Being poor and uneducated remains a health risk to large segments of first-world societies.
Herman Shaw, the valedictorian of his high school class, had dreams of going to college and becoming an engineer. But the impoverished conditions in rural Alabama not only kept him from college, but replaced his dreams with a sharecropper's plow and a place in a forty-year government-funded study on a sexually transmitted disease.
This young black scholar in early twentieth century, segregationist America became an unwitting participant in the United States Public Health Service's (USPHS) "Study of Untreated Syphilis in the Negro Male," better known as the Tuskegee Experiment. And Mr. Shaw wasn't alone; six hundred black men, of whom 399 were syphilitics and 201 utilized as controls, were unaware that the "bad blood" the federal doctors offering free care had diagnosed was actually syphilis.
The Experiment, which began in 1932, consisted of doctors making quarterly visits to the men in order to observe the progression of the disease. They also sought to ensure that in their absence the Tuskegee men did not receive treatment for syphilis by any physician, program, or organization. With promises of hot meals and free health care, the doctors kept the indigent, under-educated men returning to undergo invasive medical tests for decades. If the men began to decline to be seen or resisted continuing the study, the USPHS resorted to bribery: it promised to pay for all medical and burial expenses, a persuasive measure due to the low socioeconomic status of the men.
In July of 1972, The New York Times ran an article, titled "Syphilis Victims in U.S. Study Went Untreated for 40 Years; SYPHILIS VICTIMS GOT NO THERAPY," that garnered national attention and effectively brought the study to a conclusion. In 1973, the Department of Health, Education, and Welfare issued a final report on the Tuskegee Experiment stating it was "ethically unjustified," that there was "no evidence of consent," and that "a person should not be subjected to avoidable risk of death or physical harm." And finally, in 1997, President Bill Clinton issued a formal apology to the Tuskegee men and their families, offering reparations, free health care, and the establishment of bioethics scholarship programs for minority students.
If Herman Shaw was in high school today, he wouldn't have to worry about government experiments. Instead, as a poor, black agrarian, the largest threat to his health would be developing cardiovascular health disease. It wouldn't be a result of poor diet, tobacco use, or hereditary predispositions. What would make him more susceptible to the disease is the confluence of his income, occupation, and level of education.
Research clearly shows people with a lower socioeconomic status (SES) -- a metric based on education, income, and occupation -- develop heart disease at a rate that is 50 percent higher than those with a better status. Moreover, even when high-risk behaviors, such as smoking and obesity, are eliminated, those with lower SES still disproportionately suffer and die from heart disease, especially in the larger minority communities.
In other words, poverty is a risk factor for heart diseae. Its existence as such is the result of a complex mesh of educational failings, increasing income inequality, and limited access to preventative health care. And trends indicate that poverty will remain an issue for years to come, which means that heart disease, already the leading cause of death for Americans, will continue to be an issue.