By Teon Hayes

Black women in America are more than three times more likely to die from pregnancy-related complications than their White, Latina, and Asian counterparts—a devastating disparity rooted in this country’s systemic failures.1 Even more troubling, this heightened risk persists regardless of income or education, proving that both individual and systemic racism is the driving force behind these outcomes. No matter how “successful” a Black woman may be, she is still more likely to lose her life during pregnancy, childbirth, or the postpartum period. 

As a Black woman who recently gave birth, I know this fear intimately. It was terrifying to know that there were forces far beyond my control that could have a fatal impact on both me and my son. No one should have to carry that fear while preparing to bring new life into the world. This stark statistic has become a rallying cry in health equity circles, sparking overdue attention to racism in maternal care. But one critical factor remains overlooked in too many of these conversations: food insecurity. 

The nation’s food system is facing serious threats. In just the past year, the U.S. Department of Agriculture ended funding for several local and regional food programs that helped bring fresh, affordable food to communities in need. Current budget reconciliation proposals include hundreds of billions in cuts to the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program, which is the nation’s largest anti-hunger program. At the same time, the President’s budget for fiscal year 2026 calls for deep cuts to WIC, a vital source of nutrition support for pregnant women, infants, and young children. 

These attacks on the nation’s food system come amid rising living costs and in the midst of a deepening Black maternal health crisis. If this trajectory continues, it will further impact the communities already facing the highest maternal mortality rates and could drive those numbers even higher. 

Food insecurity or the lack of consistent access to enough food for an active, healthy life is not just a symptom of poverty; it’s a silent force exacerbating the Black maternal health crisis. In many Black and historically underfunded communities, expecting mothers are navigating pregnancy while skipping meals, stretching limited food supplies, or relying on corner stores with few healthy options. 

Poor nutrition during pregnancy is linked to high blood pressure, preeclampsia, gestational diabetes, low birth weight, and complications during delivery. These are not rare or abstract conditions; rather, they’re some of the most common contributors to maternal death in the United States. When an expecting mother can’t access fresh fruits, vegetables, or protein-rich foods, she’s more vulnerable to a fatal outcome. These health risks are compounded by broader systemic inequities that shape where and how people live. The barriers to good nutrition and safe pregnancies are not just medical; they are rooted in longstanding structural inequities. 

Food deserts don’t appear by accident. They are the result of decades of redlining, disinvestment, and discriminatory policies that have stripped Black neighborhoods of grocery stores, public transit, health services, and economic opportunity. One out of every five Black households is situated in a food desert. Many of the same communities where food insecurity is highest are also maternity care deserts. These are areas that do not have access to birthing hospitals, birth centers that offer obstetric care, or obstetric providers. This double bind means Black women are more likely to experience poor nutrition and receive substandard prenatal care.  

That’s why protecting and strengthening nutrition programs is critical. Policymakers must take a holistic view and consider the ripple effects these decisions will have on communities. Undermining the nation’s food system will only widen racial inequities and may further increase Black maternal mortality rates. These outcomes aren’t the result of individual failures—they reflect systemic ones. Addressing food insecurity requires fully funding and restructuring the food system and maternal care infrastructure to ensure every Black birthing person has consistent access to nutritious food, while also dismantling inherently racist policies that restrict access and deepen health inequities. 

This multifaceted approach should include but not limited to: 

• Fully fund federal nutrition programs like WIC and SNAP to ensure pregnant and postpartum people can access healthy, nourishing food. Benefits must be robust enough to support a well-rounded diet. 

• Pass comprehensive legislative bills that improve outcomes and work to address food insecurity and health for mothers, like the MOMNIBUS and the Health Equity and Accountability Act. 

• Explore innovative food access models such as direct delivery of healthy foods or unrestricted cash assistance for groceries. 

• Invest in Black-led food justice organizations and maternal health clinics that are deeply rooted in the communities they serve. These trusted spaces often deliver more culturally responsive and holistic care. 

• Support urban agriculture and community gardens as sources of fresh food, healing, and local economic opportunity.  

• Reimagine health care access so that every Black mother can receive affordable, trusted, high-quality prenatal and postpartum care close to home. This includes expanding programs and pathways to increase the number of Black doctors, helping address the deep racial inequities in the medical field. 

• Fund alternative birthing options such as midwifery care, doula support, and home births, which have been shown to improve outcomes for Black women. Also provide reimbursements for doula care and other alternative birthing options. 

• Implement trauma-informed and culturally responsive care standards in all hospitals. This should include consistent staff training and a rigorous accountability system to ensure hospitals are meeting those standards not just on paper, but in practice. 

If we’re serious about ending the Black maternal mortality crisis, we have to think beyond hospital walls. A mother’s health starts long before labor. It begins with the food on her plate, the safety of her neighborhood, and the policies that shape her access to care.

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1  CLASP recognizes that people of all genders can be pregnant and give birth. Some use the terms “birthing people” and “pregnant people” to capture this. In most cases, we have chosen to use “women” to be consistent with the terminology used in the statistics throughout this piece.