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Health Equity: Meet The Young Doctor Working To Change The Game For Rural Australians

As Dr Dan Wilson sees it, there's an uncomfortable truth about healthcare in Australia: "Your postcode determines your health outcomes."

"The further away you move from a capital city, the less time you spend in this world, and the quality of your life – measured objectively through quality adjusted life years – is less," Wilson says.

"I think those communities that truly do suffer are those where there is no access to primary care. Communities where they previously had a general practice, nurse practitioner or nursing service, and that practitioner leaves, are a peak example of where [healthcare] will plummet very, very quickly."

Wilson is a general practitioner in the town of Maryborough, Victoria, population 8,000. He's also one of Maryborough's rural generalists, a relatively new term for the specialist GPs who also provide emergency and other care in a rural town. In Wilson's case, this includes working at Maryborough hospital, and providing birthing and gynaecological services.

As someone who grew up in the New South Wales town of Kempsey, has previously worked in the Victorian country towns of Ballarat and Ararat, and serves as the president of the Rural Doctors Association of Victoria, Wilson has a front row seat to the healthcare challenges facing rural and regional Australia. It's something he's devoting his career to addressing.

But the 31-year-old took the long way around into medicine. Wilson says he "always knew" he wanted a career that would help others, but didn't immediately connect that goal with being a doctor. After flirting with the idea of becoming a vet, he ended up undertaking a Bachelor of Biomedical Science at Griffith University.

Studying at Griffith was a deeply supportive experience that showed Wilson how much he loved the sciences, and became the platform that inspired him to pursue medicine as a vocation. "I now have six tertiary-level qualifications under my belt," Wilson says. "And out of all those degrees, I truly look back at Griffith as one of the fondest in my tertiary education experience."

The experiences Wilson had coming of age as a young gay man also spurred him to find a better way to deliver healthcare.

"I can remember several times as a man in my early 20s, maybe even late teens, seeking healthcare, and so many assumptions were made about my personal circumstances," he says. "Inappropriate tests were ordered, and inappropriate referrals were put in place.

"Not only does that waste taxpayers' money, but also it completely made me disengage with the healthcare system as a consumer. It doesn't incentivise that person to look after their own health if the front face that they interact with does not feel inclusive or safe."

Wilson wants to see Australia reach health equity: equal opportunity to seek or have access to good health and wellbeing.

"An example of that might be someone living where I live, near Creswick, Victoria. We've got a general practice down the road, I've got access to running water, I've got a home that I can return to, and I have a safe support network. I've got pretty easy access to what I would say is good health and wellbeing. However, some of those opportunities are not afforded to many other people in suburbs or even just streets away from me."

As well as where we live, factors such as being a survivor of abuse, living without a home, or having a history of living in institutionalised care can be barriers to health equity. First Nations Australians also face lower healthcare outcomes and life expectancy.

And, as Wilson found first-hand as a young man, the health prospects of people from diverse backgrounds can suffer if they feel judged when seeking care. That's why he strives to be a practitioner who creates a safe space for patients from all walks of life, whatever their sexual orientation, cultural background or other demographics.

Wilson thinks we are seeing some change in rural healthcare, though it's "hard to know" whether this is for the better. Advances in digitally enabled healthcare – such as allowing patients in rural Australia to have video appointments with doctors – can help in some scenarios, though Wilson cautions they can't always be a substitute for face-to-face care. And he's concerned about what will happen to small communities when the GPs serving them retire, and there are no younger doctors ready to take their place.

Your postcode determines your health outcomes.

Dr Dan Wilson

He has big goals to make Australian healthcare better for everyone: firstly, to close the gap between rural and remote Australian health outcomes and those in cities. Wilson also wants Australia to move from a sick model of care, in which healthcare providers are focused on treating when illness strikes, to the more holistic preventative health model seen in countries such as Norway.

And he'd like to see formal recognition of rural generalist as a specialist term that reflects the real skills that doctors in rural communities have – something he says medical bodies have recently made steps towards.

On a more personal level, Wilson says he'll never leave general practice, or stop working in rural areas – "that's for sure". But he feels he's likely to move more toward health leadership roles in the future, something he credits Griffith with opening the door towards.

"My experience at Griffith University was … I barely have words for it, it was just simply easy," he says. "It was enabling. It was rewarding. It was a massive stepping stone to launch a career in health advocacy, and health leadership."

Find out what you can study at Griffith University.

'Learning To Swim At 24 Taught Me An Important Life Lesson'

I Learned To Swim At 24, And Learned This LessonOpheli Garcia LawlerGetty

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It was the summer of 2018. My sister, cousin, and I were aboard a motorboat with seven other wide-eyed tourists hoping to catch a glimpse of the sunken statues off the coast of Isla Mujeres, Mexico. As we pulled away from the beach, I watched the celeste-hued water transform into a midnight blue and realized I could no longer rely on my fragile safety net—the knowledge that I'd be able to see my feet on the ocean floor. This was deep sea.

After about 15 minutes, our captain stopped the vessel and began to distribute the essentials alongside his assistant: life jackets, flippers, and goggles.

"Anyone who wants to get in and see the statues, now's your chance," he announced in Spanish, our shared mother tongue.

While my sister and cousin happily obliged, I remained seated—paralyzed by an unshakable fear. As I gazed into the navy-colored sea, I couldn't escape the intrusive thoughts plaguing my mind: What if a ferocious current comes by and pushes my body miles away from the safety of this vehicle, and I'm never to be found? What if I'm bitten by a great white shark and there's no one there to save me? What if I drown?

While I'm aware of the human body's natural buoyancy in saltwater, I'm also conscious that the ocean will not hesitate to swallow one whole at the first sign of fear. In other words, I wasn't about to risk it.

Hearst Owned

I've never been a particularly strong swimmer.

While I'd participated in an entire year of swimming lessons in the sixth grade—a rare opportunity for a low-income Black girl attending a West Bronx public school—sometime between the start of puberty and the beginning of adulthood, I had become increasingly aware of my own mortality. For me, this awareness largely manifested in a fear of drowning. When it comes to water-based activities, I prefer to stand comfortably in the shallow end.

And so, one by one, my boat mates made their way into the water. But I stayed onboard. As my family members and the other tourists followed the captain to see the life-sized sculptures which sat 30 feet under the surface, I began to viciously sob—failing miserably to hide my shame from the deckhand watching me as I swallowed my own salty tears.

Hearst Owned

I've always felt a deep connection to bodies of water. Whenever I feel overwhelmed, I search for a waterfront—a rarity in my concrete jungle home of New York City. My affinity also makes sense, since being in or near water has been linked to a reduction in stress, alleviated anxiety, and a boost in overall mood, according to licensed therapist Shontel Cargill, LMFT.

Yet, the visceral pain I felt that day from not being able to jump freely into the water is not something even I truly grasp. It felt like I'd tapped into a deep source within me—an ancestral struggle, almost. It was like I could hear the synchronous wails produced by my collective bloodline, begging for freedom from the forces that kept them shackled to the island of La Española—fearing yet worshiping the water gods.

Hearst Owned

It's a common racist trope that Black people can't swim.

But it's hard to ignore this one's startling reality. Nearly 64 percent of African-American children have no to low swimming ability, compared to 45 percent of Hispanic children and 40 percent of Caucasian children, according to USA Swimming. Moreover, Black children drown at rates three times higher than white children, per the CDC.

Hearst Owned

And it's not just children who are affected. Black people, in general, drown at higher rates than any other demographic, says Paulana Lamonier, the founder and CEO of Black People Will Swim, a mission-based program empowering Black and brown people to be more confident in the water. I first learned about Paulana and her mission after reading a feature on her on CNBC, and knew that when I decided to begin my swim journey, it would be with her.

"The reason why it's important for us to teach people these life-saving skills is simply that: because it is a life-saving skill," she tells me. "We're really giving people that chance to dream again; the chance and opportunity for freedom. When you're on vacation, you no longer have to sit poolside—you don't have to be scared to jump."

Thomas Barwick

Twenty minutes past noon on Saturday, May 20, 2023, I went to my first swim class.

I arrived at CUNY York College's Health and Physical Education Building where classes for Black People Will Swim's spring 2023 program were being held. By the time I reached the 25-meter swimming pool, class was already in session.

Paulana, a warm yet commandeering figure, was teaching the class, and invited me to join. As I slowly and awkwardly slid my way into the pool's shallow end, I took in the expressions around me. There was a variety of ages in our adult-beginner course, which was made up of all Black women. Young 20-somethings, like myself, women in their 30s and 40s, and even a few Aunties—elders, often mature women over the age of 50.

Our first lesson started with a breath. We were to learn how to breathe underwater.

One by one, Paulana went around asking each of us to hop down into a squat until our fingertips touched the pool floor. Once there, rather than sucking in air through our nostrils, we were to expel that air by blowing bubbles—holding in the remaining oxygen in our mouths. When my hands touched the bottom of that pool and I was surrounded by blue I felt—if only for a second—at home. If only I could breathe underwater, I thought, I would never leave.

"The water was like my getaway," says Maritza McClendon, a 2004 Olympic silver medalist and the first Black female to make the U.S. Olympic swim team. "Every time I get in the water, I'm in my happy place—I'm in my element."

McClendon—who, after being diagnosed with scoliosis, began swimming at the age of six per her doctor's recommendation—has always found solace in the water, even when the pressures of competitive swimming weighed her down.

"When I got in the pool, it was like I went into an oasis and forgot about everything—it was just me and the water."

As I re-emerged from the pool after that first drill, I suddenly became aware of my senses. The silence from being submerged disappeared, and I was met with the noises around me.

The author at Palm Beach, Aruba enjoying the sunset before dinner.Opheli Garcia Lawler

To my right, one of my classmates—an older woman perhaps in her mid-60s to early 70s—was holding onto the edge, quietly blowing bubbles to herself as the rest of the class moved onto the next lesson.

I pondered what experience may have caused her to develop this palpable fear, and ultimately lead her here today. I also wanted to grab her hand and walk her to the middle of the pool, so we could float together like two otters, holding on tight to ensure the other wouldn't float too far away, and she could share some of the joy I felt.

Hearst Owned

The truth is, part of the reason why many Black and brown Americans don't know how to swim today is a result of racial and class discrimination.

"There were two times when swimming surged in popularity—at public swimming pools during the 1920s and 1930s and at suburban swim clubs during the 1950s and 1960s. In both cases, large numbers of white Americans had easy access to these pools, whereas racial discrimination severely restricted Black Americans' access," wrote Jeff Wiltse, a historian and author of Contested Waters: A Social History of Swimming Pools in America, in a 2014 paper published in the Journal of Sport and Social Issues.

The systemic impairing of Black Americans' ability to swim—thanks to poorly maintained and unequal swimming pools, private clubs that barred Black members, and public pool closures in the wake of desegregation—meant that swimming became a "self-perpetuating recreational and sports culture" for white Americans, says Wiltse. Black communities struggled to literally and metaphorically get a foot in.

"[Swimming] is a predominantly white sport," says McClendon. (FYI: Of the 331,228 USA Swimming members, less than 5 percent are Black or African American, according to the 2021 Membership Demographics Report.)

"Growing up, I was definitely one of the few at every single swim meet, and even on my swim team," McClendon recounts. "As early as nine years old, I remember finishing a race in which I got first, and walking past a parent who said, 'You should go back and do track or basketball. What are you doing here?' Sort of questioning why I was in the sport. If anyone else would've won the race, they would've been congratulating them."

While most of McClendon's career spans the 1990s and early 2000s, she says instances like this still happen today.

Hearst Owned

I missed the next three weeks of classes, so by the time I walked into my second swim session, I felt energized yet daunted.

As soon as I got in the pool, I asked my classmates about their reasons for joining the Black People Will Swim program.

One woman shared that she wanted to learn how to swim because she's the only one in her family that couldn't and she had a seven-month-old son: "If he's drowning, I want to be able to save him," she tells me.

The second woman I spoke to said almost drowning twice pushed her to want to learn.

Unsurprisingly, most of these reasons pertain to survival. Swimming, at the end of the day, is a skill needed to live; it's an ability and privilege that so many take for granted.

At the start of that second class, I was anxious. I had missed so much during my time away, and we were at the point of the program where everyone was expected to navigate the 14-foot end of the pool. Our first lesson of the day: butterfly backstrokes. I tried my best to prolong my turn by generously offering that my other classmates go ahead of me, but eventually I had to go.

Hearst Owned

As I positioned my feet on the wall, held onto the edge of the pool, and laid my head back, I silently repeated to myself, You got this! You are a child of the water. You will not drown. "Ready?" asked the instructor who was teaching my class. With one deep breath, off I went.

As soon as I started kicking my feet and pushing the water forward with my arms, I was making headway. It felt so natural, like muscle memory. Perhaps those middle school swim lessons did teach me something. After about five strokes, I was ordered to stop so the next person could demonstrate if they were ready to move on to the next step.

Swimming is easy enough when you know you can safely land on your feet the moment you start to panic, but once the depth of the pool is above my own height (at 5'4"), I no longer feel at ease. So you can imagine my nervousness when the instructor said we were about to backstroke the entire 25-meter pool.

As I prepared for that feat on the wall, I recounted the memory of that fateful summer of 2018, when I was too afraid to jump off the boat without a lifejacket. Then there was another memory: 11-year-old Naydeline, unafraid to jump into the deep end. Instead, exhilarated by it.

"Ready?" asked the instructor.

"Yes."

Off I went, rapidly backstroking across that 25-meter pool. I was making headway, but as I reached the 12-meter mark, I stopped. I was beginning to swallow water, and the chlorine-tinged liquid filling my throat made me panic. I was no longer swimming, but sinking. I quickly grabbed the nearest lane rope to stabilize myself.

"What happened?" asked my instructor. "You were doing so well."

"I panicked," was all I could say. The intrusive thoughts had started to pour in as soon as I sensed the depth of the pool change from six feet to eight feet to 10 feet: You're drowning, you're drowning, you're drowning, and my anxiety took over.

It took a few seconds to catch my breath, but then I turned to face the deep end of the pool. I realized there was no getting out of this—I had to keep going. With my instructor situated behind me to catch me if I began to drown, I shut my eyes and inhaled for three counts, exhaled for three counts, again and again. Ready?

I was off once more. I didn't stop until I hit the end of the pool.

Hearst Owned

A month after the end of the swim program, I headed out on a trip to the island of Aruba.

The schedule was filled with walking tours, parasailing, and an exploration of one of the island's many natural pools.

The author parasailing off a boat at Palm Beach, Aruba.

On the second to last day, we kayaked across a small portion of the Caribbean Sea to go snorkeling. There would be coral reefs, parrotfish, and lobsters. I opted out.

I wasn't confident that I wouldn't start to panic and drown. So, while the rest of my tour group and the instructor went ahead, I stayed seated on the dock. As I looked out at the expansive sea around me, noticing how the colors transitioned from celeste to navy, I breathed in deeply: 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4. I was trying my best not to cry.

Our reserved, yet warm tour guide had also stayed behind. He claimed he was tired of beautiful beaches and ocean views—they didn't impress him, he said. After noticing that I had been sitting alone on the dock for what felt like half an hour, he came to sit next to me. I told him about my deep affinity for the sea, but also how much it terrified me.

"The trick to swimming," he said, "is letting go of fear. […] The water will do most of the work for you. It'll hold you up, but only if you let it. You must remain calm, and trust yourself."

Perhaps that is the missing puzzle piece: trust. Trust in the water, but most importantly, trust in myself. Trust that I could keep myself alive, and the water would help me—if I let it.

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'Doctor Who' Changes Davros To Address "Disabled Villain" Trope — And It's Complicated

Since the 1974 Doctor Who episode "Genesis of the Daleks" the titular villain's creator has always looked the same. Until now.

There's a long tradition with modern Doctor Who where, between seasons, fans get mini-episodes to tide them over. Oftentimes these episodes appear during Children in Need, a telethon that raises money, awareness, and aid for disadvantaged children. David Tennant's first full outing as the Doctor occurs during Children in Need.

And in fact, David Tennant returns to that grand tradition with this year's Children in Need. This time Tennant's Doctor accidentally lands himself at a moment early on in the creation of his greatest nemeses the Daleks. And in comedic fashion the Doctor accidentally impacts the Daleks in multiple ways: he gives them their name, their catchphrase "Exterminate!" and their infamous secondary weapon—the plunger.

But before all that we see a new take on a very old character: Davros. Davros is the creator of the Daleks. And since his first appearance in "Genesis of the Daleks" he has a very distinct look. Davros is in a wheelchair (shaped like the bottom half of a Dalek) while his face and body are heavily scarred. This look continues for Davros all the way through into the modern series with the last appearance of the character with this design in the 2015 episode "The Witch's Familiar".

However, in this latest Children in Need special, Davros looks completely different. No scars. No Dalek wheelchair. And these changes are, as of now, permanent. Russell T Davies has a very specific reason for this change and it's very much worth examining.

Why Davros Has a New Design

During the war between the Thals and the Kaleds on Skaro, Davros suffers serious wounds after a Thal bombardment. As a result of his injuries, Davros spends the rest of his life in a wheelchair.

Except that's no longer the case. In the 2024 Doctor Who Children in Need Special Davros appears standing and with no injury. Fans with a knowledge of Davros's history may assume this mini-episode takes place prior to the Thal attack. However, according to showrunner Russell T Davies, this is a permanent change.

In the corresponding behind-the-scenes Doctor Who Unleashed special Davies explains the reason for Davros' transformation.

"Time and society and culture and taste have moved on, and there's a problem with the old Davros: he's a wheelchair user who is evil," Davies explains. "I had problems with that. A lot of us on the production team did too, associating disability with evil. Trust me, there's a very long tradition of this."

While Davies is quick to say he is "not blaming people in the past" he insists "the world changes". "So we made the choice to bring back Davros without the facial scarring and without the wheelchair—or his support unit, which functions as a wheelchair," says Davies.

And Davies is clear that the new Davros is here to stay. "Things used to be black and white; they're not anymore," he says. "Davros used to look like that, and now he looks like this. We are absolutely standing by that."

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Unquestionably, Davies has noble intentions here. Let's talk about where this stereotype comes from and what else Davies is doing with the modern series to combat it. But let's also look at this new Davros and honestly ask: does this change match the mission statement?

Courtesy of BBC Worldwide

The Disabled Villain Trope

Even the earliest forms of media use disability and deformity as a shorthand for villainy. Want someone to know your guy is a proverbial black hat? Give him a scar. Want to explain why your villain commits her evil acts? Say it's because she's deformed and jealous of pretty people. Russell T Davies is right: this happens in visual narrative A LOT.

And the reason dates back practically forever. Some faiths have taught the idea that physical disability represents past sins or some kind of inherent moral failing. It's easy to 'other' someone—to see them as different or even less if they look different from you. That's the very foundation of bigotry.

The way that translates in media for disabled performers is that the kinds of roles on offer can be limited to playing villains or people who are helpless. Davies wants to course-correct by moving away from these tropes. More than that, he wants to ensure more diverse opportunities for disabled performers as well as other performers who face challenges in what, who, and how they are offered work.

We can already see Davies taking decisive action on this. Actors of color, queer performers, and people with multiple disabilities (including at least one so far in a wheelchair) all feature in upcoming Doctor Who episodes. The characters these actors play are not defined by any one element of their identity. And that's great.

That brings us back to Davros. How does taking the disabilities and injuries away from this character impact him, the actors who play him, and his overall impact on our real world?

Courtesy of BBC Worldwide

Old Vs. New

Original Flavor Davros is a man in a wheelchair with missing limbs and visible damage to his entire body. He's a supervillain without the use of his legs who guides his own people's mutation towards a shape where every single one of them also has no functioning legs. And as a result, the Daleks, have one goal: to wipe out every other lifeform in the universe.

It's pretty easy to see how Davros plays into the Disabled Villain Trope. Part of what makes him Davros is being a genocidal leader who only wants other deformed people without the use of their legs to exist. Davros is a near-perfect archetype of the trope. What's more, he's not historically been played by disabled actors. However, if a disabled actor were to play Davros, the problem of lack of opportunity would still exist for disabled performers, especially outside of Doctor Who.

There are also arguments for why changing Davros is not a perfect solution. There's another trope out there that involves taking a character who uses a wheelchair and making them no longer need it. Bobby Singer in Supernatural, Felicity Smoak on Arrow, and Barbara Gordon across the Batman mythos all have points where they use wheelchairs and then do not.

Watching that happen in real-time can be frustrating, especially if you are disabled. When a character becomes disabled, the opportunity to tell stories from their perspective arises, and then it's gone just as quickly. People want their stories told in the long term. The possibility to do that with Davros is there, it just has not been done yet.

There's one other aspect to Davros, and villains in general worth discussing.

Courtesy of BBC Worldwide

Playing Davros (and Villains in General) is Fun

Being a megalomaniacal, cackling monster isn't something one gets to do in the day-to-day. And since there's no actual consequence, taking on a campy villain persona is FUN. Davros, with all his over-the-top theatrics, can be a dream role. And I suspect there are loads of disabled performers who would leap at the chance to portray him.

This is somewhat reminiscent of the recent debate over the character of Captain Angel on Star Trek: Strange New Worlds. Trans actor Jesse James Keitel plays a nonbinary femme pirate in love with Spock's half-brother Sybok. And Keitel devours the scenery as Angel. And she's having fun!

But Angel is unquestionably a villain. And there are those who don't wish to see trans people portrayed as deceptive enemies when there are so many tropes already pushing that narrative. However, Keitel loves the part. She plays an active role in the costume design which informs much of Angel's personality. And there are nonbinary, trans, and other queer performers all over modern Star Trek right now. Why shouldn't Keitel get to live, laugh, love it up as Captain Angel?

Ultimately, Russell T Davies makes the decisions with Doctor Who. His decision is that Davros has no disability. Largely, I think that's a fair call given the history. I just hope that sometime soon another deliciously villainous Doctor Who character comes along for a disabled actor to play. And that roles of all types for people with disabilities continue to be more readily available.

Lina is a 10+ year entertainment journalist veteran whose bylines include SYFY Wire, Looper, and Screen Fanatic. She has written comic scripts for IDW Comics and Zenescope Enetertainment and has written Doctor Who shorts for BBC Worldwide. She is a long-time podcast host and producer who has worked on Who Won the Week, SYFY's Every Day series, and the Amazon podcast Untold Story. She currently co-hosts the New York Times recommended podcast Song vs Song.

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