For this Iris issue, I wanted to share reflections on global health: what it is, why it's important, and why it means so much to me. Alongside my English major, I have studied global public health for the past four years at UVA—and it has taught me just as much about empathy as it has about disease. The global health field is far from perfect; that much is undeniable. But I believe in its cause, and I see its potential to prevent suffering around the world. I decided to co-author this article alongside Asia Leslie, a fellow public health student and advocate who, coincidentally, happens to be my sister. Together, we wish to offer two perspectives on a field that has shaped our academic lives and drawn us closer to the communities that make this work worth doing.
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Faith: The first time I found myself on an airplane was for an international trip. The flight was a relentless fifteen hours and landed me in Cape Town, South Africa. I had the joy of being there for an internship abroad with a nonprofit dedicated to improving mental health outcomes for mothers. I had long wanted to pursue a career in public health, but I often struggled to envision what my career would look like or what my goals would be.
During this internship, my supervisor took me to the Midwife Obstetrics Unit, a clinic where the organization worked with pregnant and postnatal women. I was unsure of what to expect—which, looking back, was indicative of my own ignorance. The waiting area was filled to nearly every inch. There were mothers sitting on every bench, standing in long lines, and with children glued to their hips. All of them were waiting to perhaps be seen that day, though it was not guaranteed. I soon realized that this was what the clinic looked like everyday. The staff, hardworking as they are, were functioning under normal circumstances. That night, I wrote in my journal that I hadn't fully reckoned with what I saw yet. Honestly, I'm still not sure I have.
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Asia: It is July of 2025. I am speaking with a tuberculosis patient about the emotional toll of his diagnosis. In the middle of our conversation, he looks me in the eyes and asks, “are you scared to be this close to me?” The question takes me by surprise, and I twinge with discomfort, not out of fear, but at the fact that I did not know how to answer him with sincerity.
In the middle of our conversation, he looks me in the eyes and asks, "are you scared to be this close to me?"
Before that moment, I had rarely considered the gravity of TB beyond a distant public health concept I read about in class. If you were to ask me what I thought of tuberculosis two years ago, I probably would have told you that I did not think much of it at all. In a sense, I felt that it was a disease of the past. But the truth is that TB continues to kill over a million people each year, most of whom reside in the Global South.
Last summer, I had the opportunity to travel to Cape Town, South Africa, where I spent two months working at the Metro Tuberculosis (TB) Health Center, a Western Cape Government-funded hospital complex dedicated to treating patients with drug-resistant and multidrug-resistant TB. As a psychotherapeutic intern, I worked directly with patients to identify and address psychological barriers that could prevent them from completing treatment. By supporting them through these challenges, our goal was to help improve treatment adherence and, in turn, reduce the incidence of drug-resistant and multi-drug-resistant tuberculosis across the Western Cape.
By the second week at the hospital, I had already been thrown into the deep end. I was facilitating group psychotherapy sessions and meeting one-on-one with patients whose experiences stretched far beyond anything I had encountered before. One patient at first appeared to be an adolescent, though they were actually an adult whose sickness stunted their growth. Another described vivid hallucinations brought on by his medication regimen. I stayed up at night, ruminating over these stories. I worried that I would never grow comfortable in this role.
On my last day at Metro TB, I walked past a few of my patients. One of them shouted, “I will always remember you," across the field. My eyes welled. Throughout my internship, even at the very end, I felt as though I was presented with constant challenges. Though I became more comfortable with many of my tasks, I never ‘mastered’ the practice of counseling. I knew that I still had implicit bias, that I was no expert, nor that I had enough authority and agency to navigate South Africa’s healthcare system. What I realized, however, is that showing up with intention and authenticity can be enough.
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Faith: “Health is inherently global because all human beings and the global environment are interconnected," says Kathryn Quissell, a UVA Professor and political scientist with expertise in global health policy. “We share health risks through global trade in products that make us sick (i.e., tobacco and processed foods), the chemicals that pollute our water and air that spread across borders, and the risks that all humans face as we age.”
The most straightforward reason global health matters is also the easiest to forget. As Professor Quissell explains, diseases don't just stay where they start. An outbreak of measles in Texas doesn't just stay in Texas. The same principle applies on a global scale. What happens in one country eventually reaches another through travel, trade, and the basic fact that people migrate. The COVID-19 Pandemic made this fact impossible to ignore, but it was always true.
The second reason is less obvious but perhaps more important: Empathy is good for us. The Center for Brain Health explains that caring for others is known to reduce stress, improve emotional regulation, and help us maintain a healthier outlook on life. But more than that, empathy keeps us from going numb. It keeps us from scrolling past a humanitarian crisis like it's just another post on our feed.
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I often question what it means to engage in meaningful global health work or whether it is even possible to do so.
Asia: When I think about what my global health experience means to me, I find that I am met with a lot of internal conflict. I often question what it means to engage in meaningful global health work or whether it is even possible to do so. The stories that my patients shared with me were incredibly vulnerable and important, and I hope to find a way to truly honor them moving forward. I struggle with finding balance between self-interest and a responsibility to the world around me, and I believe this struggle shapes how I understand its value, both for my current and future selves.
From my experience working at the Metro TB Health Center and engaging with patients and colleagues, I carry with me a greater awareness of how essential human relationships are to healing, resilience, and community well-being. In a discussion with my supervisor, she shared her belief that one of the most pressing issues facing the South African health system is the lack of human-centered care and that too many people distance themselves too far from their humanity. Through this lens, it becomes clear that caring for others is not merely an optional and altruistic act, but a requirement in order for us to be truly human.
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Faith: The way we respond to suffering happening around the world is a litmus test for empathy. A test that many of us living in the United States fail—though this is not to say that you and I are bad people. Rather, we have not been conditioned to see global inequity and how we are implicated in it. That is the problem with ignoring global health. It costs everyone their well-being and ability to stay human in an increasingly inhumane world. Rendering health crises in other countries as separate from us is widely inaccurate and dangerous, and this sentiment has been bolstered by cuts to global health aid, funding, and initiatives.
The relationships I have formed with my global health professors and peers, as well as those I met in South Africa, continue to remind me of why I came to this field: to join others in advancing health for all.
Despite this, global health has given me and many others hope. “I know too many amazing people to feel hopeless; my fantastic students, colleagues, and friends give me hope," explains Professor Quissell. Similarly, the relationships I have formed with my global health professors and peers, as well as those I met in South Africa, continue to remind me of why I came to this field: to join others in advancing health for all.
