HOUSTON — A new exhibition opening Sunday, Oct. 4, at The Health Museum is bringing Black maternal health into public view through art and personal storytelling.

The Call Me Mother Experience will be on display through Feb. 28, 2027. The museum lists a preview reception today from 3 to 5 p.m. at 1515 Hermann Drive, with tickets priced at $5 for members and $15 for nonmembers.

A personal story becomes a community conversation

According to the museum, founder, curator and lead artist Deborah D.E.E.P. Mouton developed the project from a poem she wrote during a miscarriage. The installation combines films, recorded interviews, visual artwork and contributions created with community members.

Mouton, Houston’s first Black poet laureate, discussed the exhibition and her connection to its subject in an Oct. 1 appearance on KPRC’s Houston Life. The station described the project as addressing the unequal burden of pregnancy-related illness and death faced by Black women in Harris County.

An announcement distributed by the Call Me Mother Experience says the initiative will also reach community locations and faith-based organizations across Greater Houston. Those additional settings are intended to extend the conversation beyond a museum visit.

What visitors can expect

The museum says reception guests can explore the exhibit, hear the curator and meet participating artists. Reception admission includes general museum entry; refreshments are available while supplies last.

The featured image accompanying this article is an original illustrative concept, not a photograph of the exhibition or its artwork.

Sources and visitor information:The Health Museum exhibition listing; preview reception details and tickets; KPRC Houston Life; organizer announcement.

The post Houston’s ‘Call Me Mother’ Exhibit Opens Today, Spotlighting Black Maternal Health appeared first on African American News and Issues.

Based on reporting by African-American News and Issues – Dallas.

Morehouse School of Medicine held its 42nd Fall Convocation and White Coat and Pinning Ceremony on September 18, and it featured strong ties to Nashville. Dr. Valerie Montgomery Rice is completing her 12th year as president and CEO of Morehouse School of Medicine (MSM). The school boasts 355 students seeking degrees and certificates in the medical field.

“This entering class represents the future of medicine, science, public health and health care leadership,” said Valerie Montgomery Rice, MD, and FACOG. “As these students begin their journeys at Morehouse School of Medicine, they join a community grounded in excellence, service and our shared commitment to advancing health equity. We look forward to supporting their development as leaders who will transform the health and well-being of the communities they serve.”

Infectious diseases physician and scientist Dr. Barney S. Graham, MD, and PhD, served as the keynote speaker. He serves as the director of the David Satcher Global Health Equity Institute, professor of Medicine and Microbiology, Biochemistry and Immunology at Morehouse School of Medicine. He is an inventor of vaccines and monoclonal antibodies approved for human use to prevent or treat RSV, COVID-19 and Ebola. He joined MSM in 2022. He served in various positions at Vanderbilt University for 21 years.

Dr. Graham told the audience to “Embrace the Unseen” and focused on three points: Do the Best You can with what’s in front of you, Do what makes you come alive and Do the right thing even when no one is looking. He added, “Anything you do to improve mental and physical wellness and promote disease prevention will reduce health disparity by reducing the resources needed for treatment.”

His remarks commanded a roaring applause from the audience, which included his wife, Dr. Cynthia Turner Graham, and the former First Lady of Tennessee State University, Mrs. Edwina Hefner, a close friend to the family.

Based on reporting by Tennessee Tribune.

Oakland’s public conversation about health care must begin with a simple truth: a doctor’s appointment is not the same thing as access to care.

For a mother juggling work and child care, access may mean a text-message reminder, a bus pass, an evening appointment, or someone who can explain what Medi-Cal covers. For an older patient managing diabetes, it may mean help scheduling a specialist visit and understanding new medications. For a family that has been dismissed or misunderstood in medical settings, access may begin with meeting a community health worker who knows the neighborhood, speaks their language, and treats their concerns with respect.

Community health clinics make that kind of care possible. They are part medical provider, part navigator, part educator, and part trusted local institution. Proposition 44 threatens to narrow the definition of what counts as patient care in a way that could undermine the very supports that allow patients to receive it.

The statewide measure would require covered nonprofit community clinics to spend at least 90 percent of their annual revenue on health care or qualifying program services. The ballot measure directs the Attorney General to establish more detailed guidance on what expenses qualify. Clinics that do not meet the threshold could face penalties for the difference. The Legislative Analyst’s Office reports that affected clinics currently spend an average of about 80 percent of revenue on health care services.

A percentage may look like a clean measure of accountability. But health care is not cleanly divided between what happens inside an examination room and everything that enables a patient to enter one.

Consider the work that happens before and after a visit. Clinic staff maintain confidential patient records. They follow up after missed appointments. They keep information systems secure. They recruit and train employees in an expensive and competitive health care labor market. They coordinate referrals, process claims, purchase supplies, maintain buildings, and make certain that patients are not lost somewhere between diagnosis and treatment.

Oakland families should not be asked to accept the fiction that these functions are unrelated to care.

The danger in Proposition 44 is not only its 90 percent figure. It is that the meaning of “qualifying” spending will be worked out later. A clinic preparing a budget today may not know whether a navigator, health educator, transportation program, outreach worker, technology upgrade, or other patient-support service will be counted the way it expects. Yet the financial consequence of getting it wrong could be immediate.

The Legislative Analyst’s Office says clinics falling short of the requirement could be required to pay the shortfall amount to the state and could seek to recover the money only if they show compliance within five years. The same analysis estimates state enforcement costs in the low tens of millions of dollars annually, supported by fees.

That is a troubling arrangement for organizations that are expected to provide care to people with the fewest alternatives.

Oakland has learned that trust is not built through slogans. It is built when a patient is listened to, when a parent can secure an appointment for a child, when a clinic returns a call, and when a person receives help without being shamed for their income, insurance, language, immigration history, or prior experience with the system.

For Black residents in particular, trustworthy care is not an abstract goal. Persistent inequities in health outcomes and patient treatment are real. Community-centered clinics can help bridge the gap with culturally responsive staff, patient navigators, behavioral-health programs, and partnerships that understand the conditions shaping health outside the clinic door.

Proposition 44 could pressure providers to treat those supports as expendable because they do not fit neatly into a state-enforced formula. That would be a mistake.

Accountability is necessary. Clinics that receive public resources should be transparent, well governed, and focused on their mission. But good oversight asks whether patients are being served well, whether money is managed responsibly, and whether communities can obtain needed care. It should not rely on a rigid ratio that may punish clinics for doing the hard work of reaching people who need more than a brief medical encounter.

A broad coalition of providers and community organizations opposes Proposition 44, including the California Primary Care Association, the California Medical Association, the California Hospital Association, Planned Parenthood Affiliates of California, and the California Teachers Association.

Oakland needs health policy that expands the circle of care. Proposition 44 risks drawing that circle smaller.

The Oakland Post editorial board urges a No vote on Proposition 44.

The sound of clippers buzzed with a different kind of conversation Monday at 11 a.m. as Alabama State University students and staff listened to barbers, cancer survivors and health professionals discuss a disease that disproportionately affects Black men.

Cuts and Conversations, held Sept. 28 in the John Garrick Hardy Center Ballroom, used free haircuts and the familiarity of the barbershop to open conversations about prostate cancer, early detection, family history and men’s health.

Tanjula Petty, Ed.D., vice president for Institutional Effectiveness, Strategic Initiatives and Transformation, and Willie S. Rockward, Ph.D., dean of the College of Science, Technology, Engineering and Mathematics, opened the forum and welcomed those in attendance.

For Petty, the message came from experience.

“I’m not just speaking to you based on research,” she said. “I’m talking to you from a place of experience.”

Petty said she exercised regularly, ate well and considered herself healthy when a doctor told her she had cancer. She challenged students to take what they learned back to their fathers, grandfathers and uncles.

“It’s not all about genetics; you may be the first in your family to experience it,” Petty said. “People ask me all the time, ‘Who in your family was diagnosed?’ Nobody. I’m the first.”

According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, Black men are more likely to develop prostate cancer than other men and are more than twice as likely to die from the disease. The American Cancer Society recommends that Black men begin discussing prostate cancer screening with a health care provider at age 45 or at 40 for men at higher risk because of family history.

Three prostate cancer survivors were recognized during the event: Andy Maxwell, Leroy Huffman and Dandrea Evans Sr. Evans and Huffman shared their experiences with those in attendance.

Evans was 44 when a routine doctor’s visit led to his prostate cancer diagnosis. He had no symptoms.

“Initially it was the worst news you could ever hear because I didn’t feel like I had cancer. I felt great,” he said.

Evans said he turned to his faith and made the decision “to trust God through the process and to live.” Four years later, he said he is cancer-free.

“The more you know, the more you’ll be prepared to deal with it and understand it a little bit better,” Evans said.

The five-year survival rate is greater than 99% for prostate cancer diagnosed at a localized or regional stage, according to the American Cancer Society. That rate falls to 38% when the cancer has spread to distant parts of the body.

Huffman has worked at Heritage Barber & Style Shop for about 26 years, has cut hair for 63 years.

“Awareness about prostate cancer is the best thing that Black men should do,” Huffman said.

His advice was simple.

“Age is not the key here. Life is,” Huffman said.

Dawna Nelson, Ph.D., an associate professor of social work, licensed master social worker, and principal investigator for the Cuts and Conversations research project, said the project grew from years of community health work and conversations with Heritage about the role barbershops already play in Black communities. When funding became available, the partnership trained barbers to speak with clients about prostate cancer, early detection, and family history.

Heritage owner Vladimir “Boo Man” Averett said the shop wanted to be part of that work, particularly because of Huffman’s experience.

“He gives conversation all the time to us younger barbers as well as our clients about get checked, get checked, get checked,” Averett said.

For Averett, the message comes down to five words.

“It’s not about wealth. It’s about health,” Averett said.

The partnership extended to student barbers.

Brittany Hollins, planning and evaluation specialist in the Office of Institutional Effectiveness, Strategic Initiatives, and Transformation, said organizers worked with Student Life and athletics to identify student barbers who were trained at Heritage to carry those conversations to their peers.

“They’re cutting hair, and they’re having these conversations,” Hollins said. “And so it’s Cuts and Conversations today.”

Hollins’ grandfather died a little more than a year ago after his prostate cancer progressed to Stage 4.

“It is not an easy task to have that loved one at home on hospice, and you are being tasked to give them that last dose of morphine, and then you realize there’s no pulse,” Hollins said.

Beyond the personal stories, the event connected students with cancer research and health resources.

Manoj K. Mishra, Ph.D., director of the university’s Cancer Research Center and professor of biology, said the center supports cancer research, trains students, and works to increase cancer awareness in the community.

Pastor Lee B. Walker Jr. and Terrance “Wolfgang” Baldwin hosted a live recording of the “Off the Cuff” podcast, continuing the discussion about prostate cancer awareness and Black men’s health.

Five Horizons Health Services, the Alabama Department of Public Health, the university’s Cancer Research Center and Health Services were represented. Five Horizons also provided free HIV and sexually transmitted infection testing.

For the students in the barber chairs, the conversations made the message immediate.

Freshman Jonathan Alexandre said events such as Cuts and Conversations can make it easier for young Black men to begin talking about their health.

Freshman Elijah Kidd, a computer engineering major from Pensacola, Florida, said cancer has already touched his family through his uncle.

“Really just cherish every moment you have, because you never know when it might end,” Kidd said.

Senior Xavier Moore, a double major in music education and music performance, said the setting allowed younger and older Black men to learn from one another.

“Your health comes first,” Moore said.

Student barber Mark Coaxum II, a biology major who plans to become a doctor, brought the message back to action.

“Knowing the probability is good, but getting tested is best, because whether you’re probable or not, you never know,” Coaxum said. “It could be you.”

Nelson said she hopes those conversations continue long after the barber chairs are gone.

“The barbershop is where these conversations start, but then the next day they’re in the gym, and then the day after that on the golf course, and in the boardroom, and most importantly, at a family dinner table amongst the father and the son,” Nelson said.

For students who may think prostate cancer is years away, Nelson left them with a reason to start talking now.

“You are a son. You are a nephew. You are a grandson,” she said. “And if you take the time to talk to your fathers and your uncles and all of the men in your life about this, you are potentially saving their life, and you’re also at the same time empowering yourself so that when your time does come, you have all the information you need to be able to make good health choices.”

Based on reporting by Alabama State University – The Hornet Tribune.

As Black parents strive to raise resilient, confident, brilliant children within systems that too often underestimate them, an Atlanta-based company launches an app that delivers a five-minute daily wellness practice, backed by forty years of research, to help build the identity, confidence, and self-worth their children carry into every room.

ATLANTA — October 6, 2026 — Every morning, Black children walk into classrooms and spaces that weren’t designed with them in mind. They carry a quiet, daily weight most adults never see. There is no shortage of national conversation about the challenges they face; there has been far less discussion about what actually helps. Yet the research has pointed to answers for decades: a grounded sense of who they are, the steadying power of breath, and the pride that comes from knowing their history and their own worth. What was missing was a way to deliver those answers to Black children, consistently and easily, every single day. Until now.

Bright Crowns, the first daily wellness practice built specifically for Black children, launched and is available now on the Apple App Store. The morning practice takes just five minutes and fits easily into a busy day.

“As much as we’d like to, we can’t always lighten the load our children carry each day,” said co-founder and CEO Tia Harley. “But we can help make them strong enough to carry it — with their heads held high.”

Here is what the Bright Crowns wellness practice delivers. Each morning, a child opens the app and hears a voice that sounds like home. The breath comes first, to help them settle and notice what they’re feeling. Then an affirmation that names who they are and the people they come from. Then the story of someone from Black history whose life is proof of the strength being built in them that day. A new figure every day, all year long, not just in February. Not a history lesson, but evidence of what they already carry inside. They start each day steady, certain, and ready for whatever it holds.

The arc is deliberate: Breathe. Belong. Become. That five-minute morning session is called Crown Time, and Bright Crowns doesn’t stop there. Its practices carry a child through the whole day. Crown Ready steadies a child before a hard test or a game. Crown Reset meets a big feeling the moment it rises. Crown Together is a weekend reflection a parent reads aloud. And Bedtime Crown carries them into sleep with folktales from the African diaspora. Instead of points or badges, children earn crowns drawn from real African kingdoms — an inheritance, not a reward. A badge says good job; a crown says this was always yours.

“Bright Crowns isn’t about making a child feel better for five minutes,” said Tia Harley. “It’s about giving them tools that compound: steadiness, identity, and resilience they carry long after the session ends, into the classroom, under pressure, and into rooms where they may be the only one.”

Built on joy. Backed by forty years of science. Husband-and-wife team David and Tia Harley built Bright Crowns out of love for their own children. Then they discovered that every piece of what they had built had already been supported by research. A landmark study in the journal Science found that a brief, culturally grounded practice measurably narrowed the racial achievement gap for Black students, without any change to the school itself. Research has since identified ethnic-racial identity as a key protective factor for Black youth mental health in the Annual Review of Clinical Psychology, and a meta-analysis of 76 mindfulness programs for young people found significant improvements in stress, attention, emotional regulation, and academic engagement. Psychologists have a name for what these build together: hardiness, the inner architecture that lets a person meet difficulty without breaking. It has been studied since 1979, when psychologist Suzanne Kobasa first identified it, and the research is clear that it is teachable, built through brief, consistent daily practice. “The research showed that while the school didn’t change,” Tia Harley said, “what those children carried into it did.”

A category built, not borrowed. Wellness has grown into one of the largest industries in the world, worth roughly $2.1 trillion in the U.S. alone, with apps for sleep, focus, breathing, and meditation. Yet when the Harleys went looking for a daily wellness practice built for their own Black children, they found none. What existed was generic: polished and useful, but spoken in voices and settings that never felt like home, and asking a Black child to set part of themselves aside just to belong there. “A Black child’s identity isn’t separate from their wellness. It’s part of it,” said Tia Harley. Bright Crowns wasn’t adapted for Black children after the fact. It was built with them in mind from the very beginning, the first of its kind, and one this community has long deserved.

David Harley, an award-winning creative director, began building a morning wellness routine at their family’s kitchen table, and he and Tia joined forces to grow it into what Bright Crowns is today. The two brought professional rigor to a labor of love: David, with two decades leading multicultural campaigns for major brands, and Tia, who led business development and partnerships at Google. They built Bright Crowns to a standard they’d trust with their own children. Then they used it with their two kids every morning for more than a year before it reached anyone else. “We built it for our children first,” Tia Harley said. “We watched them change: quicker to recover from tough moments, more willing to try hard things, holding their heads a little higher. Then we realized every Black family we knew needed the same thing.” The launch arrives as Black families across the country are thinking hard about how to prepare and educate their children in schools and spaces that weren’t always designed with them in mind. Bright Crowns speaks to the part that travels with a child into any classroom: the certainty of who they are.

Availability. Bright Crowns is available now on the Apple App Store with a free 7-day trial. Families who join by December 31, 2026 lock in the Founding Family rate of $69.99 for the first year; one subscription includes every child in the home. Learn more and download at hellobrightcrowns.com.

“Our children are already brilliant,” said co-founder and chief product officer David Harley. “We don’t teach them to survive. We teach them they were born to thrive. Their crowns are already on — we just help them remember.”

###

About Bright Crowns
Bright Crowns is a five-minute daily wellness practice built for Black children, available now on the Apple App Store. It is the first daily practice of its kind, grounded in decades of research on identity, mindfulness, and resilience. Founded by husband-and-wife team David and Tia Harley, parents of two, Bright Crowns pairs deep cultural fluency with the quality families expect and deserve. It helps Black children feel steady in themselves, certain of who they are, and ready to show the world what they’re made of. Learn more at hellobrightcrowns.com.

Media Contact
Tia Harley, Co-Founder
[email protected]
(404) 491-9637
Digital Press Kit: hellobrightcrowns.com/press
hellobrightcrowns.com

By Antoinette Stewart-Eneh, Special to California Black Media Partners

Word Count: 1058

Note: Client A, B & C, names are withheld for privacy; these accounts reflect my recollections as theirDoula.

Client A rocked her hips on a birthing ball, surrounded by pale wood and warm textiles in a softly lit Scandinavian-style office. I was her doula through a Southern California maternal health company combining nurse-led care, technology, and wraparound support.

She was a healthy Black woman in her thirties. Her baby girl was doing well; her partner took notes as we discussed labor and advocacy.

Then we turned to their chosen hospital. I knew it well—and remembered a phrase from another client’s experience: “Policy of Sovereignty.”

Client B had been told she needed a repeat cesarean as a precaution, though the reasoning was unclear. Her obstetrician, who performed her first cesarean two years earlier, had assured her throughout pregnancy that she was healthy, healed, and ready for a vaginal birth. We asked staff to review her chart, consult her obstetrician, and reconsider immediate surgery. Instead, they invoked the “Policy of Sovereignty.”

The physician on duty, we were told, had final authority, regardless of her established care plan. I asked whether an ultrasound or reassessing the baby’s position could offer clarity. Cesareans can be lifesaving. But were Client B’s history, informed consent, and circumstances guiding this decision—or was routine overriding individualized care? We kept asking for her obstetrician. Beneath every request was a deeper question: Was she being heard?

The Numbers Behind the Stories

Statistics arrive in clean columns. The experiences behind them do not.

Maternal mortality and pregnancy-related mortality use different time frames and methods and are not interchangeable. Finalized 2024 CDC data recorded 649 maternal deaths nationally. The overall rate was 17.9 deaths per 100,000 live births, but for non-Hispanic Black women it was 44.8, compared with 14.2 for White women and 12.1 for Hispanic women.

In California, Black birthing people experienced 56.5 pregnancy-related deaths per 100,000 live births during 2020–2022—3.8 times the White rate and four times the Asian rate.

As a doula serving Los Angeles and San Bernardino Counties, I see faces behind those numbers. I remember concerns raised softly, then firmly, then desperately. I am tired of watching Black families enter spaces meant to protect them, only to discover they must defend themselves while laboring, bleeding, trembling, or recovering.

Returning to Client A

Client A’s labor stretched nearly 48 hours. As her condition worsened, she, her partner, and I asked whether a cesarean should happen sooner. A provider questioned my place as a doula, then said she was next.

Six more hours passed.

She entered surgery visibly ill with a serious uterine infection, her baby malpositioned and stuck. Her partner later recalled the provider saying, “This baby would never have made it through the birth canal.”

Those words landed like a blow. Our urgency had been treated as ignorance. With Client B, we questioned why surgery was inevitable. With Client A, why it was delayed. Doula advocacy is not about one kind of birth. It is about informed consent, individualized care, and timely action. Hospital routine should never outweigh the person carrying the risk.

Survival Cannot Be the Standard

The Black maternal health crisis includes unequal care, untreated conditions, racial bias, delayed referrals, poor communication, and inadequate postpartum support. It is about birth plans respected only until a hospital becomes less busy and postpartum care that asks whether a mother survived, not whether she has what she needs to recover.

Survival cannot be the standard. Technology can support care, but it cannot replace human connection. An algorithm cannot detect fear in a patient’s eyes, and a mission statement alone cannot ensure adequate staffing or culturally responsive care.

The Story of Client C

Before I arrived, I heard the chaos through Client C’s phone. Staff struggled to locate her baby’s heartbeat on an external monitor as her fear and blood pressure rose. I pleaded for an internal electrode before surgery.

“There’s not enough time,” a nurse said.

“I would like to wait for my doula,” Client C called out.

But she was medicated, hurried through consent, and wheeled away while I listened.

In the operating room, after a shift change, another nurse placed an internal electrode and said, “The previous monitor wasn’t working.”

No one responded.

According to her father, the obstetrician avoided eye contact: “We need to move forward.”

Surgery may still have been necessary; that was not mine to determine. But if faulty equipment helped create the emergency, the family deserved acknowledgment and explanation—not silence. No family should have to wonder whether major surgery followed an unavoidable crisis or a machine failure no one recognized in time.

From Prevention to Accountability

After supporting nearly 100 families, I have learned that danger often begins before admission. I have urged clients to seek care—and heard why they feared returning: dismissed pain, harsh words, shame for asking questions.

Care cannot be holistic where Black families do not feel safe enough to speak or return. Representation matters, but providers of color cannot repair inequity alone. They need adequate staffing, mentorship, culturally responsive training, reliable equipment, and colleagues that are reflective of all the aforementioned. It’s not the Black providers job to care for just the Black patients, everyone should have the same goal.

The Momnibus Act, California’s Medi-Cal doula benefit, the Transforming Maternal Health Model and the Perinatal Equity Initiative require more than promises; they need sustained funding, reliable reimbursement and accountable implementation.

Birth should be sacred. Yet too many Black birthing people arrive carrying the burden of proving their pain is real. A doula can listen, educate, comfort, and advocate—but cannot repair a system that refuses to listen. The true measure of progress is what happens when a Black birthing person says, “Something is wrong.”

Are they believed? When equipment fails, is that failure acknowledged? Do families leave not merely alive, but safe, respected, supported, and whole?

Until those answers are consistently yes, California’s maternal health success story remains unfinished.

About the Author

Antoinette Stewart-Eneh is a mother of two, holistic maternal wellness advocate, and birth and postpartum doula who has supported families since 2019. She serves as program operations coordinator for Frontline Doulas, a volunteer client coordinator with the Joy in Birthing Foundation and a childbirth educator in South Los Angeles. She is studying to become a midwife and lactation educator.