SB 72 allows healthcare providers, broadly defined, to refuse services based on “sincerely held religious, moral, or ethical beliefs.” Doctors. Nurses. Pharmacists. Social workers. Students in training. Receptionists. Ambulance drivers. Even janitorial staff.
It covers testing, diagnosis, treatment, referrals, prescriptions, and record keeping. It does not require alternative care. It prohibits the reassignment of an objecting employee. It shields providers from civil, criminal, or administrative liability.
It does not apply in the emergency room, we are told. As if discrimination politely checks its location.
The sponsor framed this as protecting conscience rights under Section 5 of the Kentucky Constitution. He spoke about corporate medicine, reimbursement pressures, and the loss of physician autonomy. Those are real conversations. No one denies that modern medicine is changing.
But again, who is being protected here?
When a pharmacist can refuse HIV prevention medication. When a provider can deny contraceptives to an unmarried woman. When an LGBTQ Kentuckian has to wonder whether the person behind the desk believes they are worthy of care.
In that moment, the patient is the one fighting to survive.
We were told patients can simply go elsewhere, when more than 100 Kentucky counties have severely limited provider options. "Go elsewhere” in rural communities already hanging on by a thread. In areas where transportation, income, and stigma already limit access.
That is not survive and advance. That is survive if you can.
Healthcare is built on a power differential. The provider holds the knowledge, the license, and the authority. The patient arrives vulnerable. Often scared. Sometimes in pain.
The greatest protections in that relationship should shield the one with less power.
Major medical organizations oppose this bill. Religious leaders testified that faith should not be used as a sword against those already struggling.
We are told we should not legislate fear.
But SB 72 does exactly that. It codifies fear that treating someone different from you somehow threatens your conscience. It gives legal cover to refusal without guaranteeing continuity of care. It is state-sanctioned discrimination.
In March, survive and advance is about grit on a basketball court.
In healthcare, survival should never be the minimum standard. Dignity, safety, and access should be where we start.
Advancing this bill may move a piece of paper forward in Frankfort or placate investors. But for marginalized Kentuckians, it forces them to play defense in a game they never asked to be in.
We can protect religious freedom without endangering patients. We can address corporate medicine without authorizing discrimination. We can honor conscience without abandoning care.
If this is what advancement looks like, then the question is simple.
Who, exactly, is expected to survive?