We lived long and prospered! How Star Trek saved fans' lives

In 1967, when the African American actor Nichelle Nichols announced she was quitting Star Trek, a very important fan changed her mind. At an NAACP fundraiser, she was approached by Martin Luther King, who told her that her character, Lieutenant Uhura, was the reason he let his daughters stay up late. “You’re reflecting what we’re fighting for,” he told her. “You’re marching.”

Dr King was right. To a generation of African American girls, Uhura represented hope for the future. In a Manhattan housing project, an 11-year-old Whoopi Goldberg told her mother: “There’s a black lady on TV and she ain’t no maid!” Two decades later, Goldberg begged for a role on The Next Generation, explaining that Nichols had inspired her movie career. She was joined on the Enterprise by Nasa’s first black female astronaut, Mae Jemison, cameoing as a transporter officer.

Born out of troubled mid-60s America, Star Trek wore the heart of its liberal creator, Gene Roddenberry, on its sleeve, offering a progressive view of humanity’s future that inspired fans. And as the growing convention scene brought actors and viewers together, the stars started to play a role in fans’ lives, too. When James Doohan, who played Scotty, received a letter from a suicidal fan, he called her immediately, promising to see her at his next convention. They met almost 20 times over the following years. Doohan described their interactions as “the best thing I’ve ever done in my life”.

Many Star Trek fans can point to a moment when the show changed everything for them. Here are some of the most remarkable stories.

‘In Star Trek I saw a future worth investing in’ – Jenee Fowler

Growing up a Jehovah’s Witness in Arkansas, my TV watching was strictly controlled. My Little Pony and The Smurfs were banned for being “demonistic”, but somehow Star Trek slipped through the net.

The elders taught us that celebrating holidays, even children’s birthdays, was “worldly”, and that higher education was dangerous. (When you’re obsessed with imminent armageddon, why invest in the future?) But in Star Trek I saw a future worth investing in, where rational scientists travelled around learning from other cultures, and where religious dogma was viewed with suspicion. Designated female – I now identify as non-binary – I would never be allowed to speak in the Kingdom Hall, but after services my friends and I would pretend we were on the Enterprise. There I could be a science officer, or even a captain.

When I was 14, a 51-year-old member of the congregation began grooming me. After the elders found out we were having sex, I was “disfellowshipped” – the start of my road to spiritual death, in my mom’s eyes. I left home and moved in with my brother in Utah.

Away from the church, I turned to Star Trek with fresh eyes. I was struck by the parallels between Jehovah’s Witnesses and the Borg, a race of mindless drones bent on assimilating others into their collective. Online, former Witnesses refer to the official website JW.org as “JW.Borg”. I felt inspired by Seven of Nine (Jeri Ryan) in Voyager, an emancipated drone who fought to regain her individuality.

Living in the secular world, I often feel like an alien beamed up from a backward planet. I still struggle to celebrate birthdays or say “Bless you!” when someone sneezes. But I’m determined to steer my own course towards Star Trek’s hi-tech future. In my 30s I started community college, and I’m now at university studying bioengineering.

‘From that day on, the nightmares stopped’ – Letitia Lemon

I grew up watching Voyager, but it wasn’t until university that I made my way through the whole Star Trek back-catalogue. Studying film and TV production, I could see that the shows were products of their time, but the characters and themes were timeless.

In my final year, I had an accident in the scene-dock where the sets were kept. A huge metal pole fell on to my head, missing my eye by less than an inch. For several weeks I had concussion, with nausea and light sensitivity that made it hard to look at a TV.

Then the nightmares began. In my dreams, the accident had left me with a gaping bloody eye-socket, like something from a horror movie. I would wake gasping for breath and run to check myself in the mirror. Every time I went back into the scene-dock I froze. I didn’t realise it, but I had PTSD.

It was an episode of Discovery that finally made it all click. In a crisis, Ash Tyler (Shazad Latif) was having flashbacks to being tortured by the Klingons, and Admiral Cornwell (Jayne Brook) was trying to calm him down. “You’re safe,” she told him. “What you are experiencing are the effects of past trauma.”

I stared at the screen in silence. I wasn’t watching as a film student now – or even as a fan – but as someone who knew exactly what that character was feeling. The admiral’s words gave me strength. From that day on, the nightmares stopped.

I tracked Jayne down on Twitter and told her my story. When I saw she was appearing at this year’s Las Vegas convention I knew I had to go, even though I was terrified of flying. I got through my first ever flight with Cornwell’s final line scrawled on a piece of paper in my lap: “Whatever your path may be, you can handle it.” When I arrived, she gave me a big hug. I knew it had all been worth it.

‘An armada of Starships came to my rescue’ – Anastacia Davies

For me, Star Trek has always been about the fans. It was the 2009 reboot movie that got me hooked, but after that I devoured the previous 700-odd instalments. Soon I was attending the annual Star Trek convention in Vegas, where I found a community that made me feel at home.

It became the highlight of my year. I began running a Facebook group for fans planning to attend, developed a following of fellow Trekkies on Twitter, and even began hosting my own podcast on how to get the most out of the experience.

My boyfriend didn’t understand that for me the convention was a social experience as much as the chance to see stars. When we went together I ended up missing my group activities, and in time he got jealous.

It was always a difficult relationship, but I’d decided to make the most of it. When we moved in together, though, he grew more hostile than ever. Sleeping in separate rooms, I would hear him coming home late at night slamming doors. He was so angry I began to fear for my safety, knowing he had a gun in the house.

One night, I tweeted that I had locked my door out of fear. Several followers told me to get out, but renting a place of my own was financially impossible. Then someone suggested a crowdfunder. More than 150 Trekkies rushed to my aid, many of them total strangers. I felt like I’d sent out a distress call and an armada of Starships had come to my rescue.

I left just in time. When I came back to the house to collect some things, I found everything connected to me destroyed. A stuffed toy we bought together had been gutted with a knife.

‘The chief said every life was precious … and that meant mine too’ – Dan Davidson

At my lowest ebb, I turned to Star Trek for reassurance. I had lost my job and my marriage was on the rocks. Every day, when my wife went out to work, I would sit in my loft room with the blinds drawn, watching old VHS tapes. Most of the time, I didn’t really pay attention, but having them on in the background made me feel slightly better.

As the weeks went by, I felt increasingly bleak, and eventually I decided to end my life. I typed goodbye letters for every member of my family, laying them out on a table in the loft. When everything was ready, I sat there hesitating, coming very close, when something caught my eye. It was one of the old VHS tapes, a Deep Space Nine episode called Captive Pursuit, in which Chief O’Brien (Colm Meaney) risks his Starfleet career to save an alien he barely knows. As far as O’Brien was concerned, every life was precious – and that meant mine too. I felt as if he had stepped into the room to talk me down.

I put the gun back on the table. Then I curled up on the floor and bawled for I don’t know how long. The next few months were tough as I struggled to put my life back together, but I never considered ending it again. Years later I was able to meet Colm at a convention, and thank him for saving my life that day.

* Some names have been changed.

In the UK the Samaritans can be contacted on 116 123. In the US, the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline is 1-800-273-8255. In Australia, the crisis support service Lifeline is 13 11 14. Other international suicide helplines can be found at www.befrienders.org.