WHEN I asked a simple question on social media: “Why do people bleach?”, the responses came quickly and forcefully. They were raw, honest, and at times uncomfortable. What stood out immediately was that very few people spoke about health. Most spoke about identity, acceptance and pain.

Several respondents traced the issue back decades. One person recalled stories from the 1970s when her grandfather, light-skinned enough to pass for white, observed that nearly everyone working in a bank shared his complexion or lighter. That memory reinforces a truth many Jamaicans recognise but rarely confront openly: Lighter skin has long been associated with opportunity, respectability, and access.

Others spoke directly about self-esteem. Some described bleaching as following trends or “love falla”. Others went deeper, explaining how childhood ridicule, name-calling, and constant comparisons took years to overcome. Not everyone, they pointed out, has the emotional strength or support to rebuild self-love after repeated rejection. For some, bleaching becomes a coping mechanism.

Many comments returned to the same themes: low self-worth, indoctrination, and a lingering belief that blackness is backward while lighter skin is progressive. One respondent put it bluntly: There is a widespread belief that when you are brown doors open more easily, with fewer questions asked. Whether people admit it or not, this perception shapes behaviour.

Another voice acknowledged the contradiction honestly. While rejecting bleaching, they admitted understanding why people do it in a world that still treats dark skin as less than. Their point was sobering. If dark skin was truly valued, skin-lightening would not be a multi-billion-dollar industry.

Some comments turned the lens back on the State and society. One accused the system itself of glorifying colour and giving those with lighter shades greater opportunities. Others spoke about companies that avoid hiring dark-skinned people for executive or public-facing roles, even when they are highly qualified. Men and women alike were called out for internalising these biases, choosing partners based on skin tone and hair texture, hoping lighter-skinned children would have easier lives.

Then there was the anger. One comment dismissed the discussion entirely, arguing that hospital beds and other urgent health needs should be the priority. That frustration is not unfamiliar. It reflects a belief that issues of identity and self-worth are secondary to “real” problems.

But they are not

Acceptance and belonging are not cosmetic issues. They are deeply tied to mental health, behaviour, and decision-making. And when that need for acceptance leads people to poison their bodies, it becomes a public health issue — whether we like it or not.

What remains striking is how rarely health risks featured in the conversation. Many people who engage in skin bleaching appear unaware, or dismissive of, the harm they are inflicting on their bodies.

This is despite clear evidence. The World Health Organization has repeatedly warned about the presence of mercury in skin-bleaching products. In 2024 the global skin-lightening industry was estimated at US$31.2 billion. In Jamaica, given how common bleaching is, the local market likely runs into tens of millions of dollars.

Mercury exposure can damage the kidneys and nervous system and cause serious skin conditions. For pregnant women, exposure places the unborn child at risk. Local research confirms this danger. A 2020 Jamaican study found mercury levels in some skin-lightening products up to 400 times higher than the United States Food and Drug Administration-allowable limit. This is not a cosmetic risk. This is poisoning.

Many unregulated products also contain hydroquinone and topical steroids. Used together, they suppress melanin production and can cause irreversible skin damage, neurological complications, kidney failure, and increased risk of skin cancer.

The challenge we face in Jamaica is layered. There is a lack of awareness about health risks, combined with deeply rooted cultural bias and psychological trauma. Ignorance and history reinforce each other.

So where do we go from here?

Let’s start with our children. Schools must play a stronger role in teaching pride in our history, our African ancestry, and our identity. Parents must also be more intentional. Words matter. Jokes matter. How we speak about skin tone, hair texture, and beauty shapes how children see themselves.

Public education must go further. The Government has a responsibility to lead sustained awareness campaigns and create a space for honest dialogue with those who bleach or are considering it. Within public health, guidance on skin bleaching will form part of our primary health care, life-stage approach, ensuring advice is given when symptoms are detected or questions arise.

But education alone is not enough. Regulations must be strengthened. Import controls, enforcement and clear warning labels are necessary. We must push for this.

The danger of skin bleaching is not only physical, it is psychological. It speaks to how we see ourselves and what we believe we must change to be valued.

One commenter summed it up simply: Ask most people why they bleach and the answer is often, “It ah carry the swing.”

Marcus Garvey warned us long ago: “If you have no confidence in yourself, you are twice defeated in the race of life.”

Unless prescribed by a physician, avoid skin bleaching. You will be healthier. And you will be more beautiful for it.

Dr Chris Tufton, CD, MP, is Jamaica’s minister of health and wellness. Email: Cctufton@gmail.com