Mental Health – Healthy News USA

Extended-Stay Hotels, a Growing Option for Poor Families, Can Lead to Health Problems for Kids

admin — Fri, 11 Oct 2024 10:01:07 +0000

Andy Miller and Renuka Rayasam

STONE MOUNTAIN, Ga. — As principal of Dunaire Elementary School, Sean Deas has seen firsthand the struggles faced by children living in extended-stay hotels. About 10% of students at his school, just east of Atlanta, live in one.

The children, Deas said, often have been exposed to violence on hotel properties, exhibit aggression or anxiety from living in a crowded single room, and face food insecurity because some hotel rooms don’t have kitchens.

“Social trauma is the biggest challenge” when students first arrive, Deas said. “We hear a lot about sleep problems.” To meet students’ needs, Deas developed a schoolwide program featuring counselors, a food pantry, and special protocols for handling those who may fall asleep in class.

“Beyond the teaching, there’s a social part,” he said. “We have to find ways to support the families as well.”

Extended-stay hotels are often a last resort for low-income families trying to find housing. Nationally, more than 100,000 students lived in extended-stay hotels in 2022, according to the Department of Education, though officials say that is likely an undercount. Children living in hotels are considered homeless under federal law, and in some Atlanta-area counties about 40% of homeless students live in this kind of housing, according to local officials.

And with rising rents and evictions, and decreased access to federal public housing, the use of extended-stay hotels as a long-term option is becoming more frequent. Like other forms of homelessness, hotel living can lead to — or exacerbate — physical and mental health problems for children, say advocates for families and researchers who study homelessness.

In the Atlanta area, inspections of extended-stay hotels have revealed ventilation issues, insect infestations, mold, and other health threats. Children living there also can experience or witness crime and gun violence. The increasing use of extended-stay hotels is a warning sign, observers said, a reflection of the lack of sufficient affordable housing policy in the U.S.

And the crisis is having “lifelong consequences,” said Sarah Saadian of the National Low Income Housing Coalition. “The only way that we can really address that shortage is if there are significant federal resources at scale. Build more housing and bridge the gap between rents and wages.”

Often, evictions force families into hotels — and can keep them trapped there. Many landlords refuse to rent to people with evictions in their credit history, even if the tenant isn’t responsible for the displacement, said Joy Monroe, founder and CEO of the Single Parent Alliance & Resource Center, or SPARC, a nonprofit group in metro Atlanta that has helped hundreds of families move from hotels to apartments or rental homes.

Black women and other women of color, often with kids, are evicted at much higher rates and are more likely to find themselves living in extended-stay hotels, advocates say.

Some residents are also families fleeing domestic violence, they say.

Hotels often don’t require security deposits, application fees, or background checks, thus providing immediate relief for families seeking shelter. While there are higher-end options, the average rate for an economy-class extended-stay room was $56.68 a night during the first three months of 2024, according to the Highland Group, a research firm that focuses on the hotel sector — which works out to more than $1,700 a month.

And while the rooms offer respite from other forms of homelessness — like sleeping in a car or in a tent — a hotel “is no place to raise children,” said Michael Bryant, CEO of New Life Community Alliance, which helps families in South Dekalb, a part of metro Atlanta, move from hotels to homes.

Children living in hotels are often behind on vaccinations, and they may end up in the emergency room because of delays in care, said Gary Kirkilas, a pediatrician in Phoenix who helps children, teens, and families who are presently homeless or at risk of homelessness. About 75% of children with unstable housing whom he sees have at least one developmental delay, and others experience significant emotional and behavioral issues.

Tanazia Scott, who has bounced between two extended-stay hotels for several months, said her three children “feel depressed and upset” over hotel life.

An eviction sent Kassandra Norman, 58, and her two daughters into a months-long journey of staying in Atlanta-area hotels. For three months, they slept in a car outside a convenience store. “It’s hard to do homework in a car and in the hotel,” said 19-year-old Kazuri Taylor, Norman’s younger daughter.

Some hotels prohibit kids from playing outside in their parking lots, leading to additional stress, advocates say. That was the reason Yvonne Thomas, 45, and her family were evicted from an extended-stay hotel in DeKalb County, she said: “They put us out for nothing.”

And there are other problems. More than a dozen students at Dunaire Elementary live on an extended-stay property called Haven Hotel. In August, DeKalb County’s code enforcement division said the hotel had “not maintained minimum life safety standards.” Roaches and spiders live in rooms and breezeways, according to state health inspection reports. Residents say they have been charged $1 for a roll of toilet paper.

The hotel’s owner and manager could not be reached for comment after multiple attempts.

“No one is talking about these families,” said Sue Sullivan, a community advocate and a volunteer with the Motel to Home coalition in Atlanta, who brings toys, bookbags, food, and toiletries on her hotel visits.

A February public health inspection at another DeKalb County hotel found several rooms with poor ventilation, insect infestation, and mold, among other potential health threats. In May, two people were fatally shot there.

Children who witness violence can develop anxiety, depression, and other disorders, said Charles Moore, director of the Urban Health Initiative at Emory University School of Medicine. “They can feel emotional aftershocks,” said Moore, who has visited Atlanta-area hotels.

Closing such hotels, however, can hurt families, given the shortage of affordable housing, the absence of national federal renter protections, and a dearth of places to go, said Terri Lewinson, an associate professor at the Dartmouth Institute for Health Policy and Clinical Practice. Extended-stay hotels do “offer a low-barrier option for families who have no other options,” she said.

To alleviate the housing problem, county officials and nonprofit organizations around the country have been creatively filling the gap. In the Seattle area, for example, King County officials purchased hotels and converted them into affordable housing, said Mark Skinner of the Highland Group.

In metro Atlanta, SPARC and the local United Way’s Motel to Home offer funding to help people transition into an apartment.

In DeKalb County, where Dunaire Elementary School is located, more than a third of the 1,300 homeless students live in hotels, according to Commissioner Ted Terry.

“I hope we can rescue the children,” he said. “It’s not a safe environment for them.”

Advocates who seek to help people living in hotels propose the construction of more affordable housing and stronger protections for renters against eviction. The federal government has failed to invest in repairs needed to maintain current public housing units, and 25-year-old legislation effectively prohibits the construction of new public housing.

It’s also “extremely fast, easy, and cheap” to evict tenants in Georgia, said Taylor Shelton, an associate professor of geosciences at Georgia State University, whose research focuses on social inequalities and urban spaces. “The playing field is tilted heavily toward landlords.”

Under such circumstances, the cycle of poverty is difficult to break, said Jamie Rush, a senior staff attorney at the Southern Poverty Law Center. “Most parents would want their kids in a safe, stable home,” Rush said. “You can’t budget your way out of poverty.”

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Watch: ‘Breaking the Silence Is a Step’ — Beyond the Lens of ‘Silence in Sikeston’

admin — Thu, 10 Oct 2024 09:12:29 +0000

By Cara Anthony

October 10, 2024

Article HTML
 Cara Anthony KFF Health News Midwest correspondent Cara Anthony took a reporting trip to the small southeastern Missouri city of Sikeston and heard a mention of its hidden past. That led her on a multiyear reporting journey to explore the connections between a 1942 lynching and a 2020 police killing there — and what they say about the nation’s silencing of racial trauma. Along the way, she learned about her own family’s history with such trauma. This formed the multimedia “Silence in Sikeston” project from KFF Health News, Retro Report, and WORLD as told through a documentary film, educational videos, digital articles, and a limited-series podcast. Hear about Anthony’s journey and join this conversation about the toll of racialized violence on our health and our communities. Explore more of the “<a href="https://kffhealthnews.org/silence-in-sikeston/">Silence in Sikeston</a>”project: LISTEN: The limited-series podcast is available on <a href="https://play.prx.org/listen?uf=https%3A%2F%2Ffeeds.wgbh.org%2F7980%2Ffeed-rss.xml">PRX</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/world-channel-presents-silence-in-sikeston/id1764955522">Apple Podcasts</a>, <a href="https://open.spotify.com/episode/5mWVPLOujnSMyWjroTRB0v?si=yjCtb7GrQqeGuqBpqIrPgg">Spotify</a>, <a href="https://www.iheart.com/podcast/269-world-channel-presents-sil-212415570/">iHeart</a>, or wherever you get your podcasts. WATCH: The documentary film “Silence in Sikeston,” a co-production of KFF Health News and <a href="https://retroreport.org/">Retro Report</a>, is now available to stream on <a href="https://www.youtube.com/@worldchannel">WORLD’s YouTube channel</a>, <a href="https://worldchannel.org/episode/local-usa-silence-in-sikeston/">WORLDchannel.org</a>, and the <a href="https://www.pbs.org/pbs-app/">PBS app</a>. READ: KFF Health News Midwest correspondent Cara Anthony wrote an essay about what her reporting for this project helped her learn about her own family’s hidden past.

Asian Health Center Tries Unconventional Approach to Counseling

admin — Wed, 09 Oct 2024 09:45:36 +0000

In her first months as a community health worker, Jee Hyo Kim helped violent crime survivors access supportive services and resources. When a client with post-traumatic stress disorder sought a therapist, she linked him to one that fit his needs. She helped clients afraid to leave their homes obtain food delivery vouchers. As one client described her, Kim was a “connector.”

Then, Kim learned to go further. Through a training program, she gained the know-how and confidence to provide emotional support. She learned evidence-based mental health counseling skills such as asking open-ended questions. She also discovered that some things she was already doing, such as listening attentively and restating what she hears, are core to communicating empathy — a vital component of a successful relationship between a client and their mental health provider.

“It was very refreshing to see that it’s named and to realize those are skills,” she said.

Asian Health Services, where Kim works, is a part of a fledgling movement trying to address a dire shortage of therapists by training community health workers and other nonlicensed professionals who have trusted relationships with their communities to add mental health counseling to their roles. This approach, already implemented abroad and proven to help address some common mental health conditions, is called lay counseling.

The Oakland, California-based community health center serves mostly low-income Asian immigrants who speak limited English. As a community health worker, Kim now also practices lay counseling under a licensed therapist’s supervision. She does not have a license, but as a Korean immigrant and strong-arm robbery survivor, she shares lived experiences with many of the people she serves, enabling her to build trust.

Research suggests Asian Americans see mental health providers at lower rates than people of other races, and up to half of some subgroups report difficulty accessing mental health care. Figures like these may be only the tip of the iceberg, as Asian Americans can be reluctant even to seek help. Cultural stigma against mental illness and feeling like one’s problems pale in comparison to the trauma faced by earlier generations are among the reasons, said Connie Tan, senior research analyst at AAPI Data, a think tank.

Asian Health Services introduced lay counseling during the covid-19 pandemic. Violence against Asian Americans was spiking, and therapists fluent in any of the 14 languages spoken by the communities the health center cares for were in short supply. Six percent of people in the U.S. identify as Asian, Native Hawaiian, or Pacific Islander, but these groups account for only 3% of psychologists.

Concerned that people were falling through the cracks, the health center in 2021 launched a grant-funded initiative to support victims of violence. In addition to lay counseling and therapy by licensed providers, available in several languages, the program, known as the Community Healing Unit, provides services such as helping clients access crime victim funds.

Asian Health Services’ Community Healing Unit provides services such as helping clients access crime victim funds. (Loren Elliott for KFF Health News)

Asian Health Services provides lay counseling and therapy by licensed providers, available in several languages. (Loren Elliott for KFF Health News)

The program has sent 43 community health workers, case managers, and other employees to a lay counseling training program, said Ben Wang, the health center’s director of special initiatives. Trainees learn through formal instruction, observing teachers providing counseling, and practicing counseling with one another, along with feedback from instructors.

Thu Nguyen, a domestic violence survivor, was struggling with anxiety and self-blame. “My inside talk eats me up,” she explained. Worried that sharing with family members would burden them, she was unsure where else to turn for support after meeting with a therapist she didn’t click with. Through the program, Nguyen was assigned to Kim, who connected her to a compatible therapist.

Nguyen also leaned on Kim for emotional support. When she confided feeling guilty and inadequate as a single mother, Kim responded without judgment and affirmed Nguyen’s dedication.

“She validates my feeling,” said Nguyen, a Vietnamese immigrant. “She would say, ‘I understand that it’s hard. You’re doing the best.’”

Asian Americans can struggle to find therapists who understand their culture, speak their language, or come from similar communities. Licensed therapists typically must complete an advanced degree, pass professional exams, and work at least two years under supervision. Requirements vary by state and by type of license. It has long been held that the process ensures high-quality care.

Lay counseling proponents contend this path is costly and time-consuming, limiting the field’s diversity and exacerbating the therapist shortage. They also point to favorable research. Lay counseling has been implemented in several countries, where mounting evidence has shown it can improve symptoms of depression, anxiety, and a few other mental health conditions.

After undergoing training in lay counseling, Jee Hyo Kim gained skills to provide her clients with emotional support.(Loren Elliott for KFF Health News)

“The idea that someone without a license could not [communicate empathy] skillfully is ridiculous,” said Elizabeth Morrison, a psychologist and co-founder of Lay Counselor Academy, which has trained 420 people, including Kim, to add lay counseling to their roles since launching two years ago. Trainees hail from a variety of jobs, including faith leaders and first responders.

The 65-hour primarily virtual course teaches topics such as supporting people who have experienced trauma, counseling methods such as cognitive behavioral therapy and motivational interviewing, first-line strategies for treating depression and anxiety, and setting boundaries. The course does not teach how to diagnose mental health conditions. Instead, trainees learn to affirm strengths, acknowledge feelings, avoid giving advice, and otherwise listen empathically.

Asian Health Services staff members who provide lay counseling receive ongoing support and guidance after the training from a program manager and a licensed therapist, Wang said.

Raquel Halfond, a senior director at the American Psychological Association, said she believes it’s important for lay counselors to receive training and to practice under the supervision of a licensed mental health professional, but the group has no formal model or standards for the use of lay counselors.

The course not only upskills but also recognizes what many trainees already do or have learned that may not be acknowledged as counseling. “It’s like this invisible, unpaid work, and people chalk it up as someone being nice,” Morrison said.

Lay counseling is still nascent, and it often takes years for a new field to become established — and for insurers to get on board. Morrison and Laura Bond, a research fellow at Harvard Medical School’s Mental Health For All Lab, another lay counseling training initiative, said they are not aware of any organizations that can bill public or private insurers for lay counseling.

In an email, Leah Myers, a spokesperson for the California Department of Health Care Services, which oversees Medi-Cal, the state’s Medicaid program, acknowledged there is no billing code for lay counseling or certification for lay counselors. She said Medi-Cal reimburses certain nonlicensed providers for services that “may include what would be considered ‘lay counseling’-like activities” but would need more details to make a determination.

Asian Americans can struggle to find therapists who understand their culture, speak their language, or come from similar communities. Asian Health Services is trying to address a shortage of mental health professionals by training community-based health workers to provide counseling under the supervision of a licensed therapist.(Loren Elliott for KFF Health News)

The Community Healing Unit’s largest grant, from the state of California to support victims of hate crimes, ends in 2026. The program has served over 300 people and is developing a survey to gather feedback, Wang said.

Nguyen knew Kim wasn’t a licensed therapist but didn’t care, she said; she appreciated that Kim, a fellow Asian woman, made her feel safe to process her feelings. Kim was also easily accessible through biweekly check-ins, and responded promptly if Nguyen called at other times.

Now, Nguyen said, telling herself “you’re doing good” comes more easily.

Supplemental support comes from the Asian American Journalists Association-Los Angeles through The California Endowment.

This article was produced by KFF Health News, which publishes California Healthline, an editorially independent service of the California Health Care Foundation.

Is There a Cure for Racism?

admin — Tue, 08 Oct 2024 10:41:04 +0000

Cara Anthony

SIKESTON, Mo. — In the summer of 2021, Sikeston residents organized the biggest Juneteenth party in the city’s history. Sikeston police officers came too, both to provide security for the event and to try to build bridges with the community. But after decades of mistrust, some residents questioned their motives.

In the series finale of the podcast, a confident, outspoken Sikeston teenager shares her feelings in an uncommonly frank conversation with Chief James McMillen, head of Sikeston’s Department of Public Safety, which includes Sikeston police.

Host Cara Anthony asks what kind of systemic change is possible to reduce the burden of racism on the health of Black Americans. Health equity expert Gail Christopher says it starts with institutional leaders who recognize the problem, measure it, and take concrete steps to change things.

“It is a process, and it’s not enough to march and get a victory,” Christopher said. “We have to transform the systems of inequity in this country.”

Host

Cara Anthony
Midwest correspondent, KFF Health News

@CaraRAnthony

Read Cara’s stories

Cara is an Edward R. Murrow and National Association of Black Journalists award-winning reporter from East St. Louis, Illinois. Her work has appeared in The New York Times, Time magazine, NPR, and other outlets nationwide. Her reporting trip to the Missouri Bootheel in August 2020 launched the “Silence in Sikeston” project. She is a producer on the documentary and the podcast’s host.

In Conversation With …

Gail Christopher
Public health leader and health equity expert

click to open the transcript

Transcript: Is There a Cure for Racism?

Editor’s note: If you are able, we encourage you to listen to the audio of “Silence in Sikeston,” which includes emotion and emphasis not found in the transcript. This transcript, generated using transcription software, has been edited for style and clarity. Please use the transcript as a tool but check the corresponding audio before quoting the podcast.

[Ambient sounds from Sikeston, Missouri’s 2021 Juneteenth celebration — a DJ making an announcement over funky music, people chatting — begin playing.]

Cara Anthony: It’s 2021. It’s hot and humid. We’re at a park in the heart of Sunset — Sikeston, Missouri’s historically Black neighborhood.

Emory: Today is Juneteenth, baby.

Cara Anthony: The basketball courts are jumping. And old-school funk is blaring from the speakers. Kids are playing.

Cara Anthony: [Laughter] Are you enjoying the water?

Cara Anthony: People are lining up for barbecue.

I’ve been here reporting on the toll racism and violence can take on a community’s health. But today, I’m hoping to capture a little bit of Sikeston’s joy.

Taneshia Pulley: When I look out to the crowd of my people, I see strength. I see power. I just see all magic.

Cara Anthony: I drift over to a tent where people are getting their blood pressure, weight, and height checked … health screenings for free.

Cara Anthony: I’m a journalist.

Community Health Worker: Ooooh! Hi! Hi!

Cara Anthony: The ladies working the booth are excited I’m there to report on the event.

Cara Anthony: OK, and I’m a health journalist.

Community health worker: Baby, that’s what I told them. Yeah, she healthy. [Laughter]

[Dramatic instrumental music plays.]

Cara Anthony: This Juneteenth gathering is happening a little over a year after Sikeston police officers shot and killed 23-year-old Denzel Taylor.

We made a documentary about Denzel’s death and the death of another young Black man — also killed in Sikeston.

Denzel was shot by police. Nearly 80 years earlier, Cleo Wright was lynched by a white mob.

Both were killed before they got their day in court.

In these years of reporting, what I’ve found is that many Black families worry that their kids don’t have an equal chance of growing up healthy and safe in Sikeston.

[Dramatic instrumental ends.]

Rosemary Owens: Being Black in the Bootheel can get you killed at any age.

Cara Anthony: That’s Rosemary Owens. She raised her children here in Southeast Missouri.

Cara Anthony: About 10 Sikeston police officers showed up to Juneteenth — for security and to connect with the community. Some are in uniform; some are in plain clothes.

Rosemary has her doubts about why they came today.

Cara Anthony: You see the police chief talking to people. What’s going through your mind as you see them milling about?

Rosemary Owens: I hope they are real and wanting to close the gap between the African Americans and the white people.

Anybody can come out and shake hands. But at the end of the day, did you mean what you said? Because things are still going on here in Sikeston, Missouri.

Cara Anthony: For Rosemary, this brings to mind an encounter with the police from years ago.

[Slow, minor, instrumental music plays softly.]

When her son was maybe 16 years old, she says, she and her sister gave their boys the keys to their new cars — told them they could hang out in them.

Rosemary had gotten her new car for Mother’s Day.

Rosemary Owens: A brand-new red Dodge Caravan. We, we knew the boys were just going from the van to the car. You know, just showing out — they were boys. They weren’t driving.

Cara Anthony: Someone nearby saw the boys …

Rosemary Owens: … called and told the police that two Black men were robbing cars.

When the boys saw the police come up, there was three police cars. So they were like, something’s going on. So their intention, they were like, they were trying to run to us. And my brother said, stop. When they looked back, when the police got out of the car, they already had their guns drawn on my son and my nephew.  Cara Anthony: That’s what Rosemary thinks about when she sees Sikeston police at Juneteenth.

[Slow, minor, instrumental music ends.]

[“Silence in Sikeston” theme song plays.]  Cara Anthony: In this podcast series, we’ve talked about some of the ways racism makes Black people sick. But Juneteenth has me thinking about how we get free — how we STOP racism from making us sick.

The public health experts say it’s going to take systemwide, institutional change.

In this episode, we’re going to examine what that community-level change looks like — or at least what it looks like to make a start.

From WORLD Channel and KFF Health News, distributed by PRX, this is “Silence in Sikeston.”

Episode 4 is our final episode: “Is There a Cure for Racism?”

[“Silence in Sikeston” theme song ends.]

James McMillen: How you doing?

Juneteenth celebration attendee: Good. Good.

James McMillen: Good to see you, man.

Juneteenth celebration attendee: What’s up? How are you?

Cara Anthony: When I spot Sikeston’s director of public safety in his cowboy hat, sipping soda from a can, I head over to talk.  James McMillen: Well, you know, I just, I, I’m glad to be … on the inside of this.

Cara Anthony: James McMillen leads the police department. He says he made it a point to come to Juneteenth. And he encouraged his officers to come, too.

James McMillen: I remember as being a young officer coming to work here, not knowing anybody, driving by a park and seeing several Black people out there. And I remember feeling, you know, somewhat intimidated by that. And I don’t really know why.

I hadn’t always been, um, that active in the community. And, um, I, I have been the last several years and I’m just wanting to teach officers to do the same thing.

Cara Anthony: The chief told me showing up was part of his department’s efforts to repair relations with Sikeston’s Black residents.

James McMillen: What’s important about this is, being out here and actually knowing people, I think it builds that trust that we need to have to prevent and solve crimes.

Cara Anthony: A few minutes into our conversation, I notice a teenager and her friend nearby, listening.

Cara Anthony: Yeah, we have two people who are watching us pretty closely. Come over here. Come over here. Tell us your names.

Lauren: My name is Lauren.

Michaiahes: My name is Michaiahes.

Cara Anthony: Yeah. And what are you all … ?

James McMillen: I saw you over there.

Cara Anthony: So, what do you think about all of this?

Michaiahes: Personally, I don’t even know who this is because I don’t mess with police because, because of what’s happened in the past with the police. But, um …

Cara Anthony: As she starts to trail off, I encourage her to keep going.

Cara Anthony: He’s right here. He’s in charge of all of those people.

Michaiahes: Well, in my opinion, y’all should start caring about the community more.

Cara Anthony: What are you hearing? She’s speaking from the heart here, Chief. What are you hearing?

James McMillen: Well, you know what? I agree with everything she said there.

Cara Anthony: She’s confident now, looking the chief in the eye.

Michaiahes: And let’s just be honest: Some of these police officers don’t even want to be here today. They’re just here to think they’re doing something for the community.

James McMillen: Let’s be honest. Some of these are assumptions that y’all are making about police that y’all don’t really know.

[Subtle propulsive music begins playing.]

Michaiahes: If we seen you protecting community, if we seen you doing what you supposed to do, then we wouldn’t have these assumptions about you.

James McMillen: I just want to say that people are individuals. We have supervisors that try to keep them to hold a standard. And you shouldn’t judge the whole department, but, but just don’t judge the whole department off of a few. No more than I should judge the whole community off of a few.

Cara Anthony: But here’s the thing … in our conversations over the years, Chief McMillen has been candid with me about how, as a rookie cop, he had judged Sikeston’s Black residents based on interactions with just a few.

James McMillen: Some of, um, my first calls in the Black community were dealing with, obviously, criminals, you know? So if first impressions mean anything, that one set a bad one. I had, um, really unfairly judging the whole community based on the few interactions that I had, again, with majority of criminals.

Cara Anthony: The chief says he’s moved past that way of thinking and he’s trying to help his officers move past their assumptions.

And he told me about other things he wants to do …

Hire more Black officers. Invest in racial-bias awareness education for the department. And open up more lines of communication with the community.

James McMillen: I know that we are not going to see progress or we’re not going to see success without a little bit of pain and discomfort on our part.

Cara Anthony: I don’t think I’ve ever heard the chief use the term institutional change, but the promises and the plans he’s making sound like steps in that direction.

Except … here’s something else the chief says he wants …

[Subtle propulsive music ends with a flourish.]

James McMillen: As a police officer, I would like to hear more people talk about, um, just complying with the officer.

Cara Anthony: That phrase is chilling to me.

[Quiet, dark music starts playing.]

When I hear “just comply” … a litany of names cross my mind.

Philando Castile.

Sonya Massey.

Tyre Nichols.

Cara Anthony: After Denzel Taylor was killed, people felt unsafe. I talked to a lot of residents on the record about them feeling like they didn’t know if they could be next.

One thing that you told me was, like, well, one thing that people can do is comply with the officers, you know, if they find themselves having an interaction with law enforcement.

James McMillen: Well, I mean, I think that’s, that’s a good idea to do.

And if the person is not complying, that officer has got to be thinking, is this person trying to hurt me? So, asking people to comply with the officer’s command — that’s a reasonable statement.

Cara Anthony: But, it’s well documented: Black Americans are more likely than our white peers to be perceived as dangerous by police.

That perception increases the chances we’ll be the victim of deadly force. Whether we comply — or not.

[Quiet, dark music ends.]

That’s all to say … even with the promise of more Black officers in Sikeston and all the chief’s other plans, I’m not sure institutional change in policing is coming soon to Sikeston.

[Sparse electronic music starts playing.]

Cara Anthony: I took that worry to Gail Christopher. She has spent her long career trying to address the causes of institutional racism.

Cara Anthony: We’ve been calling most of our guests by their first name, but what’s your preference? I don’t want to get in trouble with my mom on this, you know? [Cara laughs.]

Gail Christopher: If you don’t mind, Dr. Christopher is good.

Cara Anthony: OK. All right. That sounds good. I’m glad I asked.

Cara Anthony: Dr. Christopher thinks a lot about the connections between race and health. And she’s executive director of the National Collaborative for Health Equity. Her nonprofit designs strategies for social change.

She says the way to think about starting to fix structural racism … is to think about the future.

Gail Christopher: What do you want for your daughter? What do I want for my children? I want them not to have interactions with the police, No. 1, right?

Uh, so I want them to have safe places to be, to play, to be educated … equal access to the opportunity to be healthy.

Cara Anthony: But I wonder if that future is even possible.

[Sparse electronic music ends.]

Cara Anthony: Is there a cure for racism? And I know it’s not that simple, but is there a cure?

Gail Christopher: I love the question, right? And my answer to you would be yes. It is a process, and it’s not enough to march and get a victory. We have to transform the systems of inequity in this country.

Cara Anthony: And Dr. Christopher says it is possible. Because racism is a belief system.

[Hopeful instrumental music plays.]

Gail Christopher: There is a methodology that’s grounded in psychological research and social science for altering our beliefs and subsequently altering our behaviors that are driven by those beliefs.

Cara Anthony: To get there, she says, institutions need a rigorous commitment to look closely at what they are doing — and the outcomes they’re creating.

Gail Christopher: Data tracking and monitoring and being accountable for what’s going on.

We can’t solve a problem if we don’t admit that it exists.

Cara Anthony: One of her favorite examples of what it looks like to make a start toward systemic change comes from the health care world.

I know we’ve been talking about policing so far, but — bear with me here — we’re going to pivot to another way institutional bias kills people.

A few years ago, a team of researchers at the Brigham and Women’s Hospital in Boston reviewed admission records for patients with heart failure. They found that Black and Latinx people were less likely than white patients to be admitted to specialized cardiology units.

Gail Christopher: Without calling people racist, they saw the absolute data that showed that, wait a minute, we’re sending the white people to get the specialty care and we’re not sending the people of color.

Cara Anthony: So, Brigham and Women’s launched a pilot program.

When a doctor requests a bed for a Black or Latinx patient with heart failure, the computer system notifies them that, historically, Black and Latinx patients haven’t had equal access to specialty care.

The computer system then recommends the patient be admitted to the cardiology unit. It’s still up to the doctor to actually do that.

The hard data’s not published yet, but we checked in with the hospital, and they say the program seems to be making a difference.

Gail Christopher: It starts with leadership. Someone in that system has the authority and makes the decision to hold themselves accountable for new results.

[Hopeful instrumental music ends.]

Cara Anthony: OK, so it could be working at a hospital. Let’s shift back to policing now.

Gail Christopher: There should be an accountability board in that community, a citizens’ accountability board, where they are setting measurable and achievable goals and they are holding that police department accountable for achieving those goals.

Cara Anthony: But, like, do Black people have to participate in this? Because we’re tired.

Gail Christopher: Listen, do I know that we’re tired! Am I tired? After 50 years? Uh, I think that there is work that all people have to do. This business of learning to see ourselves in one another, to be fully human — it’s all of our work.

[Warm, optimistic instrumental music plays.]

Now, does that preclude checking out at times and taking care of yourself? I can’t tell you how many people my age who are no longer alive today, who were my colleagues and friends in the movement. But they died prematurely because of this lack of permission to take care of ourselves.

Cara Anthony: Rest when you need to, she says, but keep going.

Gail Christopher: We have to do that because it is our injury. It is our pain. And I think we have the stamina and the desire to see it change.

Cara Anthony: Yep. Heard. It’s all of our work.

Dr. Christopher has me thinking about all the Black people in Sikeston who aren’t sitting around waiting for someone else to change the institutions that are hurting them.

People protested when Denzel Taylor was killed even with all the pressure to stay quiet about it.

Protesters: Justice for Denzel on 3. 1, 2, 3 … Justice for Denzel! Again! 1, 2, 3 … Justice for Denzel!

Cara Anthony: And I’m thinking about the people who were living in the Sunset neighborhood of Sikeston in 1942 when Cleo Wright was lynched.

Harry Howard: They picked up rocks and bricks and crowbars and just anything to protect our community.

Cara Anthony: And Sunset did not burn.

[Warm, optimistic instrumental music begins fading out.]

[Piano starts warming up.]

Cara Anthony: After nearly 80 years of mostly staying quiet about Cleo’s lynching, Sikeston residents organized a service to mark what happened to him — and their community.

Reverend: We are so honored and humbled to be the host church this evening for the remembrance and reconciliation service of Mr. Cleo Wright.

[Piano plays along with Pershard singing.]

Pershard Owens: [Singing] It’s been a long, long time coming, but I know a change gonna come, oh yes it will. It’s been too hard a-livin but I’m afraid to die and I don’t know what’s up next, beyond the sky …

[Pershard singing and piano accompaniment fade out.]

Cara Anthony: I want to introduce you to that guy who was just singing then. His name is Pershard Owens.

Remember Rosemary Owens? The woman who told us about someone calling the police on her son and nephew when they were playing with their parents’ new cars? Pershard is Rosemary’s younger son.

Pershard Owens: Yeah, I definitely remember that.

Cara Anthony: Even after all this time, other people didn’t want to talk to us about it. We couldn’t find news coverage of the incident. But Pershard remembers. He was in his weekly karate practice when it happened. He was 10 or 11 years old.

Pershard Owens: My brother and cousin were, like, they were teens. So what do you think people are going to feel about the police when they do that, no questions asked, just guns drawn?

Cara Anthony: Pershard’s dad works as a police officer on a different police force in the Bootheel. Pershard knows police. But that didn’t make it any less scary for him.

Pershard Owens: You know, my parents still had to sit us down and talk and be like, “Hey, this is, that’s not OK, but you can’t, you can’t be a victim. You can’t be upset.” That’s how I was taught. So we acknowledge the past. But we don’t, we don’t stay down.

Cara Anthony: So years later, when Chief James McMillen started a program as a more formal way for people in Sikeston and the police to build better relationships, Pershard signed up. They started meeting in 2020.

The group is called Police and Community Together, or PACT for short.

  [Sparse, tentative music begins playing.]

Pershard Owens: It was a little tense that first couple of meetings because nobody knew what it was going to be.

Cara Anthony: This was only five months after Sikeston police killed Denzel Taylor.

PACT is not a citizens’ accountability board. The police don’t have to answer to it.

The committee met every month. For a while. But they haven’t met in over a year now.

Pershard Owens: We would have steps forward and then we would have three steps back.

Cara Anthony: People have different accounts for why that is. Busy schedules. Mutual suspicion. Other things police officers have done that shook the trust of Black residents in Sikeston.

Pershard Owens: And people were like, bro, like, how can you work with these people?

The community is like, I can’t fully get behind it because I know what you did to my little cousin and them. Like, I know what the department did back in, you know, 15 years ago, and it’s hard to get past that.

So, I mean, I’m getting both sides, like, constantly, and listen, that is, that is tough.

[Sparse, tentative music ends.]

Cara Anthony: But Pershard says something important changed because he started working with PACT.

Pershard Owens: Chief did not like me at first [Pershard laughs]. He did not.

Chief didn’t … me and Chief did not see eye to eye. Because he had heard things about me and he — people had told him that I was, I was anti-police and hated police officers, and he came in with a defense up.

So, it took a minute for me and him to, like, start seeing each other in a different way. But it all happened when we sat down and had a conversation.

[Slow instrumental music begins playing.]

Cara Anthony: Just have a conversation. It sounds so simple; you’re probably rolling your eyes right now hearing it.

But Pershard says … it could be meaningful.

Pershard Owens: I truly want and believe that we can be together and we can work together and we can have a positive relationship where you see police and y’all dap each other up and y’all legit mean it. I think that can happen, but a lot of people have to change their mindsets.

Cara Anthony: That’s a challenge Pershard is offering to police AND community members: Have a conversation with someone different from you. See if that changes the way you think about the person you’re talking to. See if it changes your beliefs.

The more people do that, the more systems can change.

Pershard Owens: We got to look in the mirror and say, “Am I doing what I can to try and change the dynamic of Sikeston, even if it does hurt?”

Cara Anthony: Pershard says he’s going to keep putting himself out there. He ran for City Council in 2021. And even though he lost, he says he doesn’t regret it.

Pershard Owens: When you’re dealing with a place like Sikeston, it’s not going to change overnight.

Cara Anthony: And he’s glad he worked with PACT. Even if the community dialogue has fizzled for now, he’s pleased with the new relationship he built with Chief McMillen. And all of this has broadened his view of what kind of change is possible.

[Slow instrumental music ends.]

Pershard Owens: If you want something that has never been done, you have to go places that you’ve never been.

[“Silence in Sikeston” theme music plays.]

Cara Anthony: Places that you’ve never been … stories that you’ve never told out loud … maybe all of that helps build a Sikeston where Black residents can feel safer. Where Black people can live healthier lives.

A world you might not be able to imagine yet, but one that could exist for the next generation.

[“Silence in Sikeston” theme music ends.]

[Upbeat instrumental music plays.]

Cara Anthony: Thanks for listening to “Silence in Sikeston.”

Next, go watch the documentary — it’s a joint production from Retro Report and KFF Health News, presented in partnership with WORLD.

Subscribe to WORLD Channel on YouTube. That’s where you can find the film “Silence in Sikeston,” a Local, USA special.

If you made it this far, thank you. Let me know how you’re feeling.

I’d love to hear more about the conversations this podcast has sparked in your life. Leave us a voicemail at (202) 654-1366.

And thanks to everyone in Sikeston for sharing your stories with us.

This podcast is a co-production of WORLD Channel and KFF Health News and distributed by PRX.

It was produced with support from PRX and made possible in part by a grant from the John S. and James L. Knight Foundation.

This audio series was reported and hosted by me, Cara Anthony.

Audio production by me, Zach Dyer. And me, Taylor Cook.

Editing by me, Simone Popperl.

And me, managing editor Taunya English.

Sound design, mixing, and original music by me, Lonnie Ro.

Podcast art design by Colin Mahoney and Tania Castro-Daunais.

Tarena Lofton and Hannah Norman are engagement and social media producers for the show.

Oona Zenda and Lydia Zuraw are the landing page designers.

Lynne Shallcross is the photo editor, with photography from Michael B. Thomas.

Thank you to vocal coach Viki Merrick.

And thank you to my parents for all their support over the four years of this project.

Music in this episode is from Epidemic Sound and Blue Dot Sessions.

Some of the audio you heard across the podcast is also in the film.

For that, special thanks to Adam Zletz, Matt Gettemeier, Roger Herr, and Philip Geyelin.

Kyra Darnton is executive producer at Retro Report.

I was a producer on the film.

Jill Rosenbaum directed the documentary.

Kytja Weir is national editor at KFF Health News.

WORLD Channel’s editor-in-chief and executive producer is Chris Hastings.

Help us get the word out about “Silence in Sikeston.” Write a review or give us a quick rating wherever you listen to this podcast.

Thank you! It makes a difference.

Oh yeah! And tell your friends in real life too!

[Upbeat instrumental music ends.]

Credits

Taunya English
Managing editor

@TaunyaEnglish

Taunya is deputy managing editor for broadcast at KFF Health News, where she leads enterprise audio projects.

Simone Popperl
Line editor

@simoneppprl

Simone is broadcast editor at KFF Health News, where she shapes stories that air on Marketplace, NPR, and CBS News Radio, and she co-manages a national reporting collaborative.

Zach Dyer
Senior producer

@zkdyer

Zach is senior producer for audio with KFF Health News, where he supervises all levels of podcast production.

Taylor Cook
Associate producer

@taylormcook7

Taylor is an independent producer who does research, books guests, contributes writing, and fact-checks episodes for several KFF Health News podcasts.

Lonnie Ro
Sound designer

Lonnie Ro is an audio engineer and a composer who brings audio stories to life through original music and expert sound design for platforms like Spotify, Audible, and KFF Health News.

Additional Newsroom Support

Lynne Shallcross, photo editorOona Zenda, illustrator and web producerLydia Zuraw, web producerTarena Lofton, audience engagement producer Hannah Norman, video producer and visual reporter Chaseedaw Giles, audience engagement editor and digital strategistKytja Weir, national editor Mary Agnes Carey, managing editor Alex Wayne, executive editorDavid Rousseau, publisher Terry Byrne, copy chief Gabe Brison-Trezise, deputy copy chief Tammie Smith, communications officer

The “Silence in Sikeston” podcast is a production of KFF Health News and WORLD. Distributed by PRX. Subscribe and listen on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Amazon Music, iHeart, or wherever you get your podcasts.

Watch the accompanying documentary from WORLD, Retro Report, and KFF here.

To hear other KFF Health News podcasts, click here.

KFF Health News is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues and is one of the core operating programs at KFF—an independent source of health policy research, polling, and journalism. Learn more about KFF.

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Harris’ Emphasis on Maternal Health Care Is Paying Dividends With Black Women Voters

admin — Wed, 02 Oct 2024 10:30:37 +0000

Vice President Kamala Harris is seeing a surge of support from Black women voters, galvanized in part by her work on health care issues such as maternal mortality, reproductive rights, and gun control.

The enthusiasm may be key for Democratic turnout at the polls in critical battleground states.

Black women have always been among the most reliable voters in the Democratic base and were central to former President Barack Obama’s victories in 2008 and 2012. Enthusiasm was also robust for President Joe Biden in 2020. But this year, before he bowed out of the race and Harris became the Democratic nominee, his support among this critical demographic had been fading, which could have dampened turnout in swing states.

Black voters’ support for the top of the Democratic ticket has since increased. In July, before he left the race, 64% of Black voters supported Biden, according to the Pew Research Center. Seventy-seven percent of Black voters supported Harris in August.

Black voter turnout, especially in rural areas of Georgia, North Carolina, and Pennsylvania, could help propel Harris to victory. That support — especially among Black women — has swelled since Biden’s departure, polling shows.

“This is a renaissance,” said Holli Holliday, a lawyer in the Washington, D.C., area who is president of Sisters Lead Sisters Vote, a group that works to advance Black women’s political leadership. “We’re partnering with a collective of Black women organizations to collaborate and collectively move like we never have before.”

Gun safety issues could especially resonate in Georgia, where both Harris and the Republican nominee, former President Donald Trump, are vying for the support of Black voters. A Sept. 4 shooting at Apalachee High School near Winder, Georgia, killed four people and left nine hospitalized with injuries, with scores more facing mental and emotional scars.

Eighty-two percent of Black women had a favorable view of Harris in August, according to the Pew Research Center, up from 67% in May.

And more Black women than before say they will go to the polls. Almost 70% of Black women said in August they were extremely or very motivated to vote, according to Pew, up from 51% in July. Sixteen million Black women in the U.S. are eligible to vote and 67% of them are registered, according to Higher Heights, a political action committee focused on mobilizing and electing Black women.

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Trump has also sought support from Black women voters. His campaign released a video in August showcasing Black women pledging to support him over Harris, pointing to his economic policies as a key reason.

Still, only 8% of Black women voters say the Republican Party does a better job of looking out for their interests, according to a poll done in May and June by KFF, a health information nonprofit that includes KFF Health News.

Harris’ attention to health issues particularly important to Black women is helping to draw their support, said Kimberly Peeler-Allen, a co-founder of Higher Heights. In 2021, the vice president called for a more robust government response to the nation’s high maternal mortality rates.

The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention say Black women are three times as likely to die from pregnancy-related complications as white women. The disparity is driven in part by differing access to quality health care, underlying health conditions, bias, and racism.

“The vice president’s focus on Black maternal morbidity has gotten a lot of attention and gratitude,” Peeler-Allen said. “High-quality and affordable care, as well as the economy, are one of the top issues that drive Black women voters to get to the polls.”

As a senator, Harris co-sponsored a package of legislation aimed at improving maternal health, with a focus on Black women. The Biden administration pushed to expand maternal health initiatives in rural communities and improve bias training for health care providers, including by awarding more than $103 million in grants in 2023 to support and expand access to maternal health care.

Trump in 2018 signed legislation intended to reduce the maternal mortality rate that provided $58 million a year for five years to help states investigate and prevent pregnancy-related deaths.

As vice president, Harris also pushed states to extend postpartum care in Medicaid, the state-federal health program for low-income and disabled people. Biden signed legislation that temporarily gave states the option to expand the coverage to a full year from the required 60 days, with federal matching funds, and later signed a law allowing states to make the extended benefits permanent.

Illinois, New Jersey, and Virginia were the only states providing 12 months of postpartum Medicaid coverage when Harris became vice president. Today, the yearlong benefit has been adopted by at least 46 states and Washington, D.C., according to KFF.

“I am so thrilled out of my mind. I didn’t think we’d get there that quick,” said Rep. Robin Kelly (D-Ill.), who has helped lead congressional efforts to reduce mortality and morbidity among mothers and pregnant women, especially Black women. “It helps having everybody at the Senate, House, and White House working together. I am optimistic we are going to have someone at the top who gets it. We still have a ways to go.”

Harris’ support for measures to stem gun violence also helps her appeal to Black women. Harris said during her debate with Trump last month that she’s a gun owner. But she has pressed for banning what are often known as assault weapons and to implement universal background checks ahead of gun purchases — issues that may resonate in Georgia, especially, after the Apalachee shooting.

Eighty-four percent of Black women favor Harris on gun reform over Trump, according to a 2024 poll conducted for The Highland Project, a women-led coalition focused on creating multigenerational wealth in Black communities.

Trump’s campaign advisers have said he would protect access to guns by appointing federal judges who oppose restrictions. He has supported gun rights despite two apparent assassination attempts during the campaign, and as president in 2017 he reversed a controversial Obama administration regulation making it harder for people with mental health issues to purchase guns.

Win With Black Women, a network of Black women leaders, hosted a planning call with Black women the day Biden withdrew from the race. About 44,000 participants joined the meeting.

Waning enthusiasm for the Democratic ticket among Black women before Harris entered the race could have undermined turnout. And turnout matters: In the 2020 presidential race, seven states were won by less than three percentage points each.

“To have 44,000 black women on a phone call that Sunday night? That enthusiasm, that’s good for Democrats,” said Kelly Dittmar, research director at Rutgers’ Center for American Women and Politics. “If Democrats selected someone with less enthusiastic backing, a lot of women who supported Biden may have stayed home.”

Stephanie Armour:
[email protected],
@StephArmour1

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Trauma Lives in the Body

admin — Tue, 01 Oct 2024 09:28:30 +0000

Cara Anthony

SIKESTON, Mo. — At age 79, Nannetta Forrest, whose father, Cleo Wright, was lynched in Sikeston, Missouri, before she was born, wonders how the decades-long silence that surrounded his death in 1942 influenced her life.

In 2020, Sikeston police killed another young Black man, 23-year-old Denzel Taylor. Taylor’s shooting death immediately made local headlines, but then the cycle of silence in Sikeston repeated itself.

Host Cara Anthony and pediatrician Rhea Boyd draw health parallels between the loss experienced by two families nearly 80 years apart. In both cases, young daughters were left behind to grapple with unanswered questions and devastating loss.

“Regardless of the age, children experience longing,” Boyd said. “They miss people when they don’t see them again; even babies can experience that.”

[Editor’s note: A swear word is bleeped out in this episode. The time stamp is 12:03.]

Host

Cara Anthony
Midwest correspondent, KFF Health News

@CaraRAnthony

Read Cara’s stories

Cara is an Edward R. Murrow and National Association of Black Journalists award-winning reporter from East St. Louis, Illinois. Her work has appeared in The New York Times, Time magazine, NPR, and other outlets nationwide. Her reporting trip to the Missouri Bootheel in August 2020 launched the “Silence in Sikeston” project. She is a producer on the documentary and the podcast’s host.

In Conversation With …

Rhea Boyd
Pediatrician and public health scholar

click to open the transcript

Transcript: Trauma Lives in the Body

Editor’s note: If you are able, we encourage you to listen to the audio of “Silence in Sikeston,” which includes emotion and emphasis not found in the transcript. This transcript, generated using transcription software, has been edited for style and clarity. Please use the transcript as a tool but check the corresponding audio before quoting the podcast.

[Solemn instrumental music begins playing softly.]

Cara Anthony: When Nannetta Forrest was growing up, a lot went unsaid in her family.

Nannetta Forrest: You know, people didn’t do a lot of talking back then. And it was almost like trying to pull teeth out of a hen.

Cara Anthony: She lived nearly her whole life in Indiana, but Nannetta’s story — the secrets and the silence — all started in Sikeston, Missouri.

Nannetta was born there in 1942. Several months earlier, while her mother was pregnant, Nannetta’s father was lynched.

His name … was Cleo Wright.

Nannetta Forrest: He was taken away before I got here!

Cara Anthony: Taken from a jail cell. Taken and dragged through the streets by a white mob. Taken to Sunset Addition, the center of Black life in Sikeston, and lynched. Taken from his family.

Nannetta’s mother kept quiet. She never wanted her daughter to know what happened to her father.

But one day, Nannetta was with her grandfather. A game show that aired on CBS in the 1950s was on TV. It was called “Strike it Rich.”

[Clip from “Strike it Rich” begins playing.]

“Strike It Rich” clip: Mr. “Strike It Rich” himself, Warren Hull. [Applause]

Nannetta Forrest: Celebrities would go on, and they’d try to win money for, like, underprivileged people.

“Strike It Rich” clip: Thanks a lot!

Nannetta Forrest: And that’s when Grandpa told me, he said, “You can go on there, Nan.” And I said, “Go on there with what?” And that’s when he went in his wallet and pulled out this yellow piece of paper.

[Solemn instrumental music plays.]

Cara Anthony: It was a newspaper clipping about the lynching of her father.

Nannetta Forrest: And that was my first time ever becoming aware of it.

Cara Anthony: It was around 1955. Nannetta was 13 or 14 at the time.

Nannetta Forrest: I did wanna know the story behind it, what happened, but nobody seemed to wanna talk about it.

Cara Anthony: Over the years, she pieced together bits of what happened. But there was always one nagging question that didn’t have an answer:

What would her life have been like if that mob hadn’t lynched her dad?

Nannetta Forrest: Now, I do often wonder that. Had he been alive when I was born and been in my life, what type of person would I have been? Would I have been the same person? Would I have been a different person? And this is something I’ll never know.

Cara Anthony: I’m Cara Anthony. I’m a health reporter.

I’ve traveled to Sikeston, Missouri, for years, asking people about the killing of Cleo Wright — and the silence that surrounds his death.

Nearly eight decades after the killing, that silence was still stifling. Like generations of stuffed-down fear and anger.

At nearly every turn, locals refused to talk to me. In fact, many people felt they could not talk to me. Until I met … Mikela Jackson.

[Solemn instrumental music fades out.]

Mikela Jackson: It’s … it’s … it’s no healing from grief. It’s an everyday thing for me.

Cara Anthony: Mikela goes by Keke. She’s in her mid-20s. But she’s heard about the lynching back in 1942.

Cara Anthony: Talk to me a little bit about that. Have you ever heard of Cleo Wright?

Mikela Jackson: Denzel brung that up to me. Denzel brung it up to me because we used to live on Sunset Street, and he was telling me, like, they dragged him through Sunset.

Cara Anthony: “Denzel” is Denzel Taylor, Keke’s fiancé.

Sikeston police shot him at least 18 times — and killed Denzel in April 2020. He was 23 years old.

That year, everyone was talking about new research that found that a Black man had a 1-in-1,000 chance of being killed by police.

Denzel Taylor became that 1 in a thousand.

[Sparse, minor music plays quietly.]

Right in the middle of her grief, Keke refused to be quiet.

Mikela Jackson: The Bootheel knows what happened to him. The world, they have no idea who Denzel Taylor is.

Cara Anthony: The Bootheel is where Sikeston sits — in the far southeast corner of Missouri.

Mikela Jackson: So that’s why I want his story … I wanna make him proud, actually. ’Cuz I want him to know, look, Babe, they going to hear this one way or another.

Cara Anthony: I made a film about the deaths of Denzel and Cleo — two Black men killed decades apart — in the same community.

For the documentary, we explored questions about the impact of racial trauma and the persistent harm it causes.

Here, for the podcast, we’re exploring another layer. How does systemic racial violence impact health? The health of Black people, in particular?

[“Silence in Sikeston” theme begins playing.]

Denzel’s story reminds me so much of Cleo’s. So many things about their lives — and their deaths — are similar.

They both left behind a daughter they never got to meet.

They both were killed by a public health threat of their time.

A threat to Black men of their time.

For Cleo, that was lynching.

For Denzel, it was police violence.

Neither of them got their day in court.

In this episode, we’re looking at what happened to Denzel Taylor.

We’re exploring police violence as a public health problem. One that’s making us sick and cutting lives short.

From WORLD Channel and KFF Health News, and distributed by PRX, this is “Silence in Sikeston,” the podcast about finding the words to say the things that go unsaid.

Episode 3: “Trauma Lives in the Body.”

[“Silence in Sikeston” theme ends.]

[Gentle, bright instrumental music plays.]

Cara Anthony: Denzel was from Chicago. Growing up, he spent time in southeastern Missouri with his dad’s family.

Denzel and Keke met in Sikeston. And Keke says they fell in love immediately.

Mikela Jackson: It was a butterfly feeling, like you could just tell it was love. It was the best energy ever.

Cara Anthony: They started their family. De’nia was born first. Denzel used to call her “Cupcake.”

Denzel Taylor: Hey, Cupcake. Say hey, y’all. I love you, princess. [Baby babbles.]

Cara Anthony: Aiyana came next. In 2020, Keke was pregnant with their third daughter, Brookelynn.

Mikela Jackson: He said he wanted seven kids. I said, Denzel, what? He wanted seven kids. That’s a basketball team. I can’t handle that.

Cara Anthony: They were planning to get married after Brookelynn was born.

Mikela Jackson: I really wanted a big family with Denzel. I wanted to get married. I wanted to go to D- … We was planning on moving to Dallas and everything and it’s just like, my whole world is just like, it just blew up on me.

Cara Anthony: Remember 2020? It felt like the news was full of stories about Black people getting killed by police.

Videos from body cameras were all over social media. Around that same time, Keke remembers Denzel getting pulled over by police more and more.

And, Keke says, he started to become convinced that someday he might be killed by police too.

Mikela Jackson: He said if he was to ever get in any type of interaction with the police, he would let them kill him just to show how America is.

He would bring it up, like, outta nowhere. And he would say it, and I would wonder, like, why is you constantly saying it? And I kind of will get irritated because it’s, like, that’s not a way that I will want you to go out. Like, we’re supposed to grow old together.

Cara Anthony: On April 29 that year, Denzel’s premonition came true.

Police body cameras captured what happened the night Denzel was killed.

You’re about to hear a retelling of what happened the night Denzel died — based on interviews with his family and audio pulled from those body cam videos.

When I first got the videos, I stared at the attachments in my email for a long time. I didn’t want to look.

[Soft droning music fades in.]

But I think it’s important that we do look at what happened. It’s part of what I have to do to examine police killings as a public health threat.

Denzel was staying with his father and his stepmom.

[Rain sounds play.]

It was raining that night. Denzel and his dad, Milton Taylor, were stuck in the house together.

They got into an argument. Things escalated.

Denzel’s mom, Jean Kelly, was asleep in Chicago some 400 miles away. In the early hours of the morning, Denzel’s sister ran into her room yelling.

Jean Kelly: “Mom, wake up.” I said, “What happened?” She said, “Denzel just shot Daddy.” I said, “What? Denzel just shot Daddy? That doesn’t make any sense at all.”

EMS audio: 49-year-old. Male. Gunshot wound. Two to three shots to the chest. Five officers on scene.

Cara Anthony: By the time police arrived at Milton’s home, Denzel had left. EMTs stabilized Milton and took him to the hospital.

EMS audio: We’re running hot. St. Francis. One patient.

Cara Anthony: Meanwhile, up in Chicago, Jean is trying to figure out what’s going on. She calls Milton’s wife, Denzel’s stepmom.

Jean Kelly: She said she had a couple of family members out looking for Denzel, you know, because she was saying, “I want them to find him before the police finds him.”

Cara Anthony: Police are speaking with Denzel’s stepmom when he appears.

The body-camera video shows the scene from an officer’s perspective.

[Music fades out.]

Cara Anthony: By now, it’s stopped raining. A streetlamp lights up the end of the block. Police had wrapped the area in yellow police tape. The camera shows Denzel standing in the near distance on the other side of the yellow tape. He’s wearing a hoodie.

Officers: Show me your hands now! Take your hand out of your pocket!

Denzel Taylor: Just kill me, bro.

Jean Kelly: They were saying, uh, “Put your hands up” or whatever the, the, they said to him, and there was some words exchanged. And, uh, it sounded like he said, “Well, shoot me, bro. Just go ahead, shoot me.”

Cara Anthony: The officers fire their guns.

Jean Kelly: They hit my son one time, I believe, if not two, and my son fell. He went, he dropped to his knees and fell face down.

Cara Anthony: There’s a pause. It’s just a moment or two, but as I watch it, it feels longer.

And then, the police fire again, sending bullets into his body on the ground. They keep shooting. You can hear dozens of shots.

Police body cam video: We got shots fired. We need EMS. We got one subject down, shots fired! Hands now! Hands! Hands!

Cara Anthony: One officer walks up — and uses his foot to roll Denzel the rest of the way onto his stomach. Denzel groans as the officer pins his arms behind his back and handcuffs him.

[Handcuffs click]

Cara Anthony: They search his body.

Police body cam video: Goddamn it.

Cara Anthony: Police don’t find a gun. Or any weapon. Just a piece of wood in his hoodie pocket.

Police body cam video: Are you [expletive] serious? He had a [expletive] stick of wood.

Cara Anthony: Police call for an ambulance.

EMS audio: … EMS respond to one subject shot. Time of page, 02 36.

Cara Anthony: On the body camera video, one officer points a flashlight in Denzel’s face.

Police body cam video: Why didn’t you just take your hand out of your pocket, man?

Cara Anthony: Minutes tick by. Red and blue police lights flash off the wet pavement. Denzel is still in the street, motionless.

[Ambulance sirens]

Cara Anthony: EMS arrive, but it’s too late. Denzel is dead.

Over the radio, the dispatcher calls for the coroner.

EMS audio: That’s yes, ma’am. Contact coroner. Ten-four.

[Somber instrumental music plays softly.]

Cara Anthony: Keke had been out of town. She got the call as she was driving back to Sikeston. The police had killed Denzel.

Mikela Jackson: And I said, “No, they did not. No, they did not.” I couldn’t believe it. It was heartbreaking.

Cara Anthony: A special prosecutor declined to file charges against the police officers who killed Denzel. The officers did not comment for this project. Sikeston Chief of Public Safety James McMillen says the officers believed Denzel was armed and that they were in fear for their life.

Denzel’s family sued the city of Sikeston. The city and the family reached a wrongful death settlement for $2 million. Close to half of it went to legal fees. Most of the rest of it will go to Denzel’s daughters.

Keke thinks a lot about how life goes on for the officers who killed Denzel.

Mikela Jackson: They still get to see their family every single day of their life. They still get to call their daughters. They still get to go home and tuck their kids into bed. Denzel can never do that ever, ever again.

I’m a forced single parent. I have to push through every single day.

Keke watched the body cam video over and over. But Denzel’s death just wouldn’t sink in. And she’s worried about their daughters.

Mikela Jackson: I hope they never see the video ’cause that’s traumatizing. ’Cause that’s their dad.

Cara Anthony: Eventually, Keke left Sikeston. She says there are too many memories of Denzel and what happened to him there.

On the day I visited her new home, it was just over a year after Denzel’s death.

[Cara and Keke laugh together in the background.]

Two-year-old Aiyana is napping in the next room. Keke has the youngest, Brookelynn, on her lap. And the oldest, De’nia, is … everywhere.

Right now, she’s zooming through the dining room on a scooter.

Cara Anthony: She just did, like, a trick, like a BMX. She’s BMXing in this apartment right now. Is she a daredevil?

Mikela Jackson: She do that all the time. [Laughter] Too much. No. No bike.

Cara Anthony: Eventually, De’nia parked her wheels and talked to me.

Cara Anthony: Let’s just get this started. Tell me your name again and how old you are.

De’nia: Four.

Cara Anthony: And what is your name?

De’nia: De’nia.

Cara Anthony: In my time as a health reporter, I’ve written a lot about the impact gun violence has on kids. I’ve gotten some training in how to talk to them about it on their level — without retraumatizing them.

Cara Anthony: Your mommy’s sitting here, and she said I have permission to ask you about your daddy.

De’nia: Daddy?

Cara Anthony: Do you miss your daddy?

De’nia: Yes.

Cara Anthony: Yeah? Where’s your daddy?

De’nia: I don’t know.

Cara Anthony: Yeah.

De’nia: He’s sleeping.

Cara Anthony: Hmm?

De’nia: He’s sleeping.

Cara Anthony: You said he’s sleeping?

De’nia: Yes.

Mikela Jackson: That’s what she say. She said, “My daddy’s sleeping.”

Cara Anthony: De’nia is trying to make sense of why her dad isn’t with them anymore. And Keke doesn’t know what to tell her.

Mikela Jackson: Like last night she actually woke up out of her sleep and she was crying and she was like, Mama, my daddy. And I didn’t know what to tell her because it’s, like, what do you tell a 4-year-old that they’re never ever going to see their dad again?

[Subtle instrumental music plays.]

Cara Anthony: I called a pediatrician, Rhea Boyd, to talk about what losing a parent to police violence could mean for kids like De’nia, Aiyana, and Brookelynn.

Rhea Boyd: Regardless of the age, children experience longing. They miss people when they don’t see them again, even babies can experience that.

Cara Anthony: Losing a parent — especially to violence — can have a major impact on a child’s future health.

Rhea Boyd: Certain experiences, including the death of a parent, increases a child’s risk for certain physical health ailments, like heart disease, um, kind of neurologic ailments, like increased risk for Alzheimer’s. Mental health impairments, like increased risk for depression. And these are increased risks as they move into adulthood.

Cara Anthony: Study after study show the link, even though we don’t totally understand all the mechanisms.

Rhea Boyd: It’s not just innate to our biology. It’s because of the conditions in which Black folks have been forced to live.

Cara Anthony: Black people in the United States carry more stress throughout their lives than white people. That doesn’t change, even when they make more money.

Researchers have tied that stress to the racism we deal with in everyday interactions — and to the institutional racism that makes it harder for us to take care of ourselves and our families.

Black people age faster, get sicker, and die sooner than our white peers — and carrying chronic stress is a factor.

Rhea says police violence contributes to this, too.

Rhea Boyd: Police are a public institution. And when they disproportionately take the lives of Black folks, or disproportionately police Black neighborhoods, that has direct impacts on our lives, on our well-being.

Cara Anthony: Keke says, back when she was living in Sikeston, she felt anxious every time she saw police lights in her rearview mirror.

[Subtle instrumental music ends.]

Mikela Jackson: Now, it’s like, OK, here it go again. I’m getting pulled over. Because it, I’m, it’s, I’m used to it at this point. I’m used to it.

Cara Anthony: Used to it, maybe. But not numb to it.

Mikela Jackson: I can’t tell my kids, “Hey, don’t be scared when you get pulled over.” I can’t tell them that. ’Cause I’m still scared myself, even a year later. I’m still scared.

Cara Anthony: Rhea calls this “anticipatory stress.”

Rhea Boyd: Anticipatory stress means you carry a level of vigilance and worry and concern about things that might happen to you or your kids.

Cara Anthony: Children can pick up on what’s going on in these situations and can end up carrying that toxic stress, too.

Denzel Taylor’s mother, Jean Kelly, told me about the worry that comes with having a Black son in America. The fear that he could become that 1 in 1,000 Black men killed by police.

[Grand, angelic music plays in the background.]

Jean Kelly: [Singing] Lord, have mercy on me …

Cara Anthony: Jean says before Denzel’s death, her spirit was on alert, like she was bracing for something bad. And a tune kept playing over and over in her mind.

Jean Kelly: [Singing] Lord, have mercy on me. I said, Lord, have mercy on me.

I just needed his, I needed his mercy and his grace and strength and everything to prepare me for what was to be … whatever it was to be, I was going to need his mercy.

[Grand, angelic music fades out]

Cara Anthony: I know what Black people are dealing with today. But I can only imagine what it would have been like in 1942, when Cleo Wright was lynched.

Rhea Boyd: The type of control people had their kids and their body under constantly so that they weren’t the victim of that type of violence, I think, physiologically, it was likely so enormous that the intergenerational effects of that type of terror still live in our bodies as descendants of those who experienced it.

Cara Anthony: Research is starting to explore how living with this kind of terror could go beyond behaviors to something deeper: changing how our genes work.

[Bouncy instrumental music plays.]

Some of this research comes out of a field called “epigenetics.” It’s the idea that something you experience can change how the genes in your body are expressed.

And that can have huge impacts on your health: It could make you age quicker or be more prone to developing a disease like cancer.

And epigenetic research is looking into how things your ancestors experienced could also affect your health today.

A police shooting and a lynching.

Two Black men killed in the same town — nearly 80 years apart.

As I reported their stories, many people have asked why we’re examining the deaths of Cleo Wright and Denzel Taylor side by side.

After years of reporting on these deaths, I’ve decided, as a health reporter, I want to focus on is this: the trauma that remains after the violence against these men — the possible health effects for their families and their communities.

I want to better understand what the loss could mean for Cleo and Denzel’s daughters. Little girls growing up without their dad.

Cleo’s daughter, Nannetta Forrest, wasn’t born yet when her father was killed. When we last spoke a few years before she died, she was 78 years old. And she said she was still asking herself that question that had nagged at her, her whole life: Who would she have been?

Nannetta Forrest: Would I have been the same person? Would I have been a different person?

Cara Anthony: And Denzel’s girls: De’nia and Aiyana. And Brookelynn, who wasn’t born yet. Brookelynn might ask herself the same thing as she grows.

Mikela Jackson: She has no memories. She’s never seen him a day in her life. So it’s like, she’ll never know him, like, as a person. [Den’ia playing in the background]

Cara Anthony: Just like Nannetta, Denzel’s girls are facing higher risks of psychological and mental health problems … and the possibility that losing their father this way could change how their genes work.

[“Silence in Sikeston” theme begins playing.]

In the face of those risks and possibilities, Keke’s looking for ways to protect her daughters.

She’s moved them away from Sikeston to a city where she hopes they’ll have more peace.

She wants them to know all about their dad, and how much he loved them.

She wants them to know his voice.

Denzel Taylor: Hey, Cupcake!

Cara Anthony: It’s the opposite of silence. She wants them to be able to heal out loud.

On the next episode, we’re in Sikeston, where people are looking for ways to heal and move forward after the deaths of Cleo Wright and Denzel Taylor.

Pershard Owens: We got to look in the mirror and say, am I doing what I can to try and change the dynamic of Sikeston, even if it does hurt? That’s what we have to start doing.

Cara Anthony: Including the possibility for big changes — community-level, systemwide changes.

James McMillen: I get frustrated and I’m trying to direct that frustration into something that could actually work.

Cara Anthony: That’s next time, on the final episode of “Silence in Sikeston.”

[“Silence in Sikeston” theme ends.]

[Upbeat instrumental music plays.]

Cara Anthony: Thanks for listening to “Silence in Sikeston.”

Next, go watch the documentary — it’s a joint production from Retro Report and KFF Health News, presented in partnership with WORLD.

Subscribe to WORLD Channel on YouTube. That’s where you can find the film “Silence in Sikeston,” a Local, USA special.

This podcast is a co-production of WORLD Channel and KFF Health News and distributed by PRX.

It was produced with support from PRX and made possible in part by a grant from the John S. and James L. Knight Foundation.

The audio series was reported and hosted by me, Cara Anthony.

Zach Dyer and Taylor Cook are the producers.

Editing by Simone Popperl.

Taunya English is managing editor of the podcast.

Sound design, mixing, and original music by Lonnie Ro.

Podcast art design by Colin Mahoney and Tania Castro-Daunais.

Oona Zenda and Lydia Zuraw are the landing page designers.

Have you seen the amazing Sikeston photography? It’s from Michael B. Thomas.

And Lynne Shallcross is the photo editor.

Thank you to my vocal coach, Viki Merrick.

Music in this episode is from Epidemic Sound and BlueDot Sessions.

Additional audio from the CBS TV show “Strike It Rich” and Denzel Taylor’s family.

Some of the audio you’ll hear across the podcast is also in the film.

For that, special thanks to Adam Zletz, Matt Gettemeier, Roger Herr, and Philip Geyelin.

Kyra Darnton is executive producer at Retro Report.

I was a producer on the film.

Jill Rosenbaum directed the documentary.

Kytja Weir is national editor at KFF Health News.

WORLD Channel’s editor-in-chief and executive producer is Chris Hastings.

We’re keeping this conversation going on Instagram and X.

Tarena Lofton and Hannah Norman are engagement and social media producers for the show.

Help us get the word out about “Silence in Sikeston.”

Write a review or give us a quick rating wherever you listen to this podcast.

Thank you. It makes a difference.

Oh, yeah. And tell your friends in real life, too.

[Upbeat instrumental music ends.]

Credits

Taunya English
Managing editor

@TaunyaEnglish

Taunya is deputy managing editor for broadcast at KFF Health News, where she leads enterprise audio projects.

Simone Popperl
Line editor

@simoneppprl

Simone is broadcast editor at KFF Health News, where she shapes stories that air on Marketplace, NPR, and CBS News Radio, and she co-manages a national reporting collaborative.

Zach Dyer
Senior producer

@zkdyer

Zach is senior producer for audio with KFF Health News, where he supervises all levels of podcast production.

Taylor Cook
Associate producer

@taylormcook7

Taylor is an independent producer who does research, books guests, contributes writing, and fact-checks episodes for several KFF Health News podcasts.

Lonnie Ro
Sound designer

Lonnie Ro is an audio engineer and composer who brings audio stories to life through original music and expert sound design for platforms like Spotify, Audible, and KFF Health News.

Additional Newsroom Support

Lynne Shallcross, photo editorOona Zenda, illustrator and web producerLydia Zuraw, web producerTarena Lofton, audience engagement producer Hannah Norman, visual producer and visual reporter Chaseedaw Giles, audience engagement editor and digital strategistKytja Weir, national editor Mary Agnes Carey, managing editor Alex Wayne, executive editorDavid Rousseau, publisher Terry Byrne, copy chief Gabe Brison-Trezise, deputy copy chief Tammie Smith, communications officer

The “Silence in Sikeston” podcast is a production of KFF Health News and WORLD. Distributed by PRX. Subscribe and listen on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Amazon Music, iHeart, or wherever you get your podcasts.

Watch the accompanying documentary from WORLD, Retro Report, and KFF starting Sept. 16, here.

To hear other KFF Health News podcasts, click here.

California Voters Consider Tough Love for Repeat Drug Offenders

admin — Mon, 30 Sep 2024 10:24:40 +0000

SACRAMENTO, Calif. — California voters are considering whether to roll back some of the criminal justice reforms enacted a decade ago as concerns about mass incarceration give way to public anger over property crime and a fentanyl crisis that has plagued the state since the covid-19 pandemic hit.

Proposition 36, on the November ballot, would unwind portions of a 2014 initiative, known as Proposition 47, that reduced most shoplifting and drug possession offenses to misdemeanors that rarely carried jail time.

Critics say that has allowed criminality to flourish and given those suffering from addiction little incentive to break the cycle. The law also has become a political weapon for former President Donald Trump and other Republican politicians who have tried to tie it to Vice President Kamala Harris to paint her as soft on crime. As California attorney general she took no position on the issue.

Much of the Proposition 36 debate has focused on the increased penalties for shoplifting, but the drug policy changes are even more dramatic. In addition to boosting penalties for some drug crimes, the measure would create a new “treatment-mandated felony” that could be imposed on people who illegally possess what are called “hard” drugs, including fentanyl, heroin, cocaine, and methamphetamine, and have two or more prior convictions for certain crimes.

Those who admit to the new felony would be required to complete drug or mental health treatment, job training, or other programs intended to “break the cycle of addiction and homelessness.” Those who complete the treatment program would have their charges dismissed, while failure could bring three years in prison.

The measure has opponents, including Gov. Gavin Newsom, warning about renewing a “war on drugs” that once helped swell California’s prison population.

Supporters counter that stricter penalties are necessary as overdose deaths from fentanyl crowd morgues. They also point to studies showing that more than 75% of people experiencing chronic homelessness struggle with substance abuse or a severe mental illness.

“We crafted this not to move people into any kind of custody setting, but to incentivize them into treatment,” said Greg Totten, chief executive officer at the California District Attorneys Association and a spokesperson for the initiative’s supporters.

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Totten and others cast the measure as a way to revive drug courts, which they say waned in effectiveness after Proposition 47 removed the stick from what had been a carrot-and-stick approach.

Drug courts are led by a judge with a specialized caseload, use a collaborative approach to promote rehabilitation, and have been found to be effective in California and nationwide. Participants in California had “significantly lower rates of recidivism,” according to a study in 2006 commissioned by the Judicial Council of California: 29% were rearrested compared with 41% of a group who didn’t receive treatment.

The Center for Justice Innovation, a nationwide research and reform group that grew out of the New York state court system, found that drug court caseloads dropped across California after Proposition 47.

Still, advocates who favor decriminalization challenge the idea that the approach is effective and say coerced treatment violates people’s rights. Meanwhile, Lenore Anderson, a co-author of Proposition 47, said “we cannot pretend that this sort of feel-good idea that we’re going to arrest and incarcerate out of it is going to work. It never has.”

Proposition 47 led to an increase in property crime, but there is no evidence that changes in drug arrests sparked any increases in crime, found a recent study by the nonprofit, nonpartisan Public Policy Institute of California.

The latest reform effort leaves many questions, said Darren Urada of the University of California-Los Angeles Integrated Substance Abuse Programs. He was the principal investigator on UCLA’s evaluation of an earlier attempt to promote treatment.

“When policies are properly implemented, treatment obtained through courts can help people. However, there are a lot of details here that are not clear, and therefore a lot of opportunities for this to go poorly,” Urada said.

For instance, the ballot measure doesn’t say what would happen to someone who enters treatment but relapses, as is common; how long they would have to complete the program; or what would constitute completion for someone in long-term treatment for mental illness or substance abuse.

Those details were deliberately left vague so that local experts like community corrections partnerships, which are already established under existing law, could decide what works best in their jurisdictions, Totten said.

Totten expects a range of approaches including diversion programs and inpatient and outpatient treatment, and that judges would be guided by the recommendations of treatment professionals.

“I’m hopeful that that will help people who are really struggling with addiction, living on the streets, who engage in petty theft and other crimes in order to support their habit — that it will be a doorway into treatment for them,” said Anna Lembke, a Stanford University addiction expert.

The November ballot measure also would allow judges to send drug dealers to state prisons instead of county jails and boost penalties for possessing fentanyl. It would make it easier to charge someone with murder if they provide illegal drugs that kill someone.

The changes could increase California’s prison population, currently about 90,000, and its county jail and community supervision population, currently around 250,000, each by “a few thousand people,” projects the state’s nonpartisan Legislative Analyst’s Office. Opponents of the measure project that the increase would be far higher: 65,000 people, most for drug offenses and most of them people of color.

Newsom, one of the initiative’s most outspoken critics, argues that the November ballot measure lacks any funding; would reduce the $800 million in Proposition 47 savings, much of which has gone to treatment and diversion programs; and would only aggravate an existing lack of treatment alternatives.

“Prop. 36 takes us back to the 1980s,” Newsom, a Democrat, said in August as he signed a package of 10 property crime bills that he and legislative leaders tout as an alternative to the broader ballot measure.

Yet, illustrating the contentiousness of the debate, the ballot measure has been endorsed by some Democratic leaders, including San Francisco Mayor London Breed, San Diego Mayor Todd Gloria, and San Jose Mayor Matt Mahan, who often highlight its treatment requirement.

This article was produced by KFF Health News, which publishes California Healthline, an editorially independent service of the California Health Care Foundation.

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Décadas de programas nacionales contra el suicidio no han frenado estas muertes

admin — Tue, 17 Sep 2024 14:36:06 +0000

Si tú o alguien que conoces pudiera estar pasando por una crisis de salud mental, comunícate con la línea directa de suicidio y crisis 988, marcando o enviando un mensaje de texto al “988”.

Cuando el hermano menor de Pooja Mehta, Raj, murió por suicidio a los 19 años en marzo de 2020, ella se sintió “inesperadamente sorprendida”.

El último mensaje de texto de Raj fue para su compañero de laboratorio en la universidad sobre cómo organizar las preguntas de una tarea.

“No dices que vas a tomar las preguntas del 1 al 15 si planeas estar muerto una hora después”, dijo Mehta, de 29 años, defensora de salud mental y prevención del suicidio en Arlington, Virginia. Había recibido capacitación en Primeros Auxilios de Salud Mental, un programa nacional que enseña cómo identificar, comprender y responder a las señales de enfermedad mental. Sin embargo, dijo que su hermano no mostró signos de problemas.

Mehta dijo que algunas personas la culparon por la muerte de Raj porque los dos vivían juntos durante la pandemia de covid-19, mientras Raj tomaba clases por internet. Otros dijeron que su capacitación debería haberla ayudado a reconocer que su hermano estaba en crisis.

Pero Mehta dijo que “actuamos como si supiéramos todo lo que hay que saber sobre la prevención del suicidio. Hemos hecho un buen trabajo desarrollando soluciones para parte del problema, pero realmente no sabemos lo suficiente”.

La muerte de Raj ocurrió en medio de décadas de intentos fallidos para reducir las tasas de suicidio a nivel nacional.

Durante los últimos 20 años, funcionarios federales han lanzado tres estrategias nacionales de prevención del suicidio, incluida una anunciada en abril.

La primera estrategia, de 2001, se centró en abordar los factores de riesgo del suicidio y se basó en algunas intervenciones comunes.

La siguiente, pidió desarrollar e implementar protocolos estandarizados para identificar y tratar a personas en riesgo de suicidio, con seguimiento y el apoyo necesario para continuar el tratamiento.

La iniciativa más reciente se basa en las anteriores e incluye un plan de acción federal que llama a implementar 200 medidas durante los próximos tres años, incluidas priorizar a las poblaciones desproporcionadamente afectadas por el suicidio, como los jóvenes negros, los nativos americanos y de Alaska.

A pesar de estas estrategias en evolución, desde 2001 hasta 2021, las tasas de suicidio aumentaron la mayoría de los años, según los Centros para el Control y Prevención de Enfermedades (CDC). Los datos provisionales de 2022, los más recientes disponibles, muestran que las muertes por suicidio aumentaron un 3% adicional con respecto al año anterior.

Funcionarios de los CDC proyectan que el número final de suicidios en 2022 será aún mayor.

En las últimas dos décadas, las tasas de suicidio en estados rurales como Alaska, Montana, Dakota del Norte y Wyoming han sido aproximadamente el doble que en áreas urbanas, según los CDC.

Pooja Mehta, defensora de la salud mental, con su hermano menor, Raj, que murió por suicidio en marzo de 2020. La muerte de Raj se produjo en medio de décadas de intentos infructuosos de reducir las tasas de suicidio en todo el país. “Hemos hecho un muy buen trabajo desarrollando soluciones para una parte del problema”, dijo Mehta. “Pero realmente no sabemos lo suficiente”.(Portia Eastman)

A pesar de esas cifras persistentemente desalentadoras, expertos en salud mental sostienen que las estrategias nacionales no son el problema. En cambio, argumentan que las políticas, por muchas razones, simplemente no se están financiando, adoptando y poniendo en marcha.

Esa lenta adopción se vio agravada por la pandemia de covid-19, que tuvo un amplio y negativo impacto en la salud mental.

Un grupo de expertos nacionales y funcionarios gubernamentales coincide en que las estrategias simplemente no han sido adoptadas de manera generalizada, y dijeron que incluso el seguimiento básico de las muertes por suicidio no es universal.

Los datos de vigilancia se utilizan comúnmente para impulsar la mejora de la calidad de la atención médica y han sido útiles para abordar el cáncer y las enfermedades cardíacas. Sin embargo, no se han utilizado en el estudio de problemas de salud conductual como el suicidio, dijo Michael Schoenbaum, asesor principal de servicios de salud mental, epidemiología y economía en el Instituto Nacional de Salud Mental (NIMH).

“Pensamos en tratar los problemas de salud conductual de manera diferente a como pensamos en los problemas de salud física”, dijo Schoenbaum.

Sin estadísticas precisas, los investigadores no pueden averiguar quién muere con mayor frecuencia por suicidio, qué estrategias de prevención están funcionando y dónde se necesita más dinero para la prevención.

Muchos estados y territorios no permiten que los registros médicos se vinculen a los certificados de defunción, dijo Schoenbaum, pero el NIMH está colaborando con otras organizaciones para documentar estos datos por primera vez en un informe público y una base de datos que se publicarán antes de fin de año.

Además, las estrategias enfrentan obstáculos en el hecho de que la financiación federal y local sube y baja, y algunos esfuerzos de prevención del suicidio no funcionan en ciertos estados y localidades debido a la geografía desafiante, dijo Jane Pearson, asesora especial de investigación sobre suicidio para el director del NIMH.

Wyoming, donde unos cientos de miles de residentes viven dispersos en un paisaje extenso y desigual, consistentemente se ubica entre los estados con las tasas más altas de suicidio.

Los funcionarios estatales han trabajado durante muchos años para abordar el problema del suicidio en el estado, dijo Kim Deti, portavoz del Departamento de Salud de Wyoming.
Pero desplegar servicios, como unidades móviles de crisis, un elemento central de la estrategia nacional más reciente, es difícil en un estado grande y escasamente poblado.

“El trabajo no se detiene, pero algunas estrategias que tienen sentido en algunas áreas geográficas del país pueden no tenerlo en un estado con nuestras características”, dijo.

La falta de implementación no es solo un problema de los gobiernos estatales y locales. A pesar de la evidencia de que examinar a los pacientes en busca de pensamientos suicidas durante las visitas médicas ayuda a evitar catástrofes, no se obliga a los profesionales de la salud a hacerlo.

Lance Neiberger, voluntario del grupo de trabajo para la prevención del suicidio del condado de Natrona, muestra un marcador para niños con el número 988 de la línea directa de prevención de suicidio y crisis en Casper, Wyoming, el 14 de agosto de 2022.(Patrick T. Fallon/AFP via Getty Images)

Muchos médicos dicen que hacer las preguntas sobre el suicidio es desalentador porque tienen poco tiempo, una formación insuficiente y no se sienten cómodos hablando de suicidio, dijo Janet Lee, especialista en medicina adolescente y profesora asociada de pediatría en la Escuela de Medicina Lewis Katz de la Universidad Temple.

“Creo que es realmente aterrador y sorprendente pensar que si algo es una cuestión de vida o muerte, alguien no pueda preguntar sobre ello”, dijo.

El uso de otras medidas también ha sido inconsistente. Los servicios de intervención de crisis son fundamentales para las estrategias nacionales, pero muchos estados no han construido sistemas estandarizados.

Además de ser fragmentados, los sistemas de crisis, como las unidades móviles de crisis, pueden variar de un estado a otro y de un condado a otro. Algunas unidades móviles de crisis utilizan telemedicina, algunas operan las 24 horas del día y otras de 9 a 5, y algunas recurren a la policía local en lugar de buscar a trabajadores de salud mental.

Y la incipiente línea 988 de prevención del suicidio y crisis también enfrenta problemas graves.

Solo el 23% de los estadounidenses están familiarizados con el 988 y hay una brecha significativa de conocimiento sobre las situaciones en las que las personas deberían llamar al 988, según una encuesta reciente realizada por Ipsos y la Alianza Nacional sobre Afecciones Mentales.

La mayoría de los estados, territorios y naciones indígenas aún no han financiado de manera permanente al 988, que se lanzó a nivel nacional en julio de 2022 y ha recibido alrededor de $1,500 millones en fondos federales, según la Administración de Servicios de Salud Mental y Abuso de Sustancias (SAMHSA).

Anita Everett, directora del Centro de Servicios de Salud Mental de SAMHSA, dijo que su agencia está realizando una campaña de concientización para promover el sistema.

Algunos estados, como Colorado, están tomando otras medidas.

Allí, funcionarios estatales lanzaron incentivos financieros para implementar esfuerzos de prevención del suicidio, entre otras medidas de seguridad para los pacientes, a través del Programa Estatal de Pago por Incentivos de Calidad Hospitalaria.

El programa otorga alrededor de $150 millones al año a los hospitales por su buen desempeño. En el último año, 66 hospitales mejoraron su atención a los pacientes que tuvieron conductas suicidas, según Lena Heilmann, directora de la Oficina de Prevención del Suicidio del Departamento de Salud Pública y Medio Ambiente de Colorado.

Los expertos esperan que otros estados sigan el ejemplo de Colorado.

Y a pesar del lento avance, Mehta ve puntos positivos en la última estrategia y plan de acción.
Aunque es demasiado tarde para salvar a Raj, “abordar los factores sociales que impulsan la salud mental y el suicidio e invertir en espacios para que las personas busquen ayuda mucho antes de una crisis me da esperanza”, dijo Mehta.

El reportaje de Cheryl Platzman Weinstock cuenta con el apoyo de una beca del National Institute for Health Care Management Foundation.

Cheryl Platzman Weinstock:

@CherylWeinstock

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Watch: New Documentary Film Explores a Lynching and a Police Killing 78 Years Apart

admin — Tue, 17 Sep 2024 11:42:24 +0000

Cara Anthony

In 1942, a young Black man named Cleo Wright was removed from a Sikeston, Missouri, jail and lynched by a white mob.

Nearly 80 years later, another young Black man, Denzel Taylor, was shot at least 18 times by police in the same small community.

In the hourlong “Silence in Sikeston” documentary film broadcast on WORLD’s “Local, USA,” KFF Health News and Retro Report explore how the impact of these men’s killings tells a story about trauma and racism, but also resilience and healing.

Stemming from a reporting trip by KFF Health News Midwest correspondent Cara Anthony in 2020, this film takes the audience to Indiana, Alabama, and where it all began in the southeastern corner of Missouri known as the Bootheel.

Wright’s lynching put this rural community on a world stage and led to the first federal attempt to prosecute a lynching. But no one was held accountable. The killing was quickly hushed among locals, and his name was largely forgotten. When Taylor was shot by police in 2020 —a year when protests about police brutality rocked the nation — his killing drew little attention.

The film breaks the silence and shares the stories of these men’s families, community members, and police to uncover the consequences of this trauma on Sikeston. A limited-series podcast exploring the health effects of racial violence and articles are also part of this journalism collaboration.

“Being quiet isn’t the answer,” Michael Snider, Cleo Wright’s great-grandson, told the filmmakers.

Credits

KFF Health News

Producer and reporter: Cara AnthonyEditors: Taunya English, Kytja WeirCopy editors: Terry Byrne, Gabe Brison-TreziseWeb producers: Lynne Shallcross, Oona Zenda, Lydia ZurawPhotographer: Michael B. ThomasSocial media producers: Tarena Lofton, Hannah Norman

Retro Report

Director: Jill RosenbaumWriter: Jill RosenbaumEditors: Cheree Dillon, Brian KamerzelSenior producer: Karen M. SughrueExecutive producer: Kyra Darnton

WORLD

Host: Tina M. McDuffieProducer and editor: Hannah PaulDigital producer: Sharon WongEditor: Jill Poisson, Cecilia PréstamoAssistant editor: Abhi IndrekarDigital associate producer: Brigitte McIndoePost-production assistant: Jenny TanSenior editorial adviser: Judith VecchioneProject manager, acquisition and distribution: Georgiana Lee

KFF Health News is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues and is one of the core operating programs at KFF—an independent source of health policy research, polling, and journalism. Learn more about KFF.

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Hush, Fix Your Face – KFF Health News

admin — Tue, 17 Sep 2024 09:11:34 +0000

Cara Anthony

SIKESTON, Mo. — For residents of Sikeston, as for Black Americans around the country, speaking openly about experiences with racial violence can be taboo and, in some cases, forbidden.

As a child, Larry McClellon’s mother told him not to ask too many questions about the 1942 lynching of Cleo Wright in their hometown of Sikeston. McClellon, now an outspoken activist, wants his community to acknowledge the city’s painful past, as well as the racism and violence.

“They do not want to talk about that subject,” McClellon said. “That’s a hush-hush.”

Also in this episode, host Cara Anthony uncovers details of a police killing in her own family. Anthony unpacks her family’s story with Aiesha Lee, a licensed professional counselor and an assistant professor at Penn State.

“This pain has compounded over generations,” Lee said. “We’re going to have to deconstruct it or heal it over generations.”

Host

Cara Anthony
Midwest correspondent, KFF Health News

@CaraRAnthony

Read Cara’s stories

Cara is an Edward R. Murrow and National Association of Black Journalists award-winning reporter from East St. Louis, Illinois. Her work has appeared in The New York Times, Time magazine, NPR, and other outlets nationwide. Her reporting trip to the Missouri Bootheel in August 2020 launched the “Silence in Sikeston” project. She is a producer on the documentary and the podcast’s host.

In Conversation With …

Aiesha Lee
Assistant professor of counselor education, Penn State

click to open the transcript

Transcript: Hush, Fix Your Face

Editor’s note: If you are able, we encourage you to listen to the audio of “Silence in Sikeston,” which includes emotion and emphasis not found in the transcript. This transcript, generated using transcription software, has been edited for style and clarity. Please use the transcript as a tool but check the corresponding audio before quoting the podcast.

Cara Anthony: A lynching isn’t an isolated, singular act.

The violence — and the silence around it — was a deliberate, community-wide lesson meant to be passed on.

And passed down.

[BEAT]

Cara Anthony: In Sikeston, Missouri, a 25-year-old soon-to-be father named Cleo Wright was lynched by a white mob.

It happened in 1942. But you didn’t have to be there, or even born yet, to get the message.

Larry McClellon: I grew up here in Sikeston, Missouri. My age … 77.

Cara Anthony: That’s community elder Larry McClellon.

He was born two years after Cleo Wright’s body was dragged across the railroad tracks to the Black side of town.

Larry McClellon: Back in the old days, when dark comes, you don’t want to be caught over here after 6 o’clock. You want to be on this side of the tracks.

I didn’t cross the line. Because I knew what was waiting. I knew what time it was here in Sikeston, Missouri.

[BEAT]

Cara Anthony: I’m Cara Anthony. I’m a journalist. I’ve been visiting Sikeston for years to work on a documentary film and podcast about the lynching of Cleo Wright.

And the police killing in 2020 of another young, Black father, Denzel Taylor.

Larry McClellon: All these Black men are getting shot down, losing their life.

Cara Anthony: Cleo and Denzel, killed some 80 years apart. In the same city.

Larry McClellon: They do not want to talk about that subject. That’s a hush-hush.

Cara Anthony: In this episode of the podcast, we’re exploring how that “hush” hurts the community. And the way it hurts people’s health.

Here’s an example: Larry says it’s hard to feel safe in your hometown when Black men are killed and nearly everyone looks the other way.

Growing up, Larry had a lot of questions about Cleo.

Larry McClellon: I used to ask Mom. You know, “What is this with this man that supposedly, uh, got lynched?” And she told me, “Hey, you stay away from that. … Don’t you be asking no questions about Cleo Wright because that was just a no-no.”

Cara Anthony: Why was that a no-no?

Larry McClellon: Because she’s afraid for me that they would probably take me out and do something to me. Maybe bodily harm or something like that.

Cara Anthony: “They” being white neighbors.

Despite those lessons, Larry became an outspoken activist for racial justice and police reform in Sikeston. He founded an organization here called And Justice for All.

Being vocal has come at a price, he says.

Larry McClellon: Somebody called me and said, “Uh, Mr. Larry, your building is on fire.”

So, I didn’t even really hang the phone up real good. I just jumped up and come up the highway.

Cara Anthony: It was April 2019 — Larry rushed to the headquarters of And Justice for All.

Larry McClellon: I could see the flame was high as anything in Sikeston, might as well say. So, I gets up there and, uh, fire burning. So, all the fire department get out there pouring water and everything.

Cara Anthony: The building was a total loss.

Larry McClellon: The building was set on fire. That’s what, that’s what happened.

Who would come in and destroy something like that?

Cara Anthony: The police report says it was arson, but nothing really came of the investigation. Larry suspects it was a targeted attack — retaliation for his activism, for speaking out. Retaliation that could continue.

Larry McClellon: I got 4 acres over there. A lot of trees and so forth. And some of my own people, they make jokes out of it sometime, like, “Man, you going to be hanging from one of those trees down there, or somebody’s going to set over in those bushes with a high-powered rifle and going to shoot you when you walk out the door or shoot you when you pull up.”

Cara Anthony: And still, Larry’s decided he’s not going to hold his tongue.

Because keeping quiet causes its own trouble, its own hurt and pain.

This is “Silence in Sikeston.” The podcast all about finding the words to say the things that go unsaid.

From WORLD Channel and KFF Health News and distributed by PRX.

Episode 2: “Hush, Fix Your Face.”

[BEAT]

Cara Anthony: Larry’s keeping on with his work in Sikeston. But all those warnings from his mother decades ago to keep quiet about Cleo’s lynching left a mark.

I called up Aiesha Lee to talk about this. She’s a licensed mental health professional and also an assistant professor at Penn State.

One of the first things she wanted me to know is that silence has been used as a tool of systemic oppression in America for a very long time.

Aiesha Lee says lynching — and the community terror it caused — was part of a wider effort to impose white supremacy.

Aiesha Lee: This is a design. Let me be clear, this is, it was very much designed for us to be these subservient, submissive people who do not ask questions, who do not say anything, and just do as they’re told.

Cara Anthony: One of Aiesha’s areas of expertise is how racism can impact physical and mental health — across generations. She sees signs of it in her clients every day.

Aiesha Lee: No one actually comes in and says, “Hey, I’m dealing with intergenerational trauma. Can you help me?” Right?

Cara Anthony: I will have to admit, I’ve been very skeptical about that term, what that means, because, in my family, it was always this thing of like, “We’re good over here. Everything’s OK.”

Aiesha Lee: I love what you just said. And, and for me, as a mental [health] professional, I get really cautious when using, even using the word “trauma.”

Part of the, the generational legacy of Black families is we don’t talk about our problems, we just kind of roll through them, we deal with them, we’re strong, and we just keep it moving forward, right?

It’s protection. It is “Let me teach you the ways of the world according to us” or for us, right? And for us, we need to keep our mouth shut. We can’t ask any questions. We can’t make any noise, because if we do, you’re going to get the same, or worse than, you know, others.

Cara Anthony: My parents. Grandparents. My great-grandparents. Their experiences with racial violence — and what they had to do to stay safe — shaped me.

Stuffing down injustice and pain is a tried-and-true way to cope. But Aiesha says holding hurt in hurts.

Aiesha Lee: It’s almost like every time we’re silent, it’s like a little pinprick that we, we do to our bodies internally.

Cara Anthony: She says over time those wounds add up.

Aiesha Lee: After so long, um, those little pinpricks turn up as heart disease, as cancer, as, you know, all these other ailments.

Cara Anthony: Feeling unsafe, being that vigilant all the time. What can that do to someone’s body?

Aiesha Lee: Imagine every time you walk out of the door, you’re tightening your body, you’re tensing up your body, right? And you’re holding on to it for the entire day until you come home at night. What do we think would happen to our bodies as a result?

Cara Anthony: A study from UCLA found experiences with racism and discrimination correlated with higher levels of inflammation in the bodies of Black and Hispanic people. It affected their immune system, their gut.

Aiesha says always being on edge can rewire how the brain deals with stress.

Aiesha Lee: That’s what that hypervigilance does. That hypervigilance causes our bodies to tense up so that we can’t fully breathe.

Cara Anthony: Yeah, that’s exhausting. And as you were talking about it, like, I even feel my body just being tight as you are speaking about these things.

Cara Anthony: If you don’t deal with the emotional stuff, Aiesha says, it can live in your body.

Aiesha Lee: Arthritis, fibromyalgia, high blood pressure …

Cara Anthony: … and ripple through families as intergenerational trauma.

That makes me wonder about my dad’s high blood pressure.

My mom’s chronic pain.

About my own trouble sleeping.

[BEAT]

Cara Anthony: Despite endless conversations with my parents about this work — somehow, I was months and months into reporting on racial violence in Sikeston before I learned new details about a death in my own family.

Wilbon Anthony: I enjoy reading about history where, you know, my people come from.

Cara Anthony: My dad, Wilbon Anthony, knew the story for nearly a decade, but kept it to himself.

Really, I shouldn’t have been surprised. My whole life I was taught in big and small ways that usually it’s better to stay silent.

There’s a risk — to self — when you speak out.

I’m 37 years old — plenty grown now — but it feels like the “adults” have always tiptoed around the story of Leemon Anthony, my great-uncle on my father’s side.

Leemon served in the military during World War II. Family members remember him as fun-loving and outgoing.

I was told that Leemon died in a wagon-and-mule accident in 1946. But at family reunions, sometimes I’d overhear details that were different.

Wilbon Anthony: There was a hint there was something to do with it about the police, but it wasn’t much.

Cara Anthony: My dad knew that the stories he’d heard about Uncle Leemon’s death were incomplete. That missing piece left him feeling undone.

Wilbon Anthony: Later in life, I started researching it. I just thought about it one day and, uh, just said, “Oh, see if it was something about this.”

Cara Anthony: He called up family members, dug through newspaper archives online, and searched ancestry websites. Eventually, he found Leemon’s death certificate.

To show me what he found, Dad and I sat in his home office. He pulled up the death certificate on his computer. Leemon was 29.

Wilbon Anthony: It says, “Shot by police, resisting arrest.”

Well, no one ever, I never heard this in my, uh, whole life.

Then item 21, it lists the causes of death: accident or suicide or homicide, and the list says that item is homicide.

Cara Anthony: OK, OK, um, that’s a lot. I need to pause.

[BEAT]

Cara Anthony: Shot by police.

Even now, I only have bits and pieces of the story, mostly from whispers from my family.

There was a wagon accident.

One of my older cousins says a local white woman saw it and called the police. An article published in The Jackson Sun quoted Leemon’s father saying that Leemon had been “restless” and “all out of shape” since he returned home from the war.

What we do know is that the police showed up. And they killed Leemon.

[BEAT]

Cara Anthony: When I learned about my Uncle Leemon’s death, when I got slammed by that grief and anger, I called my Aunt B — my dad’s sister Bernice Spann — and told her what my dad had found.

Cara Anthony: OK, I just sent you the death certificate, um, just so you can …

Bernice Spann: What does it say, his death, how he died?

Cara Anthony: It says homicide, and that he was shot by the police.

Bernice Spann: Wow.

Cara Anthony: Yeah. Yeah.

Bernice Spann: And they said “homicide”?

Cara Anthony: Right.

Bernice Spann: And nobody was charged?

Cara Anthony: No charges.

So, what are you thinking right now?

Bernice Spann: I’m heartbroken.

Cara Anthony: Yeah. Yeah.

Bernice Spann: I mean, that’s close. That is not … it’s an uncle.

Cara Anthony: That’s your uncle. That’s my great-uncle. That’s your uncle. Yeah.

Bernice Spann: Well, that’s my uncle. And he died and nobody fought.

Cara Anthony: Yeah.

Bernice Spann: Nobody fought for a resolution ’cause nobody … everybody felt powerless.

Cara Anthony: Even now there’s so much silence in our family around Leemon’s death.

Bernice Spann: I think there’s something in our DNA that still makes us scared to talk about it. I need for us to look at it. I don’t know. Does it make sense? And maybe you’re the one who, it’s time for you to look at it.

Cara Anthony: So, that’s what I’m doing.

[BEAT]

Cara Anthony: This storytelling — this journalism — is about what’s at stake for our health, and our community, and loved ones when we’re silent in the face of racial violence — and the systemic racism that allows it to exist.

So on one reporting trip to Sikeston, I asked my family to take the ride with me.

We loaded into a van.

[Cara’s mom hums in the background.]

And during the drive from Illinois to southeastern Missouri, my mom hummed hymns, while my daughter, Lily, napped and inhaled snacks.

Cotton is still king in Sikeston. It’s a huge part of the town’s economy, and culture, and history. So just before we got to town, we stopped at a cotton field.

[Car door shuts.]

Cara Anthony: OK, Lily, come here.

Cara Anthony: Lily was just 5 back then.

Cara Anthony: What is this? What are we looking at right now?

Lily: Cotton.

Cara Anthony: Lily was excited, but when I turned around, my dad, Wilbon, looked watchful.

Wary.

As for lots of Black Americans, cotton’s a part of our family’s history.

Cara Anthony: OK, Dad. Come over here. So, Dad, Lily just said that cotton looks like cotton candy and potatoes ’cause it looks fluffy. When you look out at this field, what do you see?

Wilbon Anthony: Well, I see. First, I see a lot of memories. I remember … picking cotton as a kid. Actually, I can remember waiting on my parents while they were in the fields picking cotton. And then I remember a lot of days of hard work.

So, yeah, I … yeah, I have a lot, a lot of memories about cotton.

Cara Anthony: My mom has memories, too. As a little girl in Tennessee, around Lily’s age, my mom was already working in a field like this.

Days and days hunched over. Carrying heavy bales, working until her hands were sore.

My mom’s still in grief about the violence and punishing labor — and lost opportunity — so tightly woven into all this cotton.

As a child, she hid that pain. She’d lie face down in the dirt when the school bus drove past, hoping the other kids wouldn’t see.

[BEAT]

Cara Anthony: Standing in that cotton — three generations together — I worried I was dredging up old wounds or causing new hurt.

Still, I want to try to have these conversations without passing the pain and stress down to the next generation — to my daughter.

Cara Anthony: Why did we come down here to Sikeston?

Lily: Because there’s important work here.

Cara Anthony: Yeah, there is important work here.

[BEAT]

Cara Anthony: Someday I need to tell Lily about lynching in America. About Cleo Wright and our Uncle Leemon. I want her to know their names. I need to tell Lily about her personal risk of encountering that kind of violence.

But, truthfully, I’m not quite ready yet.

Here’s some advice I got from psychologist Aiesha Lee.

Aiesha Lee: This pain has compounded over generations, and so we’re going to have to deconstruct it or heal it over generations, right? And so, you know, our generation and the generations that come behind us will have little pieces of the work to do.

[BEAT]

As we put mental health more so at the forefront, and as we start to communicate more and more within our families, that’s how we engage in, in this healing.

Cara Anthony: I was told to keep quiet a lot when I was a kid, but I want to nurture Lily’s curiosity and teach her what she needs to know to stay safe.

My parents did what they thought was best. Now it’s my turn to try to find that balance.

Sometimes when Lily’s jumpy and restless, having a hard time falling asleep, we’ll sing together.

Cara Anthony and Lily [singing]: Hush. Hush, hush, somebody’s calling my name. Hush, hush, somebody’s calling my name.

Cara Anthony: At first listen, that might sound like a message to stay silent.

Actually, it’s a song enslaved people sang as they worked in cotton fields. As they dreamed and planned. It’s a call to be acknowledged. Named. And counted.

Lily has grown up a lot since we visited that cotton field in Sikeston. She’s 7 now. I want her to know that she can speak out more freely than her ancestors could.

More than I have.

Cara Anthony: Sit over, come over here. Come over here. Seriously. Do you remember a couple of weeks ago when you were crying? And I told you to fix your what?

Lily: Face.

Cara Anthony: That wasn’t very nice. I want you to know that we can talk about things. Because when we talk about things, we often feel better, right?

Lily: Yes.

Cara Anthony: Can we keep talking to each other while you grow up in life about stuff? Even hard stuff?

Lily: Like doing 100 math facts?

Cara Anthony: Sure. That’s the biggest thing in your life right now. But yes, all of that. We’re just going to keep talking to each other. So, can we make a promise?

Lily: Yeah.

Cara Anthony: All right, cool.

Cara Anthony: Talking just might help us start to heal.

[BEAT]

Cara Anthony: Next time on “Silence in Sikeston” …

Mikela Jackson: The Bootheel knows what happened to him. The world — they have no idea who Denzel Taylor is.

CREDITS

Cara Anthony: Thanks for listening to “Silence in Sikeston.”

Next, go watch the documentary. It’s a joint production from Retro Report and KFF Health News, presented in partnership with WORLD.

Subscribe to WORLD Channel on YouTube. That’s where you can find the film “Silence in Sikeston,” a Local, USA special.

This podcast is a co-production of WORLD Channel and KFF Health News and distributed by PRX.

It was produced with support from PRX and made possible in part by a grant from the John S. and James L. Knight Foundation.

The audio series was reported and hosted by me, Cara Anthony.

Zach Dyer and Taylor Cook are the producers.

Editing by Simone Popperl.

Taunya English is the managing editor of the podcast.

Sound design, mixing, and original music by Lonnie Ro.

Podcast art design by Colin Mahoney and Tania Castro-Daunais.

Oona Zenda was the lead on the landing page design.

Julio Ricardo Varela consulted on the script.

Sending a shoutout to my vocal coach, Viki Merrick, for helping me tap into my voice.

Music in this episode is from BlueDot Sessions and Epidemic Sound.

Some of the audio you’ll hear across the podcast is also in the film.

For that, special thanks to Adam Zletz, Matt Gettemeier, Roger Herr, and Philip Geyelin, who worked with us and colleagues from Retro Report.

Kyra Darnton is executive producer at Retro Report.

I was a producer on the film.

Jill Rosenbaum directed the documentary.

Kytja Weir is national editor at KFF Health News.

WORLD Channel’s editor-in-chief and executive producer is Chris Hastings.

If “Silence in Sikeston” has been meaningful to you, help us get the word out!

Write a review or give us a quick rating on Apple, Spotify, Amazon Music, iHeart, or wherever you listen to this podcast. It shows the powers that be that this is the kind of journalism you want.

Thank you. It makes a difference.

Oh, yeah, and tell your friends in real life, too!

Credits

Taunya English
Managing editor

@TaunyaEnglish

Taunya is deputy managing editor for broadcast at KFF Health News, where she leads enterprise audio projects.

Simone Popperl
Line editor

@simoneppprl

Simone is broadcast editor at KFF Health News, where she shapes and edits stories that air on Marketplace and NPR, manages a reporting collaborative with local NPR member stations across the country, and edits the KFF Health News Minute.

Zach Dyer
Senior producer

@zkdyer

Zach is senior producer for audio with KFF Health News, where he supervises all levels of podcast production.

Taylor Cook
Associate producer

@taylormcook7

Taylor is an independent producer who does research, books guests, contributes writing, and fact-checks episodes for several KFF Health News podcasts.

Additional Newsroom Support

Lynne Shallcross, photo editorOona Zenda, illustrator and web producerLydia Zuraw, web producerTarena Lofton, audience engagement producer Hannah Norman, visual producer and visual reporter Chaseedaw Giles, audience engagement editor and digital strategistKytja Weir, national editor Mary Agnes Carey, managing editor Alex Wayne, executive editorDavid Rousseau, publisher Terry Byrne, copy chief Gabe Brison-Trezise, deputy copy chief Tammie Smith, communications officer

The “Silence in Sikeston” podcast is a production of KFF Health News and WORLD. Distributed by PRX. Subscribe and listen on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Amazon Music, iHeart, or wherever you get your podcasts.

Watch the accompanying documentary from WORLD, Retro Report, and KFF starting Sept. 16, here.

To hear other KFF Health News podcasts, click here.