Malena Amusa

Black Women More Likely to Die in Childbirth than Whites or Latinas

A probing 90-question review promises to unravel the stubborn knot of questions about why as many as 139 women died from pregnancy-related complications in New York state between 2003 and 2005 and why New York City continues to be a leader in maternal mortality.

For more than two years, a voluntary maternal mortality review conducted in the state has been struggling with its own life-and-death problem: the disappearance of New York City hospital participation.

The New York City Health and Hospitals Corporation -- a coalition of city-owned care and treatment facilities that represent a large portion of the city's maternal deaths along with the largest population of African- American patients -- has backed out of the review process.

As a result Donna Montalto, who heads the New York state review, says a report due out in 2009 won't have enough hospitals participating to a make a meaningful analysis of maternal deaths in the state.

The Health and Hospitals Corporation, a public hospital system that includes 11 acute-care hospitals and several home care, diagnostic and treatment facilities, withdrew from the review in 2006. Two years before, 13 maternal deaths occurred in its hospitals, representing nearly half of all the maternal deaths in the city that year, state health department data indicate. Three years later in 2007, the number of deaths fell to six.

"We chose not to participate in the Safe Motherhood Initiative simply because we already participate in a number of established monitoring and review processes, measures and collaboratives," Pamela McDonnell, a spokesperson for the Health and Hospitals Corporation, replied via e-mail.

'Damaging' Departure of Data

The fact that the city's hospitals with the largest number of black patients will be missing is especially damaging to the study, says Montalto, director of New York's American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists, which launched the Safe Motherhood Initiative in 2001 in conjunction with the New York State Department of Health. In addition to conducting the review, the team of medical specialists that run the initiative also train physicians volunteering to study curriculums on averting maternal mortality.

Montalto is now working with the Healthcare Association of New York State, an association of the state's hospitals, to educate and encourage all hospitals to participate. In 2004, black women were nearly four times as likely to die in childbirth as white women nationwide, and had a maternal death rate of 34.7 per 100,000 live births compared to 9.3 deaths per 100,000 live births for white women.

These types of reviews are path-breaking analyses of maternal death causes and recommendations are active in at least nine states, including New York state for now.

Designed to discover and interpret major risk factors, Montalto's State Maternal Mortality Review surveys -- among many data -- the deceased woman's occupation, primary language, education, insurance coverage, prenatal care, method of delivery and history of sexually transmitted diseases. It asks if the pregnancy was intended or unintended. It might also help explain why African-American women represent a disproportionate amount of maternal deaths.

While all hospitals are required to report maternal deaths to state agencies, this voluntary review effort strives to present a detailed account of the life of the woman and her care in the ward and make recommendations on enhancing quality of care in obstetrics and gynecology.

New York Leads Cities in Maternal Deaths

New York City leads all other U.S. cities in the number of maternal mortalities, and between 1989 and 1998, the state had the highest rate of maternal mortalities per 100,000 live births -- 28.7 -- in the nation, the Atlanta-based Centers for Disease Control and Prevention reported in 1999.

The Health and Hospitals Corporation represents the inner city population, Montalto says. "They would have a wealth of data considering their hospital demographic, which includes the Harlem Hospital population."

Montalto says the New York-Presbyterian Healthcare System, a major network of private hospitals operating top city facilities, has also backed out.

A spokesperson from New York-Presbyterian said yesterday she could neither confirm nor deny that her organization withdrew from the study without further research.

Unlike studies conducted by the Centers for Disease Control, which de-contextualize a mother's death -- erring on the side of numbers instead of in-depth analysis and interpretation of what went wrong -- the review report discusses pregnancy outcomes by race and specific risk determinants, such as in-hospital maltreatment and the woman's pre-existing health issues, which are then matched along a roster of social and health conditions associated with maternal deaths.

The first New York Safe Motherhood report came out in 2005 and interpreted 33 deaths between August 2003 and June 2005. A team of specialists conducted on-site reviews of 21 of the deaths, with black women representing the majority, or nearly 60 percent. The team of specialists found that 43 percent of the pregnancies were already at high risk -- for example, due to obesity and heart disease -- and that mothers could benefit from knowing their risk sooner. A big issue concerning Montalto: less than half of the cases -- about 37 percent -- received adequate prenatal care.

Probing Black Women's Deaths

But one chart shows that black women with adequate prenatal care died at a rate comparable to that of white women with inadequate prenatal care -- which hints at a medical mystery a small field of researchers are trying to explain. While some analysts emphasize a lack of health care and poverty to explain high maternal mortality rates among black women, newer studies have indicated that regardless of a black woman's income and education levels, black women are more likely to die having a baby than white and Latina women.

Now, a network of progressive experts is trying to pinpoint how stress and racism places black mothers and their children at greater harm in the ward. Still, Montalto says most black mothers in the study did not have continuous prenatal care and this is an urgent part of the picture.

Ultimately, the findings she helped co-author were considered tentative, so the second review, slated for 2009, raised hopes of better insights that investigators could use to guide health care facilities and doctors.

Since the initial report, the proportion of hospitals where maternal deaths occurred at all and that reported to the Safe Motherhood Initiative went from half to a third, says Montalto.

Nationwide, an estimated 1,000 U.S. women die of pregnancy-related complications every year, according to a 2006 maternal mortality review summary by government agencies including the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists.

In the fall, the consortium will release its maternal and fetal statistics online as a part of a transparency initiative, says McDonnell, the Health and Hospital Corporation spokesperson, but the information will not probe causes of death or the identities of the mothers. Officials at the Health and Hospitals Corporation have set a goal of zero maternal deaths, using intervention and management procedures to respond to crisis.

"We also conduct mock codes and drills to ensure consistency with response to obstetric and medical emergencies," says McDonnell.

Montalto says hospital legal teams fear being marked for having a higher risk population and more maternal mortalities so they avoid the review, which they fear may not adequately guard confidentiality.

While New York City's big hospitals must have every maternal death reviewed by state authorities, Montalto says the reviews tend to be inappropriately sympathetic to errors, similar to "having your mom come in and review your homework."

Members of this separate, state review group -- the Perinatal Center Team -- could not be reached for comment.

Copyright 2008 Women's eNews. All Rights Reserved.

Columbia President Passes Buck on Noose Incident

This post, written by Malena Amusa, originally appeared on RaceWire

The president of Columbia University Lee C. Bollinger is trying to distance Columbia from its graduate Teacher's College where the recent noose hanging outside a Black professor's office took place. In a letter to campus, he wrote:
"As most of you now know, a terrible incident of bias occurred at Teachers College yesterday, directed at a member of the faculty. Teachers College is a cherished affiliate of Columbia University with its own president, Susan Fuhrman, to whom I have offered our support and assistance. We may be two independent institutions, but we are one community; and we stand together in our commitment to oppose the frightening sentiments that lay behind this act."
Here, Bollinger hesitates to totally embrace the Teacher's College because he calls it an "affiliate." But the Teacher's College is a graduate program of Columbia, as much as the Columbia Graduate School of Journalism I attend.

Further, his letter is a careful condemnation that reads so cautiously, it doesn't come close to calling event what it is: an atrocious act of pedestrian racism. So why is Bollinger calling this a "bias incident? No where in the letter does he marry the words "hate" and "crime." Does he know his referencing the threat of a lynching as "sentiments" is a naive understatement?

Hair Weaves Tangle Self-Image for Black Women

This past winter, I noticed something very unsettling while I was visiting my family in St. Louis.

Almost all the black women I encountered were sporting lavishly long hair weaves, fake locks that can add length and volume after being sewed or glued to the scalp. Weaves come in straight, curly and kinky textures. But most black women with weaves wear them to extend and straighten the appearance of their naturally coiled and nappy hair.

Everywhere I turned, from the church to the mall, black women suited up in this straight-hair uniform. Was I missing something? I thought. Would my close-cut Afro set me too far apart from other black women?

Natural, kinky hair -- which is most associated with blackness -- has also been tied to inferiority in the United States. We can thank entrepreneur Madam C.J. Walker, the late 19th century inventor of the hot pressing comb -- literally a comb-shaped iron -- for the subsequent years of black women burning their disobedient hair into submission. Still today among African Americans, there exists a strata between those with "bad hair" and "good hair," the latter being hair that is most in sync with the dominant culture.

Walk into any pharmacy and you'll see a deluge of harsh chemical products that promise black women unnappy hair. Many believe this is a demonstration of self-loathing.

The January 2007 copy of Essence magazine I picked up didn't help. "Look Beautiful in your 20s, 30s, 40s, 50s . . . Real Women and Celebs Share Beauty and Health Secrets," the cover read. Featured were three celebrities with flowing, bouncy weaves and another woman whose silver hair was visibly straightened to suppress the real curl underneath.

Essence had made it clear: There was no way to be nappy-haired and beautiful at any age.

Myopic Beauty Image

This perplexed me because around St. Louis, so many everyday women who have no celebrity stakes to claim were subscribing to this myopic image of beauty wrapped around these hair weaves that, by the way, can take hours to glue onto the scalp and cost hundreds of dollars.

I wanted to walk in their shoes and understand them, so I decided to get a long, straight wig. Without the labor-intensive process, I achieved the luscious locks of a weave so I could learn what the non-celebrity woman had to gain from emulating the straight hair of non-African woman.

After several days of wearing the wig and interviewing black women, I found that the straight-hair phenomenon has little to do with a need to fit into mainstream social settings. Rather, these long weaves may reflect our desire to try on a different feminine persona that has historically been appropriated for white women.

Throughout time, weaves and wigs have served as costumes for black women to put on when they want to look sexy, such as in the 2006 movie "Dream Girls" that's loosely based on the 1960s rise of the Supremes, a Motown sensation.

In the opening scene of the movie, before the Dreams enter their first big show, they shift their poofy, European-hair wigs around. Finding a perfect fit, they then put on a killer show. As the Dreams become more successful and switch from mostly black to mostly white audiences, their hair get-ups become longer and bigger. The Dreams begin to look like white women in black face. And when one of the members gets kicked out of the band because of her hefty appearance, she quickly reverts to wearing an Afro.

Buying a Wig

I knew my hair was being mistaken for my femininity upon entering the Asian-owned beauty-supply store in my predominantly black neighborhood where I went to buy my wig. Perhaps because the elderly Asian sales lady kept saying: "Oh you pretty . . . with the wig." Malena

It became even clearer once I returned home with the long, black, straight wig in hand and saw the label name Nikita. Even the manufacturers figured that by wearing this wig, I was to transform myself into another woman.

A few weeks later, I moved to New York and met an actress and professor of aesthetic studies at the University of Texas-Dallas. Venus Opal Reese has interviewed hundreds of black women in researching this hair transformation.

During the opening night of her one-woman play "Split Ends," which takes an in-depth look at black women and their historical tangle with hair, Reese bombarded a small stage wearing a skimpy dress and a Tina Turner wig just as wild as her flailing arms. Seconds later, the wig flew off and fell to the floor. As the crowd yelped with laughter, Reese hurried to pick it up, and kept waving the hair in her hand as if still attached to her swirling head.

"Being a woman is a performance," she said in the skit. "It's a full-time, thankless job."

Dressing Up in Drag

Her point was to show that by wearing weaves and wigs, black women are dressing up in their own drag, whereby they can become the type of woman they aren't otherwise expected to be. Black women weaving up has so much to do with our need to feel feminine and strong at different points in our lives, Reese argued later in a phone interview.

"Hair is a navigator," she said. "It's a negotiator, it's a deal-breaker."

I'd say. In a world where black women are constantly blunted by racial and sexual discrimination, it makes sense that we'd begin adopting counter-representations of ourselves.

That's what the wig did for me. It gave me the freedom to be aloof, to flirt and to smile without fear of not receiving smiles in return.

I made several outings with the wig. During one trip, I went to a mall. The weave made my confidence soar. Heading there, I drove faster than usual. And every time I reached to pick up my cell phone, I dramatically tossed my hair back and said "Haloh!" roaring and perky like a valley girl. I was ready to explode onto the mall scene and attract all kinds of men.

As I entered the sliding doors, my hair swooshed about my face and I loved it. And after some time, I noticed that I was moving around like a butterfly, flighty and irregular. I couldn't stop giggling like a school girl and tossing my hair lightly back as I rolled my eyes sensuously around while talking.

The wig had changed me; with it, I felt excited to become Nikita, who I assumed was a fun-loving white woman.

I believed I could seduce with my hair without thinking men wouldn't return my vibes because I was too black. Whatever that feeling -- call it femininity if you like -- I had more of it. And while I hated the persistent itch of the wig and those fluffy bangs scratching my eyes, for the first time, I saw clearly the power of weaves.

BRAND NEW STORIES
@2025 - AlterNet Media Inc. All Rights Reserved. - "Poynter" fonts provided by fontsempire.com.