BEYOND THE BROCHURE

By failing to address the nuanced mental health needs of students of color, SU provides resources without real substance.

words by Eden Stratton and Isabel Bekele illustrations by Sam Currier

When we think of college, we often visualize the classic brochures: manicured quads, tailgates, laughing with our diverse group of friends on our way to class. What the brochures don’t show us, though, are the mental health struggles that many college students face everyday — especially students of color. The Center for Collegiate Mental Health reports that one in five college students struggle with anxiety or depression. But with increased screen time as a result of online classes, as well as residual pandemic emotions like isolation from family and friends and general hopelessness, that statistic feels like an understatement.

Students of color are forced to deal with all of the usual stress and anxiety that comes with being a college student, on top of the racial trauma that comes

BEYOND THE BROCHURE

with attending a predominantly white institution, whether it’s microaggressions from professors or acts of outright hate crimes that occur on campus. While the conversation around mental health has progressed in recent years, there is still a stigma in many BIPOC communities when it comes to topics like anxiety and depression.

For so long, minority communities have had to deal with the various struggles of belonging to an oppressed group, which has left little room for thinking about how we might take care of our mental health. Additionally, there is a distrust between these communities and the healthcare industry at large, which is understandable given our country’s history of providing inadequate healthcare for people of color. For BIPOC college students facing mental health crises in particular, there is an even deeper hesitancy when it comes to reaching out to the same campus security lines that often target us. Nicki Kim, a student at Syracuse University recalls that, “When I was in quarantine, they always told us, if you need anything or are having a mental health crisis, call DPS. Well, a lot of students of color don’t feel comfortable around DPS.”

The Department of Public Safety’s DPS’s response to such crises is hard to find. After around 15 minutes of digging on their website, the most recent policy on how to respond to crises is from 2010, over a decade ago. It was revised less than a month ago, three days after Loretta Lynch’s independent report investigating the conduct of DPS was released. In her report, she

I FELT SILENCED.

recommended changes to the use of force policy for those in mental health crises, including the major change that use of force must be proportional to the behavior of the individual who is a threat to themselves or others. It is important to note that Lynch’s addition does not actually change the rule; it it only changes the wording of the procedure to be more harsh against officers who abuse use of force. Hayley Lopez, a sophomore at SU, recalls such an experience with DPS while she was in the midst of an acute mental health crisis. Her roommates, concerned for her well-being, made a call to DPS last semester, which quickly escalated once they eventually arrived at the apartment. Lopez recalls that the officers, “didn’t know how to handle the situation — at all.” While EMTs on the scene gave Lopez the all-clear to stay at her apartment instead of being transferred to the local hospital, DPS vetoed overrode their decision. When Lopez refused to comply, DPS handcuffed her, forcibly dragged her out of her apartment, and cuffed her to a stretcher whichwhere she was then transported on to a hospital.

Lopez was eventually allowed to return home after hours of being at the hospital, and felt “traumatized” by the entire experience. “Every single time I hear a knock on the door, I freak out,” she said. “On Halloween night, someone jokingly knocked on my door and yelled ‘DPS!’ and it sent me into a panic attack.” To make matters worse, in the weeks following the incident, Lopez was then charged with various violations by the Office of Student Rights and Responsibilities regarding her interactions with DPS officers during her episode. If found guilty, she would be under academic probation for an entire year, which would significantly affect her academic and extracurricular activities. Lopez fought the charges with the help of her parents, while workers at the OSSR attempted to persuade her to simply accept the charges to get a head start on her probation.

“I felt silenced,” Lopez said.

After weeks of waiting for a hearing date, Lopez was eventually able to get the charges dropped in exchange for her participation in a “decision making” course.

In addition to damaging experiences with campus security, BIPOC students have experienced the trauma of seeing Black bodies being murdered on what felt like a weekly basis in 2020. Despite the clear need for mental health resources for students, universities

often miss the mark by implementing ‘’Wellness Days’’ (as if 24 hours is a cure all) and not taking into account the nuances of students’ mental health issues — especially disproportionality those that disproportionately affect students of color.

Zoë Boise, a student at SU explained that while the university touts the importance of self care, it fails to address pressing issues when it comes to the mental health of its students of color. “SU doesn’t address actual mental health issues, [they] just send us to the Barnes Center without acknowledging the deeper issues. Teachers also aren’t that understanding of mental health, so there needs to be more of a system in place for how teachers address [it],” she said. “For BIPOC specifically, they can definitely do a better job of addressing the trauma of racism and microaggressions.”

Trauma is prevalent within the BIPOC community, and ultimately requires adequate resources for individuals to begin a path towards healing. Professor Marcelle Haddix, the who specializes in such issues as co-director of the Lender Center for Social Justice, explains that, “I think it significantly affects students, whether they acknowledge it or not. I think there’s a lot of unknown about what the residue of our current trauma will be. Right now, we’re still carrying trauma from generations past, like slavery.” In addition, she recognizes the disconnect between existing resources on campus, and the ability for such resources to respond adequately to support the needs of BIPOC students. “I think you have to name and address the complexity and the nuance, and not have this one-size-fits-all mental health programming. Every student is unique and distinct. And every student needs to access and find spaces where they feel safe to process various situations.”

In regards to improving such areas of support, Zoë felt that, “it takes having a person of color as a therapist to address certain issues.” She personally manages her mental health by taking needed breaks from social activity, doing Zoom therapy, and communicating her feelings apart from her therapist to at least one person — all of which she highly recommends to her fellow peers. Professor Haddix provided similar advice, prompting students to hydrate, spend time outdoors in the sunshine, and simply participate in do activities and hobbies that one enjoys, rather than onessomething they have to do.

While we’re making slight progress in destigmatizing these issues at large and within our own communities, there is still more that can be done to further the conversation and provide concrete policies and resources, especially on college campuses. In terms of mental health resources created for BIPOC students at SU, we still have a long way to go. Although change has certainly been made, all universities — SU included — have a responsibility to continue to evolve their mental health policies, to not only include the needs of students of color but and actively work to continue to break the stigma of mental health struggles.