According to the World Health Organization, over one billion people worldwide are living with mental health conditions such as depression and anxiety. That number should stop anyone in their tracks. But in Black America, the weight is heavier, and the hypocrisy in how policymakers and advocates have responded is too glaring to ignore.
One in five Black adults lives with mental illness. Only one in three ever receives treatment. Suicide has become the third leading cause of death among Black youth. These are not abstract statistics. They represent our families, our communities, and our future.
Yet for decades, New York State and others systematically closed psychiatric hospitals and eliminated mental health beds. The promise was that “community-based care” would take their place. It never happened. Instead, jails became the new mental health institutions. Rikers Island is now one of the largest psychiatric facilities in the country. Nearly half of the people incarcerated there live with a mental health condition. Families pleaded for treatment, not jail cells. Policymakers and advocates largely looked the other way.
Fast forward to 2025. President Trump signs an executive order that pushes civil commitment for those with severe mental illness, substance abuse, or homelessness. The order ties federal funding to enforcement of bans on urban camping and open drug use and moves away from “Housing First” toward programs requiring treatment or sobriety.
The reaction was immediate. Civil rights and disability groups denounced it as authoritarian. They warned of abuses of due process. They called it dangerous. Their concerns are not without merit. Involuntary treatment carries real risks. But where was this outrage when mental health patients—disproportionately Black and Brown—were funneled into jail cells instead of hospital beds?
That is the hypocrisy. When hospitals closed, there was silence. When Rikers Island filled with the mentally ill, there was silence. When Black families collapsed under the weight of untreated trauma, there was silence. But when Trump signed an order, suddenly, it was a national emergency.
The truth is that neither approach solves the crisis. Closing hospitals without providing community care pushed people into prisons. Mass civil commitment without safeguards risks abuse and mistrust. Both fail Black America, which is consistently over-policed and under-treated.
If we are serious about solutions, they must involve investment in community-based treatment centers, culturally competent providers who understand the Black experience, preventive programs for youth, and real mental health infrastructure that does not depend on police and prisons. Anything less is another cycle of hypocrisy that leaves our people paying the highest price.
Over one billion people worldwide are struggling with mental health. Black America carries that burden in ways few want to admit. But we can no longer wait on a hypocritical system to heal us. Wellness and resilience must start with us—in our homes, our churches, our barbershops, and our community centers.
Because when we heal the mind, we heal the community. And until that happens, both the silence of yesterday and the outrage of today will continue to fail us.
