One cold night, Juan Rendon picked up a quiet young man on the South Side of Chicago. The rider was dressed in all black, with a ski mask covering his face. Finally he asked: “Sir, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” Rendon replied, “here you go, my friend. What’s the matter?”
He said: What do you think about death?
The young man mentioned that he lost his uncle two days ago and did not know how to deal with the matter. Rendon was aware of the sudden loss. In 2012, Junior, his lifelong best friend, was shot when he was 19 years old.
Rendon, then 23, said his peers encouraged him to move on and accept loss as part of “city life.” Years later, he was happy to provide space for this strange young man to work out his trauma.
“He felt more comfortable with me, being a complete stranger who drove him everywhere,” Rendon said. Remind him that help is still often not available for people who suffer a sudden loss.
During The Trace's second survivor storytelling workshop in Chicago, all six participants said gun violence survivors should have easy access to mental health care and support groups — but despite officials' rhetoric, resources remain inadequate. In 2023, when Mayor Brandon Johnson took office, he promised to reopen the six mental health clinics that former Mayor Rahm Emanuel closed across the city.
Survivors said it is necessary to get therapy or counseling to begin processing the trauma caused by gun violence. “There has been an upheaval in your life,” said Kornicki Burnds, a participant in the storytelling network. “Even though you would like to go back to work as you used to, it is not possible.”
Before people can start counseling, they often have to overcome many obstacles, including cultural stigmas. In the Latino community, seeing a therapist can refer to someone as “crazy,” Rendon said. He added that men are often expected to be “tough” and “let it go.”
Some in the black community believe it's important to keep problems within families, Burndes said. But she said that often leads to trauma being left unaddressed. Estela Diaz agrees. She said people sometimes avoid discussing their loss to avoid embarrassing and painful reactions. “When they kill our sons, the first comments you hear are: ‘Oh, maybe because he was a gang member, that’s why they killed him,’” she said in Spanish.
Survivors have to explain cultural, racial and gender differences to their therapists, which sometimes leads them to shy away from starting at all.
After her daughter, Taissa Abney, was shot to death in 1992, Delphine Cherry said Metropolitan Family Services offered her counseling. She said she was told that if she didn't meet several attendance requirements, she would have to stop going altogether. She felt like a victim again and felt frustrated.
Participant Jessica Brown said it was important for people to have the opportunity to continue seeing the same therapist. During her graduate studies, she received treatment from a graduate student. She said it was cheaper, but it was short-lived. Other survivors said that going from one therapist to another traumatized them again, because they had to tell their stories over and over again.
Election campaign promises have not yet been fulfilled
Johnson said during his election campaign that he would prioritize mental health care. The city's $16.77 billion budget in 2023 allocates $5.2 million to expand mental health services and $15.9 million to double the team of mental health and substance abuse crisis responders. Johnson warned that creating the infrastructure needed to reopen clinics will take time.
In May, Johnson announced he would reopen the Roseland Mental Health Center by the end of 2024. He also said the city would add mental health services at two locations on the West Side by the end of the summer. The Legler Regional Library and Pilsen South Ashland Health Center now provide services on the west side. A Chicago Department of Public Health spokesperson did not respond to a question seeking confirmation of the reopening of the Roseland location.
As Chicagoans wait for the remaining mental health clinics to open, they can turn to a range of nonprofits, including seven community recovery resource centers run by Live Free Illinois, an organization focused on improving public safety. The city maintains a map of mental health providers. Survivors can also apply for the Illinois Crime Victims Compensation Program, which can offset co-treatment costs.
Many survivors do not wait for help. Instead, they channel their pain into helping others by creating their own support groups.
In 2017, when Burnds' 19-year-old son, Fontaine Sanders, was shot to death in North Lawndale, there weren't many support groups there. Now there are more of them, but she said the city still needs to improve them.
Sometimes, larger organizations fail. A member of Bornes' group, who had lost her son, reached out to someone for help, but due to high demand, she did not hear back for a month. “That's when they should be fully training with her, but she hasn't gotten a call yet,” Burnds said.
Burns' organization, Helping to Understand Grief, is a faith-based group that helps survivors process trauma together. She said groups like hers would be more effective if the city paired each of them with a therapist.
Support groups open the door to treatment, Diaz said. Like Burndas, she saw a need in Brighton Park and created a group where bereaved mothers could reach out. Her group partners with Centro Sanar to provide a therapist when needed.
In both therapy and support groups, survivors said it is important not to be discouraged by a bad experience. “Don't stop at the first group that doesn't work,” Burnds said. “If you really want to survive this…you have to keep trying groups until you find a group that speaks to your hurt and your pain.”
