She led us to a wide table in the middle of the room. “You know, some folks think family planning clinics are a form of genocide. Back in ’67, the Congress of African People organized by Amiri Baraka passed an anti–birth control resolution.”
“I’ve never heard that,” Alicia said.
“What did you say your name was?”
“Alicia, ma’am.”
“Well, you should read up on it. Y’all heard of Congresswoman Shirley Chisholm? Ooh, her candidacy for president last year fed my soul, do you hear me? That woman is a revolutionary. Chisholm called the assault on family planning clinics nothing but male rhetoric. Preach!”
“Miss Pope, we really appreciate your time,” I said.
“You do? Well, next time, call me sooner than two days before. Now, let’s get down to business. You mentioned on the phone that you want to know about Depo-Provera. They giving this shot at your clinic?”
“Yes, ma’am. And I don’t believe it’s FDA approved. There were these studies that showed it gave uterine cancer to laboratory animals.”
“Yes, you said as much on the phone.” She nodded. “Is it common to use drugs that aren’t approved? I mean, have they done that before?”
“It happens, but I wouldn’t call it common. We’re especially concerned because minors are being given the drug,” I said.
“Well, I don’t have a lot of information on it. But I can tell you this. You better tell somebody, do something about it. Based on what you told me, it don’t smell right.” She pushed her wig back on her head. She always wore the same short curly brown style. When it slipped down and touched the top rim of her glasses, she would push it back as if it were a cap.
“We can always drive back up here tomorrow. Give you more time to look.” Ty sat down beside Alicia at the table.
“Son, I don’t work on Sundays. Haven’t y’all heard of church?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry.”
“Bad blood,” she said.
“Bad what?” I repeated.
“That’s what they told the men. They told them they had bad blood. Then they let those men just suffer and die.”
We settled at the table and waited for her while she retreated to her office. When she came back, she carried a stack of binders and books in her arms. There were so many, her face was hidden behind them. Ty stood and took them from her.
“I can’t tell y’all much about Depo. But what I got for you is the history of medical experimentation on Black folks. And all the articles I could find on the syphilis experiment right here in our backyard.”
“The Public Health Service, right?” Ty asked.
“They were in on it, yes. Y’all read the articles about it? Shameful. They led those men to believe they were treating them. Told them they had bad blood.”
“How many men was it, Miss Pope?” Alicia opened one of the books on the table.
“Oh, near about six hundred, I believe.”
“Six hundred? Lord help.”
“Unfortunately, Alicia, the Lord didn’t help enough of them in time. Most of the men dead now. And even that wasn’t enough. They autopsied the bodies after they died to study the disease some more.”
“After all that, they cut their bodies open?” Ty’s voice rose. I placed a hand on his arm. He was leaning back in his chair as if his own body were being split open.
“How did they get the men to participate in the study in the first place?” I pressed her. There would be time for outrage later.
“Oh, they would give them free meals, free transportation; that sort of thing. You got to understand, a lot of these men never even been up on this campus before. So they come up here thinking they were getting first-class medical care. In the early days of the study, people were still using home remedies. Oil on a rash. Collard leaves around the head for a headache. Y’all young people don’t know nothing about that.”
“How did they find the men? They went out to the country?” I thought of my first drive up to the Adair farm to meet the Williams family.
Miss Pope fixed her eyes on me and Alicia. “We helped them.”
“Who helped them?” Ty snapped back.
“You heard of Eunice Rivers? A Tuskegee graduate. A fine woman and smart, too. When I heard she knew about it all, I nearly fell out my chair.”
“A Black woman?” I asked.
Miss Pope continued. “It’s likely she thought she was doing good. Syphilis was a serious illness, and these white folks came down here saying they wanted to find a cure and Tuskegee could play a role in helping them find it. I believe she trusted the federal government.”
“For forty years, Miss Pope?” I was incredulous.
The lights clicked off, and no one moved. The light over the main desk remained on, but we sat watching one another in the semidarkness. Ty sat stiffly in the chair, his hands spread out on the table in front of him. Alicia’s face looked old.
“But penicillin was available after the war. Why didn’t they start to treat them?” I asked.
“Read the papers.” Miss Pope tapped a finger on the stacks. She leaned forward. “Because they were studying what would happen if the disease was left untreated.”
We all sat there quietly. There was nothing any of us could say. I felt something unbearable wash over me, and a gray fog shrouded my eyes.
Miss Pope whispered, “Now, you know how some white folks feel about Black bodies. They think we can tolerate pain better than them. According to some of these documents I’m about to show you, some of them even thought syphilis couldn’t kill us. It was as much an experiment about the effects of the disease as it was a crazy white man’s idea of a laboratory game with Black bodies.”
I wasn’t sure what Alicia and Ty were thinking, but I was thinking about the families. The wives. The children. We had only just heard about this experiment the summer before, and though it had been the conversation at many Black folks’ dinner tables in Montgomery, most of my community had not personally known any of the victims. I had already graduated and left Tuskegee when the story broke over the summer of 1972. So I had not had a chance to digest what it meant to our little community on campus.
Now I could not bear to think my next thought: The federal government could not possibly be doing the same thing with Depo and Black women.
“You worked here,” I said. “I don’t mean any disrespect, Miss Pope, but how could you not know?”
Miss Pope opened the top folder on her stack. “Baby, I keep asking myself the same question. How could it be happening right up under my feet? But once I learned about the study, I started collecting everything I could find about it. Y’all should start with this. It’s an underground newsletter that was circulating around Washington, DC, a few years back. A Black statistician by the name of Bill Jenkins found out about the study and tried to ring the alarm. You know why nobody listened?”
“Why?” I whispered.
“Because even though regular folks didn’t know, the medical folks knew. In some respects, the government did this in plain sight. They were publishing articles in medical journals about it and everything. Either they didn’t see what was wrong with it, or nobody cared about poor colored folks down in Alabama.”