Showing posts with label African-American. Show all posts
Showing posts with label African-American. Show all posts

Wednesday, December 18, 2013

Black suicides: tragic, but not epidemic

Is it just me, or is suicide in the news a lot lately?

In August, there was the suicide of Lee Thompson Young, the actor who first came to fame as the child star of "The Famous Jett Jackson." In response, Ebony magazine featured a piece by psychologist Donald E. Grant, Jr., "BLACK SUICIDE: When Prayer Is Not Enough," calling for Black Americans to acknowledge the reality of mental illness among us.

On November 11, the title of Dr. Grant's article was underscored by the suicide of a pastor in Macon, Georgia, the Rev. Teddy Parker, Jr. 

A week later, Merrick McKoy, of Westminster, Colorado, broke into his ex-girlfriend's apartment and shot their 22-month-old daughter and himself - but only after taking a picture of himself and the toddler and posting it on Facebook.

His last status read, "Don’t judge me had no choice."

By this time, I was remembering the suicides of Don Cornelius, and of Jovan Belcher. And starting to wonder if Black America was in the midst of some major cultural shift. You see, in my youth, it seemed to be a given that suicide was for white people - that it was most commonly an outworking of the misery evoked by having wealth but not having God. And since black people had God, but didn't have wealth, we were, you know, safe.

Yeah, that's simplistic. But that was then. This is now. And now, in December, 2013, the Rev. Ed Montgomery, pastor of a church in Hazel Crest, Illinois, shot himself to death in front of his son.

What in the world is going on?

Better reporting, maybe... While it feels like suicide is becoming more common lately among Black people, especially Black men, the data suggest otherwise. If there was a time when time when Black people didn't commit suicide at all, it was before 1992. But between 1992 and 2007, an "African American Suicide Fact Sheet" from the American Association of Suicidology shows a long-term decline in suicides among black Americans, while a more recent chart from the Suicide Prevention Resource Center shows black suicides remaining virtually flat between 2001 and 2010.

And while the constructs of my youth were simplistic, the AAS chart does show that suicide rates among black Americans have remained significantly lower than among whites.

But there is a troubling wrinkle in all this: suicides among the young. According to the AAS, suicide was the third leading cause of death among African-American youth ages 10-19 in 2007. The SPRC report named it as the third leading cause of death among blacks aged 15-24.

What contributes to suicide among the young? It seems that for everyone, the biggest risk factors are obvious ones like prior suicide attempts, alcohol and drug abuse, mood and anxiety disorders and access to lethal means. For black youth, the SPRC says that additional risk factors include parental conflict, perceived racism and discrimination, and the lack of mental health services access and use.

Conversely, "protective factors" include effective mental health care; connectedness to individuals, family, community, and social institutions; problem-solving skills; and contacts with caregivers. "Orthodox religious beliefs and personal devotion" and "Participation in organized religious practices, such as church attendance" were also cited.

I came to this topic in a state of agitation, based on the news of the past few months. But while suicide is always tragic, looking over the data leaves me feeling better about Black folk in America in that regard. We're doing better than might be expected.

Just imagine how much better we could do when we remove the stigma around mental illness. If we do that, and strengthen our young people's sense of community, their problem-solving skills and their faith...I'll go ahead and say it: we could set the example for developing a culture that affirms the goodness and value of life itself, no matter what.

Friday, December 28, 2012

For my sisters after the flesh

I just came across this page about a South African singer named Mshoza and her physical transformation.



I don't know Mshoza from a can of paint, but what she has done to herself makes my heart ache for her. Who told that lady on the left that she was ugly, and why did she believe them?

Whoever it was, I wish I could punch them in the face. But even that would not change the belief problem. Maybe the simplest solution for that is a hearty dose of "Well, THAT"S stupid!"

For my part, I consider women beautiful, and Black women especially so.

By "beautiful," I do not simply mean sexually attractive. I mean aesthetically pleasing, with the curves not just of their hips or breasts but also of their noses and earlobes; the bend of a knee, the grace of a finger. Skin. Hair.

I am grateful for my wife and don't even want to want anybody else sexually; I hope that she knows that I find her beautiful (I've told her, but have I told her enough?).

But sometimes I also want to let other women know that I find them beautiful. I want to tell them.

Especially Black women. Because I know that so many have received so many messages throughout their lives that boil down to, "You're ugly."

Your skin is too dark. Your hair is too nappy. Your nose is too broad. Your lips are too thick. Your entire body is too thick.

You need chemicals, you need bleach, you need surgery.

Christian women are my sisters in the faith; Black women are my sisters after the flesh. I want every single one to experience whatever healing she needs to be healed of whatever she needs to be healed of. As a Black man, I want to be the brother who helps a sister to experience her healing. I want to tell Black women that they are beautiful.

But I don't. Convention binds me. Convention, and the fear of offending, and the fear of being considered weird.

I grew up with a really strong fear of offending women, which was exacerbated when social shifts seemed to deconstruct all the rules about how a gentleman should treat a lady - indeed, to deconstruct the very ideas of "gentleman" and "lady." Complimenting a woman on her appearance - not just her clothes, but her physical self - has become verboten.

So I'll be with someone in a social setting or a work setting, and when I want to say something like, "You're beautiful," I'll settle for complimenting her hair or her outfit (both of which are allowed). Or I don't say anything at all.

Maybe I'll experiment in 2013. Maybe I'll say "pretty" instead of "beautiful." Maybe I'll see if I can defuse any potential awkwardness by asking permission:

"I don't mean to be inappropriate, but is it okay if I tell you that I think you're awfully pretty?"

Maybe.

Meanwhile, if you're a Black woman reading this, consider yourself...appreciated.

Thursday, September 06, 2012

A Big Brain Event

"Big" refers to the event, not to my brain...

Something happened today that I am not sure how to describe.

For years I have carried a certain idea in my head: the idea that people should marry before they have kids, and more specifically, that a man should become a husband before becoming a father - that the first criterion of being a great dad is being in the home.

I still believe that that should be the norm.

What happened today was that I stepped over a line, or turned a corner, in my acceptance of the demographic reality that a majority of homes in my neighborhood, and among African-Americans generally, are households headed by single women.

The path to that point went something like this: Someone posted an item on Facebook that had side-by-side pictures of Hillary Clinton and Michelle Obama, taken at the Democratic National Convention. The captions for the photos named the designers and prices of the dresses they wore. This generated controversy, with at least one person calling it an insult, not only to Mss. Clinton and Obama, but to voters as well.

And I thought, "But some women do care about fashion." And then, to the assumed response that whoever posted the photos would likely not do the same thing with men, I thought, "And most men don't care about fashion."

The general idea was, "More women than men care about fashion, and care about it more."

Which led to this cluster, "Women and men are different in some ways beyond the obvious physiological differences. There may be differences in brains - there are, broadly speaking, differences in interests, even in, I don't know, modes of being...Masculinity and Femininity exist, and the differences between them are not nearly as simple as strength vs weakness....and they can both be either dysfunctional or...high-functioning?"

(Shout out to Mani St. Victor for sharing this piece about the possibility that men and women literally see the world differently)

And I envisioned a quadrant (much neater than this hasty drawing):
Which led to a question something like, "Given the demographic reality of female-headed households, how can we enhance whatever particular strengths women tend to have?"

But I didn't stay there long, because that led to the Big Brain Event, the asking of a question that I believe I could not have asked before, because my view of the world prevented me from asking it. My view of the world says that men should be husbands first, fathers second, and that they should be in the home with their wives and kids. But today, "Given the demographic reality" kicked in, in a way that it had not before, and I asked:

"How can a man be a great dad without living in the home?" Not an okay dad, not a tolerable dad, but a great dad?

And of course, now that I've asked it, it seems obvious that this is one of the most important questions for my neighborhood and my people to answer. DUH!

So now I'm going to be on the lookout for answers to that question; and even more, for evidence that it is being asked.

Any suggestions for where I can start looking?

Thursday, February 02, 2012

Thinking about suicide (again).

Suicide is in the news.

First, "Soul Train" creator and host Don Cornelius was found dead in an apparent suicide. Then the Huffington Post reported that actress Keke Palmer is reaching out to teens after the suicide of 17-year-old Ashley Duncan in Houston,Texas.

This is striking for me because about two weeks ago, I considered writing a post that would open like this:

I'm not sure how old I was when I first considered suicide.

Something like that. I played with different phrasings, trying to find the string of words that would roll off the tongue most pleasantly.

Anyway, I'm not sure how old I was, but I think I was in 10th grade. And I don't remember exactly why I was considering it. What I do remember is why I decided against it.

I decided against it because I felt it would be the ultimate in ingratitude and in dishonoring God.

That has held up over time - in all the times that suicide has crossed my mind, it has merely crossed, not stayed - because the refusal to dishonor God that way has not allowed it to stay.

So when it pops into my head, it doesn't scare me. I reject it, and keep going.

I decided against writing that post a couple of weeks ago, because I feared that it would make someone panic, when my only reason for mentioning suicide would be to re-affirm my rejection of it.

Indeed, after that first time, I concluded that contemplating it, and deciding against it, might have made me stronger in some sense than someone who has never considered it at all. I have decided to live, in a way that most people haven't.

And most emphatically, in a way that Don Cornelius and Ashley Duncan didn't.

Writing at www.thegrio.com, Ronda Racha Penrice says that Don Cornelius' death in particular, should serve as a wake-up call for the Black community regarding mental health issues. I couldn't agree more. But how do we acknowledge that call? How do we wake up?

I think the first step is to spread one simple idea: it's ok to need help. If your car's not working right, you take it to a mechanic. If you suspect that your mind's not working right, you take it to a therapist. And it's ok.

Or if that seems like too much, you at least talk to...someone. Parent. Teacher. Minister. Friend. Bartender. Somebody. Face-to-face. Not to the world on Twitter or Facebook. To a real live person who can look you in the eye and tell you that it's ok to need help, and who just might help you find it.

Monday, January 23, 2012

Movie Review: Red Tails

I was ready to love "Red Tails," the big-budget tale of the Tuskegee Airmen that premiered over the weekend after a rush of hype kicked off by George Lucas' appearance on Jon Stewart's show.

I liked it. Didn't love it.

The aerial combat scenes are viscerally engaging, and some shots in non-combat scenes are so beautiful that I wanted to press a pause button so that I could drink them in more fully.

But the story didn't move me emotionally the way that I believe the film's makers wanted it to. I blame the script for that, because it lacks one of the most basic and essential ingredients for an adventure film: a protagonist.

When you finish watching a movie with a great story, you want to tell somebody about it, and you start off saying something like, "It's about this guy who..."

While I was watching "Red Tails," I kept trying to figure out which guy the movie was about. Early on, there was a scene showing the arrival of a new recruit, and I thought, "He's the one - he's the guy whose point of view we'll stick with for the rest of the movie." By mid-movie, he virtually disappears.

Others at different points seem to be kind of sort of like protagonists, but never get there. I left "Red Tails" feeling that it wasn't about anybody in particular, only about the Tuskegee Airmen as a group.

I am not discussing the film's historicity because I don't know enough about the Airmen to judge it on that score, and because I never expect much from movies by way of historical accuracy.

I may go to see "Red Tails" again with friends or with a group because it is the focus of so much attention. I would rather go see it again because it's great.

In the interview with Jon Stewart, George Lucas said that as he worked on putting "Red Tails" together, he realized that the story he wanted to tell was too big for one movie, and that what we see now is the "soft middle" of a trilogy whose prequel and sequel will surpass it.

I hope so; I still want to fall in love.

Tuesday, July 31, 2007

Life in the 'hood.

There was a shooting on my block a couple of nights ago. I wrote about it in "My Homewood." Other than that, looks like it will go unobserved by the P-G.

Last night, when I came home, my next door neighbor was in front of his house with, presumably, a friend...I saw K. go up onto his porch carrying something wrapped in a white cloth. From the way that the cloth hung, what I could see the object's shape looked like the butt of a rifle.

Janet said that today there was a big blow-up next door and that K. left with bags slung over his shoulder.

There was a 17-year-old kid injured in the shooting. K. knows him.

I don't know what to make of any of it, but I think that being a neighbor will require that I go beyond anything I know.

***********

Meanwhile, in a totally different world, Infoworld reports that the number of businesses planning to upgrade to Windows Vista is shrinking and the numbers of those planning to move to Linux and to OS X are growing.