Lucy Bland does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment. Around 2. During World War II, over 70 years ago, these figures were far lower. And so unsurprisingly, life was difficult for the 2, or so mixed race babies who were born in World War II to black American GIs and white British women. They grew up in predominately white localities and experienced significant racism. I have interviewed 45 of these children now in their seventies , hailing from all over England. Their story of institutional racism rivals the horrors of the appalling story of the Windrush generation. All these children were born illegitimate because the American white commanding officers refused black GIs permission to marry, the rationale being that back in the US, 30 of the then 48 states had anti-miscegenation laws.
It is extremely well-documented that pregnancy and childbirth are far more dangerous for Black women in the U. Black moms are up to three times more likely to die from pregnancy-related causes than white moms. And they are twice as likely to suffer from severe complications during pregnancy and birth. The big question — why? Comparing birth outcomes among Black, Latina and white moms who had babies at the same hospitals in New York City, researchers found that women of color had a significantly higher risk of developing life-threatening birth complications than white women — even in the same maternity wards. And the disparity was not explained by one seemingly key difference among patients: their type of insurance. Howell said her study is really the first to break down this issue of racial and ethnic disparities at the hospital level. It relied on discharge data and birth certificates from nearly , women who delivered in New York City hospitals between and They then compared outcomes within particular hospitals broken down by the type of insurance women had, to see whether being covered by Medicaid accounted for the difference.
She grew up a tomboy in suburban Chicago, a fan of Hot Wheels, baseball cards and Blackhawks hockey. They said no, she begged, and one of them whipped the ball at her so hard that it sent her to the ground in tears. The comment left Amy, about 8 at the time, dumbfounded. There was no other sister, or so she thought. She raced inside, found her mother smoking at the kitchen table, and told her what her brother Bobby had said. It was around in Deerfield, Ill. Sandberg told her youngest child a closely guarded secret about a choice the family had made, one fueled by the racial tensions of the era, that sent a black girl and the white girl that took her place on diverging paths. Decades later, the journeys of the two women tell a nuanced story of race in America, one that complicates easy assumptions about white privilege and black hardship. Lives take unexpected twists and turns, this family story suggests, no matter the race of those involved.
Devon Whitley, 30, of Phoenixville, is a single mother who wanted a child to balance the hardships of a life in poverty. The blue "It's a boy! But their message is moot now that little Noah is 7 weeks old, his healthy wails announcing his presence to Chester County. Taken from her parents at age 6, she grew up in foster care and poverty, absorbing beatings and sexual assault while developing an overwhelming pessimism that her future could be only pinched and dismal.