Waging Justice

Waging Justice

by Dr. Paul Zeitz

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Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781982205423
Publisher: BalboaPress
Publication date: 06/16/2018
Pages: 370
Sales rank: 585,316
Product dimensions: 5.40(w) x 8.40(h) x 1.00(d)

About the Author

Dr. Paul Zeitz is a physician, an epidemiologist, and a tenacious, energetic, award-winning advocate for global justice and human rights. He has dedicated his career to catalyzing large-scale global impact. He serves as the co-founder of SDG Compacts and the Sustainable Development Games at the Global Development Incubator and the U.S.A. Focal Point for Action for Sustainable Development, a global social movement. He is married to his wife of twenty-seven years, Mindi Cohen, and they are the proud parents of Cletus, Lian, Yonah, Emet, and Uriel.

Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

Things Are Not Always as They Appear

Mom wanted another child after my sister, Marci, was born. Dad was ready to stop trying, but Mom was determined. Her persistence paid off and three years later, on May 17, 1962, I was born in Northeast Philadelphia, the second child and only son of Sandy and Mark Zeitz. Eager to be part of this world, I arrived about a month before my due date.

We lived in a small, recently constructed twin row house in a burgeoning multi-ethnic neighborhood. My earliest memory is of a day when I was about two years old. I was outside and saw Mom was in the passenger seat of a car pulling out of our driveway. I was panicked and confused, because I didn't know where she was going. I started running down the block after her as fast as my toddler legs could carry me, past a dozen rowhomes, until I finally tripped on a crack in the sidewalk and fell flat on my face. My two front teeth lay on the concrete, their tiny baby roots still attached. Bloodied and terrified, I watched the car carrying Mom turn the corner and vanish.

A stranger rushed to my side, and then my mom's mother, Grandma Rose, who was watching me, came running down the block.

Mom never saw me fall.

A rushed trip to the dentist turned out to be futile, as we were told that my two front teeth couldn't be reattached. I lived with an embarrassing gap until I was eight years old and my adult teeth mercifully arrived. Seven years later, I ended up with a minor speech impediment and a mouthful of expensive braces.

My parents were in the Philly cheesesteak and hoagie business. By the time I was born, they owned two shops in Northeast Philadelphia, both called Mark's Luncheonette, named after Dad, though everyone called him Mickey. My parents worked long, hard hours, coming home at night wearing the overwhelmingly pungent smell of fried onions.

Grandma Freda, my father's mother, lived directly above one shop, so Marci and I would spend weekends at her place while my parents worked downstairs. Her husband, Pop-Pop Ben, was in a nursing home, suffering from end-stage diabetes. His legs had been amputated and he was in a vegetative state. I never recall meeting him. Dad rarely visited him, and when we did, Mom, Marci, and I waited in the car while Dad went inside for a little while.

Dad inherited his first hoagie shop from his parents and bought the second one in partnership with his older brother. But the second Mark's Luncheonette failed when I was very young. Something bad must have happened, because my father and his brother didn't talk to each other for more than twenty years.

There were other mysteries. When Mom was only four years old, her mother and father separated, then later divorced. I met Pop-Pop Marty for the first time when he unexpectedly showed up on our doorstep. Mom hovered nervously as I watched this unfamiliar man wander through the house, talking to the pictures on our living room wall. Marci ran to her room in fear, but I was more curious. I stayed close to Mom, trying to figure out what was going on. Mom served him lunch, and we tried to make sense of his mumblings.

Later, Mom told me that Pop-Pop Marty had been hospitalized several times for severe schizophrenia. He probably had other mental illnesses, too, but had somehow escaped permanent institutionalization. Pop-Pop Marty spent his days selling Philly soft pretzels at the stadium, and his nights sleeping in a halfway house on Erie Avenue.

Marci was always my greatest friend. Three-and-a-half years older than me, she cared for me, made my bed for me, and played with me. I was her living doll whom she spoiled endlessly. On Saturday mornings, we would throw a blanket on the carpet in front of the small black-and-white TV. When we got bored with cartoons, we played "Boat" or "House."

When Marci played with her friends, I was the tag-along little brother. But I was a shy little boy and usually preferred to stay at home, reading or watching one of the handful of TV stations we received via the VHF antenna on the roof — often reruns of Gilligan's Island and The Lone Ranger. Cartoons like Scooby-Doo and Dennis the Menace were my favorites. Mom wanted me to be more social, so she became a Cub Scout den mother. For a while, groups of blue-uniformed boys would tromp into our home once a week, but that didn't last long. I never enjoyed the group activities. I felt more comfortable being a quiet observer, hanging out with Marci.

My father, an avid fisherman, owned a series of mid-size fishing boats, named Mammy I, Mammy II, Mammy III, and so on. The family often went on fishing trips to the Delaware River, the Jersey Shore, and the Chesapeake Bay, but I never liked fishing as a kid. I was terrified of the deep water and thought the fish guts and scales were gross. I even hated the taste of fish.

But my dad always seemed happier and freer on the water. On land, he was a more volatile and angry man.

We were Conservative Jews, moderately religious but very committed to the cultural and family bonds of Jewish holidays and rituals. We kept kosher in the house, but my parents were flexible with the rules, letting us occasionally eat Chinese food with pork and shrimp at the card table in the downstairs den — as long as it was on paper plates with plastic forks. If the pork wasn't in the kitchen and didn't touch the kosher plates, it was okay with my parents (and, presumably, with God). We celebrated all the Jewish holidays with our extended family and immersed ourselves in the cultural, food-oriented side of Jewish life.

I went to a Jewish nursery school at a place called the Neighborhood Center but entered the Philadelphia public school system in kindergarten. My first-grade teacher was a middle-aged, African-American woman named Mrs. Ridgely. I liked her, because she was always kind to me. One day she gave me a special present — a book called The Wishing Well.

My favorite first-grade subject was science, but I also enjoyed our art lessons. One day, we were doing a project that involved drawing large, multicolored flowers with crayons. We then covered the flowers with black India ink and scratched the ink off with blunt scissors. The flowers reappeared with a very different look and patina. I was happily coloring my flowers in bold red, green, and yellow tones when the kid next to me asked me why I was using the same colors that Mrs. Ridgely had used in her example. I became indignant and thought, I didn't do that!

With the last name Zeitz, I was seated in the back of the room. I marched all the way up to the front, past forty pairs of inquisitive eyes, to gather more evidence. I looked closely at the teacher's flowers and reaffirmed that yes, hers were different colors from mine. Seeking to confirm what I already knew was true, I confidently asked Mrs. Ridgely if my colors were the same as hers.

She looked at me quizzically. "Yes, Paul, they are," she said gently.

I was stunned and twisted with confusion, even as my teacher patted my shoulder and reassured me that it was quite all right to use the same colors.

I walked back to my seat with my head down and slumped in my chair, my untrustworthy eyes squeezed shut.

I had no possible explanation for why my classmates' eyes and brains were seeing things differently than I was. The young scientist in me was deeply shaken. This was the moment I became aware that not everything was as it appeared. And no two people ever see the world in an identical way.

The following week, hanging around the hoagie shop, I was talking to one of Dad's part-time employees, Dan, who was studying optometry. Even as a six-year-old, I had respect for men of science. Mom had the idea to ask Dan if he thought there might be something wrong with my eyes. He brought out a special color-vision testing book and pointed to pictures of several circles containing dozens of different-sized, multicolored dots, which looked like bubbles to me. He asked me if I could see the number formed by the dots. On many of the pages, I couldn't see anything.

I learned that day that I was severely red-green color-blind. I don't see the world in only black and white, but I have a hard time distinguishing many shades of color. I frequently see something as blue when others see it as purple, and I'm always unsure of what color I'm seeing with shades of brown, red, and green. I can easily see red traffic lights. I can see the red-feathered breast of a robin if it is flying nearby. But I have a hard time distinguishing the red breast of a robin if it is sitting in a tree, surrounded by green leaves. I don't see all the shades of a rainbow. Sunrises look very different to me than they do to most people: I can't distinguish the subtle pink, reddish, and orange shades that I'm told can be seen. When I'm getting dressed for work, I must ask someone if the colors in my tie, jacket, and shirt are matching — as I tend to go terribly awry without assistance.

Although Dan had crouched on one knee while he gently explained that there was nothing wrong with me — that my eyes simply worked differently from other people's — the truth is that this information made me feel different, alone, and afraid.

I knew this wasn't "normal." All I ever wanted to be was "normal."

I learned a profound lesson that day as a six-year-old: I could never "blindly" trust what I saw with my own eyes; I had to investigate beneath the surface.

After that, whenever anyone heard that I was color-blind, they would point at their clothes or at an object and ask me over and over, "What color is this?" "What color is that?" I usually couldn't tell. While this was a great game for my friends, who would guffaw with laughter, their eyes wide with disbelief, it was very annoying for me.

Meanwhile, things weren't as they appeared at home either.

While both my parents were very smart, they never went to college. They worked hard, and the hoagie shop supported our little family. Like most young children, I thought my family was solidly in the normal range. I imagined that my parents were happy and successful. But, also like many families, there was a lot going on behind closed doors.

CHAPTER 2

Defiance Burger

Our parents deeply loved us — that I never doubted. But my father's rage seemed to simmer perpetually below the surface. He threw plates of food in outbursts during dinner. Fist-sized holes appeared in the walls. Months later, the holes would be patched with uneven plaster, but I could always see where they had been.

Dad never actually beat me, but he regularly threatened to, screaming at me whenever he was in a foul mood. He kept a black belt and a police baton in his bedroom that he promised would be used on me. "You stupid kid!" he would scream, picking up the belt and snapping it in my direction. I don't remember what it was that I did all those times to enrage him so, but I do remember that he terrorized me regularly. He didn't need to unleash these weapons on me. His anger was enough.

I remember one time when his mother questioned or challenged him in the hoagie shop, he exploded. He frequently yelled at her, in front of customers, when they battled over issues about the business.

By the time I was eight years old, I began preparing the lunchmeats at the shop, and with each year came more responsibility — making hoagies, cleaning tables, and even taking orders.

But food wasn't my friend then. A picky eater and naturally scrawny, I liked simple food — homemade chicken noodle soup without chicken and no carrots please, or plain spaghetti with butter. My Grandma Freda, who had immigrated from Romania as a young girl, constantly pestered Mom by asking if she was feeding me. "That boy is too skinny," she would say, shaking her head.

Mom tried, making a home-cooked dinner most nights and insisting I eat what she put on the table. One night, when Mom had made hamburgers for dinner, I refused to eat. I hated hamburgers. They were gross, especially the chunks of fat and gristle. But eating the prepared meal was the rule, and no one was to be excused until the act was completed. On this night for some reason, Mom decided to test the full measure of my will. Long after Mom, Dad, and Marci had finished their food, I sat, unresponsive, unmoved. Mom cleaned the entire kitchen and turned off the light, leaving me in the dark at the kitchen table with my plate and the single bun-less burger.

As I stared at that cold, gray disk of meat, a deep surge of defiance began swelling up from deep inside me, and a single truth crystallized in my mind: I would never, ever eat that burger. After leaving me sitting for more than an hour in the dark — which felt like forever to me — Mom relented. She turned on the lights, cleared the lone burger from the table, and angrily told me to go to my room. I left the table, hungry but victorious.

Defiance of stupid rules set by the status quo would become a theme of my life. That trait would mostly serve me well in waging justice — but not always.

I was an extremely jealous and sensitive child, and I always thought people were doing things to hurt my feelings — except for Marci, who was always kind to me and made me feel safe. It was only when she started dating boys that I felt excluded. I was no longer her spoiled little doll; I became the annoying little brother who spied resentfully on her antics in the den.

For much of my childhood and adolescence, I struggled with painful, malevolent emotions I didn't understand. I knew that I hated my father. But I also hated myself, feeling implicated in everything happening around me at home — the yelling, the pointless rules, the forced fishing trips, the pretense that we were a happy family like everyone else. I even hated how much I hated Dad. I would lie in bed, fists clenched, telling myself, I will never be like him! I will never be a father like that!

As I progressed through grade school, I became profoundly introverted, choosing hobbies that kept me isolated in my room. While I didn't like going fishing, I convinced Dad to get me a fish tank. I loved taking care of the fish, and they were the subjects of my first scientific studies. I created a daily chart that tracked the number of living fish, sick fish, pregnant fish, and eggs hatched. I had a stack of mimeographed blank charts to fill in with daily status reports. I was a young epidemiologist (although I didn't know that word at the time), falling in love with the science of studying disease and risk factors in my fish. My neon tetras always got sick and died from something I called "ick." The black and white striped angelfish proved to be the hardiest.

I eventually got a chemistry set that came with small bottles of dozens of different chemicals. In my room I conducted secret experiments and concocted toxic potions. I also liked pretending I was a schoolteacher — I had about 30 imaginary students, and I developed lesson plans for them, regularly giving them exams and quizzes. The most fun for me was scoring these exams and diligently recording the daily details of each student's attendance and performance in a grade book someone had given me. Mom was so worried about my involvement with my imaginary students that she had a conference with my teachers. They reassured her that I was a just being a normal, albeit highly creative, kid.

CHAPTER 3

Young Patriot

My other great interest was American history. Growing up in Philadelphia, we went on annual school field trips to Independence Hall when the Liberty Bell was still there. I remember running my hands over the bell, wondering how it would sound, desperate to know how it got cracked.

I was awed by the idea that George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, and James Madison had walked in the same streets that I walked. I loved visiting the house of my hero Benjamin Franklin and looking over all his cunning inventions. But my favorite place was Betsy Ross's house, near Elfreth's Alley, a street in Philadelphia that dates to 1702. I would crawl up the circular stairwell of the snug Colonial home, imagining her sitting by the woodstove sewing the first American flag.

We visited the quiet, upright Christ Church, which the guide told us was built in 1695, with its white marble gravestones, hand-carved balusters, and dark oak pews. I touched the gleaming wood where George and Martha Washington had once sat. They were actual, real people, just like me! I wondered if they hated going to church as much as I hated going to synagogue.

I especially loved the parchment replicas of the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, and the Bill of Rights, along with the Revolution-era money. But unlike my other classmates, I was never interested in the muskets or any other tools of violence.

(Continues…)


Excerpted from "Waging Justice"
by .
Copyright © 2018 Dr. Paul Zeitz.
Excerpted by permission of Balboa Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Table of Contents

PART 1 FORMATION,
Chapter 1 Things Are Not Always as They Appear, 3,
Chapter 2 Defiance Burger, 10,
Chapter 3 Young Patriot, 14,
Chapter 4 Israel, 18,
Chapter 5 Becoming a Campaigner, 25,
Chapter 6 Becoming a Healer, 29,
Chapter 7 Behind the Iron Curtain, 37,
Chapter 8 Walls and Cages, 43,
Chapter 9 An Ounce of Prevention, 49,
Chapter 10 Love at First Sight, 52,
Chapter 11 Hiroshima, 60,
Chapter 12 Orphan Escorts, 66,
Chapter 13 A Proposal, 70,
Chapter 14 I'm in Heaven, 75,
PART 2 UNIFICATION,
Chapter 15 Nigeria, 83,
Chapter 16 Unconditional Love, 90,
Chapter 17 Unexplained Illness, 95,
Chapter 18 Family Expansion Project, 100,
Chapter 19 I Fight for Child Survival, 105,
Chapter 20 My Djembe Drum, 113,
Chapter 21 Zambia, 118,
Chapter 22 Lusaka, 124,
Chapter 23 Inner Racist, 130,
Chapter 24 View from the Apocalypse, 133,
Chapter 25 The Death of a Friend, 138,
Chapter 26 Intractable Problems, 142,
Chapter 27 Shroud Practice, 146,
Chapter 28 Morning Coup, 151,
Chapter 29 Let Us Act, 154,
Chapter 30 From Jaw-Jaw to Now-Now, 159,
Chapter 31 Another Family Expansion Project, 165,
Chapter 32 Second Chance, 171,
Chapter 33 The End of the Rope, 175,
PART 3 DEMONSTRATION,
Chapter 34 Returning Home, 181,
Chapter 35 Break the Silence, 188,
Chapter 36 Angel of Light, 198,
Chapter 37 The Global Fund Is Real, 202,
Chapter 38 Dublin, 208,
Chapter 39 What's Going On?, 211,
Chapter 40 Donate the Dollars, 219,
Chapter 41 The President's Emergency Plan, 224,
Chapter 42 Broken Promises, 229,
Chapter 43 Arrested, 236,
Chapter 44 Soccer Dad, 238,
Chapter 45 Justice for Orphans, 241,
Chapter 46 Visiting Home, 244,
Chapter 47 Arch Tutu, 248,
Chapter 48 Pilgrimage, 252,
Chapter 49 Birkenau Boomerang, 256,
Chapter 50 What About the Boys?, 260,
Chapter 51 Yes, We Can, 265,
PART 4 REVELATION,
Chapter 52 Breaking Point, 271,
Chapter 53 Kaleidoscope, 275,
Chapter 54 Shattered, 279,
Chapter 55 Standing for Peace, 286,
PART 5 LIBERATION,
Chapter 56 Speak Truth, 293,
Chapter 57 Justice Experiments, 298,
Chapter 58 Occupy Justice, 308,
Chapter 59 Purification, 312,
Chapter 60 Endless Possibilities, 317,
Epilogue, 321,
READING GROUP GUIDE, 327,
Introduction, 329,
An Antidote to Hopelessness, 331,
Topics and Questions for Discussion, 333,
Enhance Your Reading Experience, 337,
Build the Movement, 341,
Acknowledgements, 345,
About the Author, 349,

What People are Saying About This

Fom the Publisher

Waging Justice is a deeply personal story of courage and compassion with global implications. This heartfelt memoir shows how a doctor with vision can help fix what’s broken in our world. Dr. Zeitz is a man of conscience who shares my commitment to bringing hope to the world’s poor. Please read Waging Justice. You won’t regret it!
—Archbishop Emeritus Desmond Tutu

I’ve known Paul since 2001 when we first teamed up in the global fight against HIV/AIDS, and we’ve worked together ever since. I’m moved by the backstory in Waging Justice, as Paul inspires me with his courage and tenacity. Put the biggest boulder in the path of the ambitious, stubborn, and hardworking Dr. Paul Zeitz and you can be sure he’ll find a way around it. If not over it, under it, or around it, he’ll grab a jackhammer and pound right through it. Paul is a driving force in ending the epidemics of AIDS, poverty, and sexual abuse that are raging through the world. Paul brings his can-do spirit to everything he does, including fighting for justice. This is a book you want to, no, you have to read. Dr. Zeitz's voice should be heard by everyone.
—Alicia Keys
"In a world of searing injustice and glaring inequality, Dr. Paul Zeitz is a reminder that love, truth, and compassion remain the strongest forces on earth. His story is inspiring, challenging, and hope-restoring. I hope Waging Justice is read widely and his example is emulated more widely still. With people like Dr. Zeitz on our side, achieving the Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) is not just possible, it’s distinctly probable."
---Dr. Tedros Adhanom Ghebreyesus, Director-General, World Health Organization

By raising his voice and standing up for what is right, Dr. Paul Zeitz’s work has saved countless lives. Paul has made invaluable contributions to global health with his bold vision for addressing the AIDS crisis and his passionate advocacy in Washington and on the global stage. Waging Justice is a must-read for the peace and justice warriors of our time.
—U.S. Congresswoman Barbara Lee (CA-13)

Dr. Paul Zeitz’s story is a combination of serving humanity according to his oath as a health professional and questioning the injustice and inequality surrounding us. He does so fearlessly, with courage and passion. Waging Justice is what everyone in the world who is working on sustainable development needs and a must-read for professionals and activists.
—Advocate Bience Gawanas, United Nations Under-Secretary General and Special Adviser on Africa

Waging Justice is one of those special books that shows someone to be ordinary and extraordinary at the same time. Dr. Paul Zeitz is just a regular guy but his journey so far has been nothing short of amazing. All of us have the “defiance gene,” but Paul shows us that when you put your mind and heart to it, you can achieve wonderful things, whether at home or on the world stage. This book is inspiring, whether you want to be a better parent or want to end poverty around the world—or both.
—Dhananjayan Sivaguru Sriskandarajah, Secretary-General, CIVICUS

Waging Justice is an extraordinary testament to the courage of one man, Dr. Paul Zeitz, who fights to build a world of greater justice and equity. This is a story of a man with a vision and a mission, a man with deep determination to do as much as he can to help heal the world, and a man who finds ways to emerge from the burdens of personal trauma to be able to make a difference for others. In Waging Justice, Dr. Zeitz travels the world, sets up organizations, builds relationships, and speaks truth to power. Determined to wage justice, he would not let go of his vision, and as a result he has built amazing coalitions to bring health and justice to all people. Hundreds of thousands of children around the world owe their lives to his actions.
—Ruth W. Messinger, Global Ambassador, American Jewish World Service

Waging Justice is a moving story that traces the path of a life dedicated to seeking justice. Dr. Paul Zeitz takes us on a journey of global activism for equality that is forged in a very personal mission to reclaim and rediscover dignity. This memoir is a fascinating, intimate exploration of the connection between confronting personal challenges and taking effective public action. Waging Justice is valuable reading for anyone interested in the personal seeds of political change.
—Chris Collins, President, Friends of the Global Fight Against AIDS, Tuberculosis, and Malaria

Dr. Paul Zeitz is a passionate, articulate, and visionary change-maker—but above all he is courageous, showing us how healing oneself and healing the world are intricately connected. Waging Justice is truly trailblazing, a book that stands up to centuries of taboo and secrecy, and opens a door, allowing ALL of us who have experienced sexual violence to come forward. Waging Justice invites us to let go of the shame we often carry, and to be part of a global and inclusive healing movement.
—Daniela Ligiero, CEO, Together for Girls

A bold, honest, and courageous tale by an unusual human being. Dr. Paul Zeitz bares it all in this story of his life’s struggles to find inner peace whilst fighting injustices of this world. From a dedicated AIDS activist who fought so hard to help so many in Africa, Waging Justice is captivating and full of surprises, making it difficult to put down.
—Ngozi Okonjo-Iweala, Chair, Global Alliance for Vaccines and Immunization (GAVI) and Former Finance Minister, Nigeria

Waging Justice provides an intimate slice of the history of the global fight against AIDS, and is a story of personal healing, frankly told. Dr. Paul Zeitz is a hero in the fight against the AIDS pandemic who transformed personal pain into a global commitment to boldly tackle the injustices that have allowed this pandemic to persist. Coming at a time when the United States government is wavering in its commitment to bring the AIDS pandemic to an end, this book is an important appeal on behalf of millions of people whose lives are at stake.
—Reverend Charles King, President & CEO, Housing Works

Waging Justice is a savagely honest account of faith, love, and conviction. Dr. Paul Zeitz’s quest to sustain passion and compassion through physical, mental, and professional barriers reads like a roadmap for anyone seeking to know thyself in order to serve others. Through the decades of navigating turmoil both global and internal, Dr. Zeitz exemplifies qualities of youth with the boundless energy and magnetic optimism that continue to permeate his work.
—Katherine Kennedy Townsend, Executive Director, Open Data Collaboratives

Waging Justice is a significant book that inspires and charms, but most importantly, it is a book that helps us know the personal as political. The courage it takes to transform the world is the very same courage that is needed to heal ourselves. With beauty and humor, Dr. Zeitz shows us that it is only through our own personal healing that we find the hope, resilience, and valor to change the world.
—Rabbi Shefa Gold, Author of Are We There Yet? Inspirations for Travel

A very personal and mission-critical story, Waging Justice traces the genesis of one man’s fierce social justice activism to its roots in his own lived experience of injustice and pain. Dr. Paul Zeitz takes us through the maze of trenches on the front line in the war against HIV/AIDS and reveals a rich tapestry—from the very personal to the brutally political struggle of the world’s 36 million who live everyday with HIV. Waging Justice is a story of commitment, determination, vision, and belief—it inspires hope in all of us that one little step in the right direction can transform the self and the world for better and for good.
—Jon O’ Brien, President, Catholics for Choice

Waging Justice is an amazing book that you’ll want to read twice. Once holding your breath as a poignant story of abuse, incest, and reconciliation unfolds. A second time to savor the vision, integrity, honesty, and energy of a man of justice who inspires us all to fight a little harder for the world’s children.
—Jennifer Margulis, Ph.D., Award-Winning Author, Your Baby, Your Way, and co-author, The Addiction Spectrum

Dr. Paul Zeitz has been at the center of transforming health rights denial and climate chaos, two of the planet’s greatest challenges. His story that is deeply personal and political at the same time. Waging Justice is relevant in a world where we have the knowledge and financial resources to keep the entire world safe, healthy and dignified, yet millions die needlessly.
—Irũngũ Houghton, Executive Director, Amnesty International Kenya

Reading Waging Justice is an opportunity to walk in the shoes of a doctor turned humanitarian and turned fighter for social justice during the height of the AIDS crisis and beyond. It’s an intimate journey through Dr. Zeitz's fascinating life and how he came to make the choices that so few often do. It’s inspiring to witness his transformation and provides the reader with hope for our future. Waging Justice is highly recommended for all to read.
—Susan McPherson, Founder and CEO , McPherson Strategies

I honor Dr. Paul Zeitz, a bold and courageous physician and activist, for the way he has chosen to share his truth and passion in such a vulnerable, riveting memoir. The tremendously inspiring Waging Justice motivates all of us to join together to combat the many ills and injustices of our society. From a psychological perspective, this memoir beautifully chronicles how facing our inner demons empowers us to be able to thrive even more in our personal and professional lives, and intimately demonstrates the power of love in overcoming significant life barriers. Today more than ever, Dr. Zeitz’s story stands as a testimony for how one man can make a tremendous difference, offering hope in a time when it can be difficult to hold on. And although one person can achieve greatness, when he or she joins forces with other passionate, loving, justice-seeking pioneers, the impact on millions is felt globally.
—Dr. Howard Fradkin, Author, Joining Forces: Empowering Male Survivors to Thrive

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