by Tara E. l April 14, 2025
Let’s be real for a second—when we talk about Black maternal mortality, we’re not talking about a mysterious tragedy. We’re talking about a crisis with a clear cause. Black women in America are three to four times more likely to die from pregnancy-related causes than white women. That statistic isn’t random. It’s not about genetics. The numbers are not about income or education. Our reality lies in a system—one that was never designed with us in mind.
It’s time we stop asking, “What’s wrong with her?” and start asking, “What’s wrong with the system?” Because it’s not broken.
It’s working exactly the way it was built.
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The Faces Behind Black Maternal Mortality and the Numbers
When people hear “Black maternal health disparities,” their minds might go straight to statistics. But we’re not numbers—we’re names, faces, families.
Take Shalon Irving, a brilliant CDC epidemiologist who passed away three weeks after giving birth. Or Kira Johnson, a vibrant, accomplished woman who died in a hospital bed while her husband pleaded for help. Or Amber Rose Isaac, a passionate educator whose preventable death sparked outrage and advocacy in New York.
All ignored.
All gone too soon.
These women did everything right. And still, the system failed them.
Their stories remind us that the issue isn’t just about “access” to care—it’s about what kind of care we’re receiving, and how we’re treated when we ask for help.
The Historical Roots of Disrespect
Racism in healthcare isn’t new. It’s baked into the very roots of the system.
Let’s talk facts:
- Enslaved Black women were used in painful gynecological experiments without anesthesia.
- Forced sterilizations targeted Black women well into the 20th century.
- And today, false beliefs like “Black people feel less pain” still linger in the minds of some medical professionals.
A 2016 study showed that a disturbing number of medical students and residents believed Black patients had thicker skin or less sensitive nerves. That myth doesn’t just live in textbooks—it lives in hospital rooms and exam chairs.
So when a Black woman says, “I’m in pain,” and the provider shrugs it off? That isn’t an isolated event.
It’s history repeating itself.
Bias in the Exam Room: The Quiet Threat
For many Black women, the experience of seeking care during pregnancy or childbirth is laced with a silent fight: the fight to be heard.
According to research from the Journal of Women’s Health:
- Black women are more likely to have their symptoms ignored or downplayed.
- They’re less likely to be offered pain relief.
- And they’re more likely to report disrespect during labor and delivery.
Even global icons like Serena Williams had to fight for their life postpartum—she had to beg multiple times for a CT scan to diagnose a life-threatening clot. Imagine how much harder that battle is for women without their fame, wealth, or resources.
The truth?
Bias lives in the room. And Black women feel it—deeply.
The Bigger Picture: Structural Inequities That Harm
Bias isn’t the only barrier. Let’s zoom out.
Black women are often up against:
- Hospital closures that leave entire communities without OB/GYN services
- Long travel distances for quality care
- Food deserts, unsafe housing, and limited transportation
- And chronic stress—from microaggressions, discrimination, and survival
This constant stress wears down the body over time, a phenomenon called weathering. It makes pregnancy harder. Riskier. More exhausting.
So when people say, “Black women have more complications,” the real question is—what systems created those complications?
Solutions Rooted in Justice, Not Just Reform for the Black Maternal Mortality Rate
We don’t need tweaks to a system built on inequality.
We need transformation, and it starts by centering Black women in every solution.
1. Invest in Black-led Care Models
From community birth centers to Black midwifery collectives, these spaces offer culturally safe, patient-centered care and better outcomes.
2. Enforce Bias Accountability Contributors to the Black Maternal Mortality Rate
Training isn’t enough. We need evaluation, oversight, and real consequences for providers or policymakers who create an atmosphere for providers who dismiss or harm Black women or negligently contribute to the Black maternal mortality rate.
3. Expand Medicaid & Postpartum Coverage
The Black Maternal Health Momnibus Act is a step in the right direction. It calls for extended postpartum care, access to mental health services, and support for addressing social determinants of health.
4. Center Black Voices
The voices of Black women must shape policy, programs, and provider education. Not after the fact—from the start.
Conclusion: The Revolution Starts in the Exam Room
This crisis didn’t begin with a single hospital visit. And it won’t end with a single awareness campaign.
The disparities Black women face in maternal health are symptoms of a much deeper disease. It exists only through a country’s history, neglect, and erasure.
But here’s the good news: we’re not powerless.
We are rising.
We are organizing.
And we are reclaiming our right to be seen, heard, and well.
Because Black women deserve more than survival.
We deserve to thrive through pregnancy, birth, and beyond.