As an undergraduate, I loved studying African history—Ethiopia, Senegal, Angola—and literature, film, and history from Latin America. Those two interests felt like separate tracks.

The turning point came in a lecture on Black conquistadores of Mexico. I remember sitting there thinking, “This has to be wrong,” because I had never heard this history before—and I spent most of my childhood in Mexico. It completely floored me.

Suddenly it clicked: I could bring my two interests together, asking what it means to study Blackness in Mexico, a place so closely associated—visually and narratively—with Indigenous civilizations like the Maya and��Mexica.

On an exploratory trip to Mexico, ��I reviewed a box of documents from the 1600s. Right away, I found dozens of references to enslaved Angolans and Congolese. I thought: If this random request yields so much history, what would a true, in-depth study produce?

That led to my first book, (Cambridge University Press, 2018). So much of my archival material never made it into the book, so when Covid hit and the archives closed, I wrote (Hackett Publishing, 2024).

There’s a will from Zacatecas, in northern Mexico, written by a man in the 1700s who owned something like a convenience store. He lists his stock—20 yards of ribbon and lace, four pounds of candles—and then itemizes what people pawned to buy things: a coral bracelet, a silver pendant. A student might read that and think, “My sister has a pendant like that.” Suddenly, 1712 doesn’t feel so distant.

Another document that has stayed with me is an investigation into a gay community in Mexico City. I was never taught that queer communities existed in the colonial period. The document is violent—these people are being persecuted by crown officials—but within it you find lists of homes where they dined, and their nicknames for each other: La Rosada, “the pink one,” and La Coqueta, “the flirt.”

Mapping those communities onto the past and then asking what we do with that knowledge has been powerful. A student raised in the 2000s or 2010s will see things in that document that I never would. That’s what keeps me committed to primary sources: Each generation reads them anew.

My current research follows 1,463 people kidnapped in a pirate attack in Veracruz and dispersed to places like colonial Charleston, South Carolina, and Saint-Domingue (present-day Haiti). What did it mean for those people, and for those left behind? What did it mean to land in a foreign port, not speaking the language, and, in some parts of Saint-Domingue, in a setting with very few women?

I’ve always been drawn to the footnote on the page that says, “We don’t know what happened to this person.” I’m obsessed with those gaps. Why don’t we know? What connections are we missing?

For me, sport offers another way into these questions. I try to HIST 154: World History Through Soccer every World Cup cycle. It always strikes me how central sports are to everyday life in Latin America, the United States, and Europe—and yet when we open many standard histories, they’re barely mentioned. How can that be, when on a given Sunday in some cities a huge share of the population is either at the stadium or listening on the radio?

In Buenos Aires alone there are 79 stadiums; that’s a profound transformation of urban space that we rarely treat as historically significant.

I’m especially interested in the history of women’s soccer. Archival photos of women playing in uniforms in Chile in the early 1900s raise questions about why those stories disappeared in the 1960s. If I ever move fully into researching the 20th or 21st century, it will likely be through this lens. We don’t take sports seriously enough in academia.

Dan Wang ’15 is, by any measure, having a moment. His book,����(W.W. Norton, 2025), about China’s dizzying ascent on the international stage and what the United States can learn from it, has become a must-read among world leaders and policymakers since its publication last year.

It was spotted on the desk of Swedish Prime Minister Ulf Kristersson. Aides to German Chancellor Friedrich Merz and British Prime Minister Keir Starmer��reportedly read��it on their recent trips to China. It made��The New York Times��bestseller list, was named one of��The New Yorker’s Best Books of the��Year, and��was shortlisted for the��Financial Times��Business Book of the Year.��. And it landed Wang on some of the most influential�������Ի�����in America.

Yet when Wang (pronounced “Wong”) joins a video call with��Rochester Review��from outside the Hoover Institution—a public policy think tank at Stanford, where he is a research fellow in its History Lab—he seems amused by the notion that his work has had an impact.

“You never really know what happens when you write a book,” Wang says. “One always hopes that people will pick it up and read it.��I’m��glad some people have.”

Wang attributes some of the book’s success to timing. It came out in a year of headlines about China, from the trade war to��DeepSeek. It was also published a few months after��Abundance, another bestseller by journalists Ezra Klein and Derek Thompson. That book has been called a guide for reforming government and overcoming socioeconomic problems in America—if progressives can stop blocking big dreams and��good ideas��with what the authors call “an endless catalog of rules and restraints.”

Both primed readers for the idea that Americans are right to be frustrated by the state of their state. “The stars aligned,” Wang says.

Breakneck��examines why the United States struggles to build housing, high-speed rail, and energy infrastructure at speed and scale while China��appears to erect��towering bridges, superhighways and gleaming railways, and sprawling factories overnight. �²��Բ�’s conclusion: The American elite is “made up of mostly lawyers, excelling at obstruction,”��whereas��China is run by a “technocratic class, made up mostly of engineers, that excels at construction.”

China, Wang writes, “is an engineering state building at breakneck speed, in contrast to the United States’ lawyerly society, blocking everything it can, good and bad.”

Learning from the masters

It may be tempting to view Wang as an overnight success. ���ܳ���Breakneck��was seven years in the making, and �²��Բ�’s ascent to his rarefied perch in the global conversation about power, technology, and economic development was anything but linear.

The foundation for his book is a series of annual letters he wrote to family, friends, and followers that chronicled his observations during the seven years he spent in China after graduating from the University of Rochester, a graduation that almost��didn’t��happen.

He recalls his years at �����Թ� with gratitude. He enrolled in large part, he says, because the University made going to college possible for him. Born in southwest China, Wang immigrated with his family at age seven to Canada, where he was raised mostly in Ottawa before his parents relocated to the Philadelphia suburbs when he was a teenager. As a Canadian citizen from a family he describes as being “not well off,” Wang required “substantial financial aid” to attend college. �����Թ�’s generosity was the deciding factor.

“I was able to graduate from college debt-free,” he says. “It has been a nice thing.”

But he was, by his own admission, an unremarkable student, despite earning accolades. In 2013, he was recognized as the��“Student Employee of the Year”��for his work as a news assistant in the Office of Communications.

In nominating him, then–Associate Vice President of Communications Larry��Arbeiter��wrote that Wang had an uncanny knack for framing stories about the University that drew national media attention. “That kind of success is highly sought by experienced professionals,”��Arbeiter��wrote, “and is basically unheard of by a student.”

When he��wasn’t��working in the office, Wang roamed the stacks in Rush��Rhees��or hunkered down in his “default study space” in the library’s music section. “It was a tremendously pleasing experience to walk through so many books and be able to pull out books as one��wishes,” he says.

He devoured the works of Edith Wharton and Honoré de Balzac. In the music section, he browsed scores and once copied a Gustav Mahler symphony by hand,��measure��by measure. Wang did the same with prose, retyping articles in��The New Yorker��as something of a self-directed monastic apprenticeship aimed at absorbing the language, cadence, and rhythm of masters of their craft.

“I think I did that three or four times, just rewrote the entire article by retyping it to see the choices a writer makes,” Wang says. “And I did the same thing as a music student because I thought seeing the choices a composer makes was important.”

Wang majored in philosophy, wrestling with logic and classical texts that helped him hone arguments. But it was an economics professor, Michael Rizzo, who had the biggest impact on him as a student.

Rizzo, he says, organized reading circles of the works of Austrian economist and philosopher Friedrich Hayek that left an impression on Wang and exposed him to great thinkers of the economics blogosphere like Tyler Cowen, who later became an intellectual influence. (Cowen’s praise for Breakneck��as “arguably the best book of the year flat out” is displayed prominently on its��cover.)

“Dan was the kind of student who inspired me to want to learn��more��myself, and he had an extreme restlessness about him that resonated then and still does today,” Rizzo says.

That restlessness became more��apparent��than ever when, after his junior year, Wang dropped out.

A detour, then a diploma

Wang had landed a job in marketing and communications in Toronto at the cloud-based e-commerce platform Shopify when the company was in its infancy. He was making good money and enjoyed the work. “There was a point in my life when I thought I was going to be quite happy to be a dropout,” he says.

���ܳ��������Թ���officials persisted in trying to persuade him to
return and finish his degree. He��says he told them��he preferred to stay at Shopify. “Then they asked, ‘Is there anything you would like to do?’” Wang recalls. “I’m��being a bit cheeky here, but I said, ‘You know, I would like to spend my last semester drinking beer in Germany.’

“And, again, I’m being stylized and cheeky, but they said, ‘We have a program for that!’” Wang finished his degree in Freiburg im Breisgau through the Institute for the International Education of Students, better known as IES Abroad.

He skipped commencement to take a content marketing job in Silicon Valley at the supply chain logistics company Flexport. There he stood at the corner of global trade and technology—an intersection that would become the backbone of Breakneck.

“Rochester mailed me my diploma,” Wang says. “But I’m glad I had the patience to finish my degree.”

In 2017, Wang moved to China. He joined an economic research firm as a technology analyst, writing about semiconductors and clean-tech manufacturing primarily for an audience of hedge fund clients around the world.

“I felt like I moved to China on the cusp of a technological flowering. I knew people were underestimating China, but living there was kind of like being on a very different branch of the technological tree that Silicon Valley wasn’t going down.”

The country was, in many ways, familiar terrain. He had visited relatives there growing up and spoke fluent Mandarin thanks to his mother, a former television news anchor, who saw to that.

But living there as an adult, Wang��observed��distinct differences between the China he knew as a child and his homes in Canada and the United States. While Silicon Valley cast itself as the unquestioned center of technological innovation, he saw in China a country that was positioning itself to compete, often ferociously. There was a sense of optimism.

The country was churning out new cars, including varieties of electric vehicles, in a fraction of the time that American companies did. It leapfrogged from credit cards to mobile payments. Tech giants like Alibaba and ByteDance were going toe-to-toe with their peers in the West.

“I felt like I moved to China on the cusp of a technological flowering,” Wang says. “The magnitude was not quite what I expected. I knew people were underestimating China, but living there was kind of like being on a very different branch of the technological tree that Silicon Valley wasn’t going down.”

He chronicled his observations and thoughts in his letters and eventually compiled them into a narrative in Breakneck, where he framed the differences between his native and adopted countries as the result of an “engineering mindset” in China that valued ideating, building, and scaling, and a “lawyerly” one in the United States that regulated, litigated, and protected.

To drive home his point, he details how in 2008 both countries began construction of��roughly 800��miles of high-speed rail—in China��
between Beijing and Shanghai, and in the United States between San Francisco and Los Angeles. China opened its line three years later at a cost of��$36 billion. California is still struggling to complete the first phase of its line, and authorities estimate it��won’t��be operational until 2032 at a price tag of up to��$128 billion.

Wang is not romantic about China. He fiercely criticizes its authoritarian reach in areas like its one-child policy, “zero Covid” lockdowns, censorship, and individual rights. He says he wishes the country were “50 percent more lawyerly.” On the other hand, he wishes the United States were “20 percent more engineering.”

“Building homes should not be that difficult,” Wang says of America’s housing shortage. “We know how to build homes.”

Wang left China in 2023 to return to the United States. “I choose the West,” he says. “That’s��unambiguous. I want the United States, with its values, to succeed.”

Today, he splits his time between Ann Arbor, Michigan, where his wife is a professor at the University of Michigan, and Northern California, where he works at the Hoover Institution under another�������Թ���alumnus, Stephen Kotkin ’81.

���ܳ���Breakneck��has Wang hopscotching the globe for speaking engagements. He is, it seems, moving at breakneck speed and, like he did at the University of Rochester, engineering his own future.

This story appears in the spring 2026 issue of Rochester Review, the magazine of the �����Թ�.

When the international art extravaganza opens on May 9, visitors to the pavilion sponsored by the Vatican will find a fusion of past and present in the music of the 12th-century German Saint Hildegard of Bingen being interpreted by some of today’s most innovative artists.

Helping bring the exhibit to life is , a professor of musicology at the �����Թ�, whose extensive research into Hildegard has shaped how the world understands and performs her music.

Meconi was among the consultants to the creative team behind the Holy See’s pavilion, titled which as one of “eight pavilions that have the Venice Biennale buzzing.” The life and work of Hildegard inspired the exhibition and, according to the Holy See, centers on themes of “slowing down, listening, contemplating, and caring” and features performances by 24 artists, including stars like FKA Twigs, Brian Eno, Dev Hynes, and Patti Smith.

“One of the things I’ve always loved about Hildegard is how inspiring her music is to artists of all kinds,” says Meconi, whose book (University of Illinois Press, 2018) remains the first and only English-language text devoted to Hildegard’s work as a composer.

“Her music consists of a single melodic line that modern musicians use as a tabula rasa, bringing their own ideas and interpretations to it while still engaging with something authentically medieval,” Meconi says.

The Venice Biennale was founded in 1895 and is held every two years. Often described as the “Olympics of the art world” for its pavilions hosted by countries, the festival brings together artists, architects, and musicians and is a major stage for new ideas and cultural exchanges.

Part of the Vatican’s pavilion is located in The Mystical Garden in Venice, where visitors can listen to commissioned re-compositions of Hildegard’s music through headphones as they wander the secluded garden’s plots of vegetables and flowers.

The pieces were curated by Hans Ulrich Obrist and Ben Vickers in collaboration with Soundwalk Collective, an experimental sound art organization based in Berlin and New York City.

�����Թ� scholarship shapes a global stage

Meconi’s involvement began last fall when Soundwalk Collective contacted her seeking guidance on Hildegard’s music.

“They knew they wanted modern performers to interpret her work, so I provided editions and translations and answered questions about pronunciation, tuning, and so on,” Meconi says. “I was also able to suggest pieces that might be appropriate for specific artists.”

As part of her role, she was recorded singing Hildegard’s music at Electric Lady Studios, the legendary space founded by Jimi Hendrix in New York City.

“That was surreal,” Meconi says. “But it is also surreal for someone who specializes in music before 1600 to see Brian Eno’s name in an email subject heading and to do a translation specifically for him.”

Another highlight for Meconi, as she tells it, was learning that Pope Leo XIV had translated one of Hildegard’s song texts into Portuguese for the famous fado singer Carminho. The song was one for which Meconi had provided the edition.

“Technically speaking,” she says, “the pope and I are now collaborators.”

Who is Hildegard, and why is her work so hot right now?

“She was the Boss Lady of the 12th century.”

Hildegard of Bingen was a German Benedictine nun and polymath of epic proportions. In addition to founding a convent, writing theological treatises on her heavenly visions, inventing a new language and alphabet, corresponding with everyone who was anyone in the 12th century, and authoring books on the natural world and healing, she was a prolific musician. She penned 77 songs and a musical drama before her death at 81 in 1179.

“She was the Boss Lady of the 12th century,” Meconi says.

The Holy See says its pavilion responds to the broad theme of the Biennale, titled “In Minor Keys.” The festival’s curator, Koyo Kough, died last year, but wrote of the exhibition in her original curatorial statement: “In refusing the spectacle of horror, the time has come to listen to the minor keys, to tune in sotto voce to the whispers, to the lower frequencies; to find the oases, the islands, where the dignity of all living beings is safeguarded.”

The Biennale runs from May 9 to November 22.

Americans are sharply divided over immigration policy, particularly enforcement measures, but share common ground on some fundamental issues, including broad support for birthright citizenship.

Those are the takeaways from a new nationwide survey of more than 30,000 adults across all 50 states conducted by the , a nonprofit joint initiative of the �����Թ�, Harvard University, Northeastern University, and Rutgers University.

While the findings highlight deep partisan divisions, they suggest Americans also leave room for nuance when policy matters become personal.

“Immigration is one of the most polarizing issues in American politics,” says �����Թ� political scientist James Druckman, a coauthor of the study and a nationally recognized expert on political polarization. “But when you look closely at the data, you see that Americans will distinguish between different policies and principles.”

Deep partisan divides

The survey found that roughly two-thirds of Americans say immigration is important to them personally, but revealed stark differences along party lines in how they view policy and enforcement.

For instance, 37 percent of respondents approve of President Donald Trump’s handling of immigration, while 49 percent disapprove. Among Republicans, however, approval reaches 78 percent, compared with just 11 percent for Democrats.

Similar divisions appear in attitudes toward federal immigration enforcement efforts. Nationwide, a third of respondents approve of the tactics used by Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agents, while nearly half of them disapprove. Yet Republicans are far more supportive of them than Democrats, with the gap reaching almost 60 points.

“These differences are among the largest partisan divides we see on any policy issue,” Druckman says.

Broad support for birthright citizenship

Even as Americans disagree sharply about enforcement, the survey finds majority support for maintaining birthright citizenship, the constitutional principle of the Fourteenth Amendment that grants citizenship to anyone born in the United States, regardless of their parents’ immigration status.

Nearly 59 percent of Americans support birthright citizenship, whereas 24 percent oppose it. Support crosses party lines, although at different levels. The survey found 79 percent of Democrats, 59 percent of independents, and 39 percent of Republicans favor the policy.

Support also extends across the country geographically. Support for birthright citizenship fell below 50 percent in just three states—Montana (46 percent), Wyoming (47 percent), and South Dakota (48 percent).

“The relative consistency of support—at least compared to enforcement attitudes—suggests that Americans distinguish between debates over immigration enforcement and long-standing constitutional norms,” Druckman says.

A shift when policy gets personal

Although Americans often express strong views about immigration broadly, the survey shows that opinions shift when policy gets personal.

About one in four respondents say they worry that a family member or close friend could be deported, while about one in five say they personally know someone who is undocumented. Those concerns nearly double among Hispanic Americans.

The nuance plays out when Americans are asked their thoughts on deporting undocumented immigrants who have lived in the United States for more than 10 years.

“Americans may support enforcement in principle but become more hesitant when policies affect people who have built lives in the United States.”

Just 31 percent favor the idea of deporting longtime undocumented residents, including only half of Republicans, who widely favor stricter enforcement.

“That suggests Americans may support enforcement in principle but become more hesitant when policies affect people who have built lives in the United States,” Druckman says.

More aggressive enforcement proposals also face limited national support. Only about a third of Americans support using the military to assist with mass deportations.

Taken together, the findings suggest immigration remains a complex issue for American voters—one marked by sharp partisan divides but also pockets of potential agreement.

“People may have very different ideas about how immigration should be handled,” Druckman says. “But the data show that their views are often more nuanced than the political conversation might suggest.”

For the media

James Druckman
Martin Brewer Anderson Professor of Political Science

An expert in political behavior and a member of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences, Druckman studies public opinion formation, political polarization, political and scientific communication, political psychology, and experimental and survey methods. He has published approximately 200 articles and book chapters. His latest coauthored book, (University of Chicago), was published in 2024.

• Learn more about Druckman.

“What is past is prologue,” wrote William Shakespeare in The Tempest, one of his final plays. As an undergraduate student at the �����Թ�, Harriet Washington ’76 found herself poring over the confessional physician narratives at Rush Rhees Library and the version of events they captured. That formative experience would lead to a career reopening the medical history record for closer examination. Who compiled it, and to what ends? Who has trained the lens, and to whose exclusion? And critically, why do events of the last several centuries loom so large today?

As a leading historian of medicine and bioethicist, Washington is known for work that insists on accuracy over nostalgia, complexity over comfort. With her seventh book to be published in 2027, she examines how medical practices are shaped by culture, power, and race, and how those legacies persist for patients and caregivers today. Along the way, she has rescued overlooked figures from obscurity—and helped unseat others, literally, from their pedestals. (Specifically, the James Marion Sims statue in New York City’s Central Park—more on this later.)

Where ‘competing passions’ converge

Originally from Fort Dix, New Jersey, Washington arrived at �����Թ� in 1972 with what she mistook for competing passions. “I had a deep love for history and kinship with the past, but didn’t see what practical use I could put to it,” she recalls. “I also had a desire to become a physician.”

At �����Թ�, Washington studied with three influential professors who clarified her career path and passion: “to somehow meld literature, history, and medicine.”

The first was Margaret Perry, who introduced Washington to the writers of the Harlem Renaissance. Perry, hired in 1970 to lead the University’s Education Library, served as an assistant professor of English as well as the acting director of University Libraries. Among other works, Perry authored The Harlem Renaissance: An Annotated Biography and Commentary (Garland Publishing, 1982) and The Short Fiction of Rudolph Fisher (Greenwood Press, 1987). Fisher, an early radiologist, musician, and writer, would become one of three subjects of Washington’s forthcoming biography, Renaissance Men.

“I was seeing that the history of medicine had been carefully curated to exclude the experience of African Americans, people of color, and poor people. That lit my fire.”

Washington also credits Russell Peck, the prominent medieval scholar who spent more than five decades at �����Թ�. “He really encouraged my interest in not only medieval history, but also the value of history in fully understanding the present,” she says. And finally, R. Carey Macintosh, author of The Evolution of English Prose, 1700–1800: Style, Politeness, and Print Culture (Cambridge University Press, 1998), was “very supportive of me at a critical juncture,” drawing out both content and confidence.

The physician confessional literature at Rush Rhees Library “was full of doctors who bragged about their exploits in foreign lands, bringing the ‘blessings’ of Western medicine,” she recalls. While these stories were moving, she says, something in their tone bothered her: disdain for women, people of color, and other cultures written off as simple-minded. “When I would raise this issue, people would become angry with me…. ‘You have no degree in history. Be gone.’ That was frustrating for me, but I knew I was onto something.”

A detective at work in the archives

At the University’s Strong Memorial Hospital, Washington continued reading between the lines—this time, of files for patients awaiting kidney transplants. Were they thick or thin? Did they say, “loving family, stable job,” or just include a curt advisory to prepare this patient for “imminent demise”?

“I felt like a detective. I was finding information. I was exposing something. I was proposing solutions. I was seeing patterns that people had not seen before. I was seeing that the history of medicine had been carefully curated to exclude the experience of African Americans, people of color, and poor people. That lit my fire. I knew that someone had to find out why it happened, and how to reverse it.”

Washington tapped into that spirit of inquiry to become a noted journalist, author, and medical ethicist. Her book��Medical Apartheid: The Dark History of Medical Experimentation on Black Americans from Colonial Times to the Present (Doubleday)��won the 2007����for nonfiction. In 2019, she published A Terrible Thing to Waste: Environmental Racism and Its Assault on the American Mind. And in 2021, her Carte Blanche: The Erosion of Medical Consent (Columbia Global Reports) drew praise from author Ibram X. Kendi as “urgent, alarming, riveting, and essential.”

Washington has been a fellow in ethics at Harvard Medical School, a fellow at the Harvard School of Public Health, and a senior research scholar at the National Center for Bioethics at Tuskegee University. She now teaches bioethics at Columbia University.

Tripling down on history

Renaissance Men, Washington’s first biography—and a triple one at that—tells the story of three Black physicians who transformed American medicine while contending with daunting barriers: Fisher, James McCune Smith, and Louis T. Wright. Smith, denied entry to US medical schools, earned his medical degree from the University of Glasgow in 1837 and became a leading abolitionist intellectual. Fisher bridged science and art as both a radiologist and Harlem Renaissance cultural figure. Wright, director of surgery at Harlem Hospital, was a pioneering researcher and civil rights activist.

During a campus visit in fall 2025, Washington received the University’s Frederick Douglass Medal, bestowed on individuals whose scholarship and civic engagement honor the legacy of the famed 19th-century African American abolitionist. University President Sarah Mangelsdorf noted that Washington’s work “has profoundly influenced how we understand the intersection of race, medicine, and ethics. She is one of the most important voices in contemporary bioethics.”

Knocking down to build up

Washington continues to argue for reforms that rebuild trust in healthcare systems, from changing research laws to establishing clear, data-driven policies to ensure equitable patient care, particularly in pain treatment and access to medication.

“There’s a difference between nostalgia and history,” she insists. Smallpox vaccination, defibrillator technology, and even the surgery for the congenital heart disorder known as Tetralogy of Fallot (or “blue baby syndrome”) owe a debt to Black ingenuity. Washington, who curates a medical-humanities film series, often screens the 2004 movie Something the Lord Made, a biopic of the cardiac inventor Vivien Thomas.

“We’ve given many people 400 years’ worth of reasons not to trust our healthcare system.”

Her research contributed to the successful effort to remove the statue of Dr. J. Marion Sims—the revered obstetric surgeon and “father of gynecology”—from Central Park in 2018, after renewed scrutiny of his non-consensual experiments on enslaved women. She supported the campaign, largely driven by medical students, while remaining behind the scenes, determined to preserve her credibility as a historian. Still: “Every time I spoke, I would see a row of older men glowering at me, waiting for the Q&A to jump down my throat.”

Even now, she sees the past playing out, with illnesses like COVID-19 laying bare the disparities of both disease burdens and treatment outcomes. “How to restore or inculcate patient trust is the most frequently asked question I get,” she says. “I always say, that’s the wrong question. We’ve given many people 400 years’ worth of reasons not to trust our healthcare system. The question then becomes: ‘How do we build a more trustworthy healthcare system?’ Having a more complete, inclusive, accurate history of medicine could help significantly.”