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Reproductive justice didn't happen by accident.
It was built deliberately, with intention, by Black women who refused to accept a healthcare system that routinely failed them. Women who showed up, organized, and demanded something better when the mainstream conversation wasn't making room for them.
Their work reached past the narrower conversation about abortion rights that had long dominated reproductive health policy. It asked a question the mainstream reproductive rights movement hadn't fully grappled with: what does it mean to have a choice when the conditions around you make that choice nearly impossible?
Black women in America had lived experience with a different set of stakes: coerced sterilization, medical indifference during childbirth, barriers to prenatal care, the compounding weight of systemic racism on pregnant bodies.
Reproductive Justice was built to hold all of that. It acknowledged that freedom means something different when your life is genuinely at risk.
This Black History Month, we're honoring that legacy, confronting the crisis that makes this work still urgent, and committing to the movement that continues it.
In the summer of 1994, a group of Black women gathered in Chicago and created something that would permanently shift how we talk about reproductive rights. They called it Reproductive Justice, and the concept is deceptively simple: every person has the right to have children, not have children, and raise their children in safe and supportive environments.
The group, which later became the SisterSong Women of Color Reproductive Justice Collective, recognized that the mainstream reproductive rights conversation centered on access to abortion while ignoring the full spectrum of issues Black women faced, including coerced sterilization, poverty, housing instability, and medical neglect. The Reproductive Justice framework said that bodily autonomy means nothing if the conditions around you make it impossible to exercise.
That 1994 meeting is Black history. So is every policy, organization, and telehealth visit that builds on it.
Thirty years after that founding moment, the numbers are sobering. According to the CDC's most recent data, the maternal mortality rate for Black women in 2023 was 50.3 deaths per 100,000 live births, significantly higher than rates for White women (14.5), Hispanic women (12.4), and Asian women (10.7).
That means Black women had a mortality rate more than three times the rate for White women. And more than 80 percent of pregnancy-related deaths in the United States are preventable.
It’s not “biological.” Research consistently points to structural racism, bias within clinical settings, and unequal access to quality care as primary drivers. Maternal death rates in abortion-restricted states are 62 percent higher than in states with abortion access, and 45 percent of Black women and girls under 55 live in states with heavy reproductive health restrictions or total bans.
These numbers are the reason reproductive justice organizations do their work. They're also the reason we do ours at Twentyeight Health.
The reproductive justice movement is powered by Black-led organizations doing essential, often underfunded work. Here are some of the groups that are shaping policy, building community, and saving lives:
We are not a neutral company. Twentyeight Health was built specifically to serve individuals who have been failed by the traditional healthcare system, and we know that "traditionally failed" disproportionately means Black women.
The racial disparities in maternal mortality reflect structural racism, particularly inequities in access to quality healthcare services, and telehealth has a real role to play in addressing that gap. When someone in a rural county with no OB-GYN within 40 miles can connect with a licensed provider, get birth control delivered to their door, and message their care team with no judgment, that is Reproductive Justice in practice.
More than half of Twentyeight Health's users identify as Black, Hispanic/Latinx, Asian, or multiracial. About half use Medicaid. We accept Medicaid in more states than any other telehealth platform, and our services are available in 43 states, including the rural and non-urban areas where healthcare deserts are most common.
Some of the ways we work to close the gap:
We are committed to our part in the movement to ensure Black women and families never have to choose between their health and their dignity.
If you want to go deeper into this history and the ongoing fight for Reproductive Justice, these are worth seeking out:
Black History Month is a good time to redirect resources toward organizations doing this work right now. Here are direct links:
The Reproductive Justice movement is a living, ongoing project built by Black women, and it deserves to be honored with more than a social media post. It deserves our time, our resources, and a genuine commitment to making healthcare equitable for everyone.
If you're ready to access care that respects your whole story, Twentyeight Health is here.