KB-Room 355, a Voice, a Question: On Bias and Knowing

I just spent several days in a hospital’s research unit. My roommate was a caucasian woman admitted for suspected fibromyalgia. Her regular doctor had already submitted a request for government support, even before a specialist had confirmed the diagnosis. But in the hospital, that diagnosis was quietly dismissed. No PET scan. No further testing. No protest. She made no effort to challenge this outcome. It just felt like someone trying to game the system, until the system stopped playing along.

In contrast, I was actively engaged in my care. My case was supported by two converging diagnoses from independent experts in Germany, where I had previously lived. The intern overseeing my file had reviewed the evidence and found it aligned with her own assessment. Treatment prep had begun.

Then, on the final day, a senior doctor appeared, for the first and only time. It seemed he hadn’t been clearly briefed but confidently contradicted both the intern and the prior diagnoses. His responses, though polite, didn’t carry real weight. When I asked for clarification, the reasoning seemed vague, more anchored in his status than in the evidence. The conversation circled.

I mentioned the reports from Germany, and he paused genuinely surprised. “Were you living in Germany before?” he asked, his jaw slightly dropped. The question may seem benign, but in context, it carried weight. It didn’t sound like curiosity. It sounded like coded suspicion, the kind too familiar to people whose names or backgrounds don’t fit the expected mold. I don’t know what he assumed, but I felt it.

In that room, two patients sat side by side: one caucasian, quietly submitting a claim for a diagnosis not yet confirmed, slipping through the system without scrutiny; the other a woman of color, presenting documented evidence, only to be met with skepticism. The contrast said more than either of us ever could.

That moment exposed something uncomfortable: how fragile reasoning becomes when it collides with hierarchy, bias, and the culture of unquestioned expertise.

I wasn’t just seeking clarity; I was challenging the invisible rules of deference. And I could feel the cost of stepping out of place.

This was not just a medical experience, it was a moment of epistemic tension. A live example of what philosophers warn us about: Aristotle told us that ethos (credibility) can persuade even without logos (reason). Hume reminded us that what we take as knowledge often rests on habit, not certainty. Davidson challenged the idea of radically different conceptual schemes, arguing that understanding across difference is possible, if we assume the other is, like us, a rational being. Sapir and Whorf pointed out that language doesn’t just reflect what we think; it shapes what we are able to notice, name, and challenge.

And all of that came into the room with me. Not in theory but in tone, posture, inference.

You then realize how much power lives in who is believed and who is questioned. In who can quietly exit the system, and who must fight to stay seen inside it. In who gets to say “I know”, and who is told to wait, to defer, to be patient.

It is not just about science or symptoms, it is about epistemic injustice, about the ethics of who gets to own their narrative and whose knowledge is quietly overwritten.

I don’t know how this will unfold or if my voice will be heard differently next time. I have learned a long time ago that argument from authority isn’t always a sign of expertise, and to stay alert when authority enters with answers and exits without real questions. So trust me when I say that asking the right question is the most honest form of resistance.

#EpistemicJustice #EthicalLeadership #CriticalThinking #BiasInInstitutions #DiversityAndInclusion #PowerDynamics #OrganizationalCulture #HealthcareEthics #Reasoning #InclusionMatters #UnconsciousBias