Georgina Campelia

Racism is a pervasive issue in patient care and a key social determinant of health. Clinical ethicists, like others involved in patient care, have a duty to recognize and respond to racism on both individual and systems-wide levels to improve patient care. Doing so can be challenging and, like other skills in ethics consultation, may benefit from specialized training, standardized tools and approaches, and practice. Learning from existing frameworks and tools, as well as building new ones, can help guide clinical ethicists to systematically approach racism as it affects clinical cases. Here, we propose an expansion of the commonly used four-box method to clinical ethics consultation, where racism is considered as a potential factor in each of the four boxes. We apply this method to two clinical cases to highlight ethically salient information that might be missed using the standard formulation of the four boxes but captured with the expanded version. We argue that this expansion of an existing clinical ethics consultation tool is ethically justified insofar as it (a) creates a more just approach, (b) supports individual consultants and services, and (c) facilitates communication in contexts where racism impinges on effecting good patient care.

The ethical obligation to provide a reasonably safe discharge option from the inpatient setting is often confounded by the context of homelessness. Living without the security of stable housing is a known determinant of poor health, often complicating the safety of discharge and causing unnecessary readmission. But clinicians do not have significant control over unjust distributions of resources or inadequate societal investment in social services. While physicians may stretch inpatient stays beyond acute care need in the interest of their patients who are experiencing homelessness, they must also consider the implications of using an inpatient hospital bed for someone without the attendant level of medical need. Caring for patients in an inpatient setting when they no longer require acute care means fewer beds for acute care patients. And when a patient who is experiencing homelessness declines a medically safer option such as a skilled nursing facility, then clinicians may be faced with the sole option of discharge to the street, which raises troubling questions of nonmaleficence and social justice. Here we investigate the different forms of injustice that play out when patients are discharged to the street, and offer a map of the interwoven ethical responsibilities of clinicians, hospitals, and skilled nursing facilities.

ABSTRACT:Clinical ethics consultants bear witness to the direct harms of intersecting axes of oppression—such as racism and classism—as they impinge on elucidating and resolving ethical dilemmas in health care. Health Care Ethics Consultation (HCEC) professional guidance supports recognizing and analyzing power dynamics and social-structural obstacles to good care. However, the most relied upon bioethical principles in clinical ethics have been criticized for insufficiency in this regard. While individual ethics consultants have found ways to expand their approaches, they do so in an ad hoc way without frameworks to guide consistency. Motivated by the practical expertise of clinical ethicists, this essay offers a new framework to support openness to analyzing power imbalances and respecting marginalized voices and values. This framework is grounded in transformative justice, where the aim is to take responsibility for oppression by centering and responding to moral perspectives and value systems that are all too often silenced.

During the coronavirus disease 2019 (COVID‐19) pandemic, bioethical analyses often emphasized population health and societal benefit. Hospital policies frequently focused on reducing risk of transmitting SARS‐CoV‐2 by restricting visitors; requiring protective equipment; and screening staff, patients and visitors. While restrictions can be burdensome, they are often justified as essential measures to protect the whole population against a virus with high rates of transmission, morbidity and mortality. Yet communities are not monolithic, and the impacts of these restrictions affect different groups differently. An ophthalmological unit outreach program in Ethiopia serves to illustrate. Pre‐operative screening policies were designed to protect as many patients as possible but had adverse impacts on underserved communities. As this case study demonstrates, creating hospital policies that truly serve the good of the society may require a more holistic review of impacts on inequitably positioned communities.

Although justice is a central principle in clinical ethics, work that centers social justice is often marginalized in clinical ethics. In addition to institutional barriers that may be preventing clinical ethicists from becoming the activists that Meyers argues we should be, we must also recognize the barriers embedded in the field of clinical ethics itself. As clinical ethicists, we have an opportunity to support anti‐racism work in particular by altering our own organizational structures to be more inclusive and reflective of the Black, Indigenous, and other communities of color we serve, enhancing clinical ethics education and training by making critical theories foundational, and decolonizing our clinical ethics consultation tools and practices.

Suffering is a ubiquitous yet elusive concept in health care. In a field devoted to the pursuit of objective data, suffering is a phenomenon with deep ties to subjective experience, moral values, and cultural norms. Suffering’s tie to subjective experience makes it challenging to discern and respond to the suffering of others. In particular, the question of whether a child with profound neurocognitive disabilities can suffer has generated a robust discourse, rooted in philosophical conceptualizations of personhood as well as the academic and experiential expertise of practiced health-care professionals. The issue remains unresolved because it is difficult, perhaps impossible, to ever truly know an infant’s lived experience. But what if this is not the best question? What if instead of asking “can this infant suffer?” the discourse is broadened to ask “is there suffering here?” This latter question demands attention to patients’ subjective experiences of suffering, but also to the web of relationships that envelop them. Without losing sight of the importance of patients’ experiences, consideration of their relationships may elucidate the presence of suffering when the patients themselves are unable to provide the same clarity. In this essay, care ethics frames an examination of how suffering manifests in the loving and caring relationships that surround an infant with profound neurocognitive disabilities, changing those relationships and affecting the individuals within them. Exploring suffering through these relationships may offer clarity on the presence and content of suffering for infants with profound cognitive disabilities, in turn offering moral guidance for responding to suffering and supporting flourishing in this context.

This chapter will chart some of the history of medical ethics in the West, beginning before the term was coined in 1803 by Thomas Percival and ending with today’s notion of bioethics. This chapter will address some of the key conflicts and historical shifts that transformed medical ethics from an unnamed and amorphous idea to a distinctive field of study informing patient care. The path is complex with medical advances and pitfalls over the centuries that both compel and inhibit progress. With each historical shift, distinguishing features arise. Medical ethics first takes shape in oaths of faith and loyalty, where the virtues and moral obligations of physicians were grounded in the dictates of the gods, the state, the crown, and/or the church. Over the course of the sixteenth to the nineteenth centuries, these oaths come to be defined by an emerging practice of medicine. As such, the power of the oaths comes from the professional contract rather than those higher authorities. Even so, little has changed in the named virtues, and their moral standing continued to be founded on social consensus rather than moral argument. Finally, through the struggles and failures of scientific progress in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, there is an urgent demand for the moral reasoning and rigorous justification that comes to define bioethics as we know it today.

Alongside clinical practice, medical schools now confront mounting reasons to examine nontraditional approaches to ethics. Increasing awareness of systems of oppression and their effects on the experiences of trainees, patients, professionals, and generally on medical care, is pushing medical curriculum into an unfamiliar territory. While there is room throughout medical school to take up these concerns, ethics curricula are well-positioned to explore new pedagogical approaches. Feminist ethics has long addressed systems of oppression and broader structures of power. Some of its established concepts can offer distinct value as medical climates change and adapt in response to increased awareness of the experiences of marginalized individuals and populations. In this essay, we offer a set of concepts from feminist ethics that have a fundamental role to play in medical school curriculum: relationality, relational autonomy, and epistemic justice. Though these concepts are not exhaustive, they can be taught in tandem with the concepts that have historically grounded ethics education in medical school, such as autonomy and beneficence. Ultimately, we contend that these concepts hold particular value in ethics curriculum insofar as they diversify mainstream ethical approaches, directly address the pervasiveness of systems of oppression in medicine, and recognize the voices and concerns that may be marginalized in standard approaches.

Though many argue over root causes, few dispute the existence of gender disparities across our societal landscape. Patriarchal norms consistently obstruct the flourishing of those who identify themselves as women, those who are identified by others as women, and generally those who gender-identify in ways that challenge the norms of heterosexual cis-gender male privilege. Acknowledging the limits of our analysis, here we focus on some of the disparities faced by women in particular.1 From the persistent wage gap despite women's steadily increasing participation in the workforce, to the perplexing paucity of women occupying C-suite positions in business or tenured professorships in academia despite efforts to...

The epistemic and moral worth of empathy is deeply contested. Some doubt the possibility and sufficiency of empathic knowledge. Others question whether knowing how another feels is causally linked to moral actions. Though some have defended empathy as a form of knowing or an important epistemic endeavor, there is a gap in these responses that weakens their force against empathy’s skeptics. On the one hand, the epistemologists tend to focus on individuals. On the other hand, the moral theorists and moral-epistemologists tend to focus on the social. Here, I contend that the first group could learn from the second and, together, form a stronger defense of empathy’s epistemic import. Namely, if, as epistemologists, we can begin from a conceptualization of empathy as a social epistemic practice within which knowledge is formed and confirmed with others, then we can better allow for possibility in understanding how another feels, reliability in empathic processes, and appropriate sensitivity to variance and degrees of empathic knowing.