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August/September 2010 NAMI Queens/Nassau PATHways Page 8 By JOHN WAGNER I had participated in NAMIWalks in the past. I had received at least a half dozen emails dating back to October 2009 inviting me to participate in the May 23, 2010 event to be held at Jones Beach. I saved the emails, intending to get involved somewhere along the line. But as happens from time to time in almost everyone’s life, there seemed to be too much on my plate during the late winter and spring of 2010 for me to take on anything else. The country’s economic downturn, the pressure, stress and time constraints of trying to do my job (I’m a lawyer in a small law firm), maintain my house (mow the lawn, prune the bushes and trees, vacuum the rugs, mop the floors, pay the bills), and attend to my various family and civic responsibilities (I have a mother who needs some help, an immediate family member who is mentally ill, and I volunteer some of my time to work on village matters), left me tired, frustrated, and a bit angry at how my life was proceeding. A series of unanticipated events in mid-May found me frantic in my efforts to take care of other people, to help them deal with critical situations. This was mostly thankless work which had to be done, and with no one else to do it, I trudged forward, spreading myself thin, wondering whether I was accomplishing anything positive for my efforts, and more exhausted than ever. Someone told me I needed to get away and recharge my batteries, or at least I should take a day or two and do something for myself. I just couldn’t see how this was possible—there was just too much to do and not enough time within which to do it. Then, on Thursday May 20, when I was on the verge of pulling out what few hairs I have left on my head, I received an email from Kristi Galvani, my local Walk manager, reminding me that there were only a few days left before the Jones Beach event. Within minutes of receiving Kristi’s email, I received a phone call from my friend and neighbor, Mitch Cooper, who had supported my walks for NAMI in the past. “What’s the deal?” asked Mitch. “Are you walking this year or what? Because if you’re walking, you know we want to support you.” Suddenly, it seemed so clear. I knew what I needed to do. I needed to do something that I wanted to do, not something I had to do; something for myself; something that would make me feel good about me. “Yeah,” I told Mitch, “I think I’m gonna walk this year.” Everything else would have to wait. “Why don’t you wait ‘til the last minute?” asked Mitch with more than a little sarcasm in his voice. “Just send me the information and I’ll make a donation.” They were waiting for me. My friends, colleagues and relatives knew that I had walked for the cause in the past, and they were waiting for me to sign up and walk again for something that meant something to me, something important, very important. They knew how much mental illness in my family had reshaped my life. They knew about the stigma which I always decried. They knew because they saw it. They knew because I told them. They Were Waiting for Me They wanted to support me and my cause, NAMI. They were waiting for me, and I wasn’t doing my piece. I immediately signed up to walk and sent out a bunch of emails, with a slightly modified version of one of the letters Kristi had sent to me. Inasmuch as there were only 2 ½ days left before the event, I set a very low target for myself and tried to pick carefully those to whom I would send my emails—caring, sensitive and fearless people, people who knew me, people who I believed could afford to stand with me. The response was immediate and, to me, overwhelming. Mitch Cooper wasn’t even the first to make a contribution, and he was waiting for me. Some of the donations were accompanied by notes of encouragement and respect; others were anonymous. With each responsive email that I opened, I was touched and, well, I got a little emotional. The day of the walk was perfect—just enough cloud cover to keep it comfortable for the hundreds, make that thousands, who met at the boardwalk, stretched out, and walked. A few of my friends met me in the parking lot and walked with me. Imagine my surprise and delight when I bumped into my own son, his girlfriend, and another of his friends, who were walking for the cause. I felt great, and I was proud of what I had done. I managed to raise over $3,200 for the cause in just a few days. All I had to do was ask. They were waiting for me. NAMIWalks feedback... (Continued from page 7) medication and/or therapy, people with mental illness live quite functional and healthy lives. This was my third year with NAMIWalks. Our Jamaica Hospital Medical Center team grew each year, and we raised more than $3000 this year. The Grand Round that I conducted, together with seventeen patients in Jamaica Hospital Medical Center, highlighted the patients’ creativity and talents. Patients read their poems and essays, sang songs, performed comedy and puppet shows and presented their art work. I saw the tears in the audience when the author of an essay said, "If you have to label me something, how about ‘human being’." Next year my team will walk again and use this quote from a patient on our banner. Reach across your family and friends, Reach across your neighborhood, Reach across your faith community and social networks, Reach across your office, Stand up and say, “I am supporting the NAMI Walk—a community walk to fight against the stigma of mental illness.
August/September 2010 NAMI Queens/Nassau PATHways Page 9 The Black Community is in the Midst of a Mental Health Crisis By MARC LAMONT HILL | TheLoop21 Last week, while celebrating his first NBA championship, Ron Artest made a different kind of history within the Black community. During his post-game interview, the mercurial Los Angeles Lakers star gave a public shout-out to his psychiatrist, whom he credited for helping him successfully navigate the pressures of playing on one of the biggest stages in professional sports. In doing so, as Mychal Denzel Smith brilliantly points out in his recent essay, Artest may have created new space within the public sphere for discussing Black mental health without fear and shame. The need for reshaping and reinvigorating the public conversation on Black mental health could not come a moment sooner. Despite comprising only 12 percent of the United States population, Black people represent more than 25 percent of the nation’s mental health needs. Over the past 30 years, Black male suicide rates have climbed by more than 200 percent. The depression rate among Black women is 50 percent higher than their white counterparts. Rates of somatization — the emergence of physical illness related to mental health — occur at a rate of 15 percent among both Blacks and women, as opposed to 9 percent among Whites. The rising mental health needs among Black people are further compounded by the continued lack of mental health service utilization within the community. While only one-third of all Americans receive care for mental illness, Blacks remain statistically less likely to access proper mental health services than other racial groups. These numbers suggest that the Black community is in the midst of a full-fledged mental health crisis. Social misery Although it is necessary to shake the cultural stigmas that enable the current crisis— the view that mental health maintenance is anti-Black, anti-masculine, and anti-Christian— such work must be accompanied by an equally engaged effort to address the structural issues that compromise Black mental health. We must begin to spotlight the connection between mental health and other social problems plaguing the Black community. We must understand the collective power of social, cultural and institutional forces in producing, intensifying, and concealing the unique mental health issues confronted by Blacks in the United States. While all racial and ethnic groups suffer from mental health issues, Blacks are a particularly high-risk population due to their overrepresentation in contexts of social misery. Currently, Blacks account for 40 percent of the country’s homeless population and nearly 50 percent of the prison population. Black children represent nearly 50 percent of all foster care and adoption cases. Additionally, almost 25 percent of Black youth are exposed to enough violence to meet the diagnostic criteria for post-traumatic stress disorder. These conditions not only play a direct role in producing and exacerbating mental illnesses, they also create new levels of social marginalization and isolation that further distance vulnerable populations from the services that they need. Poverty's affect on mental health Black mental health is further compromised by economic inequality. While 16 percent of the nation is uninsured, nearly 1 in 4 Blacks live without health insurance, thereby making it difficult to access appropriate mental health services. Blacks with health insurance still have average employer based coverage rates of only 50 percent, compared to 70 percent for their White counterparts. These conditions, combined with the disproportionate absence of living wages within the Black community, make mental health services financially nonviable for many Blacks. While economically disadvantaged Blacks have access to government-run mental health resources, individuals often have to navigate an extremely bureaucratic and fragmented maze of mental health services. Those who ultimately receive services often do not obtain them through the actual health care system, but through agencies like public schools, welfare offices, and the court system— none of which have the appropriate resources. As a result, many poor Blacks receive uncoordi- nated, inconsistent, and ineffective levels of care that ultimately discourage them from utilizing the system. Many of those in prison suffer from mental illness In addition to poverty, the impact of the prison industrial complex on the current Black mental health crisis cannot be overstated. Beginning with President Reagan’s aggressive efforts to close mental hospitals and cut off federal aid to community mental health programs in the 1980s, the United States has witnessed a dramatic increase in its homeless population. Concurrent with this neo-liberal assault on the welfare state, neo-conservative lawmakers successfully aimed to criminalize ostensibly anti-social behaviors like panhandling, public drinking, and public urination, all of which are routinely linked to mental illness. (As with nearly all criminal justice matters in the United States, arrests, convictions, and sentencing for these offenses are disproportionately assigned to poor Blacks and Latinos.) As a result, many individuals who would have previously been under medical supervision for their mental illnesses (including drug addiction) are now chattel within the for-profit prison industry. The Department of Justice reports that nearly 16 percent of all prisoners are mentally ill. Also, many states, such as New York, have literally transformed mental health facilities into prisons, as well as devoted billions of dollars to the construction of criminal psychiatric wings within existing prisons. In addition to being fundamentally immoral, the incarceration of the mentally ill is largely ineffective, as federal and state prisons routinely fail to even identify, much less support or treat its mentally ill patients. As a result, many prisoners fail to comply with prison rules and norms, thereby subjecting them to further punishment, social isolation, and abuse from both authorities and other prisoners. Many ultimately finish their prison sentences and re-enter the world with intensified illnesses due to prison trauma, making them a greater danger to society and themselves. Read the full article online, http:// theloop21.com/society/ron-artest-reshaping-the -conversation-black-mental-health
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