: they required a certain silence from me. It took me a while to not only understand this, but to realize that it was happening. To make this silence crystal clear, let me share two moments with you:
In 2017, before I knew the extent of the insulin affordability crisis in America and wasn’t yet informed about its causes, I was composing a social media post about the soaring price of insulin. My hands froze above my keyboard when I realized that I was choosing my words very carefully with an eye to one of our sponsors, Novo Nordisk. In that moment, I realized how the influence of being aligned with industry takes hold. It often isn’t direct, but instead hidden and subtle, though profoundly palpable. This influence is often revealed by what is not said, rather than by what is. Another example of this is when the current CEO of JDRF, Aaron Kowalski said to me earlier this year that “the pharmaceutical industry is taking advantage of a corrupt [health] system” but did not say that the pharmaceutical industry’s behavior is itself corrupt and demands strong legislative action. The distance between these two positions is staggering and leads to very different advocacy actions.
As my hands hovered above the keyboard, I recalled what the funder had said to me back in 2015: “We want to leave an imprint on your organization.” In retrospect, what a bone-chilling warning that was.
Industry, the root causes of the crisis were never discussed. In fact, they were actively misconstrued, with blame placed on PBM’s and “other countries not paying their fair share.” What also was never vocalized was the extent of the pain being inflicted on people with diabetes in the U.S. by government-granted pharmaceutical monopolies that enables their unrestrained pricing to continue.
In 2019, after gaining much needed education and #insulin4all activism, I presented at the American Association of Diabetes Educators (AADE) annual conference. This time, I brought a small red sign. It said “Patients Over Profit”, a slogan that sets a clear moral compass for the purpose of medicine and healthcare. When I saw a well-meaning industry-aligned patient advocate in the hall, I invited him to hold the sign and take a photo. In response, he said to me:
“Now, you know I could get in trouble for holding that sign.”
How has stating that patients are more important than profit become controversial?
The response of this advocate echoes the predicament I found myself within when composing that social media post, and the main reason why I turned away from my own organization. I refused to be in that position. Worse, I never foresaw that I would be. The difficulty is that many patient advocates have tied their own economic livelihoods, and their identities, to the community that has formed around the economic interests of the pharmaceutical and biotech industries. There is nothing inherently problematic about this, except for the fact that these companies are engaged in abusive behavior against the very community they claim to serve.
There comes a point when silence about this becomes unacceptable. Where staying silent about the structural violence that these companies are inflicting on our community outweighs any benefit, any noble cause. For me, that moment came when I realized that my voice was no longer free. Nor could I pretend that I was serving the mental and social health of the diabetes community while staying silent about how families and lives are being broken, how communities are being vacuumed of resources. How lives are being destroyed!
This is about our right to life. What we have in America is a brutal system of abuse of patient communities by industry, and the price of staying silent about the abuse of power is ones integrity.
Marina Tsaplina is an interdisciplinary performing artist working in the field of the medical/health humanities and socially engaged art. She is an Associate of the Trent Center for Bioethics, Humanities and History of Medicine at Duke University where she serves as lead artist of Reimagine Medicine. She lives in Brooklyn, New York, USA.