Grief: A PoC Perspective

I recently worked with a client of color who was struggling to cope with the loss of a loved one. In our session, I remember telling them, "You don't have to conform to a white-centered grief process." However, in the days that followed, I found myself questioning the impact of my words. I wondered if my statement was inadvertently racist. This question has lingered in my mind, manifesting in various forms: Why do I assume that people of color require unique support in grief? Isn't death a universal experience that affects us all equally? Are the grieving experiences of mothers of color fundamentally different from those of others? And my conclusion is this: Yes, while grief is a universal experience, people of color may experience and process it differently. Providing them with culturally sensitive and tailored support is not divisive or racist—it is essential.

Grief is a universal experience, yet the way it is expressed and experienced can vary greatly among individuals and across cultures. The process of grieving is deeply influenced by one's cultural background, beliefs, and social context. People of color often experience grief differently than white people due to a variety of factors, including cultural norms, historical trauma, and systemic inequalities.

One of the key differences in the grieving process for people of color is the cultural norms surrounding death and mourning. In many cultures, death is viewed as a natural part of life, and mourning is a communal experience that may involve rituals, ceremonies, and expressions of grief that are different from those in white Western cultures. For example, in some cultures, it is common for family members to come together to mourn for an extended period, often with loud expressions of grief such as wailing or singing. These communal rituals can provide a sense of connection and support that may be lacking in white Western cultures, where grief is often more private and individualistic.

Historical trauma also plays a significant role in shaping the grief experiences of people of color. Many communities of color have experienced historical traumas such as colonization, slavery, genocide, and forced migration, which can impact the way they experience and express grief. These traumas can be passed down through generations, leading to complex and intergenerational grief that may manifest in ways that are not always recognized or understood by white communities.

Systemic inequalities and discrimination can also influence the grieving process for people of color. Studies have shown that people of color are more likely to experience disenfranchised grief, which occurs when their grief is not recognized or validated by society. This can be due to factors such as racial stereotypes, lack of access to culturally competent mental health services, and disparities in healthcare and social support systems. As a result, people of color may be more likely to suppress or internalize their grief, leading to long-term emotional and physical health consequences.

When I was seven or eight years old, my family traveled to my mother's village for the first time since migrating to the new city. This journey held great excitement for me, as I sensed I was venturing into a special place. Despite lacking the language or understanding, this trip would profoundly influence my life in myriad ways.

One experience from that trip has remained etched in my memory. While in a rural village in northern South Asia, I witnessed a mourning ceremony. After a long journey by bus and a long walk in mud and fields, we arrived at my mother's extended family's village, nestled amidst wheat crop. As we approached a house, I heard haunting sounds of women wailing from a distant room on the compound. The sorrowful wails intensified as we drew nearer. I was gripped by fear, overwhelmed by unfamiliar sensations. The women's voices evoked deep emotions within me. I also sensed a solemnity and knew not to ask questions, continuing in silence. Inside, my mother, Bibi (grandmother), phuppo (paternal aunts), and Maawsi (maternal aunt) joined the women in the room, their eyes covered by dupattas, swaying in unison. I waited outside with my father and uncles, as men and children were not permitted inside. The wailing persisted for an hour before abruptly ceasing. The women emerged, wiping away tears, and tea was served. Their faces bore no trace of the intense emotions from moments ago.

This ritual was held for a relative who had passed away months earlier, necessitated by our family's first visit since the loss. The raw emotion in those wails left a lasting impact. Witnessing this ceremony made me aware of life's fragility and the importance of remembering and mourning those we have lost. It was a ritual that allowed the community and individuals to honor and mourn the departed, offering tears of love, pain, and grief. Since then, I have experienced many deaths within my family and community, and each time, this ritual has provided comfort. As I reminisce about these memories and the loved ones we have lost, I am filled with a desire to know more about the immigrant community. I feel profound sorrow at the thought that there may not have been a mourning ceremony for the immigrant population, or perhaps it was overshadowed by the circumstances. I recall feeling anger at the lack of public grief for the immigrant population, replaced by narratives that obscured their lives and the love they shared with those who cared for them.