Tonya Lee and Paula Eiselt direct an essential and heartbreaking documentary that depicts the lives hidden beneath sad statistics.
Making viewers care deeply is a tried and tested approach to crushing their hearts. “Aftershock” doesn’t spend any time doing so. Paula Eiselt and Tonya Lewis Lee’s emotionally riveting, statistically terrifying documentary exposing the drastically increasing rates of maternal mortality and morbidity among Black women in the United States begins with montages of two lives.
Shamony Gibson and Amber Rose Isaac were two young, healthy women who gave birth in hospitals and died. Beginning with shots of two vivacious, fascinating young ladies is a distinctly “say her name” salvo.
One of the most compelling ways for storytellers to link us to tragedies caused by institutional failings is to tell us who was lost and who they left behind. Shawnee Benton Gibson, Shamony’s mother, coined the phrase “aftershock” to characterize her sentiments following her daughter’s untimely death. It was a tidal wave. It was a tidal wave. It may have been avoided. The same might be said of Isaac’s death: it was both tragic and avoidable.
Shamony’s partner, Omari Maynard, became the single parent of their toddler daughter and unborn son after her death in October 2019. Six months later, Bruce McIntyre III went from expecting first-time father to a single parent when Amber Rose died as a result of complications from her C-section.
The documentary’s protagonists are Maynard and McIntyre, who fight to bring institutional responsibility and public notice to the disease that killed their spouses. The two young guys become a powerful partnership working to guarantee that what they experienced does not happen to others — and that if it does, they know they are not alone.
Also read: Luckiest Girl Alive: A tale of Trauma and Justice
Maternal mortality rates in the United States are dismal across the board, but the impact on Black women — even those with resources — is alarming. “Knowledge doesn’t shield you from this pandemic,” Shawnee Gibson says, speaking with the leader of the Brooklyn nonprofit where Omari is launching a Black men’s group.
“Aftershock” is full of intriguing and determined characters focused on changing those stunning figures. Charles Johnson, who lost his wife (the mother of his boys Charles and Langston), testifies before Congress.
Harvard Medical School’s Dr. Neel Shah works on healthcare fairness concerns and practices. Helena Grant, a long-time midwife, teaches about the history of gynecology (and its nasty, unexpected tie to slavery), as well as the medicalization of maternity care.
According to Truven Health Analytics, a graphic comparing C-sections versus vaginal births indicates that C-section deliveries take less time, cost less, and earn 50% more money for the hospital. “Imagine what type of incentives that might create,” Dr. Shah adds.
Neel travels to Tulsa, Oklahoma, where maternal mortality among Black women is significantly greater than in the rest of the country. There, he meets LaBrisa Williams, the director of the Tulsa Birth Equity Initiative. One of the greatest benefits of “Aftershock” is being introduced to community activists like Williams.
Felicia and Paul Ellis of Tulsa are worried since they are expecting their first child. “A Black woman having a baby [at the hospital] is like a Black guy at a traffic stop with the cops,” she adds, knowing of national and Tulsa statistics and humbled by Serena Williams’ account of her struggles to get her physicians to listen while pregnant. Their journey is empowering, instructional, and heartwarming.
It’s easy to picture a presentation that starts with sobbing and ends with a newborn’s yawl, but the filmmakers are wiser than that. “Aftershock” returns to Shamony and Amber Rose’s memories. Returning to Omari, Bruce, and Shawnee, the spectator is reminded that they responded to incomprehensible sorrow with fiery compassion and a demand for change.
