When Success Triggers Hate: A Surgeon’s Reflection on Racism, Recognition and Resilience
- Posted
- Medically Reviewed by Mr Mfazo Hove Consultant Ophthalmologist
- Author: Mr Mfazo Hove
- Published: November 18, 2025
- Last Updated: November 18, 2025
There are milestones in one’s professional life that should be simple moments of pride.
Being included in the Tatler Address Book – a publication synonymous with excellence, distinction and reputation – should have been one of those moments. A quiet, personal acknowledgement of years of work, long days, long nights, and a commitment to delivering outcomes that change people’s lives.
But instead of applause or indifference, something else happened.
Something older.
Something uglier.
Something many people like me will immediately recognise.
A small but loud group of strangers – not patients, not colleagues – reacted not to my work, nor to my outcomes, nor to my clinical practice, but to my identity.
And they did so in the most unfiltered way possible.
This is the story of what happened – and why I chose not to stay silent.
A Moment of Pride Turned into a Target
On 9th October 2025, I posted a simple announcement:
“Proud to be featured in the Tatler Address Book.”
There was no controversy.
No politics.
No provocation.
Just gratitude.
Within hours, the recognition itself the fact a Black surgeon was featured in a prestigious, high-end publication – triggered a wave of hostility.
These were not ambiguous comments.
They were not misunderstandings.
They were not debates.
They were explicit.
One comment read:
“Back to Africa… parasites.”
Another stated:
“Not for white people obviously.”
A third dismissed my recognition instantly:
“Another company to boycott.”
And another mocked the announcement as a “woke advert” before adding:
“Go woke, go broke.”
One simply wrote,
“F*** off.”
Nothing subtle.
Nothing coded.
Nothing that could be excused as ignorance or frustration.
These were not critiques of my clinical practice.
They were attacks on my right to exist in that space.
Attacks on the idea that someone who looks like me could or should be included in a publication traditionally associated with elite circles.
Attacks on my identity – not my work.
And that is why it cut so deeply.
The Shock Is Not That It Happened - It’s That It Happened Publicly
People sometimes imagine that seniority, success, or professional visibility shields you from prejudice.
It doesn’t.
If anything, success amplifies it – because for some, a Black surgeon’s visibility in elite spaces is unacceptable.
What struck me was not the content of the comments – I’ve heard versions of them before – but the confidence with which they were made. The ease. The casual nature. The public visibility. People felt emboldened, comfortable, justified.
That is the part that should worry us all.
Not the comments themselves, but the climate that allows them to surface without hesitation.
The Internal Conflict: Do You Ignore It or Do You Speak?
I am a surgeon.
I spend my days restoring vision, calming fear, delivering life-altering results, and holding responsibility for people at their most vulnerable moments.
My instinct is always to rise above hostility.
To focus on outcomes.
To get on with the work.
But this was different.
This wasn’t about me being insulted.
This was about what the insult represents.
Because if someone can openly say:
“Not for white people obviously”
about a Black surgeon being recognised professionally…
Then what are we saying to the next generation of medical students?
To Black trainees?
To minority clinicians?
To children growing up in this country watching carefully what happens when someone who looks like them succeeds?
Staying silent would have been easier.
It would also have been irresponsible.
So, I chose to speak.
Not with anger.
Not with retaliation.
But with clarity.
The Response I Did Not Expect
The moment I spoke out, something powerful happened.
The hate was loud, but the medical profession was louder.
Colleagues – consultants, CEOs, optometrists, international leaders, trainees, academics, professors, came forward with a unity and clarity I did not anticipate.
Their comments were not vague sympathy. They were firm, direct condemnations.
A few examples:
One colleague wrote:
“Racism is alive and well – thank you for shining a light on it.”
Another said:
“This should never have happened. You are a credit to the profession.”
A senior surgeon commented:
“You already know we are your cheerleaders.”
Another colleague captured the wider issue:
“If this can happen to someone with your track record, what chance does a junior have?”
And one that hit me hardest:
“Excellence won’t be denied by haters.”
There were hundreds of these – messages of support, of anger on my behalf, of disappointment in what British society is becoming, and of solidarity that felt genuine and deeply human.
The responses weren’t just kind.
They were important.
Because they showed that the hostility wasn’t “balanced” by equal numbers on both sides.
It was drowned out by a community that values integrity, fairness and dignity.
The hateful comments came from random strangers.
The support came from the clinical community – people who know the work, the contribution, the outcomes, the cost, the responsibility.
That distinction matters.
The Emotional Cost - and the Choice to Rise Above It
Even as someone accustomed to pressure, the abuse was draining.
There is a particular fatigue that comes from being attacked not for what you’ve done, but for who you are. A familiar exhaustion that people of colour in professional environments learn to carry quietly.
But this time, I refused to carry it quietly.
Because silence shifts the burden onto those who are already marginalised.
Instead, I chose to respond with honesty:
- not to escalate
- not to argue
- but to acknowledge the experience
- and draw a clear boundary
I wrote my closing comment with intention:
“I’ve said what I needed to say.
I won’t be engaging further.
I’m getting back to what matters- looking after patients, improving outcomes, and continuing the growth of Blue Fin Vision.”
That was not retreat.
That was discipline.
I refused to allow hatred to hijack my week, derail my work, or occupy more space in my mind than necessary.
Why This Matters Beyond Me
This blog is not about self-pity.
It is not about amplifying negativity.
It is not about the strangers who posted those comments.
It is about the pattern.
If a Black consultant surgeon – with a 50,000-procedure track record, 530+ five-star reviews, national awards, and international recognition – can still be told publicly to “go back” somewhere else…
Then what does that mean for:
- a Black Foundation Year 1?
- an International Medical Graduate doctor still learning the system?
- an optometrist of colour early in their career?
- a medical student hearing these narratives for the first time?
Prejudice does not disappear when ignored.
It becomes normal.
Mr Mfazo Hove MBChB MD FRCOphth CertLRS
Lead Consultant Ophthalmic Surgeon & Founder, Blue Fin Vision®
