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I was in a meeting recently when I got a text saying my friend and former Sunday school student had given birth to a son. I offered an unobtrusive fist-pump of joy—and also a silent prayer of concern. His twin siblings had died before coming to term a few years before, and he, too, arrived nearly four months early—a tiny two-and-a-half pound package. But he was alive and relatively healthy, and was soon breathing on his own. I know God has his hand on this little guy and plans to give him “hope and a future” (Jeremiah 29:11).
The miracle of his survival stands out all the more for having been born into one of the most vulnerable demographics for families in the US: a low-income, young, single mother with African American heritage, in a Southern urban center.
The US infant mortality rate (deaths per thousand live births) for African American infants in 2005 was 13.6, nearly double the average rate for all infants (6.9). What this statistic means is that African American babies are about twice as likely to die before reaching their first birthday. In many cities the racial disparity is even more stark—for example, in Memphis the 2005 mortality rate for African American infants was 17; for Anglo infants, the rate was about 6.
African American pregnancies are particularly likely to end with low birthweight, pre-term deliveries, like my friend’s. African American infants are four times more likely to die due to complications related to low birthweight than Anglo infants. (For more statistics, see the Office of Minority Health and a CDC report on infant mortality.)
Why do African American children experience health disadvantages before even leaving the womb? Research points to multiple interlocking factors: inadequate access to prenatal care, cultural factors influencing health choices, the stress of poverty and family instability, limited resources to support healthy nutrition and maternal self-care, risk factors in the community, and the ineffable injurious effect of living in a racialized society. From our earliest days of life, we are whole beings. The state of our health reflects a mix of body, mind, emotions, culture, community, and spirit.
African American children face another grave danger, one to which, thankfully, my friend’s dearly welcomed son was immune.
A report issued recently by the Guttmacher Institute shows that African American women are nearly five times more likely than white women to have an abortion. According to the CDC, though African Americans represent only 12% of the US population, this community accounts for 37% of all abortions. Abortion claims more black American lives than the other seven leading causes of death combined.
Abortion represents a no less complex mix of causes than infant mortality. The intent here is not to single out any one community for concern or for blame. Rather, the point is that if we believe life is precious and want children to thrive, we have to confront the threats to their well-being in an integrated, holistic way. Abortion and infant mortality are interwoven with poverty, racial disparities, and family dissolution in a destructive fabric that is smothering large numbers of our nation’s children. When our response to this threat is divided into warring ideological camps, we cannot conquer.
For example, some pro-life groups see Planned Parenthood as an unmitigated enemy of the African American family, overlooking the other women’s health services this organization has provided in many communities. Meanwhile, pro-choice blogger Jodi Jacobson questions what pro-life groups have done “to address the causal factors behind high rates of abortion” or “to address poverty, social isolation, or broader health concerns among African American women.”
ESA has been urging consistently pro-life Christians to call on Congress to enact responsible healthcare reform while also insisting that no federal funds be used for abortion. If our body politic were not so fractured, it would seem more natural that these concerns go hand in hand.
“Our Father in heaven is not willing that any of these little ones should be lost,” said Jesus (Matthew 18:14), inviting us to go the distance with him to seek and to save. That means, for starters, doing what we can—in both the private and public sector—so that little ones can be brought to full term before a safe delivery; have access to prenatal and postnatal health care, as well as adequate nutrition and housing; develop strong bodies and minds in stable families and safe communities; and be nurtured in the love of the Good Shepherd.
About a year from now, I look forward to celebrating the first birthday of my friend’s son, reminding ourselves of the miracle of his birth and God’s purpose for his life. All children should get to celebrate their first birthday, and many more after. If the church could speak with one voice to the nation regarding the imperative of child well-being, and then follow up with holistic action in our communities, they might have a better chance.
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