A recent CDC study shows that young black males between the ages of 16 and 29 are dying by suicide at higher rates than their white peers for the first time on record.
This revelation hit home for me. If it were not for my “village,” I could have been among those statistics.
I was raised by my mother’s oldest sister. I had infrequent contact with her and did not know my father. My siblings and I learned to be grateful for the roof over our heads, but money and opportunity were tight.
For me, the challenges were compounded by being forced to deny my sexuality, sense of wonder, and many questions being unanswered. I felt as if I had to grow up emotionally faster in childhood. This inability to live authentically caused me to struggle with confidence and attachment issues. This spiraled into moments where I thought there was no point in me being alive anymore. The pain was at times just too great.
The CDC study reveals that there are a lot of young black men who feel now like I did back then: invisible, like they don’t belong, like nobody cares.
I am here today because of the guidance of key people who bore witness to the curious boy, the wallflower, and gave him a chance.
I was never an “A” student, but I dreamed of pursuing a law degree because of the injustices that afflicted my family. It always seemed like grabbing the bare minimum was a tooth and nail obstacle. I wanted to attend an HBCU like Howard University.
I was bright eyed and ambitious, but with the naivety of adolescence, I did not have the grades or the portfolio needed to be competitive for a school like Howard. I also had no one to mentor me academically, or to encourage me to get involved in extracurricular activities.
Then, one of my school counselors sat me down during my senior year and gave me a reality check: I most likely would not get accepted into a university like Howard because of my current grades. She could have stopped there. Dreams deferred, self-esteem plummeted. An indictment of my potential and character. Then she said, “ Here’s what you can do, though, if you would still like to attend a four-year college of your choice one day.”
She offered me a lifeline that is clearly needed by many young black men who are contemplating suicide and feel they have no place to go. She offered me hope for my future. With her guidance, I was able to enroll in Los Angeles Southwest College. There, I became aware of the Mayor’s Young Ambassador program (MaYA), an opportunity for a select group of community college students to immerse themselves in a global learning experience. I applied for their 2020 winter cycle and, fortunately, was selected for a nine-day visit to Taiwan.
The trip to Taiwan was my first time on a plane, my first time traveling abroad, and the first time I stepped out of my comfort zone. I immersed myself in the culture and the environment: Taipei’s skyline, birds chirping, boba shops, all in harmony with each other. I felt genuinely safe to go out and explore, a luxury far removed from conditions I’d grown accustomed to.
Witnessing the Taiwanese government and citizens gave me a chance to observe and absorb their values, restraints, and commitment to a better society for all its people. It showed me that I did not have to prove myself or continuously explain myself there; I crossed a mental threshold.
After the trip, I continued to explore what it meant to be engaged with the world around me through student government, study abroad opportunities, and tapping into my hidden value that was always there. At home, where circumstances were out of my control, I navigated shame, frustration and, at times, helplessness. The trip to Taiwan made me feel like I belonged, was supported and allowed to be my authentic self.
I was the only black student representing my delegation in Taiwan. It was a pivotal point in my development that I wish I could have shared with other young black men who shared similar challenges.
We could likely reverse the trend in suicide among young black males if more effort was made to provide opportunities and spaces that expand their reality and allow them to experience a world with fewer barriers. To learn that there are places where they can be encouraged, validated, and possibly loved.
Young black men contemplating suicide need to know life is not only about suffering. They need mentors, programs, and systems in place to help keep them afloat when their foundation sinks. They need proof that there’s a world beyond their circumstances. That it will be okay.
That’s what saved me.