Directed by Paula Eislet and Tonya Lewis Lee (Spike Lee’s producer and partner), the documentary “Aftershock” chronicles the dismal maternal mortality rate that women of color face in the United States medical system. The statistics are shameful, pointing to a systemic racist indifference, and the documentary chronicles the staggering number of times that expectant mothers entering into hospitals simply do not come out alive due to a lack of care and sensitivity. “Aftershock” explores yet another discriminatory system against African-American communities, evidenced by the unacceptably high number of deaths occurring in women experiencing post-surgical complications. The aftermath, or “aftershock,” is what happens to their families, children, partners, and communities after these tragic, avoidable deaths occur.
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“Aftershock” focuses on the cases of two Black women — Amber Rose Isaac and Shamony Gibson, and the partners and families who mourn them. Both women underwent cesarean sections, and complications from their surgeries resulted in their needless deaths. The opening montage of home video footage of both women reveals them as vibrant, caring people, both excitedly preparing for motherhood. The documentary shifts, cutting to both women’s partners, Bruce McIntyre and Omari Maynard, as they narrate the tragic events that happened after they entered the hospital. In both cases, significant warning signs were missed by doctors, nurses, and paramedics — internal bleeding in the case of Isaac and a months-long low-platelet count in the case of Gibson.
“Aftershock” proves the unequal treatment Black women experience in the hospital maternity system compared to their white female counterparts. The maternal mortality rates among expectant mothers in the U.S. medical system are already damning, with the highest number of deaths compared to all other industrialized nations of the world — despite the U.S. spending nearly 20% of its Gross Domestic Product on healthcare. Likely, this astronomical sum incentivizes the privatized sector to minimize health outcomes while maximizing profits. The movie argues that Black women are less likely to have privatized health insurance, meaning that the clinic system is less likely to build relationships between doctor and patient, leaving little time for these women to ask essential questions about their health. Further complications arise when Black people complain about their treatment by these providers, thus adding another burden to the already onerous and racist system. Answering the question “Why didn’t you advocate for your partner?” one subject says, “as a non-Caucasian, I didn’t have the latitude to fight for her,” because “the moment I raise my voice, I’m no longer seen as a patient, but a threat.” Furthermore, algorithms (which are already determined as discriminatory) dictate that Black women are also four times as likely to be recommended delivery via cesarean while white women are more likely to be given the time and freedom to birth vaginally.
By following Bruce McIntyre and Omari Maynard as they navigate life without their partners, “Aftershock” raises significant questions about the work of parenthood that remains after Isaac’s and Gibson’s deaths. The camera records both fathers as they meet, support each other, and ultimately become activists for women’s maternal health. Showing another, rarely documented side of black fatherhood, and by proxy, masculinity, is another element of the movie’s important work, as they are both seen as “nurturing” caregivers to their children, and revealing a side of black manhood rarely seen in popular culture. The result is a remarkably sensitive portrait of these fathers finding the support of each other and finding ways to support others in their exact position — which is both moving and heartbreaking. Part of Maynard’s healing involves reaching out to other fathers and painting portraits of their partners, whereas McIntyre organizes, attends rallies and speaks to graduating obstetricians. As the documentary was made over the past several years, solo parenting and working during COVID is made even more complex and makes the movie even more heartbreaking by adding this level of reality.
Aside from these intimate portraits, “Aftershock” makes its case with interviews with experts of doctors midwives and using comprehensive and damning statistics. One incriminating figure, seen at a public hearing, is that nearly 80% of preventable maternal deaths in New York City happen to women of color. Worse still, maternal mortality rates in the U.S. rose from 11.3% (per 100000) in 1995 to 20.1 % in 2019. The rates for black women are nearly double that, and have increased from 22.1 percent of those figures, to 44% in the same time frame. These statistics are provided to us by Harvard professor and obstetrician Neel Shah, who the documentary also follows as he works to stem the tide of these epidemic-level trends. Shah notes that C-Section surgeries, though routine, have increased by nearly 500% in those fifteen years — sadly resulting in a corresponding number of fatalities in black women.
“Aftershock” offers viable alternatives to these trends. Building community birthing centers operated by neighborhood doulas is a hopeful replacement to the discriminatory, patriarchal system of maternal care in the U.S. In this way, “Aftershock” has much in common with the Ricki Lake-produced documentary “The Business of Being Born,” which also outlined the massive increase of the private, patriarchy-centered OBGYN practice over the health of women. Unlike that film, however, “Aftershock” demonstrates the direct impact on marginalized groups within the system and the fatal outcomes occurring within these vulnerable populations. The film’s ending offers hope, showing how birth can be a joyous, rather than a tragic event, as one black woman gives birth in a safer, less-expensive birth center, and as another group scouts for a place to build another African-American, locally-run center in the Bronx.
“Aftershock” convinces the viewer of a crisis in America regarding the maternal mortality rates of black women. As Shawnee Benton Gibson, Shamony Gibson’s mother, announces at a rally in Washington, “Black Lives Matter, but black wombs matter more!” because they produce black lives in the first place. The aftershock of twelve times the amount of black women dying in their communities leaves lifelong trauma within them. In a country where Serena Williams, one of the world’s greatest athletes, can’t get doctors to listen to her concerns about her blood clots during her pregnancy is another savage indictment of the systemic racism against black mothers-to-be. The doc states that the operating theater is yet another front on the war against black lives, stating that “a black woman with a baby” entering a hospital to give birth is “like a black man at a traffic stop with the police.” Though heartbreaking to watch, if not triggering, “Aftershock” remains essential viewing as it reveals another, underseen front in the unending battle for equality in the United States. [A]
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