Collective Grief and Community Care in a State-Fueled Crisis
By Uma Nagarajan-Swenson • August 13, 2021
Content warnings: suicide, anxiety, depression
"Collective grief" came into common use during the pandemic to describe the pain that many of us are processing. It's an apt phrase, describing the sense of dread and pain that set in at the onset of the pandemic and only worsened as case counts, hospitalizations, and death counts climbed. However, not all grief is created equal. While some were jet-setting and partying throughout the worst of the pandemic, many poor, Black and Brown, and Indigenous communities saw their worlds be decimated by the spread of this virus. And the pandemic isn't over yet: although vaccinations are now widely available, poor counties and counties with higher concentrations of Black and Brown residents lag behind wealthier, whiter counties.
The physical and mental traumas inflicted on historically systems-impacted communities were often unique to their circumstances, and many were met with little to no support from the state. Despite the stimulus checks, eviction moratoria, and unemployment benefits being some of the largest federal benefits programs in history, they did little to address the crisis at hand. In December 2020, 36% of adults reported that their household was having trouble covering basic expenses, such as rent or mortgages, groceries, and medical payments. This number was stratified along racial lines, with a nearly doubled rate of Black and Latinx adults reporting this compared to white adults. While the state was failing, communities stepped up, creating community fridges and new networks of unrestricted funding to aid community members and individuals who had lost jobs, income, and sources of help and were being met with insufficient state support. The vast majority of these circumstances were based on the perceived sense of disposability of such individuals and communities: that their lives had little value in the bigger picture, and it would be more labor than it was worth in this neoliberal capitalist state to save them.
“the overarching message was the same: the American economy must prosper, despite the risk for workers. This country values production and profit over human lives. BIPOC individuals were those human lives…”
The most clear example of this, of course, was the rush to re-open the economy. Federal inaction, save for a two-week national stay-at-home “guideline,” has demonstrably been responsible for a huge amount of cases and deaths. Donald Trump, president through the first nine months of the pandemic, rushed to reopen the economy at an unsafe speed, burying CDC guidance and undermining guidance on masks and physical distancing. Although regional shutdowns and regulations varied, the overarching message was the same: the American economy must prosper, despite the risk for workers. This country values production and profit over human lives. BIPOC individuals were those human lives: they were significantly less likely to have jobs which allowed them to work remotely. The cost, as we now know, is beyond devastating: over 600,000 US residents have died from COVID (that we know of), and there have been nearly 35,000,000 cases- almost 10% of the total population. Of that, Latinx, Black, and Indigenous communities were (and still are) the most at-risk for contracting COVID and subsequent hospitalization and death. Death rates for Black, Latinx, and Indigenous Americans are at least two times higher than those of white Americans.
The economy re-opened, but at a huge cost. Regardless of the current status of the pandemic, the state failed to provide sufficient aid for its people to survive during a crisis. People died, and survivors are still traumatized. Entire communities were seen as disposable, forced to work when it was unsafe and would prolong the pandemic for the globe. Seen from the eyes of white supremacist, capitalist structures, these lives were worth sacrificing for the economy. All the government had to do to save lives was send regular stimulus checks to allow individuals to stay home without working, but even the minimal aid provided took a huge fight.
While grieving for our loved ones, our past lives, and our communities, we were expected to continue functioning at the speed of capitalism. The economy, of course, was the top priority. Not our lives, not our families, not our friends, not avoiding the deadly plague spreading through our communities: the economy. That is no way to live, and the toll it took on people was quite apparent. The mental health crisis that already existed in the US was hugely exacerbated by the pandemic. Of course, job loss, fear, and isolation were huge factors, but so was the grief as well as the trauma of feeling that one's life was worth less than a few dollars circulating in the economy: the recognizable, bipartisan disposability politics permeating throughout the American legislative imagination.
Obviously, these are just a few out of countless reasons, but the end result is just as staggering: compared to 10% of adults reporting symptoms of anxiety or depression prior to the pandemic, 40% reported those symptoms throughout the pandemic. Black and Latinx communities also reported higher rates of anxiety and depression symptoms. Essential workers were more likely to report symptoms of anxiety and depression, substance use, and suicidal thoughts. Many mental health experts don't expect these effects to disappear as the pandemic eases up. The trauma and pain we, specifically individuals living at the margins of society, had to face is not something that instantly disappears as the threat of a virus goes away—it can affect the psyche for the long term.
“The trauma and pain we, specifically individuals living at the margins of society, had to face is not something that instantly disappears as the threat of a virus goes away—it can affect the psyche for the long term.”
This is something I, as well as many loved ones and community members are struggling with. There's a glaring lack of mental health infrastructure and resources to deal with this, however. Therapy is expensive and inaccessible, with out-of-pocket costs averaging $100-200 per 60-minute session. Not all therapists accept specific insurance plans, and many individuals who lost their jobs during the pandemic or had hours reduced lost access to their health insurance and therefore their access to any mental healthcare. In addition, for marginalized individuals, such as queer, trans, and BIPOC folks, there is a lack of personal representation in therapists: in 2016, 84% of all psychologists were white. Individuals who have to work full-time or work multiple jobs to make ends meet also lack the time to take any time off or significantly rest—there is no time for the “self care” which is often parroted as a solution for mental health problems.
In addition to these individual problems, there are many structural issues. The privatization of healthcare has led to doctors, including (pharma-funded) psychiatrists, working in favor of large pharmaceutical companies. Antidepressant drugs are being prescribed as a universal solution to mental illness, and they aren't solving the problem: while antidepressant use rose 400% between 1988-1994 and 2005-2008, trends of depression and anxiety did not decrease. That isn't to say that these medications don't work, but they affect every mind and body differently, and they can have severe side effects. When fewer than one in three adults on one antidepressant reported regularly seeing a mental health professional in addition to taking medication, this veers into dangerous territory. The mental health crisis in America is being treated with band-aid solutions that serve corporate greed rather than social welfare. This isn't even to mention that antidepressants are widely inaccessible for individuals without health insurance, with out-of-pocket costs ranging from $8-$20 per pill (typically taken daily) depending on the drug class.
In these times of crisis, what holds us together is our community. As Mariame Kaba put it, “I think capitalism is actually continuously alienating us from each other, but also even from ourselves...care for yourself and your community in tandem.” Even during times of social and physical isolation, communities were looking out for their people however they could. Praxis partner Detroit Women of Color, Inc, for example, needed to abandon their regular in-person programming and completely shift their focuses during the pandemic. They began a care package program for girls in their program, working to try and support their mental health needs however possible. Knowing that women were at an elevated risk for domestic abuse, they also began doing home wellness visits which both preserved an element of the in-person community and strengthened a non-carceral safety system.
“For communities who have historically been disenfranchised and marginalized by the state and state actors, having community organizations to provide information and resources around the pandemic has been crucial to keep our communities safe and educated.”
When the pandemic and subsequent socio-political and personal uncertainty ensued, many base-building organizers (like those Praxis partners with) were able to use their incredibly strong community roots to shift towards emergency pandemic support. InnerCity Struggle, an organization serving the Eastside of LA, began calling and checking in with every member of their organization when the pandemic began. This process has uniquely allowed them to serve the needs of their community during the pandemic. The Central American Resource Center of SF (CARECEN SF) similarly explained that due to their longstanding relationships with the communities they serve, they are uniquely positioned to provide services and support during these incredibly difficult times. For communities who have historically been disenfranchised and marginalized by the state and state actors, having community organizations to provide information and resources around the pandemic has been crucial to keep our communities safe and educated.
Community fridges to provide free food for the people became common in most big cities, including Oakland, Los Angeles, New York, and Chicago. Relying on consistent, anonymous food drop-offs and placed in specific locations around cities for food insecure community members, these fridges have been huge successes. Although they don’t target the root causes of food insecurity, creating resource banks and abandoning a false scarcity mindset wherever possible is absolutely critical, and these fridges exemplify that possibility. College students organized huge mutual aid networks for classmates, raising money and resources and creating infrastructure that will last beyond this crisis and through the next ones.
“We need to build up our communities and selves and hold each other tight to ensure a new world, where none of this is possible, can be built.”
When the institutions who were supposed to help us were failing to keep us safe and healthy, community and mutual aid did. The root cause of so many new symptoms of anxiety and depressive disorder are isolation, feelings of disposability, and worries of money. We need to build up our communities and selves and hold each other tight to ensure a new world, where none of this is possible, can be built.