Sir? No Thank You! [An Open Letter to Medical Students]


To,
Medical Students
Wherever & whenever
Dec. 31, 2015

Dear Medical Students,

Upon returning to Pakistan and resuming my medical career in Karachi after 15 years in Houston, I became acutely aware of my buttons. Those, if touched, would get my goat. If done at a particularly inopportune time then activation of said buttons would make me rebellious. And that was not a good omen for you.

Perhaps you could extol my being attuned to my ins and outs – in particular, realization of my dark side, what triggered it and how I manage to control it, being part of the learning that you, my dear medical students, forced upon me.   

Today’s letter is about the most significant of those buttons. I call it “The Button”. I realized early on, “The Button” was being called “Sir”. 

It all began when I started receiving seemingly innocuous email from you. Email that would inevitably start with the salutation “Dear Sir….”, or ‘Respected Sir..”, or “Dear Respected Sir…”. At times followed by “…it would be a great honor to work on a clinical or research project with you Sir!” The ending was also invariably somewhat along the lines “Thank you Sir! Your humble student”. 

Initially it didn’t bother me because it hadn’t entered my awareness. But then one not-so-fine day it started creeping under my skin. I can’t exactly pinpoint why and when it occurred. It could’ve been your email in which I counted 10 “Sirs” in 3 lines. That was a stunner, and I believe likely worthy of entry into the Guinness Book of World Records. I could’ve been impressed by the record for most “Sirs” in least lines, but truth be told I simply got madder over time. I can perhaps speculate why:

(1)   “Sir” is an out-dated post-colonial British legacy that we in Pakistan need to finally break free from.    
(2)   There is no likely correlation between frequency of “Sir” usage and honest respect being bestowed (on said faculty).      
(3)   By constantly calling me “Sir” you were less likely to consider me a fellow-learner. By exalting me, placing me on a pedestal and (pseudo) knighting me, you were creating more barriers and distances between yourself and I.

I wished to be unshackled. I wished to humanize medical culture. And I wished to lessen the distance between us. After enough negativity for your Sir-centric culture had incorporated itself into my heart, I had an epiphany. To keep my sanity intact, I had to start pushing for an anti-culture in which none of you would feel the need to call me “Sir”. That utopia would be a non-hierarchical, trans-generational environment where there was no teacher / student dichotomy. Barriers could be brought down between you (presumable students) and us (presumable teachers). Part of doing so was the premise that when real learning is happening there is no need for a student and teacher distinction. Knowledge goes back and forth regardless of who’s teaching versus the taught. Both are needed for effective bi-directional teaching and learning.
   
Something very interesting happened while I was in America for further enlightenment and then work. Students would address me by my first name. Disrespect was neither intended nor felt. Ego remained intact. Things went smoothly and the world continued to function.  

When I recalled my stint in the US, I started requesting you all to stop calling me “Sir” and to call me by my first name, instead. I even requested you to drop the “Dr. Asad or Dr. Mian” bit from your repertoires. 

Easier said than done. A typical conversation that ensued is given below.

You: Hello Sir. How are you doing?

Me: Don’t call me Sir.

You: Ok Sir.

Me: Don’t call me Sir.

You: Sorry Sir.

Me: Don’t call me Sir.

And so on…

Having said that, there have been mavericks among you, albeit laughably few, with whom I’m on a first name basis now. Through the subsequent camaraderie that could only have happened with those I was informal enough with, by equalizing the playing field, I have learned tremendously.  

Regardless of the numbers being low, you show me a glimmer of hope.

For that I thank you.

Sincerely yours,


Sir. 

[from the Karachi-Houston Diaries]


Writer's posthoc note (July 20th, 2019): Click here if you want to access reference (or evidence) of sorts!

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