MARCH 2025. Blues Vol 41 No.3

GUEST COMENTARYAndy

GUEST COMENTARYAndy O'HaraIt’s Time We Talk About Police SuicideMore cops die of suicide than die of shootings and traffic accidents combined.ED- The following editorial waswritten 8 years ago this month.It's as relevant today as it waseight years ago and unfortunatelycops are still killing themselves.If you know someone whois struggling, make it a point toreach out and help them.Richland County sheriff'sdeputy Derek Fish was just 28and had only been on the job sixyears when he committed suicide.According to reports, Fishwas coming off a routine shift.He returned his cruiser to the lotat his station and there, at thelot, he shot himself with his servicerevolver. Fish was, accordingto his colleagues, an outstandingofficer who had recently beenpromoted. His was the thirdsuicide in his department since2001.The deputy’s suicide drewnational attention in large partbecause of his boss’s willingnessto talk about it. After discussingthe matter with the family,Richland County Sheriff Leon Lottheld a press conference wherehe expressed his shock and thedire need for a shift in the waythe law enforcement communityaddresses suicide and mentalhealth.“We’re all struggling to try tounderstand why, and we don’thave an answer,” Lott said. “We14 The BLUES - MARCH ‘25have people amongst us thathave issues that we just don’tsee. Sometimes when they cryfor help, we don’t answer thatcry. We have to answer that cry.”I found myself suicidal as theresult of post traumatic stressdisorder and depression and,as a police officer, felt the needto hide my mental health challengesdue to the stigma thatexists within the culture of lawenforcement. There is a code ofsecrecy around mental illnessin police agencies across thenation, a code that is difficult tobreak through.No federal agency keeps anofficial count of how many lawenforcement officers commitsuicide each year. That’s in partwhy I founded Badge of Life, anonprofit that seeks to preventpolice suicides. We’ve collecteddata in recent years and foundthat there are an average of 130law enforcement suicides everyyear, or eleven per month.More officers die of suicidethan die of shootings and trafficaccidents combined. It’s a problemthat cries out for answersand remedies, but too many departmentsare reluctant to admitit exists, much less implementprograms to address it.While a few of the knowndeaths are publicly attributed toDeputy Derek FishRichland County Sheriff’s Dept.EOW July 28, 2017depression or PTSD, the overwhelmingmajority are listed ashaving “unknown causes.” Stigma— the fear that it will reflectnegatively on a department orresult in liability claims by thefamily — appears to be a motivatingfactor behind such vagueinformation.Based on 24 years experienceon the job, I believe thatwork-related stress and depressionare far more prevalent inpolice work than reports suggest.Law enforcement is one ofthe most toxic, caustic careerfields in the world. But, whileinjuries like PTSD are increasinglyacknowledged within themilitary, its prevalence in civilian

CLICK HERE FOR MORE INFORMATIONpolice work goes virtually unnoticed.Instead of continuing to ignorethe problem, the law enforcementcommunity needs to addressmental health and suicidehead-on, devising what they calla “cradle to the grave” approachfor officers. Cadets in policeacademies must be informed ofthe emotional toll of police workand taught coping techniques.Additionally, rather than advisingofficers to get help whenthey “need it,” they should bestrongly encouraged to attendregular therapy sessions with alicensed counselor, whether it isthrough an employee counselingservice or on the “outside” toassure confidentiality.Finally, officers should be encouragedto go at least once ayear to a therapist who is adeptat dealing with stress and traumain the same way they get anannual physical or dental checkup.That would give an officerthe opportunity to see what hasbeen working well emotionallyfor the past year, but also affordshim or her a chance to seewhat has not.I regret that no such programhad been available to me duringmy 24 years as a cop. Withoutit, decades of police work allcaught up with me toward theend of my career. I found myselfalone in my bedroom one daywith my gun drawn, ready toshoot myself. Luckily, my wifecame home, walked in and discoveredme. She kept me fromfollowing through and convincedme to go to the hospital.I was retired after being diagnosedwith PTSD and depression.I began therapy and takingmedication, both of which haveenabled me to manage the PTSD.Still, perhaps if I’d had a chanceto vent along the way, even onceor twice a year, my career mightnot have ended with an attemptto take my own life.Once a good therapeuticrelationship was established,there might have been a chanceto clear out the memories thatcame to plague me — the verbalabuse from citizens, dailyscreams of the injured, andmemories of responding toscenes of gang violence, murder,suicide.It’s too late for Deputy Fish, butnot too late for the other 850,000police officers who work thestreets day and night. It’s a harrowingjob indeed, but there ismuch we can do to remove thestigma that prevents so manyofficers from getting the proactivehelp they need. Ultimately,though, the onus is on the sheriffsand chiefs across the countryto lead the way. Let’s hope theywill.Andy O’Hara spent 24 yearsas an officer and, eventually,a sergeant with the CaliforniaHighway Patrol. He is the founderof Badge of Life, a nonprofitthat offers police suicide statistics,training and program resourcesto ensure good mentalhealth and prevention of policesuicides.The BLUES - MARCH ‘25 15