Three quick notes:

The award’s given on an annual basis to an individual who models and demonstrates Paul’s vision of a ‘preferential option for the poor’ to achieve equity in health.

In particular, the award is used to honor individuals (or couples) working in under-served communities whose work is often not recognized or made visible.

More details here, the deadline for submissions is June 8th.

— Quinn

Originally published February 11, 2024

If you are driving in America (something I do not recommend) and a big (or small) yellow school bus stops on your side of the road — or even the other side of the road — the next thing it will do is to extend its adorable little flashing stop sign.  

This is, as they say, the first sign. 

Moments later, 400 flashing red beacons light the bus up like a Clark Griswold fever dream, all to make explicitly clear that you have to stop your car, right now. 

And not like, a gentle Tokyo Drift closer and closer until the sign retracts, like you do every day through right-on red. 

Oh, no. You can’t even call it close. You have to come to a full stop, like, pretty far away. There is no room for fucking around. 

Understand: the bus is yellow and the official warning signs are very, very difficult to miss, but in case you do miss all of that, you may notice all of the other cars around you that are already stopped.

The signs are everywhere. They are obvious.

But if you don’t stop at all, well, there are consequences. They’re different in every state. Some examples for first-time offenders: 

In addition to the financial and legal penalties, I have to imagine — hope? — the societal implications of RUNNING THROUGH A SCHOOL BUS STOP SIGN are far worse. 

I know my own reaction would be — at least — “What the FUCK are you doing?” Instant rage. Aghast. 

Combine all of these conditions and it seems we have pretty firm agreement:

In America, you cannot just drive through a school bus’s stop sign and — potentially — hurt at least one child. Nope. We will not risk one single child.

Despite years of doing this work, I still like to believe there’s some generally agreed upon lines we all won’t cross (2025 editor’s note: hoooo boy).

This bushy-tailed naivety is informed (skewed?) by personal experience.

When I was very young — say, kindergarten or first grade — my own school bus meandered every morning through a leafy quiet college town neighborhood, where it would pick up an assortment of other very small children. 

Well, one morning, shit went sideways. Real sideways.