From dropping a secret album and quenching our thirst with Lemonade to shocking us with the best pregnancy announcement in the history of announcements, Queen Bey is the master of breaking the Internet.
On July 14, she did it again when she introduced her one-month old twins, Sir Carter and Rumi, to the world on Instagram. And trust me when I say it was glorious:
Resembling a deity, the "Formation" singer stunned in a billowing Palomo Spain flowered dress, a flowing baby-blue veil, and low-cut teal panties while cradling her precious bundles of joy.
While most of us were beside ourselves with joy, Beyoncé's critics, like clockwork, were very quick to rain on our parade with their hating gloom and doom.
Hours after releasing the picture of her twins, Beyoncé was bombarded with insults calling her a "narcissist" and "egotistical" and criticizing her for acting as if she invented pregnancy. Hell, even a few people accused her of using her babies to help build her brand.
And look, I have empathy for folks who worry that such a high-profile announcement could trigger people who are struggling with infertility and miscarriages (even though Beyoncé has been open about her own) and aging single women who yearn to have babies. I'm a 38-year-old single Black woman whose uterus literally twinges every time I see a baby on the street. And as my fertility shot clock steadily runs down, I constantly have that honest conversation with myself: "This may never happen for you. Kels." But I also recognize that no woman—Bey included—should ever have to dim her own baby shine to spare other people's feelings.
But that wasn't even the issue this time around.
God forbid Beyoncé, one of the baaaaaadest and most beautiful girls in the game, envision herself as a glowing Goddess and her children in her spitting image. As one of the most influential artists of our generation, with over 104 million Instagram followers, why does she think anyone cares about her personal life?
She really does have a hell of a lot of nerve.
As I watched this unnecessary debate unravel, I asked myself how different this conversation would have been if her haters had a better understanding of the complicated history of Black motherhood in this country.
As Brianna Perry at For Harriet writes, in the antebellum south, Black motherhood and reproduction were a means "for the maintenance of the Southern economy and the institution of slavery." Black babies weren't looked at as precious or doted on; they were seen as currency. And Black women were forced to have children—often raped—to continue creating labor for King Cotton.
Fast forward to 1965, when sociologist Daniel Patrick Moynihan dropped his infamous Moynihan Report, which basically blamed single Black mothers for poverty and argued that the matriarchal "head of the house" threatened Black men and reduced their ability to find work in an already limited job economy, essentially pushing them out of the house. Black mothers were deemed too aggressive and emasculating for going to work and providing for their children, the opposite of the lingering stereotype of the "welfare queen," which labels Black mothers and their children as societal nuances who receive regular handouts that cost taxpayers millions.
Not to mention the very act of giving birth is dangerous for us.
According to the Center for Disease Control and Prevention, Black women are almost four times more likely to die from pregnancy complications than our white counterparts, and Black babies are twice as likely as white babies to die before their first birthday. In addition, studies suggest that stress caused by racial discrimination experienced over a lifetime leads to difficulties for Black women giving birth, regardless of socioeconomic status.
Can you imagine all of that weighing on your shoulders? And that's not even factoring in how police and state violence have dramatically devastated and altered what it means to be a Black mother in 2017.
This is why Beyoncé's baby picture matters—and yes, it is that deep. Beyoncé illuminates all the ways Black women have had to create their own joy and celebrate themselves and their children while living in a world that doesn't respect, let alone glorify, Black women and motherhood. Given all those obstacles, this resilience and ability to control our own narrative should be celebrated.
Not hated on.
