By Tony Kiene
A report from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) reveals that in 2020, the opioid-related death rate among Black Americans exceeded that of their white counterparts for the first time since the opioid crisis was declared in the United States some two decades ago.
In fact, during 2020 alone, deaths among Black Americans due to opioids increased by 44%, according to the CDC. For those between the ages of 15 to 24, the death rate nearly doubled. And the numbers keep rising.
Similar national studies have been published recently by the NYU Grossman School of Medicine, Harvard Medical School, Journal of Racial and Ethnic Health Disparities, and the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMSHA), just to name a few.
Many researchers have cited the flood of fentanyl-laced drugs, which now account for more than 70,000 American deaths each year, as a principal contributor to this shift. Of particular concern is the continuing use of the term “overdose” when addressing deaths caused by synthetic opioids.
“We’ve normalized the word overdose, suggesting that it’s something that can be simply reversed by Narcan. But I don’t believe that there are a lot of people who set out to use drugs like fentanyl or xylazine. We must distinguish these from prescription opioids. And the truth is so many are not overdosing—they’re being poisoned. So I believe we need to shift the language,” says Dr. Ronda Chakolis, president of the Minnesota Board of Pharmacy.
Chakolis notes that existing racial disparities in pain management and general health care make it very easy for people to turn to much cheaper and readily available street pharmaceuticals, not knowing where those drugs are sourced from or what they may be laced with.
The different levels of access to health care, including treatment and other resources for addiction, must be addressed.
“By and large, for people of color, systemic racism impacts every aspect of their lives,” he says, “be it in housing, education, economics…and health care. And when it comes to health, the access points are different, not to mention scarcer for Black people and other communities of color,” says mental health clinician Lester Bentley,
Likewise, Bentley stresses that we must rectify the incongruity when addressing the issue of substance use in different communities. “In one community, it’s considered a ‘medical’ matter and often treated privately. In others, it’s labeled a social, cultural, and moral issue pre-loaded with certain stigmas and associated pathologies.”
Citing the desperate need for more Black medical professionals, including pharmacists, psychologists, and substance abuse counselors, Bentley also observes that there is hope, and there are successful models out there that can be replicated.
“It is easy to say that nothing has changed,” he remarks, “but that’s simply not true. There are programs out there that are making a real difference in people’s lives. They’re just isolated.”
It’s also vital, as Chakolis asserts, to directly involve the communities we seek to serve. “It is paramount that we go where the people are. To ask the right questions. To find out what the issue might be here or there, understanding that things aren’t always the same in different neighborhoods, or for that matter, across generations.
“We must learn their stories. Identify the needs,” she adds. “Consider our young people, for example. Kids will tell you everything. We just have to listen.”
A version of this article originally appeared in the Spokesman-Recorder.
