Book Review: Killing the Black Body
I read this book earlier in the year, before the latest reversal of reproductive rights, but I’m publishing this blog post now for anyone (white women especially) who are feeling betrayed and confused. If you’re wondering how something like this could happen, it’s time to read up on the American history of reproductive control, particularly as it pertains to Black and brown people. This isn’t new, this is just the first time it’s directly affecting white people.
At the top: Killing the Black Body is a revolutionary book. I actually had to look up when it was published partway through (why yes I did ignore the bold “twentieth anniversary edition” on the cover) because the author was describing so many things that still affect us today. I was blown away to find this uber-specific nonfiction book published in 1999 still holds so much relevance today. Perhaps that is one of the enduring messages that keeps the book in such high demand still.
The overall message, structure, and topic hierarchy works well to make the author’s points. Because Roberts mostly moves in chronological order, the problems established in previous chapters recur in later ones, having manifested themselves in new ways. This cyclical building up of an argument helps synthesize it for more readers, who are either looking for more evidence (to be convinced) or more ammunition (to convince others).
Similar themes running through the entire book all tend to center on the external influence of Black women’s reproduction. In early America, slave women’s reproductive abilities were exploited to increase the amount of slaves at an owner’s disposal, and when it came to punishment for offenses, they were usually doled out with the health of the fetus in mind. Slave women were merely vessels. Fast forward to the early 1900s and the rise of eugenicist thinking and policies, mainly aimed toward increasing the “good” stock of affluent white people and decreasing the “bad” stock of poor and ill people (largely Black). Birth control was championed as a way for women to decide when and where they get pregnant, but was quickly turned back onto Black women as a way to keep them from procreating and bringing more poor Black children into the world (and thus the financial burden of the state to keep them alive). From the abuse of long-term contraceptives like Norplant and Depo-Provera, to involuntary sterilization of everyone under medical care deemed unfit to mother, Black women have suffered from provider-controlled birth control in one way or another for a century.
I was especially moved by the earliest chapters that covered more historical topics and ones I have less personal knowledge of. I’m not even sure if I’d ever heard of Norplant, as it had long been out of fashion before I grew up and learned about my birth control options. I also appreciate the critical assessment of people and institutions that many of us recognize but don’t know the full extent of their history at this point. I fully believe in transparency all the way down, and only learning about what a person is best known for, or what an organization does today cannot give us the fullest picture, which can be dangerous for marginalized people.
I found myself nodding along often with Roberts’ many salient points, and the way she was able to gather all sorts of historical information, study data, and information from other publications to drive home her arguments felt very tangible. Even though people still try it, it’s very hard to refute these points when they’re so backed up and well-presented. This is definitely one of those books that anyone working in the birth and reproductive space should read, to further their knowledge and to challenge their beliefs along the way.