The Berkeley Beacon | October 8, 2021
Emerson’s Empty Promises T H E
M E N T A L
H E A L T H
E D I T I O N
f October 8, 2021
Features Mariyam Quaisar
“I have not found the diversity I was looking for” Page 4
Living Arts editor Mariyam Quaisar recounts struggling with mental health while growing up in a predominantly white area in Connecticut and the difficult journey she made towards accepting her identity as a person of color.
Campbell Parish Magazine Editor Jacob Ireland Head of Design Charlie McKenna Editor-in-Chief Campbell Parish Operations Managing Editor Hongyu Liu Multimedia Managing Editor Lucia Thorne Content Managing Editor Kaitlyn Fehr Chief Copy Editor Any and all comments on articles can be directed to Magazine@BerkeleyBeacon.com Pitches can be emailed directly to the magazine editor at campbell@berkeleybeacon.com
Illustration by Lucia Thorne
Mariyam Quaisar, Campbell Parish
“Experiences from the 28 percent” Page 7
Students of color on the Emerson campus talk about their experiences at the college, and explain the many ways they feel underrepresented on campus.
Also Included... Kaitlyn Fehr
“The ones left behind” Page 10
Front Cover: Jacob Ireland Back Cover: Jacob Ireland & Lucia Thorne
The only student newspaper of Emerson College. Editorially independent, Founded in 1947. 172 Tremont Street, Room 309 Boston, MA 02117 (617) 824-8687 Contact@BerkeleyBeacon.com
The Beacon’s Chief Copy Editor shares a heart-wrenching story about the grief and anger she experiences from losing loved ones to suicide.
Mental health. We need to talk about it.
Campbell Parish is the Operations Managing Editor & Magazine Editor for The Berkeley Beacon and a sophomore studying journalism.
It’s a topic that has been considered taboo for ages and opening up about one’s mental state can be an emotionally draining subject for those struggling. The stigmatization of mental health, both in the past and present, is a big contributor to how difficult it is to speak about. However, it is an incredibly important discussion to have. Speaking up is not only crucial to ending the stigma surrounding mental health, it can also help those struggling to seek help and know they aren’t alone. Suicide Prevention Month inspired this, the first edition of The Beacon Magazine this semester, which focuses on the taboo topic by sharing the stories of many Emerson students and providing available resources for those struggling—which you can find on the back cover. For more campus based resources, check out EmConnect. With this edition we really wanted to emphasize that you are not alone. Mental health doesn’t have to be something we are afraid or ashamed to talk about; rather it should be something we have a normal, healthy discourse about. If one person picks up this edition and learns about a resource that helps them, we have accomplished our goal. The cover story, written by Mariyam Quaisar, is a powerful and essential two-part story discussing the mentally draining experience of being a person of color growing up in a predominantly white area, and attending a predominantly white college like Emerson. The first part of this story follows Mariyam’s personal struggles while growing up as a person of color surrounded by white people. The second is co-written by both Mariyam and myself, where we spoke to BIPOC students at Emerson and their experiences being at a predominantly white institution and the effects it has on their mental health. We want to thank each source who took the time out of their day to talk with us about their experiences. The second part of the article couldn’t have been completed without your words and stories. Thank you for trusting both Mariyam and I with your words and stories. The remaining story in this edition is written by Kaitlyn Fehr. Kaitlyn writes a soul-bearing piece about the immense grief she faced when she lost two family members to suicide and why she is allowing herself to be angry at them for taking their own lives. In this note, we share these stories along with their descriptions to allow you to self-evaluate your mental state before reading further and stress the importance of taking care of yourself after you read these stories. Self-care isn’t always bubble baths or facemasks–it can be checking in with yourself; reaching out to your support system, going on a walk, seeking professional help. If you feel you are in crisis or need professional assistance, please look on the back cover for information regarding mental health resources. All of the stories that appear in this magazine were reviewed by The Beacon’s advisory board of professional journalists. Thank you so much for reading this edition. We are incredibly proud of our work and grateful to all of the people who shared their stories. Although I’m the one writing this letter, there is no way this edition could’ve happened without so many people. A special thanks to Jacob Ireland, Kaitlyn Fehr, Lucia Thorne, and Mariyam Quaisar for all of their hard work. I appreciate you all immensely! If you want to get involved, email Contact@BerkeleyBeacon.com! Be kind to yourself,
Campbell Parish Magazine Editor
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Features
“I HAVE NOT FOUND THE DIVERSITY I WAS LOOKING FOR” BY M A R I YA M Q UAI SAR Studying at a predominantly white institution has toyed with my mental health since I spent my first night at Emerson, when it truly sunk in that there were barely any people here who looked like me. It was the first time I felt truly homesick, causing me to silently cry in the shower in the common bathroom in Little Building. * * * I decided early that whatever college I attended had to have a diverse community. There must be a Bollywood dance team, Indian cultural clubs, and people who remind me of home. Emerson does not have any of those. Emerson was on my list of colleges because of the world-renowned journalism program and location. When I came to tour, one of the prominent points highlighted was the diversity at the school. The tour guides told us Emerson has representation from more than 100 countries and is open to all identities. While the latter is true, the former I’d have to disagree with. My first glimpse of college, in Fall 2020, was through the lens of COVID. Being in a dorm with no space to move or natural light was already horrible, but even worse was the lack of people I could connect with. Yes, meeting people and making a variety of friends during a pandemic is hard. I found myself overthinking and overwhelmed because of all the white students around me—I didn’t know how to act and, really, who to be. Flashbacks of my young, undesirable self pummeled through my mind, to the point where I not only blindly followed in the footsteps of “friends” I didn’t truly connect with, but I let them pull me away from my true identity, a lot like I did as a kid. I need people who understand my culture and background, especially after the way I grew up. When I was in elementary school, I rejected my Indian background because I was ashamed of it and even bullied for it. I pushed away everything that related to my skin—a very difficult task when your family is confidently immersed in the same culture you detest. By putting a lot of pressure on myself at such a young age to be like the white majority around me, I grew up with a low self esteem and a sense of loneliness.
The bullying would range—”you smell like curry,” “your arms are so hairy,” “your parents have a funny accent, do they even know English?” It was with those comments that it all started. Hearing those constant taunts led me to believe that they were true. I became self conscious of my looks and I felt ugly compared to the white, perky girls around me. I forced myself to try and look like them, going so far as buying specific, branded clothing that matched their styles, doing my hair in a messy bun when I wore leggings and a sweatshirt with Ugg boots, and painting my nails white even though it did not match my skin tone one bit. Being uncomfortable and unhappy in your skin, in your body, at such a young age laid the foundation for my lasting insecurities. I hated looking at myself, and there are times I still do. Going to school with my leftover Indian food had my backpack smelling funky, a smell I crave now. I’d sometimes throw
I became self conscious of my looks and I felt ugly compared to the white, perky girls around me. my food away to avoid getting made fun of, and I’d sit at lunch watching my “friends” eat. I couldn’t accept any part of my culture because I was scared and embarrassed. I was weak against the bullies, and I had no confidence. * * * I’ve played soccer my whole life. My dad introduced me to the sport in our backyard. When I first started playing at the age of four, I didn’t know what racism or a microaggression was. But that didn’t stop me from noticing parents and kids acting differently towards me when I joined youth soccer teams. Throughout my soccer career, I noticed the white parents not being too keen on talking with my Indian parents at games
Photos coutesy of Mariyam Quaisar
and practices. My parents would stand by themselves while all the white moms and dads huddled together and chatted away. I hated seeing that from the field. My dad tried to befriend the other parents by talking to them about his knowledge of soccer and work, but they only listened to him out of politeness. They never tried to approach him to talk. He never noticed because that’s who my dad is. My mom and I did. It’s one thing to personally endure exclusion. It’s a whole other feeling when you witness your loved ones suffer through it too. My stomach would churn and grind from the field. I wouldn’t be able to focus. Seeing how my parents were treated made me realize that racism has no age limit—adults and children did it all the same. I constantly felt like an “other” when I was with the team as all the white girls connected over their lifestyles. Everything about our lives was different, whether it was the food we ate, the movies we watched, or the way we were raised, because we were completely different, but I refused to accept that. And I lived like this until my mind and conscience were so beat up that I just had to end my personal hell by standing up for myself. Until then, I pushed away all the aspects of my life that made me different so I wouldn’t have to stand awkwardly on the outside in every social situation. All those mind games, detesting my identity, and trying so hard to fit in, really messed me up. I still feel that tension within myself to this day. I acted the same way in school as I did on the soccer field. Whenever someone made fun of me, I laughed along and let it slide. When people blatantly excluded me from their friend groups, I stood right beside their group to prove to myself I had friends, even if they didn’t really want me. I’d stand there, just close enough to flaunt my white “friends”, but not too close so they wouldn’t feel uncomfortable. At school, I acted like any white girl, even though I physically wasn’t, with how I spoke and interacted with others. When I got home, I’d happily eat my mom’s delicious curry and watch Bollywood movies. I’d say it was the best of both worlds, but, no, there was nothing good about the first world. By the time for English translation look above I entered 9th grade, I had become utterly numb to the blatant racism shot at me every day. Whether it was people talking to me in an Indian accent or asking if my fingers are yellow from curry or not-purposely-but-purposely excluding me. It was my life. I was just the Indian girl who would be asked for help in class and then never talked to again. And by that point, I had begun believing that my worth ended right there. All I could do was seethe in my own skin.
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It’s not like I was constantly alone, in the physical sense, when I was at school. The group of people I hung out with weren’t really my friends. I socialized on weekends and had people to talk to, but it never felt genuine. My “friends” would make snooty comments about my dad or brothers. They’d make a face when they walked into my house. They laughed when we went as princesses for Halloween and I chose Jasmine, because what else would I choose? Unfortunately, because of my peers’ actions, I also began becoming embarrassed of my dad and brothers. I hated bringing my friends home, knowing the smell of my mom’s food would’ve engulfed the house. And to this day, I refuse to be Jasmine for Halloween out of fear of someone once again saying, “Wow, that’s unoriginal.”
racism has no age limit—adults and children did it all the same I let myself live under that pretense until high school, and until my mental health begged me to stop faking. I played these mind games with myself everyday, and the whole time I didn’t realize how screwed up it was, not until I had a revelation and said “Screw you, I’m going to be myself and one day, you’ll awkwardly stand right outside my circle.” Unfortunately, mental health issues are a taboo in immigrant families. Expressing emotions, talking about what’s hurting emotionally, mentioning depression was frowned upon. How can kids possibly feel such heavy emotions? One of my favorite movies, “Dear Zindagi,” says it best: “As children, when we were sad our elders told us not to cry, when we were angry they told us ‘give us a smile’ just to keep the peace at home. When we wanted to hate, we weren’t allowed to, so now when we want to love we suddenly find our whole emotional mechanism is topsy-turvy, it cannot function. Sadness, anger, hate, we were not allowed to express any openly, so now how do we express love?” During my sophomore year of high school, something in me changed. When the white boy who always asks me to “fill the hookah” in a mocking Indian accent came up to me, I looked him in the eye and said, “It’s no surprise someone as ignorant as you can make fun of another person’s culture.” Granted he just laughed and walked away, but it felt good. I had finally said something back instead of laughed along with the others. I stayed standing in that exact spot in the cafeteria for a few moments and realized how wrong I had been all those years suppressing my
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truth. That’s when I let it all loose. I welcomed my Indian culture with grace and strength, which continues to shine through me today. I realized my mom’s food is a delicacy, and as I’m writing this article my mouth is watering, craving some delicious chicken nihari with naan. I made friends that uplift my background, that want to learn about it from my family and me, that listen to Bollywood music with me, that made me realize what true friends really are. It’s cliche, but those few friends, whom I have tattoos with now, brought my mental headspace out of a gutter I didn’t even know existed until I met them. Obviously, I didn’t go from zero to 100 the second I met my true friends. It was still a struggle going to school and being around people I had nothing in common with. It took a while to feel my true worth, even though it took a split second to realize I deserve more than what I was succumbing myself to. It’s hard to help yourself, mentally, when you don’t even know you’re hurting. At the same time I was suppressing my identity, I was also ignoring the reality of my mental health. I was pushing all my truths away to fit in with the hundreds of white people around me. And for what? At the end of the day, I am somebody who needs balance, which I’m not getting at Emerson. Talking in Hindi to friends so nobody else knows what we’re saying, having a dance party to India’s favorites, crying to Bollywood romance films—that’s what I crave but don’t get. I only get it when I go home. Emerson’s promise of diversity was empty, which left me empty. After battling with my identity for the majority of my life, I finally embraced all I am, and then re-entered an environment that doesn’t represent my culture again. Thankfully, that doesn’t stop me from enjoying and expressing my culture, but it sucks that I have to do it alone. I love my friends, I love spending time with them, and I have definitely found a group of diverse people, but not the diversity I was looking for.
are racism. Maybe you weren’t the person in highschool making fun of people like me, but were you the one to step in as a bystander? Were you one to support those who were being made fun of? Or did you just say, “I love all and accept all,” and then exclusively hang out with a select group of people? Growing up in a small, predominantly white town in Connecticut, I’ve been used to being surrounded by white people since I began school. But being used to it doesn’t negate its effects on my mental health. Representation of who you are in the setting you are in is important. Otherwise, one can easily lose touch with their identity. But more importantly, it strains your mental health by having to conform to a community that you can’t relate to. Not being able to have conversations—about family, expectations, music, movies, love, whatever it may be—with those who will understand is tough. Worse, it causes those emotions to bottle up. I’m proud of myself for being able to stay connected with my culture despite having no one to relate to, but that doesn’t mean I can let go of the fact that being a person of color in a predominantly white institution doesn’t take a toll.
Emerson’s promise of diversity was empty, which left me empty There’s no Bollywood dance team I can join, to which my mom says, “make one yourself!” But with who? My mom suggests, “go to other schools and mingle!” But how? And why do I have to go to another school? Needless to say, it’s hard. Emerson students and the kids I grew up with are not entirely different. Coming here, it often feels like I never left Connecticut because of the people I’m surrounded by. While it’s true that Emerson students are usually more inclusive than the students from my high school, that doesn’t mean a lot of Emerson students aren’t like the kids I grew up with—especially in terms of actively working against disparities. I can feel their desire to exclude the Indian girl, or not give her as much attention, just as I did growing up. It’s one thing to accept all genders, sexualities, groups, identities, backgrounds and people, but it’s a completely different thing to actively try to include them. Growing up, I knew many people who said they weren’t racist and loved all cultures. In fact, nobody ever blatantly said “I hate Indians.” But they also never realized that their jokes, microaggressions, and “unintentional” exclusion,
Mariyam Quaisar is the Living Arts Editor for The Berkeley Beacon and a sophomore studying journalism.
magazine@berkeleybeacon.com
Illustrations by Lucia Thorne
EXPERIENCES FROM THE
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PERCENT BY MARIYAM QUAISAR & CAMPBELL PARISH TW: this article contains mention of racism and hate speech; explicit language
Being a person of color at Emerson is undoubtedly a challenge. Boston is a diverse city, but a predominantly white one, with 52.8 percent of residents identifying as white. This is even more apparent at Emerson, where just 28 percent of the population identifies as people of color. The Beacon spoke to students from a multitude of diverse backgrounds. They said that while Emerson students and the college itself appears to be diverse and accepting to the outside world, it feels like a performance for them. There’s a perception, they say, that they were lied to or taken advantage of. “They only use us when it’s necessary,“ says sophomore Sommer Stokes, a journalism major. “Their pamphlets and their website is full of people of color, but you get here and you’re the only one in the class or you’re the only one in the auditions or you’re the only one speaking for yourself.” Leaving home for college is a momentous part of life. An adolescent starts their journey on their own, prepared to find themselves and capture the opportunities before them. When one’s vision of college
BIPOC is an acronym that stands for Black, Indigenous, and People of C olor. Courtesy of Emerson College Fact Book 2020-2021
is tampered with because of something so simple as representation, it’s devastating. When they enter the college, students of color begin to wonder why they came to Emerson. “What the fuck am I doing here?,” says Sophomore Amaris Rios, a musical theater student. “[I thought] ‘What the fuck am I doing in a place that proclaims themselves to be so woke and so progressive,’ and that was the moment I realized it was all performative.” Coming to an institution that does not represent your culture or identity can negatively impact your mental health and how you view yourself. “[It’s] draining to constantly put on a certain persona in order to acclimate or assimilate to the other white people in the school,” says First-year Business of Creative Enterprises Fatima Swaray. A common practice among communities of color is to code switch, or when one changes their manner of speech to match the social or formal setting they are in. This phenomenon has become commonplace amongst people of color, as it became a necessity to gain acceptance.
People of color, especially Black and Hispanic Americans, find that changing the way they express themselves is a necessity. Being around white Americans exhausts people of color to the point of having to give up your identity to please those around you. Sometimes, it takes going home and getting back in touch with one’s culture to realize one’s worth. “I would be lying if I said I wasn’t trying to be someone else for the first semester that I was here,” Rios said. “It took for me to leave Emerson for the winter break, and come back, to realize that I can no longer be quiet or I can no longer be silent and I need to just be myself, and so be it if people feel uncomfortable by that.” Rios, like other people of color The Beacon spoke to, said she grew up in an environment where talking about one’s mental health was not encouraged. “Turns out anxiety is real, depression is real,” Rios said. “And then, piled on top of that, you’re a person of color, so you got to be the best you got to be because you’re the minority. So you have to be at the top of your game all the time.” “It feels very alienating at times,” Daphne Bryant, first year creative writing major, says. “I really felt invisible and like the tiniest speck out of everybody. Sometimes in friend group situations or romantic situations, I really just feel undesirable and out of the loop.” A lack of representation among staff and faculty at Emerson can reinforce the feeling of being “other.” This is not improved by the fact that the majority of staff members of color are subject to the same experience. “I was like, why the fuck am I the only person that is able to communicate with the maintenance staff and the cafeteria people, that pissed me off,” Rios says. “It was the first time I felt like a true minority, and it was the first time I felt like a target in my own skin.” More so, people of color need to feel safe and supported wherever they are, especially in the U.S. where racism has become a religion. Many students say they think Emerson doesn’t do enough to help students of color cope. “They treat us as an afterthought,” Stokes said. “I don’t think they prioritize our health, our mental health, our well being, especially queer BIPOC, they don’t
“Growing up in a white community with white role models in the media, I kind of just started to think that I was ugly,” Fluellen
ever talk about us.” “Despite the fact that I knew that there was a small percentage of people of color, that went to the school, actually living it is always a disappointment and actually seeing the [first-year] class and not [seeing] many more students of color is always a little bit of a letdown, ” Fluellen said. Safety and support also includes the physical. According to an FBI report, there were more than 5,000 hate crimes committed in the year of 2020 alone, motivated by race, ethnicity, ancestry, and religion. Unfortunately, while Emerson should be properly showing their support to those in communities who are terrorized, the “support” doesn’t go past social media and online activism. These incidents of hate have occurred on Emerson’s campus as well. In Spring 2020, a swastika was found drawn inside a Piano Row stairwell. Just days later, anti-Asian graffiti was found scrawled on a door in the Little Building. Then, in Fall 2020 the Student Government Association passed legislation calling on the college to do more in response to incidents of hate on campus after “Spectrum,” an organization created in support of LGBTQ students of color, was zoombombed. “The Emerson College community must do more to ensure the safety of LGBTQIA+ students of color,” the legislation read. Just this week, the organization “Turning Point USA” passed around stickers inscribed with the phrase “China kinda sus.” An email acknowledging the incident from Interim President Bill Gilligan didn’t go far enough, according to some students. “Can that “investigation” include getting rid of turning point altogether now that they’re confirmed racists? Or is Emerson too afraid to actually take any sort of action?” wrote user @moyochong. “Y’all if Emerson doesn’t do something about the turning point USA club, they’re just like… admitting that their activism is only performative,” Sophie Bellone said on Twitter. “@EmersonCollege supports turning point emerson and full on blatant racism against asians. y’all ashamed?” wrote user @greenbeanpond. There’s a difference between posting a black square on Instagram or reposting
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infographics on hate crimes and actually going to protests, asking your BIPOC friends how they are really doing, signing petitions, and participating in true change outside of the internet. When someone is not actively being part of the solution, that makes them part of the problem. “A lot of white liberals here have this white savior complex, and they might have ‘Black Lives Matter’ in their bio but have no Black friends or will exclude them or say inappropriate things,” says Bryant. Many people of color experience gaslighting, especially as white people bring attention to themselves rather than to larger, society-wide issues at play. The Beacon has erred in this area in the past, and has taken numerous steps to begin repairing its relationships with communities of color on campus. “White guilt, white guilt, crying yourself to sleep. I’m still gonna be called the N-word at the end of the day,” says Sophomore Theater and Performance Major Kwezi Shongwe. Many cultures celebrate holidays that aren’t considered “mainstream,” and students don’t get a day off for themselves, despite the importance the holiday may have on their family and community. Hindu festivals like Diwali and Holi, Muslim holidays like Eid, and Jewish high holidays like Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are just a few of many that aren’t acknolwedged by the college. People of color often grow up immersed in white culture not only through school, but also through media. It is extremely rare to see representation of various cultures and ethnicities in movies and television, which is another factor that pushes people of color to feel worthless. “Growing up in a white community with white role models in the media, I kind of just started to think that I was ugly,” says Fluellen. Rios says preparing to enter a predominately white industry like musical theater is daunting because she sees so few people like her succeeding in her field. Emerson is home to many creatives, many of them being in the musical theater industry like Rios. Being underrepresented in your career path is daunting, which Rios’s mentor in high school forewarned her about. “[My mentor] went on to warn me,
‘you’re about to enter an industry that is going to single you out, that is going to make you feel different and like you don’t belong there and like you have no role in the industry. “‘And I need you to continue to remind yourself that that is not true. That in fact, it is the reverse, they are profiting off of your body. So don’t forget to remind yourself why you’re there, and why they need you there,’” Rios says.
Because of the demographics split at Emerson, it is rare to see multiple students of color in one classroom. It is hard and uncomfortable for them to speak up and voice their opinions. “On the rare occasions that I do raise my hand, I feel like people are hearing me with their ears, but not really listening to what I’m saying,” says Swaray. “It discourages me from ever wanting to raise my hand or speak up again because it doesn’t
Illustrations by Lucia Thorne
feel like anything I say will sink into the minds of my peers, so I just avoid it.” We are all at Emerson to get an education, but students of color have a hard time doing just that. What does that say about Emerson as an institution? “It’s weird seeing a debate on a topic that affects you so personally, and seeing it used in a way that’s made into a philosophical question,” Swaray said. “Seeing it being turned into something so academic and not as humane as I’d like it to be was a really huge shock to my system.” Constantly discussing serious issues that affect one personally in the classroom is often draining and draws attention to students of color. “It’s hard to talk about things that have happened to your community every single day and not be exhausted by it,” says Stokes. “I wish when we talked about colonization, all eyes would be on them.” Swaray said the conversations at the student of color pre-orientation were not what students expected, or desired. “Why would you teach racism [at pre orientation] to a bunch of people of color? I think we know what it is,” says Swaray. “We didn’t actually talk about the things we really needed to talk about, like how it feels being a student of color at Emerson.” Many students of color have lived through what is being taught in classrooms, and many times the BIPOC students are not the ones who need to be further educated, but instead the white students. Coming to Boston from parts of the world where your cultures are represented is a culture shock to many. Students experience situations that they’ve never experienced before, which are usually negative. “Me and my friends have a running tally of how many times we’ve been hate crimed in Boston, which is kind of dark, but it’s a real thing, and it’s been three times in two months,” Swaray said. “I’ve kind of grown numb to it.” The students expressed frustration with the difficulties professors have pronouncing their names, often not attempting to say it correctly. “My name is a testament to the people who came before me,” Rios says. “You will say my name, because that’s who I am. And you’re not going to shorten it because it’s easier. You’re not going to mispro-
“White guilt, white guilt, crying yourself to sleep. I’m still gonna be called the
nounce it because you don’t want to learn it. Absolutely not, figure it the fuck out. Figure out how to pronounce my name. This is who I am.” Intercultural organizations on campus like Emerson’s Black Organization with Natural Interest, Amigos, and many others play a significant role in keeping students of color afloat. Those who have joined these organizations say they found a space where they belong. “It’s been really helpful to have a space where we can talk and vent about our experiences being black at Emerson and just in general,” Bryant said.”[EBONI is] a safe space and I’m really glad that we have it here, because a lot of times I don’t feel like I can talk about those things.” As Emerson’s community is predominantly white, it makes it difficult for students of color to find their place within organizations that are also predominantly white. “A lot of the spaces here, like in organizations, are dominated by white people,” Bryant said. “It’s really important for me to remember that I’m here for a reason when imposter syndrome sets in,” Bryant says. “I can infiltrate and I can make my mark within that and I shouldn’t feel inferior just because I’m a minority.” People of color suffer in white America, there’s no doubt about it. With racism and discrimination neverending, feeling like an “other” is a constant emotion minorities at Emerson face. “At the end of the day, it’s really us that have to stick up for each other, because we can’t expect them to,” says Stokes.
N-word at the end of the day,” Shongwe
Campbell Parish is the Operations Managing Editor for The Berkeley Beacon and a sophmore studying journalism. Mariyam Quaisar is the Living Arts Editor for The Berkeley Beacon and a sophomore studying journalism.
magazine@berkeleybeacon.com
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The People Left Behind By Kaitlyn Fehr
*Names changed for privacy TW: This article mentions suicide, suicidal thoughts, and grief
“I lost two family members to suicide. The anger I feel is a normal part of the grieving process” Illustration by Lucia Thorne
When I was eight months old, my second cousin John*, who was like a brother to my mom, killed himself. I met him one time at a party on Halloween for his sister’s birthday. Five days later, he shot himself. Now, at 21, I’m older than he was when he took his own life.
Over the years, John’s death has left an echoing silence at every family gathering. Family members joke about the life choices of my great-aunt Caroline’s three other adult sons. But everyone dances around the subject of John. The fact that I didn’t know the full story of how he died
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until I wrote this article is a testament to that fact. The only time John was ever really mentioned was when one of his brothers named their son after him. Even then, no one talked about John or the significance of naming one of his nephews after him. I never got a chance to know John, not even through the memories of my family. There are no pictures of me with John, and I can’t picture what he looks like. I’ve seen photos of him at least once before, but not often enough to recall his face. At times, he feels like a ghost that my family made up. His absence is the elephant in the room we all work hard to ignore. The first time I realized the severity of what happened was in middle school. I was sitting on the hallway floor going through old mementos. I looked up to see my mom sobbing, clutching a tribute letter someone had written to John at his funeral. Seeing her pain over the loss shattered me, and his absence suddenly felt as heavy as lead. *** On Sept. 2, 2016, my mom burst into my room and shook me awake. “Aunt Caroline is dead,” she said. “She shot herself.” I remember that night so vividly, but it still doesn’t feel real. It feels like a dream I never woke up from. Caroline died almost a month apart from John, sixteen years later. I couldn’t process the loss. I rolled over and went back to sleep, hoping that when I woke up in the morning it wouldn’t be true. *** The next morning, my whole family sat on the patio behind Caroline’s house. We mostly sat in silence. The elephant we had worked so hard to ignore for so long had suddenly demanded its presence be known. Caroline’s funeral is one of the last memories I have of my mom’s side of the family all together. I don’t remember the last time I saw Caroline alive. I was close enough with Caroline growing up that I called her my aunt instead of my greataunt, but memories of her seem distant now. Caroline was heavily involved with the school district I grew up in, and I remember watching as my teachers, my principal, and my superintendent all paid their respects. My aunt was one of the first
family members I remember losing, and it struck me all at once how many people we leave behind when we go. After the viewing, my family gathered in a church basement and ate barbeque while my great-grandma Barbara, Caroline’s mother, played the victim. Everyone was mad at Barbara for bringing her pastor, and she was mad that we didn’t let her get away with it—Caroline wasn’t religious and wouldn’t have wanted the pastor there. This family squabbling at my aunt’s funeral was the beginning of the end, even if we didn’t know it then. My aunt was the glue of my family. Without her, we all fell apart. A few days after the funeral, I learned for the first time that my family had a tree planted for John at his favorite fishing spot years earlier. It’s a beautiful location set off from the road and submerged in the forest. My family spread Caroline’s ashes there too, so she could be with her son again. While we never talked about mental health, the toll it took on us had clearly been there the whole time. The loss of a loved one is always hard to process, but suicide leaves you with an endless pit of questions that will never be answered. I wish I could ask my aunt why she did it, despite knowing what it was like to lose someone that way. I wish I could ask her why she left us all behind. In 2016, almost 45,000 died by suicide, according to the Centers for Disease Control. My aunt is .00002 percent of that number. “In 2019, 12 million American adults seriously thought about suicide, 3.5 million planned a suicide attempt, and 1.4 million attempted suicide,” the CDC reports. Statistically speaking, it’s likely that as you sit there reading this article, there are people in your family or immediate circle who are among them. Even five years later, I still cry when I think about Caroline. I’m crying while writing this article right now. Sometimes I’ll get to a point where I think I’ve made peace with what happened, and that I’ve forgiven her. Other times I acknowledge the pain and anger I still feel, and how that hole inside of me is never going to close. Little things always seem to trigger the pain. I can talk about my aunt and be fine, but reading a poem in a class about
“Other times I acknowledge the pain and anger I still feel, and how that hole inside of me is never going to close.”
suicide might make me sob. I can go weeks, months without thinking about my aunt, and then all of a sudden she’s all I think about for days on end. Over the summer, my aunt’s dog died. Lizzie was our last living thing tied to Caroline, and spreading her ashes where we spread my aunt’s forced me to confront the reality that my aunt was really gone. For the past few years, I’ve been able to mostly push off the grief of losing my aunt. Saying goodbye to that final part of her reopened the wound, and I haven’t been able to shut it since. I want so badly to sit down and have a conversation with all of them about the grief we feel. Who better to understand the pain of living with her absence than my own family? None of us wants to have the conversation that acknowledges that she’s gone. It’s the same silence we went through after John killed himself. We pretended for so long that mental illness didn’t plague our family, and it’s easier to keep pretending it’s not happening. I talk to my mom frequently about the anger we feel, but I know my grandma would be upset if we brought that up around her. Part of the reason we avoid the conversation as a family is because we’re scared of upsetting those of us who are left. I wonder if we had all been more open about the suffering and pain we were going through if my aunt might still be here today. The what-ifs and questions plague me, especially around the anniversary. Part of me wants to never talk about my aunt again, to let the pain deepen the hole inside of me and never acknowledge it. But that kind of thinking got my family to the point we’ve reached today. Ignoring mental illness and acting like everything’s fine feels like it only leads to higher suicide rates. If my aunt had talked about the pain she was feeling, and how her grief was still destroying her, maybe she wouldn’t have become a statistic on the CDC’s website. I tell people about my aunt and my pain because I think it’s important. Even at my lowest points of struggling with depression and anxiety, I’ve never seriously contemplated killing myself because I know what it would do to the people I would leave behind. It’s something that I
think people struggling with mental illness need to know, no matter how tough it is to hear. If you killed yourself today, the people around you would undeniably suffer from your loss. In the process of writing this article, I set out to find Caroline’s Facebook page. After her death, the page was locked and turned into a public memorial. She didn’t have many posts, and after scrolling for a little, I came across something she posted in 2014 for survivors of suicide day. While the poem in the post is a little cheesy, I find it fitting for how I feel now too:
“I still miss you
As the days and years pass I still miss you As the pain of grief softens I still miss you As new memories are made I still miss you As I smile and laugh I still miss you Today and everyday I still miss you” If you or a loved one are struggling with suicidal thoughts or depression, here are some resources that could help: 24/7 Crisis Hotline: National Suicide Prevention Lifeline Network www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org 1-800-273-TALK (8255) (Veterans, press 1) Crisis Text Line Text TALK to 741-741 to text with a trained crisis counselor from the Crisis Text Line for free, 24/7 Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration National Helpline 1-800-662-HELP (4357)
Kaitltn Fehr is the Chief Copy Editor for The Berkeley Beacon and a senior studying journalism. magazine@berkeleybeacon.com
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RESOURCES THAT CAN HELP HOTLINES: If you or a loved one are in a crisis situation please immediately contact 911 National Suicide Prevention Line: 800-273-TALK (8255) Samaritan’s 24-hour Crisis Intervention (Boston): 617-247-0220 POC Text Crisis Line: Text “STEVE” to 741741 Spanish Language Hotline for Sexual Abuse: 800-223-5001 Trevor Project LGBTQ Helpline: 866-488-7386 Fenway Community Health Hotline (LGBTQA): 617-267-9001 National Sexual Assault Hotline: 800-656-HOPE (4673) Boston Area Rape Crisis Center (BARCC): 800-841-8371 Substance Abuse Information and Education Helpline: 800-327-5050 Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration Hotline: 1-(800)-662-4357 National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-SAFE (7233)
EMERSON MENTAL HEALTH RESOURCES: Emerson Counseling and Psychological Services (ECAPS): Monday-Friday, 9:00 am-5:00 pm
After-hours Crisis Line: 617-824-8595, Press 1 to speak with a clinician. counseling_center@emerson.edu