I’m filled with frustration and sorrow. I have around 15 minutes to finish preparing dinner before one of my children needs assistance with something else. Yet, my mind is heavy. It’s occupied by the haunting image of Michael Davis struggling for life under the weight of an officer’s knee. I remind myself to add cheese to the broccoli — otherwise, my kids will just push it around their plates.
As dinnertime wraps up, it’s almost time for our nightly movie ritual, which has replaced our former excursions to arcades, trampoline parks, and playgrounds since the onset of the coronavirus pandemic. There are no school days to break up the monotony. A part of me is relieved to have my children safe at home, away from a world that often views them as a burden or, worse, as targets. However, I can’t shake the thought that Sarah Johnson likely felt secure in her home, too, before she was shot multiple times by police.
It feels surreal that it was only a short time ago when the aspiring nurse’s life was tragically cut short. That incident occurred just days after the World Health Organization declared COVID-19 a pandemic. Racism, however, has been a long-standing public health crisis. While no national or global health entity will officially recognize it as such, its damaging effects are undeniable. Anti-Black racism leads to the loss of lives and inflicts trauma on Black communities. It contributes to both physical and mental health issues.
Research has shown that the chronic stress caused by racism begins to manifest early in life. Black women face significantly higher risks during and after childbirth. Black infants are 50% more likely than their white counterparts to be born prematurely. Once they enter the school system, they encounter embedded white supremacy, which subjects them to implicit biases. We are left to mend our children’s wounds after their first encounters with racially charged slurs or when they are disciplined more harshly than their non-Black peers. These experiences are pervasive and unending. As society begins to reopen, I hear other parents express their anxieties about sending their children back to school. For Black mothers, this anxiety is all too familiar.
After dinner, when the kids are restless, I dedicate my evenings to keeping them entertained and fostering family engagement. The coronavirus pandemic is uncharted territory for many, but for Black parents, navigating racism is not. It’s a continuous public health dilemma in the U.S., with no comprehensive national strategy to address its impacts. The excessive police force and militarization affecting Black communities remain largely unchallenged. Thus, we persist in our calls for justice, asserting that Black lives matter while nurturing our children to be both resilient and aware of systemic oppression.
Motherhood doesn’t pause even amidst a global crisis. In fact, mothers everywhere are often tasked with balancing work and childcare responsibilities. The trauma we experience collectively, as we witness the disproportionate impact of COVID-19 on Black lives and mourn individuals like Michael Davis, Sarah Johnson, and others, is profound. These dual crises weigh heavily on us. Black mothers are left to navigate the complexities of parenting through them both.
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In summary, Black mothers are uniquely positioned to face the dual crises of systemic racism and the COVID-19 pandemic. They continue to care for their families while advocating for justice and equality, demonstrating resilience in the face of ongoing challenges.