America leads the world in our wealth and military might. We unfortunately also lead the world in mass incarceration and gun deaths. And we lead the world in another, unconscionable area: our maternal morbidity and infant mortality.
Last month, the decorated Olympic champion Tori Bowie was found dead in Florida due to complications from childbirth. She was 32 years old and at peak health by all measures.
The tragic loss of her life and her story reverberate a painful familiarity that too many Black women experience: the risk and pain of being Black and pregnant in America.
This Father’s Day, I am thinking about Tori Bowie’s family, and the partners and families of all Black women who unnecessarily and tragically lose their lives during what should be their most beautiful and precious moment.
OLYMPIC GOLD MEDALIST TORI BOWIE DIED FROM CHILDBIRTH COMPLICATIONS, AUTOPSY FINDS
I know what it’s like to stand next to a hospital bed, terrified that the woman I love won’t make it out of that room. During the birth of one of our babies, that meant complications from preeclampsia for my wife; for another, our baby was breached, and my wife had to undergo an emergency C-section.
I remember pacing the halls, praying with everything in me that both she and our baby would be OK. Years later, that feeling still haunts me.
I am so profoundly grateful to spend this Father’s Day with my wife Melissa and my three children, Jelani, Marcel, and Maya. But as a Black father, I can’t celebrate this holiday when the Black women in my life are in a state of emergency. The issue of maternal health is a father’s issue too—and it’s on all of us to ensure that the birthing experience is safe for women, especially Black women.
Consider where we stand. Maternal mortality in the U.S. for Black mothers is a global anomaly. As of 2021, the national maternal mortality rate for Black women was 69.9 deaths for every 100,000 live births—nearly three times the rate of white moms and nearly six times the overall rate for high-income countries. In Texas, where Black women are twice as likely to suffer from complications like sepsis, preeclampsia, and severe hemorrhages, 90% of maternal deaths were preventable. And in my own home state of New York, despite giving birth to less than a quarter of New York City babies, Black women make up more than half of all maternal deaths.
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While poverty and geography exacerbate the risks, the devastating reality is that no amount of money, fame, access, or success can fully protect the Black woman during childbirth. It is systemic, institutional racism that kills our Black women.
Ms. Bowie’s Olympic teammate, Allyson Felix, also suffered from preeclampsia, and underwent an emergency C-section to save her life and her daughter’s. Serena Williams has described the doubt and disregard she faced amid four emergency surgeries, including a blood clot that almost led to her death. Beyoncé, too, struggled with preeclampsia and other birth complications, finally delivering her twins through emergency surgery that resulted in weeks in the hospital. These women are wealthy and in exceptional physical condition, and yet, medical professionals have seen the color of their skin and rejected their accounts of their own pain. The lack of humanity is unimaginable.
OLYMPIC GOLD MEDALIST TORI BOWIE WAS FOUND DEAD IN HER HOME UPON WELLNESS CHECK, OFFICIALS SAY
And it doesn’t end there. To those who would say, “Why make this about race? It’s not just Black women who suffer from inadequate obstetric care,” I say: you’re absolutely right.
Many are quick to isolate this as an issue that only impacts Black women. This is false on so many levels. First, the United States’ maternal mortality rate exceeds other wealthy nations among every racial category of women despite the fact that the United States spends the most on health care. Even if you take race out of the equation altogether, the U.S. maternal mortality rate is 32.9 deaths per 100,000 births—more than ten times higher than other high-income countries like Australia, Austria, Israel, Japan and Spain.
We have all the technology, medical practices, and financial resources to prevent these deaths. So why aren’t we? I’ve been fighting on this issue since I was first elected, and the rates have only gotten worse. We fundamentally are not valuing women in this nation enough to save their lives. And as with all issues, Black people suffer most under any systemic failure.
TORI BOWIE’S AGENT SPEAKS OUT AFTER OLYMPIAN’S DEATH: ‘WOULD HAVE HANDLED EVERYTHING DIFFERENTLY’
Childbirth should never be a death sentence. Especially not in a country as resourced as the United States.
We can and must reject that. To do so, we need a full reimagination and redesign of healthcare in this country. We need to pass my colleague Representative Lauren Underwood’s Momnibus bill, to extend prenatal and postpartum care to marginalized women everywhere. We need more Black women gynecologists, doctors, doulas, and midwives, and to elevate their expertise in the birthing process.
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We need to invest in high-quality, highly accessible birthing centers and obstetric care facilities, so that women in rural areas aren’t driving 25 miles for every appointment and women in big cities aren’t waiting two, three, even four hours in a crowded emergency room. And urgently, we need to embrace universal healthcare for every American, so no mom is forced to choose between her own health and her family’s financial future.
And further, beyond the delivery room and hospital, we need to ensure there are supports for new mothers and young families to thrive. This means guaranteed parental leave, universal child care, and expanded support for parents during and after pregnancy.
As a man, I will not fully understand the pain and journey of childbirth. But as a Black man and father, it’s my responsibility to listen to and elevate the experience of Black women. Because this crisis is not a burden that Black women can or should carry on their own. It’s on us men, too—as fathers, partners, brothers, and ultimately, human beings—to demand safety and dignity in childbirth, even in an inherently racist system.
Because maternal deaths are a threat to all of us. They’re a threat to our partners; our children; our families, broken beyond repair due to entirely preventable, all too common complications with childbirth. I think of women like Tori Bowie, who should still be with us today—sprinting, running, flying through the air, with her little girl toddling behind her.
And I recommit to the women in my district and in my life—to stand with them, to keep fighting, and to end the crisis of maternal mortality, once and for all.
