Following the publication of his book in November 2023 titled The Invisible Ache: Black Men Identifying Their Pain and Reclaiming Their Power, award-winning actor Courtney B. Vance wrote an article for Andscape about the mental cost of being a Black man in America.
I didn’t really know what therapy was until my father died by suicide. Up until that point, I never realized I had been in need of therapy but I was no different from other Black men who resist psychological support in disproportionate numbers. And this also applies to men who experience daily bouts of anxiety and depression. According to the National Institute on Minority Health and Health Disparities, Black and Hispanic men aged 18 to 44 are less likely to use mental health treatments compared to non-Hispanic white men.
One of the primary reasons for the distress these men feel, according to a study conducted by UCLA in 2021, is chronic stress caused by daily indignities: being followed by a store clerk in an upscale boutique because it’s been determined you’re someone who doesn’t belong there. Arriving at a corporate gathering and being mistaken for wait staff. Being acknowledged in workplace meetings only when the discussion turns to diversity.
The cumulative effect of prejudices that seep into everyday life have lasting consequences that exhaust both the mind and body. While discrimination may be more subtle now than it was decades ago, it is in no way less harmful and according to the aforementioned study, affects Black men of all income levels, regardless of education or profession.
As I reflect on history and various racial barriers that created psychological trauma, I wonder how mental health support might have helped one of my greatest heroes, MLB center fielder Curt Flood. Having launched his pro career in the 1950s, Flood, who grew up in California, experienced firsthand the bigotry prevalent in the Jim Crow-era South as he traveled from city to city during the baseball season. According to his autobiography, he was forced to stay at boarding houses across town rather than at the hotels that hosted his white teammates. While on the road, any deserted stretch along the highway served as his toilet because he was barred from using the restrooms at white-owned gas stations.
Despite this discrimination, Flood became a star and was on three All-Star teams, won seven Gold Gloves, and contributed to two World Series victories during his 12 seasons with the St. Louis Cardinals. However, in 1969, he found himself in the midst of a bitter contract dispute after rejecting a trade to the Philadelphia Phillies. Flood fought against team owners and directly challenged MLB’s power structure by opposing the reserve clause, which made a player the property of a team until the team chose to trade or release him. Ultimately, he filed a lawsuit against MLB to become a free agent despite knowing his chance of winning the case was slim due to the courts having a history of ruling in favor of the owners and their monopoly. His case did eventually make its way to the Supreme Court. He lost.
Although every white player in the league stood to benefit from Flood’s push to dismantle what was glorified slavery, Flood received no public support from any of them. What must that have been like for him, standing alone, as a Black man in 1969, as he defied and railed against a system run by powerful white men who considered him a threat to their livelihoods?
The ongoing stress was damaging and contributed to Flood turning to alcohol as a means of coping with various pressures, racial and otherwise, that he endured. Heavy drinking, coupled with chain smoking, took a toll on his body. He died at age 59.
Arline T. Geronimus, whose work explores how marginalized people suffer nearly constant stress that damages their bodies because of what she calls “weathering,” supports the theory that there is a correlation between racism and classism and physical outcomes for Black men. There is a price paid for suppressing the frustration and pain that discrimination produces. Black men must ignore long held and often ignorant notions about what it means to be masculine and seek the psychological help they need. It took a life-changing tragedy for me to recognize I had deep-seated issues I needed to deal with in therapy, including racial resentment and anger.
As painful as the beginning of the healing process was for me, it was important to confront all of the complicated and conflicting emotions I’d harbored for years and to face all of it, as ugly as some of it was. And today, I’m better for it because I’m able to maneuver more deftly as a Black man in America.
Had Curt Flood had access to therapy, it would have allowed him to become whole and reap the benefits of the tremendous sacrifices he made. He might have come to know his worth as an activist, and his greater purpose beyond baseball.
