Exhibit
Cancer is the second leading cause of death in Washington, DC, but the burden is not shared equally. Stark racial and geographic disparities persist—Black residents face the highest mortality rates, and those in Wards 1, 7, and 8 experience the greatest incidence and loss. Beyond the numbers, cancer leaves behind stories—of diagnosis, of caregiving, of grief, of survival—stories that are often missing from public health data but deeply felt in communities.
This exhibit is a space to witness those stories. Through poetry, visual storytelling, and community voices, Cancer Lore captures the lived realities of those impacted by cancer in DC. Inspired by Audre Lorde’s call to transform silence into language and action, this collection brings to light experiences too often overlooked in clinical and policy discussions.
Take your time. Read. Reflect. Let these words and images guide you through the injustices, histories, and personal narratives that shape cancer in our city. This exhibit is not just a presentation—it is an act of remembrance, resistance, and truth-telling.
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"Thank you God. Thank you for the healing, Thank you God I know you have given me the forces of the universe to help me heal. I am a child of God. I am a child of the universe.
I attend to the trees and the stars and the universe is all going to be healed---"
Dr. Dorothy Doyle Harrison
War Music, 2012
Recording from Masterpiece Theater, Cassette Tape
Dr. Dorothy Doyle Harrison was a pioneer and innovator of health justice in Washington, D.C.—a retired professor of Howard University College of Medicine in the Department of Family Medicine, and a visionary in nursing, international public health, research, and biofeedback/energy medicine. A true Harlem Renaissance woman, she was also a writer, pianist, and gifted artist/photographer.
Among those who knew her, Dr. Harrison’s legacy lives on not just through her academic and clinical achievements, but through the lore she created in her own healing journey. After being diagnosed with breast cancer, she turned inward, drawing from ancestral wisdom, somatic practice, and spiritual strength. Before undergoing surgery, she created a healing tool she called War Music Mantra—a single phrase of music, played 53 times, recorded onto a cassette tape in 2012.
The music, drawn from Masterpiece Theatre, became a ritual: she listened to it twice a day. With each session, she closed her eyes, visualized the cancer in her breast, and marched it out of her body by rhythmically pumping her right-fisted arm to the beat. At the end of the music, she would pray a mantra. She called the tape War Music—a personal medicine, a battle cry, and a meditation on healing all in one.
Today, the War Music Mantra endures as part of her living memory—a testament to the sacred power of embodied resistance and self-healing in the face of disease.
Sally Squires
Cancer Death Rates Still Loom, 1990
Archived Washington Post Article, Print
Michael Abramowitz
DC Becomes Cancer Capitol, 1989
Archived Washington Post Article, Print
In 1989, The Washington Post declared that D.C. had become the “Cancer Capital of the U.S.” At the time, cancer death rates in the District were a third higher than the national average, with nearly 200 excess deaths each year. Black men in D.C. suffered the highest cancer mortality rates of any major U.S. city—349 per 100,000—far exceeding the rates in New York, Atlanta, or Detroit. The disparities extended to Black women and even to white residents, with breast cancer mortality for both Black and white women the highest in the country. Experts pointed to limited access to health care and screenings, high rates of smoking and alcohol use, poor diet, and possible environmental exposures. Yet even as officials acknowledged the problem, city funding for cancer prevention and screening was strikingly low.
More than three decades later, not enough has changed. Despite advances in medicine and public health, the same racial disparities in cancer deaths persist in Washington, D.C. Preventable cancers still take a disproportionate toll on Black residents, and systemic barriers—unequal access to early detection, treatment, and prevention—remain in place. The crisis declared in 1989 was not a passing headline but a long-standing failure of public health systems to respond to deep-rooted inequities. The city’s cancer burden, particularly among Black communities, continues to reflect a larger story about who gets care, who gets ignored, and what it takes to make real change.
Jessica Hopkins
Becoming the Texture IV, 2016
Acrylic, watercolor, archival ink on canvas
24 x 24
Courtesy of CONNERSMITH
When I was a cancer patient, my body was transitioning without my knowledge or control. I had to accept physical changes along with the chemotherapy, radiation, and surgeries. Here I used wood patterns to define my chest, because the grain of wood reveals the secret history of trees—from periods of disease and atrophy to regeneration.
Jessica Hopkins
Beauty Behind the Beast II, 2017
Acrylic and watercolor on paper
18w x 24h
Courtesy of CONNERSMITH
The traumatic experience of cancer has allowed me to view myself as a canvas; my body has been
primed, stretched, cut, and painted. I am substituting art terms and tools for medical ones: my blood is paint, the needle is the brush, and my body the canvas.
Jessica Hopkins
Scratching the Surface, 2014
Acrylic on canvas
18w x 36h
Courtesy of CONNERSMITH
As a consequence of my illness, I became the subject, and my approach to painting changed as well. I began to notice a different language starting to develop, which was an abstraction in my art and reality. With this style of art, I began to use color to represent a mask and use a wood pattern to express how the exterior of my body felt after radiation. In this discovery, I start to incorporate other tools to depict the figure, instead of only using a brush. My new utensils consist of pens, a palette knife, along with scrapping and roller tools. Each portrait examines my interpretation of the different stages of my transformation.
Anonymous
Through All Time, 2025
Courtesy of Ravenna Raven from The Good Listening Project
"There are great disparities in cancer care," she began.
When she was first diagnosed with cancer at 38, she was shocked by the staggering cost of treatment. From July to January, just half a year of care amounted to around $360,000.
"Someone without medical insurance wouldn't even have a chance at survival," she said. "Look at the cost of care."
Over the years, she has watched many friends struggle with the inequities in healthcare policies. "A friend who was self-employed couldn't afford her care. She couldn't afford reconstructive surgery and had to rely on free trials. And she died," she told me.She spoke of another friend who lost her job during treatment. "When you lose your job, you lose your health insurance, and that makes it impossible to afford treatment. Your chances of survival drop dramatically." Then, there was a friend who was dismissed as "too young" to have cancer. "She was ignored, and it spread to her hips, legs, and spine," she said. "If someone had just listened to her..."
"I haven't been ignored," she added. "They wouldn't be my doctors if they did. And I'm grateful I have that choice." As our conversation neared its end, she spoke about her daughter. "She is my why," she told me, her voice full of strength. "I asked God to let me watch her grow up, and now I want to see her graduate, become a doctor, get married. All of it."
Anonymous
The Way My Family Does, 2025
Courtesy of Ravenna Raven from The Good Listening Project
She and her mom sat down to speak with me while they were waiting for her appointment. She told me she had been diagnosed a month earlier but had not yet been able to begin treatment. She shared her thoughts on what an ideal support system for patients would look like- one that eases the significant administrative burdens they face. She suggested several ways to help patients manage the daily administrative tasks that can feel overwhelming. "It's too much to manage," she said. "The schedules, the deadlines, getting a CD of an MRI from one doctor to another, and actually driving it from one place to another,' " she explained. "My resilience comes from my family," she told me. The advocacy, the refusal to take no for an answer - I receive so much support through them."
Anonymous
Love Surrounding Me, 2025
Courtesy of Ravenna Raven from The Good Listening Project
We spoke while she was waiting for her appointment.
When I asked if there was anything on her heart or mind, she looked at me, her eyes deeply expressive. "I have a 14-year-old son," she said. "And I've been watching him go through depression." She spoke about him with such tender love and compassion for the grief they were both experiencing due to the recent losses of several beloved family members - her other son, and her two brothers. "I'm mourning just as much as he is, but I don't want to show him my sadness," she told me.
"Everything seems to move so slow in trying to get him help," she said. "It's hard when I'm at the hospital so often, when I'm not well myself."
Anonymous
Hurricane, 2025
Courtesy of Sibihan Lawrence (Listener Poet) from The Good Listening Project
Twice diagnosed with early stage skin cancer, conversation with this recently retired federal government professional who had previously worked within the department of health and human services, was punctuated by her deep sense of gratitude. Reflecting on the sad passing of her beloved father who had also received a skin cancer diagnosis, she told me:
"My father didn't notice [his cancer]. None of us were sunscreen aware or savvy, so this is as much a cautionary tale as anything else we must use sunscreen and monitor ourselves frequently." She went on to say: "The most fortunate thing for me was that my cancers were caught early, healthcare professionals responded at lightning speed - I feel extremely lucky." The recent news of a close family member, as well as a dear friend both being struck with critical health conditions had profoundly affected her. She shared: "It's just hitting home - the fragility of life." When discussing the potential healing power of the arts she told me: "Cancer's impact has been mostly a mental thing in my personal journey. It has taken a toll - I have to constantly be on top of things. But being able to read or write poetry, get involved in crafts, take long walks - these can be healthy distractions. Arts and crafts can provide an important additional framework for patient follow-up - pastimes to stop us from obsessing."
Anonymous
Ode to Arts and Health, 2025
Courtesy of Ravenna Raven (Listener Poet) from The Good Listening Project
As a self-described jack-of-all-trades, he has spent many years working in the healing arts, offering bedside visits and providing comfort by simply sitting with people, leading Zen tangles, writing with folks, and bringing around a cart filled with art supplies-activities designed to help individuals pass the time during their treatments. We spoke while he was in the midst of his day. He shared his thoughts on the growing concept of "social prescribing," a practice gaining traction in healthcare settings. This approach involves healthcare providers "prescribing" non-clinical treatments like art or movement therapy, or community-based activities, to promote holistic health and well-being. He also spoke fondly of his aunt, a cancer survivor who has long been an inspiration to him. He watched her bring healing to others through her art workshops, a legacy he continues to honor. Though he's currently in a transitional phase of life, considering what comes next as his daughter prepares for preschool, he expressed a deep, ongoing inspiration for arts and health and a desire to continue offering these opportunities to his community.
Anonymous
Declaration, 2025
Courtesy of Yvette Perry (Listener Poet) from The Good Listening Project
"I'm a Bison through and through," said this health communications faculty member proudly. "I love Howard and everything we stand for." She felt particularly fortunate, then, to be able to do work that she was so passionate about at an institution that she was passionate about. She also had a personal connection to her work, having lost her mother at a young age to the same disease she researches. "It's crazy she passed away so young," she said, noting that her mother was younger than the recommended age for screening. She explained that this is a feature of a lot of cancer incidences she sees - African Americans getting these cancers earlier and experiencing disease progressions that are more advanced and more aggressive. In her work with members of her community, she saw the value of being able to connect personally with people- a quality that not everyone is able or willing to develop. "My goal is for everyone to have enough information to make informed decisions," she said. "I really do believe knowledge is power."
Anonymous
Fight First, 2025
Courtesy of Yvette Perry (Listener Poet) from The Good Listening Project
This public health policy professional was no stranger to the health care system, having undergone multiple surgeries herself. But it seemed different when she received her cancer diagnosis. "It's easy to draw a line between yourself and people with cancer. You think that wall is going to keep you safe," she explained. But once she was on the other side of the wall, she gained a deeper empathy for those living with the disease.
She was all the more dismayed, then, to see such stark dehumanization and lack of empathy in the current political climate with regard to the most vulnerable people experiencing cancer as well as other diseases like HIV/AIDS. She recognized that in many ways she was fortunate: she had a job that allowed for a great deal of flexibility and she had good healthcare insurance. But she acknowledged that this could change - "There are no guarantees in life,'
" she said. Reflecting on a poem that she read recently by Gwendolyn Brooks', she noted the challenges of continuing to fight to make the system more equitable even while she was experiencing physical and mental exhaustion.
Performance
Poetry has the power to name injustices, honor resilience, and imagine new possibilities. Tonight’s performance, led by the American Poetry Museum, emerges from a workshop series where participants explored cancer, health injustices, and the hope that carries us forward.
These poems are more than a humanistic expression—they are evidence. They document the lived realities of illness, the failures of systems meant to heal, and the ways communities create care in the absence of justice. In public health, data often drives decision-making, but stories like these are just as critical. They reveal the human impact behind the numbers, exposing the structural violence that shapes who gets sick, who gets treated, and who gets left behind.
Yet, within these words, there is also hope. Hope found in resistance, in storytelling, in the act of coming together to name harm and dream of healing. Poetry reminds us that transformation begins with truth, and tonight, we honor those truths through the voices that bring them to life.
We share with you a poem that was collaboratively created through this workshop series:
Panel
Stories shape the way we understand the human experience. Our panelists—scholars, practitioners, and advocates—bring not only data and expertise but also the lived narratives of the communities they serve. Through their work in public health, service, and research, they illuminate the structural forces that shape well-being and push us to reimagine a world where care is not a privilege, but a right.
Their insights bridge disciplines to challenge dominant narratives and center the voices too often left out of decision-making. In doing so, they remind us that health is not just about medicine—it is about power, story, and the systems we create to uphold or dismantle inequity.
We are honored to have them share their wisdom and vision with us today. Please join us in recognizing our panelists for their invaluable contributions to this conversation and to the broader movement for the medical humanities and health justice.
Finnie Richardson
PhD, MPH
Allison Dowling
JD
Wayne Lawrence
DrPH, MPH
Mika Sovak
MD
Maranda Ward
EdD, MPH
Partners
This event would not have been possible without the input, dedication, leadership, and unwavering support of our incredible partners. Their commitment to the medical humanities in advancing health justice and creating spaces for meaningful dialogue has helped shape not only this gathering but the larger movement toward equitable care and systemic change.
From the early stages of planning to the execution of today’s program, our partners have played a crucial role in ensuring that every voice is heard, every perspective valued, and every barrier to progress challenged. Their expertise, resources, and passion have strengthened our collective impact, making this event more than just a moment—it’s a catalyst for transformation.
Their efforts remind us that change is not a solo endeavor but a shared mission, driven by the belief that health is a human right. Please join us in celebrating our partners and the essential work they do every day to build a more just and healthy world.
Take Action
U.S. Senators: Vote NO on cuts to Medicaid
Recently, the U.S. House of Representatives voted to advance a bill that will drastically cut Medicaid.
The bill heads to the U.S. Senate next, where we have another chance to make our voices heard and urge our lawmakers to oppose cuts to Medicaid. Medicaid provides critical health insurance to children, seniors in nursing homes, veterans, people with disabilities, and other low-income individuals in America. One in three children diagnosed with cancer in America relies on Medicaid for their healthcare. >> Send your message now and help protect Medicaid for future generations!
Volunteer with American Cancer Society Cancer Action Network (ACS CAN) DMV