Doula Diary #1: Aftershock
A film by Paula Eiselt and Tonya Lewis Lee, Aftershock examines the U.S. maternal mortality crisis and the extremely disproportionate levels in the quality of care, that affects birthing BIPOC specifically, due to systemic racism. This documentary answers the question,’Why must everything be about race?’from a medical standpoint, from an economic standpoint, from a societal standpoint, so on and so forth. Because in an anti-Black world, as we cannot escape our race, racism haunts us by putting us at specific disadvantages… here in the United States especially, where the maternal mortality rate has more than doubled since the 80s, where Black birthing people are four times more likely to die due to pregnancy and birth complications than their white counterparts, where 500% more C Sections are being done than in the 70s. America has a problem; and nothing has been hidden about the maternal health and mortality crisis; or the drastically different statistics of BIPOC who birth [and these are only the cases that have been reported…] What about the outcome of their experience for them and their families? Aftershock brings attention to this human rights issue, mentions the racist and unethical origins of modern obstetrics and gynecology, and raises awareness of reproductive justice as it documents the aftermath of the deaths of two young Black women.
As natural as birth is, it should never be a death sentence. We can go on and on about the state of healthcare [versus its expense] in this hellscape. We can all agree that America has a problem. That problem is, and has always been, white supremacy. We are seeing it cause the literal end of an empire in real time. Know this as fact, the marginalized will be the most affected, impacted, harmed… Shamony Gibson and Amber Rose Isaac, Black women from my home of NYC, should still be here— experiencing motherhood, enjoying their children and thriving. Both women died from preventable pregnancy/birth complications, victims of a system that does not respect or value Black lives. Typical with racist medical systems, they were stereotyped and their concerns were met with negligence [then, more and more negligence]instead of the sense of urgency that they deserved. Their deaths, the major tragedies that caused this aftershock and how their loved ones continue to fight for them by holding those in power accountable— the catalyst for disrupting an unjust system, and demanding change. Aftershock is dedicated to Shamony Gibson, Amber Rose Isaac, Kira Johnson, Maria Corona, Sha-Asia Semple, Cordielle Street, and the thousands of women who have lost their lives in the United States maternal health system.
For me, birth work is community [care]. It’s spiritual, extremely intimate— personal; passionately much more for me that perhaps I don’t have all the words to describe. Similar in all those ways to birth itself… I’m learning (always learning) that birth is life and death— not life or death, a very distinct difference. It [birth work] can be a lot of things— heartbreaking being one of them; healing and rewarding too. It’s beautiful, it’s hard— it’s advocacy and a firm stance (wherever you stand) in the fight for reproductive justice in a f*cked up place such as this [the Patriarchy]. My calling in the sense that it really has been calling me for two years now and hasn’t stopped yet— an audible, obvious need. I could talk about birth work for the rest of my days… Later on in my studies, finding out that my ancestors were midwives (and people who supported each other in these most vulnerable moments)in all the places they called home too— it’s felt ancestral, and instinctual from the first day; or even before that, in my dreams… In a place that holds violence towards BIPOC at its core, I heard the call to aid in making our entrance(s) into said world peaceful, safe, and at the bare minimum possible.
I’m here in the thick of it on a mission to be the change I wish to see in this world, starting in this practice. With all the bloodsweatandtears shed and shared in this, as we all aim to help our community and essentially save lives— the levels [lack] of inclusivity when it comes to birth work and services (supposedly) intended for all marginalized birthing people, are unsettling… There needs to be discussions within this community (that rejects white supremacy but rejects queerness in the same breath). In 2022, as a queer Black female birth worker, rarely seeing sources that claim to be knowledgeable use inclusive language [the inclusion of gender-neutral terms, acknowledgement of trans, GNC, non-binary, queer communities/parents]… we have to do better. Understandably a sensitive topic but I don’t see any other way to address (a lot of shit, to be honest) the ways in which we all are capable of being harmful. This is how we get free…
This is the first of many posts in this [new] series that I’ve been mentally piecing together for a while now. It’s another chapter to chronicle, a sector of this journey that I aim to… narrate, the best (and only) way I know how. As I move forward in birth work with my mentorship; and eventually the beautiful tribe I’m cultivating, that’s already naturally starting to trickle in, I’m focused on the mission. As I prepare, everything is flowing as it should. Again, like birth itself, teaching me to be patient and wait for destiny to arrive…
