There are so many catastrophes and disruptive forces taking place these days that for someone like me — in a constant state of asking why, just simply as an intellectual — it is a challenge to walk out the door. I don’t know what I’m going to have to face from day to day, and as a college professor, I am often in conversation with young people in the classroom, where there is an expectation that I will provide some kernel of wisdom to help them handle the unexpected and unexplainable that has transpired. I love them as the village should love them and want to be encouraging, but I have to speak truth. Their world, as college students, should be one of the freedom to learn, to test, to experiment, to fail, to try again and, in spite of the hiccups of the journey, to walk across that stage fully prepared to meet the world head-on.
But what a world they are meeting at the moment. I can’t sugarcoat it or lie; what I’m witnessing is scary. I do not have all of the answers they are seeking based on my own educational journey, and the beauty of higher education is to empower our students to seek their own answers, but what I do have is the gift of wisdom that comes from simply growing older. My grandfather often told me to “be still,” and I do spend quite a bit of time in my own space, alone, thinking. Not as those who identify as “loners,” do, because I don’t disconnect from loved ones in that manner — which is often selfish and quite unhealthy — but I engage in self-care that requires little distraction.
Many people, and especially many young people, rely on medication to help them handle the stress and anxiety and the pain they experience. And there are a growing number of people that seek mental health counseling and therapy to provide the support they need to process the daily trauma of their experiences, but there are not enough. Generally speaking, this is still rather taboo in the Black community, but our suffering most definitely requires the expertise of our mental health professionals that are sensitive to what we have to endure in this structurally racist society. The suicide and homicide rate in our community is unbearable. And if you don’t think those two go hand-in-hand, think again.
In response to the recent mass murder in Las Vegas, I saw some people whom I consider friends suggest through social media that people should “stop praying” and “do something.” I thought it was ironic, because from what I know of them, they don’t believe in God and therefore were never praying in the first place, so why did they feel the need to instruct those of us who do and, furthermore, expect that it was us praying folks who bore some level of responsibility for this tragedy?
As a woman who relies very heavily on her faith, not just through prayer but also in deeds, and who is also very conscious about not imposing my belief system on others, I was really offended. After all, I didn’t respond to that mass murder by suggesting that those who aren’t praying people better get on their knees. I simply stand in the gap. This does not mean that I’m silent about things, because silence does not save or protect you, and those who know me know that I can be a fierce advocate in many spaces, but I use the values of my family to see me through this world, and prayer is the foundation. So yes, I pray and then I act; those two go hand-in-hand. And if I need additional mental health support, I am fortunate in that through my employment I have access to those benefits, as everyone should, so that I can continue to face this world and be a good role model and a loving friend, as my faith and my family have taught me.
Dr. Terri Jett is an associate professor of political science and special assistant to the Provost for Diversity and Inclusivity at Butler University.
