BenI'm reading #CarelessPeople at the moment. This passage is a meeting with Sheryl Sandberg after she had suggested that Facebook not just promote organ donation but become a platform where people upload their medical data and sign their organs away. The author was trying to explain that choosing to go in that direction was filled with risks and problems.
> Sensing danger, I pivot to the risk of organ trafficking. I explain that countries have put a lot of thought into safeguarding organ donation information and guarding against cross-border transportation of organs. She turns to me, indignant. The edge in her voice is unmistakable. “Do you mean to tell me that if my four-year-old was dying and the only thing that would save her was a new kidney, that I couldn’t fly to Mexico and get one and put it in my handbag?” I look around the meeting room for support, not sure whether she is clueless or confused. Usually she’s so savvy. But it strikes me she’s serious and she’s someone who’s used to getting what she wants. Everyone in the room avoids eye contact with both of us, even Marne and Debbie, my usual protectors. I realize that in delivering bad news, I’m the prey that’s been separated from the herd. “Ah, that’s right,” I say, with as much solicitousness as I can muster. “Countries generally have strict regulations in place to prevent black-market sales or theft or illegal harvesting of organs or body parts more generally. It’s usually something determined by government policy rather than who can pay the most.” Sheryl glowers at me. I can feel her estimation of me drop as her indignation rises. There’s a long, tense moment of silence.
After reading this passage last night I almost shook my wife awake to read it aloud (I didn't, I let her sleep)
> Sensing danger, I pivot to the risk of organ trafficking. I explain that countries have put a lot of thought into safeguarding organ donation information and guarding against cross-border transportation of organs. She turns to me, indignant. The edge in her voice is unmistakable. “Do you mean to tell me that if my four-year-old was dying and the only thing that would save her was a new kidney, that I couldn’t fly to Mexico and get one and put it in my handbag?” I look around the meeting room for support, not sure whether she is clueless or confused. Usually she’s so savvy. But it strikes me she’s serious and she’s someone who’s used to getting what she wants. Everyone in the room avoids eye contact with both of us, even Marne and Debbie, my usual protectors. I realize that in delivering bad news, I’m the prey that’s been separated from the herd. “Ah, that’s right,” I say, with as much solicitousness as I can muster. “Countries generally have strict regulations in place to prevent black-market sales or theft or illegal harvesting of organs or body parts more generally. It’s usually something determined by government policy rather than who can pay the most.” Sheryl glowers at me. I can feel her estimation of me drop as her indignation rises. There’s a long, tense moment of silence.
After reading this passage last night I almost shook my wife awake to read it aloud (I didn't, I let her sleep)
Josiah Fernandez
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