There are multiple ways to pay for the SEPTA fare. Many locals in Philadelphia opt for the teal SEPTA Key Card, which allows them to reload money or passes as they travel through the city. For others, acquiring paper trip cards for one or two trips is a more feasible option. Both accomplish the same goal: accessing public transportation. To acquire a SEPTA Key Card, going up to a fare machine and reading the prompts results in a card. This process may feel intuitive, but for a person who has never set foot in the United States and may not know any English (or even have literacy/technological skills), this process is inaccessible and foreign. Although this image represents one instance where personal circumstance creates division between people, it represents the invisible barriers and obstacles that refugees and immigrants face as they adjust to life in a new city, state, and country. Organizations like the Nationalities Service Center aid recently resettled refugees in the Philadelphia area with navigating these complex systems, including offering the paper SEPTA passes. To have that support, they need to be connected to the organization and often times have goals set with strict timelines. These restrictions and eligibility factors may lead to vulnerable individuals and families being unable to access critical support on their journey to self-sufficiency. At the end of the day, every Philadelphian would benefit from accessible and affordable public services.
Shortly after I took this photo, the pizza arrived, then, promptly at 5 pm, so did the people. Despite the July heat, twelve members of the Community Advisory Board showed up, equipped with expertise on queer and trans health that can only come from lived experience, ready to provide their input. This week’s topic: Mazzoni’s behavioral health services. The Community Advisory Board (CAB) gathers every other month to ensure Mazzoni Center’s program, policies, and services meet the needs and reflect the desires of the community. Once accepted, each participant volunteers for a 2 year term, with an option to renew for additional time. This position is only volunteer, which means that only folks who have the time to do an unpaid commitment are able to participate. As I sat in on the session, I wondered about the wide array of experiences that might’ve empowered each person to apply, and what a gift it is that they did. Each person flipped through the binder to peer at the agenda for the day. During introductions, one participant softly said “I know I speak quietly. I’m sorry if you have a hard time hearing me.” Another spoke of his troubles getting the healthcare he needs to manage his mental health. When asked about the gaps in the existing mental health services, people listened very closely to each other. Sometimes there was a long silence after a question, other times a cacophony of responses. As the meeting flowed on, I thought about the vulnerability it takes to raise your voice.
Too often, legislators develop policies without the input of those most impacted. Their choices are often influenced by those with the most power, and consequently furthest from the policy’s effects. I understand it on some level, community input is no easy feat. It’s a ton of work and takes a ton of time, both for people to curate the container and for people to consistently show up for it. However, it is a lift we must undertake if we are to say we care about public health. In healthcare spheres, people are quick to talk about “the community”—how much they care for it, how we must protect it, etc—that it starts to lose its meaning. Who makes up a community? While not perfect, I think Mazzoni’s CAB attempts to answer that question.