“Because of the lack of care that I received that day, I almost miscarried three times,” said Grigsby. “After hours had passed, and they finally attended to me, they stabbed me in the back over 13 times with an epidural needle in the back while I was in labor because they were trying to ease me out of the pain. They told me that they had to poke me so many times because I would not hold still.”

Shamare Grigsby, owner of Alluring Array Doula Services by Shae. Photo courtesy by Shamare Grigbsy

In the aftermath of the epidural, Grigsby struggled with back issues that lingered for years.

“I felt that I was dismissed that much because I was young and inexperienced, and it hurt,” she said.

Shortly after her experience at Spring Branch Medical Center, and the delivery of her twins, Grigsby became interested in the birthing process and ultimately found her passion as a doula. She was determined to be an ally for other Black women who could find themselves in similar situations. Grigsby now owns Alluring Array Doula Services by Shae, a doula company that caters to clients who live in Houston and Austin, Texas.

“I feel like I made it out alive for a reason, and I wanted to be able to use that reason to help drive the outcome of disparities that Black mothers face during labor by giving them confidence and peace of mind throughout the birthing process,” said Grigsby.

Although multiple studies have shown that Black women in the United States have experienced tangible improvements in healthcare during the last century, the health disparities they endure remain. These health disparities are mostly a substantial reflection of the inequalities experienced by Black women on an array of socioeconomic factors.

According to the CDC, Black mothers are three times more likely to die from childbirth or pregnancy-related causes than white mothers. About two-thirds of maternal mortality numbers in the U.S. are preventable.

Doulas say that empowering clients to advocate for themselves through coaching and emotional support leading up to pregnancy and delivery can significantly improve their birthing experiences and health outcomes.

For Jessica Easter, a Certified Birth Doula and owner of Tennessee-based Abounding Grace Birth Services, LLC, a doula is essential to the birthing process, especially when the birthing mother feels a high level of stress and anxiety.

“In my work. I try to make sure that my clients feel well-supported and informed about the entire process. I give them evidence-based information to make sure that they feel ready and confident for the birth,” said Easter. “By doing this, I hope to help them to be able to advocate for themselves when they are in labor.”

Easter’s current client base is 95%, African-American women. She said her passion for her work is rooted in her determination to prevent women from having traumatic birth experiences. She believes that all women, especially those of color, need the proper maternal support before, during, and after birth. For Easter, her work’s mission is to mitigate maternal health disparities by educating, encouraging, and empowering women to make informed birth decisions while maintaining the necessary physical, mental, and emotional support that they need to have a positive labor experience.

“Through my work, I feel like I am making a difference in the lives of women who may feel as though they are not being heard or taken seriously as far as their pregnancy and delivery are concerned,” said Easter. “So far, I have not had any incidents of clients being ignored or dismissed because I try to make sure that they have all the tools and emotional backing that they need.”

Like Easter, many Doulas are committed to giving their clients and their loved ones peace of mind by educating them with evidence-based techniques that can set them up for success. Many of them serve as unwavering allies to their clients by encouraging them to ask probing, critical questions of their medical providers when they do not understand a situation and remaining firm and relentless in their quest for an accurate and reasonable answer.

Black doulas like Shonte’ Terhune-Smith, a health educator, International Board Certified Lactation Consultant, and founder of YOLO Breastfeeding Services, say that having the presence and guidance of a doula in the delivery room can be significantly soothing. That calming presence, according to Terhune-Smith, can also be empowering and liberating to Black mothers, especially those who have experienced discrimination in predominantly white medical spaces in the past.

“I feel like most Black women seek out the help of a Doula because they have felt mistreated in the past, and this has left them feeling helpless and without a voiceless to the situation,” said Terhune-Smith. “That is why I try not to advocate for them, but instead, I try to amplify their voices so that they can feel heard. By doing this, I feel like I am empowering them.”

Before becoming a lactation expert and Doula, Terhune-Smith worked for WIC, the Special Supplemental Nutrition Program for Women, Infants and Children, but she did not like the government program’s approach to addressing the needs of Black women.

“I created what I thought should be out there by starting my doula business,” said Terhune-Smith. 

Despite the bleak reports about Black births and historical healthcare disparity, Terhune-Smith believes there is hope and that Black doula services are more important now than ever.

“More Black women are starting their doula businesses to partner with Black birthing mothers, and this is a plus,” said Terhune-Smith. “A lot of people are more vocal about the injustices that Black women face in healthcare and are pushing for doula services to be included in health insurance coverage plans, and the government is passing laws like the PUMP Act, so there is some hope.”

The Providing Urgent Maternal Protections for Nursing Mothers Act, also known as The PUMP Act is a Bipartisan Bill that was recently passed by the House of Representatives to ensure Breastfeeding Rights for Working Moms. Terhune-Smith also believes that while Black doulas contribute their quota to alleviate the healthcare disparity Black birthing mothers face, the government can also expedite the process.

“If the government is going to invest in Black healthcare issues, they also need to invest their resources in those who are doing the brunt of the work,” said Terhune-Smith.

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Although at that moment, I felt a sense of contentment and solidarity towards the family of George Floyd, something deeper lingered in my mind and hung above my head; the deep-rooted systemic racism embedded in American society and how on earth I would unearth that conversation with my son someday. 

Four months ago, I birthed a son, and while his birth was a life changing experience for me, it was also bittersweet. My son can barely talk now, and he doesn’t know the consequences of his skin color. Still, I am acutely aware that someday, somewhere, as long as there is life in me, I will have to have the difficult conversations with him about the ramifications of wearing a hoodie at night in a suburban neighborhood as a Black man or driving a car that attracts the attention of the police and to say that I fear for that day is an understatement. On the other hand, to pretend that these dangers do not exist in the world would rob him of the right to know of this evil condition in the world called racism.

As a Black mother, I am acutely aware that society demands me to be strong all the time, to take things in stride, and always walk a fine line between remaining composed in the face of racial terrorism and living in an America that has been so wicked to Black lives. If George Floyd’s mother was still alive today, I could not begin to fathom the blinding pain that would shoot through her heart upon having to endure the unjust killing of her son, a son she nurtured and loved a son with whom she was so close. As a mother, I get it.

As I type this, the picture of Emmett Till’s mother crying over his casket plagues my mind and is another bitter reminder of the dangerous poison that is racism. My heart also breaks for the mothers of the Alton Sterlings, Daunte Wrights, Trayvon Martins, and thousands of other Black men and people who have lost their lives in the crossfires of systemic racism and police brutality. No mother should have to explain to their son why thousands of boys that look like him are shot at and killed, year in, year out. Yet, Black mothers across the US consistently bear the brunt of this painful reality. 

I am certain that the hashtag #JusticeForGeorgeFloyd will live on in Cyberspace. When the day comes for me to explain to my son the injustices that have been leveled against Black men for years, I will broach the topic with honesty, grit, and fortitude. Although I wish that I could protect him from the perils of this world, the truth is that I cannot, and that is why Black mothers like me need to recognize that we are faced with a precarious situation: raising Black boys who will thrive in a society that has all of the odds stacked against them. Some day, when my son is older and wiser, I will tell him about George Floyd and his trial, not to scare him or harden his heart, but to make him acutely aware of what it means to be a Black man in America because ignorance is deadly. Being a mother to a Black man in America carries a special type of terror. As I write this article, I am mulling over the many different ways that I will talk to my son about his roots, heritage, and future. For the umpteenth time, I have decided that I will use my words to buttress him against the hate that exists in the world for people that look like him, and above all, I will encourage him to remain his authentic, true Black self.

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At 4:50 pm at Young’s Asian Massage in Acworth, G.A. Delaina Ashley Yuan, Paul Andre Mitchels, Xiaojie Tan and Daoyou Feng were murdered. At 5:47 pm at  Atlanta, G.A’s Gold Massage Spa Soon Chung Park, Hyun Jung Kim, Suncha Kim and Yong Ae Yue were similarly massacred. Of the eight murder victims, six were of Asian decent – four were Korean. Like me.

It is impossible not to grieve. If you are a human being, any loss of life, even a stranger’s, and especially any loss caused by violence is heartbreaking. But the coverage of this particular atrocity was as predictable as ever. Reasonable questions are always asked; how could this have happened? Why did this happen?i Who did this? But then – inevitably – come the other questions. The ones that humanize the perpetrator. The questions that attempt to remind us that once (or maybe still) this young man had value, was important, was loved. Like the eight people he slaughtered weren’t. 

Eight lives were blasted off this planet, and all because they could have been affiliated with sex work – which somehow makes their murders more publicly palatable. And all while his name, his age, his potential motivations are blasted on the cover of every single noteworthy publication or broadcast – news anchors struggle to pronounce the names of the very victims he made. Erasing them further. Cloaking them in further obscurity or anonymity. 

The shooter had assumed that the Asian-affiliated massage parlors he attacked were inexplicably linked with sex work and that justified his masacre. This is a common popular culture belief. While it is true that some Asian-affiliated massage parlors or spas are also covertly used for sex work, it does not diminish the lives or experiences of those who work in these facilities and it certainly does not give agency to anybody to kill these workers simply because they were consumed with sexual “temptation”.

Asian women in particular have historically been sexualized. The assumption that Asian women have been sexual commodities stems from the fetisization of them and their race. Because Asian women can be seen as simultaneously hyper-sexual and also hyper-docile and submissive, we face unique and overt violences and violations simply because of inaccurate and degrading racist assumptions based on pop culture depictions.

The mass shooting addresses many of the fears in this country that Asian and Asian American individuals face today, particularly those who identify as women and those who are sex workers. According to a study by Stop AAPI Hate, since the COVID-19 pandemic began nearly 3,800 instances of discrimination, violence and harrasment have been reported in this country. “Probably more,” said Jeehae Fischer, the executive director at the Korean American Family Service Center in Queens, N.Y. “People are afraid to come forward to even say ‘hey something happened to me and I’m scared’’.

When I lived in Tübingen, in southern Germany for a year, I was the victim of numerous verbal and physical hate crimes. The area is more conservative than neighboring states, but I still experienced hatred and othering in nearly every town I visited throughout the country. Ranging from a hollered slur out the back of a car window speeding by, to beer bottles being thrown at my legs (resulting in scarring), to waking up one day to plastered graphic images of Holocaust victims covering the common area in my dormitory. I had many bad days there. But never once did I use those experiences, those bad days to harm a German individual physically or verbally. Not even those who were repeatedly perpetrating crimes against myself and my peers. I didn’t report every instance, but the ones I did were met with less than lukewarm responses. I could have done more to advocate for myself, but I was scared.

Today, and every day, I think about the beautiful people whose lives have been taken away from us through violence. Through selfish acts of cowardice, ignorance and falsely-perceived superiority. I’m thinking about Hyun Jung Kim and her life as a single mother, wondering if we both liked jjajangmyeon or if it was too salty for her. I’m thinking about Xiaojie Tan, who was only two days away from her birthday. I’m thinking about all of them. Wondering if they had anything they were looking forward to that day. Wondering if they were tired of this pandemic just like me. Wondering if they were scared.

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Vince Vance, 26, a humanities teacher in Manhattan, finds it difficult to be inundated with images and stories of men that look like him dying at the hands of police. 

Vince Vance, 26, identifies as a progressive socialist and sees capitalism as a major barrier to achieving racial justice. Photo credit: Vince Vance.

“There are times where I’ll see something has happened and I will have to scroll past it at first because I am not in the headspace to just completely derail my day,” he said. 

Vance, who identifies as Black, Queer, and as a progressive socialist, sees America’s emphasis on capitalism as the biggest barrier to eliminating racism. 

“Capitalism is the root of a lot of evil,” said Vance. “The policing that happens is protecting the interest of the rich.” 

His activism this year has included protesting with Black Lives Matter, donating money to protect individuals from evictions during the Covid-19 pandemic, and practicing self-care. 

“Taking care of myself is in itself an act of resistance,” said Vance. 

He hopes that after the next presidential election, America can start putting systems in place that better protect people of color, such as universal healthcare and prison reform. 

Sitting right of Vance on the political spectrum is Jerime Mason, 29, a training and quality specialist in healthcare from Chicago, Illinois.

“I am definitely more conservative than I am progressive at this point,” said Mason. 

For Mason, a devout Christian, it is the politicization of racial issues in the United States that he finds taxing. 

“For me, to actually address racism, it can no longer be politicized,” he said” It is a matter of truth and fact. If we are going to say all people are equal then we have to live that out, and with that I think ‘judging a book by its color’ is the one thing I see present in almost all mainstream media’s framing of the issue — like prejudging and pre-biases.” 

Mason is not convinced that the recent acts of police brutality against Black individuals are explicitly racist. 

With regard to the muder of George Floyd by a Minnesota police officer, Mason said, “ I am confused at how it is even perceived as racism. You definitely see an obvious abuse of authority, but after watching it several times, there’s nothing about it that tells you he did it only because he was Black.” 

Jerime Mason, 29, a devout Christian, views the politicization of race as the most frustrating element of political tension in America today. Photo by Jhaylen Cherry

He knows that his views are not the norm in the Black community, but that doesn’t hold him back from participating in conversations on race.

“I think it is healthy to listen and to desire truth in the conversation, even if I am wrong, and also to love the other person regardless of what conclusion they come to,” he said. 

Mason has spent a lot of time reading and researching to develop his political and social beliefs. But his real hope for a more just future comes from his Christian faith. 

“I don’t think I have seen or read the words of another man [i.e. Jesus] that has brought me more hope,” he said.  

Evan Traylor, 26, a full-time rabbinical student in Washington, D.C., finds his Jewish faith intertwined with his views on racial justice. 

“From as long as I can remember, what I learned at my Temple is that Judaism is about helping others and making the world a better place,” said Traylor. 

Being Biracial, both Black and white,Traylor has encountered racism within predominantly white Jewish spaces, pushing him to work on issues for Jews of Color. 

“It has been five to six years of exploring and investing around this idea of Jews of Color,” he said.  “How do we support JOCs and how do we eliminate the racism that exists within the Jewish community?” 

This summer, some of Traylor’s activism included speaking at Central Synagogue and teaching a workshop for the Jewish organization, Hillel International.  

He sees the tie between systems of oppression and the power of the wealthiest citizens. 

“Until we are able to refute the ideas that center white wealthy men, racism will continue to be here,” he said. 

 Traylor maintains hope despite the deep-seated inequality in this country and all of the work that must be done to dismantle it.

“It is hard to have ancestors that were enslaved and eventually gained their freedom, and started a family and set off this long chain of events that led to me and not have hope,” he said.

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“I’ve been very nervously monitoring Trump’s popularity and chance of winning the election,” said Chris Ahn, a Korean-American man living in Brooklyn. “ I think right now we’re at 75-25 split going towards Biden.”

Hope for many Asian Americans is connected to a Biden victory in November. Many of them had experienced anti-Asian remarks or microaggressions.

Eunice Paik, a Korean-American leasing agent experienced anti-Asian sentiment. Photo Courtesy of Eunice Paik

“I remember I opened the door for a family, two older ladies and their two children and they just gave me the dirtiest look,” said Eunice Paik, a Korean American woman and 13-year New York resident. I was giving a kind gesture, and they sneered at me.”

When the murder of George Floyd inspired nationwide protests over the summer Asian Americans felt a call to action that overrode cultural norms that discourage complaining and speaking out. 

“I definitely was concerned about African-Americans being treated badly and many of my AfricanAmerican friends telling me they were afraid of the police,” said Dr. Alex Pothen, an Indian-American man living in West Lafayette, Indiana. “This cannot go on. This is indicative of a much deeper systemic racial problem in our country that we need to address.”

But addressing the problem proved to be challenging. For some, it was a struggle to know where their own identity fit in a conflict defined by blackness and whiteness.

“There’s kind of this tendency to say, ‘Well, Asians are really kind of white, aren’t they’,” said Chang Kim, a Korean-American man living in Brooklyn. “Kind of carving out Asians as a special kind of person of color, as in like. ‘Well you’re like, kind of a person of color, but you’re also kinda…so I wasn’t sure where I fit in.”

Others wanted to attend protests, but stayed home out of health concerns. Some have found more behind-the-scenes methods to promote racial justice. For families with means, that meant keeping their kids at home this fall so that parents who needed to work would be able to send their kids to school.

Bonita Price, a Canadian citizen of Filipino ancestry struggles to explain racism to her children. Photo Courtesy of Bonita Price

“As a family, we’ve had to make a choice,” said Bonita Price, a mother of four children who has Filipino heritage and Canadian citizenship living in Brooklyn. “…we’re going to try to online school as much as possible and enjoy it so that other kids can actually go to school in your place.”

For some there is a sense that the shine had come off the American dream. The hope of a prosperous life based on equal opportunity had been removed. Underneath was an ugly truth of racism and oppression.

“I think we’re in an apocalyptic moment,” said Kim. “As we all know from Sunday School apocalypse means an unveiling. I think that this unveiling has really made clear to me that there’s something really broken about America.”

The prospect of a Trump victory in November creates anxiety. For Price, it was grounds for moving her family to Canada. Even though her experience was that Canadians were more racist than New Yorkers, she noted that the Canadian government treated people of Asian descent better.

“They were sending televised messages: ‘do not discriminate against Asians because of the virus,’” Price said. “But it’s the opposite in the U.S. We might feel safe in New York, but if your government is sending messages of hate [and] discrimination it’s hostile.”

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“We were not treated as children…we were both children,” she said. 

Newsome was with her then 14-year-old brother, Hawk Newsome. The pair was on their way home after picking up some groceries at their grandmother’s house when they were targeted by police, who padded down their pockets and searched their grocery bags 

Newsome, 35, of the South Bronx, said that was her first experience with law enforcement and it was traumatic.

The feelings of  fear and trauma have never left her, she said.  As a black woman in America she said she is in constant danger of a police encounter that could go wrong.

“When we get pulled over in our  SUVs it’s like ‘will I make it home?, will they shoot me?’ It’s a protocol that I’ve practiced for years.” said Newsome. “Now when I get in the car and I’m getting pulled over for a cop to give us a ticket, I make sure I’m recording. I’m making sure I’m not moving around and my hands are stationary and this is a protocol.”

Microaggressions are also the norm for her. As a former financial advisor, Newsome received various comments from her white peers complimenting how she is “so well spoken” or “so articulate” as though black women are seen only through the lens of negative stereotypes. 

“Sadly, racism is so ingrained in our society that I don’t think most of them are trying to be insulting at all,” said Newsome. 

Knowing that she had to do something to fight institutionalized racism and other issues that overwhelmed her community. Chivona and her brother decided to organize  Black Lives Matters Greater New York. 

The siblings were raised in a “militant household”  and Hawk Newsome  said  their parents, who met at a civil rights rally, taught them about the importance of standing up for their community.

 He said while growing up not everyone could see the effects of racism first hand or understand how it affected communities of color, but now for younger generations, it’s the norm to be aware about these issues.

“You see things on your cell phone before they even hit the news,” said Newsome. “Those images you see are often revolutionary, they are exposing racism, they are exposing police brutality. Now we can expose individual acts of racism and we can go after the Karens of the world, but in the past we couldn’t do that.” 

Both siblings are now dedicated activists, they have led hundreds of protests over the past five years in favor of racial equality and ending systematic racism. 

Desi Smalls, a 24 year-old from Brooklyn, who has protested in New York City with the group, says the Trayvon Martin case made him understand the dangers he faced as a young black man.

“I remember being in junior high when it happened,” he said. “I will never forget the day that my mom explained to me that whole incident and how George Zimmerman was never held accountable for his actions and ever since then, I’ve been aware of my place in this country.”

For Smalls, living in New York  City has made him  feel safe to voice his opposition to racism. He believes the marchs will lead to change.

“Something will come from all of this. I definitely don’t feel like it’s all in vain,” he said.

Newsome believes that the protests will lead to the transformation the country needs. Recalling one of the chants used during their protests, she said,  “I believe we will win.” 

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Kamara Sudberry, 27, a native of Flint, Michigan, and diversity, equity, and inclusion specialist in healthcare, said that things might worsen before they get better.

“The deaths of Breonna Taylor and Ahmaud Arbery felt incredibly personal because of my proximity in age to theirs. I’m afraid that things might get worse before they get better,” she said.

Kamara Sudberry stands  in front of the Lincoln Memorial in Washington D.C. during the March on Washington on August 28th. Photo courtesy of Kamara Sudberry

Sudberry said that ironically, she was walking a 5K when news of Arbery’s death broke. She didn’t feel safe or comfortable afterward.

“I’ve been hurt about what is going on, but I have decided to pour my frustration into my work and use that energy to promote equity in the workplace,” said Sudberry. “Overt, cruel, and nasty racism is, unfortunately, something that I have seen all my life. Still, as a Black woman, the system feels designed for me to die early in life, and most likely, for no one to be held accountable for it.”

With the elections inching closer by the day, she hopes that a new dawn may be on the horizon. 

“I’m really worried about the effects that the election results will have in Michigan, but ultimately, I am hopeful, ” said Sudberry.

The disproportionate police brutality rates targeted towards Black people show that the shards of racial inequality remain firmly rooted in the U.S.

Nasredinne Younes wears the flag of his home country, Sudan, while holding up a “peace” sign. Photo courtesy of Nasredinne Younes

Nasredinne Younes, 24, a Sudanese immigrant and model for Endless Management in Grand Rapids, is also a senior studying Business and Public Relations at Grand Valley State University in Allendale, Michigan. He said that he had had a hard time seeing people marching and protesting in almost every city across America.

“My Muslim faith teaches me about the principles of love, and racism is not love, said Younes. “I feel unsafe as a Black man in America. It’s almost like, you don’t know when they’re going to kill you. I’m scared for my life.”

But despite his fears, Younes said he has hope for the future. 

“Hope is one of the vital elements of human experience,” he said.“You have to have hope to keep moving.”

Black people are not the only ones feeling the weight of racism.

Kai Ton Chau, a Chinese-American adjunct professor at Calvin University and Cornerstone University is haunted by racism. Photo courtesy of Kai Ton Chau

Kai Ton Chau, 58, a Chinese-American adjunct professor at Calvin University and Cornerstone University,  said it’s personal for him too.

“The police brutality happening in America is very similar to what is happening in Hong Kong between police and citizens,” he said. “There is a lot of racial tension in the country, but it is good that we are talking about it.”

Chau said that he  became an American citizen in 2019. 

“I am now eligible to vote, and I don’t take that responsibility for granted,’ he said. “I want to think critically about how I exercise my political and civil liberties during these precarious times. Still, as we have learned from history, this too shall pass, so I am hopeful.”

But hope is not a sentiment that everyone shares in the face of the current rising racial tensions in America.

Monroe Aki O’Bryant, 43, a Brooklyn native who lives in Grand Rapids, Michigan, is also an Abstract Photographer, Artist, Videographer, Curator, and Bus Driver. O’Bryant, who tells powerful stories through his art, said that hope is far-fetched for him because the Black community has been hoping for too long.

Monroe O’Bryant is interviewed at the Empowerment Network Podcast Show. Photo courtesy of Monroe O’ Bryant

“We sing, we march, but we never fight back. It’s time for us to fight back,” said O’Bryant. “Hope alone is not enough.”

Romel Jean Pierre, 27, a Haitian immigrant, Writer, Video Artist, Activist, and Non-profit Director for Konbit Mizik in Haiti, said that he is perplexed by the inequality which was all too apparent when he visited New York City.

 “I noticed that Manhattan was bustling with diversity in the daytime, but you could hardly find a Black person in Manhattan in the nighttime. Instead, they all lived in places like Queens and Flatbush,” he said.

Pierre  said he  is hopeful the deaths of  George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and so many others will lead to change.

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