After watching discussions on “YouTube University” about spirituality and suicide, I now have more questions than answers.
Suicides outnumber murders six to one in the white community. Suicide is the leading cause of death in the Black community among children ages 5 to 15. More guns are used to commit suicides than to protect or in self-defense. Every 73 seconds, someone in the U.S. attempts suicide. Every day, 139 of our family members, neighbors, and friends kill themselves. In the midst of the Covid-19 pandemic, experts are warning that the rate of suicides in America will continue to increase.
My questions are: Why are we so passively silent about these very preventable deaths? Why have we created an environment where surviving family members struggle with shame and guilt? Why is the faith-based community tip-toeing around or just flat out not addressing this growing problem that persistently leaves more empty pews? Why is there a delicate effort to justify and explain suicide after it’s done, yet we observe September as Suicide Prevention Month?
As a 40-year veteran of the media, I know it is an unspoken rule that we do not cover suicide deaths for fear of promoting copycats. So far, the continuing increase in the number of suicides does not indicate that this news-gathering philosophy is working. While suicide numbers continue to climb with or without media coverage, American families across ethnic and socioeconomic groups are suffering in silence.
My family has not been spared. In 1989, I was working as a news reporter at a CBS TV affiliate. Predating cell phones, my family’s tragedy was broadcast to everyone in earshot of the newsroom’s two-way radio system. “Pamela, someone from your family called to let you know that your uncle” — and they gave his name — “committed suicide.” At that moment, my heart sank. My heart was broken for my aunt and her six children, and my first cousins. However, my first response back to the assignment desk editor was a very protective reaction for my DNA. “Oh, no. Thank you for letting me know. That was my mother’s brother-in-law.”
This single act of suicide continued to take its toll on our family. My mother believed her sister, my uncle’s widow, grieved herself to death, dying three years later. Nearly 20 years later, the couple’s only son, my uncle’s namesake, took his life using the same method as his father — a gun. This time, it was my DNA. My first cousin didn’t leave a note, and we still don’t know why.
Ironically, I saw my cousin hours before his death. He was excited about starting a new job. I have replayed our conversation over and over, wondering what I missed and what I could have done.
I recently interviewed a mom who found her 10-year-old son hanging from his bunk bed with a belt around his neck. He could no longer shoulder the teasing and bullying he suffered because of a health challenge necessitating him wearing a colostomy bag. The first 10 minutes of our conversation were filled with crying and praying, not just for her strength, but for the moms and hurting children who are reaching out to her for help. She said one young man asked her, “If you say your son is in a better place, do you think I would be in a better place, too?” “Oh, my Lord … NO,” I said. We cried and prayed some more.
I am not an expert on suicide and I am not minimizing the reality of mental illness, but I will tell you that the suicide spirit is not new. In the Bible, in Matthew 4:6-7, Jesus was tempted when the Devil encouraged him to throw himself off the temple by saying, “If you are the son of God, He will send His angels to catch you.” Jesus overcame the temptation by saying that we are not to tempt God, and he resisted the voice of suicide. However, Judas committed suicide as Christ headed to Calvary to redeem Judas and all humanity of our sins. We must encourage each other by making sure that everyone knows that they do have a specific purpose that only they can carry out. What if Jesus had missed his purpose by throwing himself off the temple?
When it comes to saving lives, silence is not golden — it’s deadly.
Former Memphis media person Pamela D. Marshall is a talk show host at the WELLness Network and author of The Art of Forgiveness.
