I Think I Need Some Help: Addressing Black male depression

Responding to Bitter Earth by Nile Price

“I did not know anything was wrong with him. He had so much to be happy about. If only he had told someone, had opened up, we could have helped.” These harrowing sentences are often shared by friends and family members in the aftermath of losing someone to suicide. And although the intention is well-meaning, these reactions place the weight of responsibility on the lost life, instead of confronting wider society which creates structures that make it so difficult for men to talk openly about mental health. Leaving them feeling there is no other option.

In Bitter Earth, filmmaker Nile Price explores depression as specifically experienced by Black men. In this film, the viewer watches the world pushing in on a lone man sitting on the edge of a pier as rain pours down. The framing of the camera is unnerving as it homes in on The Man’s face riddled with anxiety and hurt. The Man is an everyman – his worrisome expression and pained eyes are those of our brothers, partners, friends, and for some, his eyes reflect back the very present emotions of the viewer. 

Price’s film shines a light on a specific group in society that has historically fallen through the cracks in terms of adequate emotional care and mental health services. In the UK, according to the charity Mind, Black men are more likely to “be diagnosed with severe mental health problems and are also far more likely to be sectioned under the Mental Health Act” compared to other groups.  In the United States, studies have explored intergenerational trauma that Black and African American people have faced due to centuries of dehumanisation, slavery, systemic oppression and police brutality. Trauma and oppression - coupled with inadequate mental health services - means that many men cannot access relevant help.

Fortunately, there are organisations, such as BEAM and Black Thrive, working within the Black community to address both emotional and mental health, and work toward true community healing. Books such as The Colour of Madness and The Dizziness of Freedom offer personal and creative representations of mental health as experienced by Black men and women. These books and organisations are a starting point.

But not all men may feel ready to have these very real and emotionally charged conversations. As with Bitter Earth, we see The Man struggling to reconcile with his depression. Flashbacks play sporadically, showing The Man yelling at himself in the mirror of a locked bathroom: “I used to believe in you. You was everything I wanted to be. I hate you now…why are you here?”

It is difficult to watch him be so unkind to himself. As a viewer, and as a man who has experienced depression, I wanted to intervene. I longed to rush through my screen and say to this man, “You are loved, and you matter.” I wanted to tell him that it is possible to make it through the storm. But instead, I was left to watch on and consider what the filmmaker was telling me as an outsider.

In his study The Mental Health of Black Men: Stabilizing Trauma with Emotional Intelligence, Davis Brandford puts it frankly: “For Black men to get help, they must open up to let someone know that they need help. Can you imagine how hard it is to say to another person out loud, “I think I need some help.””

In Price’s film, this difficulty could not be more poignant. As the shot widens on The Man, we witness him stand up; arms extended, utterly broken, leaning into the rain before throwing his body into the lake. Underwater, body suspended, free from the gravity and pain that weigh him down on land.

As he floats through the murky water, there is an obvious lightness in his body. As his internal thoughts shift from self-hate to memories of happier times with his friends, his lover, celebrating his birthday. These shots are full of technicolour and evoke a sincere warmth - in stark contrast to the grainy greys that colour his moments of sadness and depression above ground.

When Black men are made to exist in a world of systemic barriers, violent racism and police brutality, coupled with anxieties that affect many men such as relationships, work responsibilities, and finances, how could their mental health not be adversely affected? When social media is flooded with gruesome images of violence against Black communities, what alternative could there be but anger and anguish? When Black men are 40 times more likely to be stopped and searched by police, we cannot expect Black men to simply ‘man up’, accept their lot, or just get on with life. 

Now more than ever this film is needed, with its frank depiction of depression as it affects men. When so many of our lives have been spent in prolonged isolation, with reduced interaction with friends and family and general anxiety looming over us because of Covid-19, we need to stop and reflect on our own well-being. In three powerful minutes, Price has offered an important contribution to conversations around mental health.

In the final shot of Bitter Earth, we see The Man’s eyes open up, leaving us to question what became of him. Even as I write this, I am still reconciling what I believe. In my heart, I hope he made it through his storm. But more importantly, I hope Price’s film serves as the opening sentence for any man watching who might need help.

References

Brandford, Davis, "The Mental Health of Black Men: Stabilizing Trauma with Emotional Intelligence" (2020). School of Professional Studies. 46.