These storytellers are bringing attention to the Black maternal health crisis
Directed by award-winning filmmaker Nijla Mu’Min (Jinn, Queen Sugar), Water Angel tells the story of Jawny, a young Black woman whose pain is dismissed during pregnancy. What unfolds is not just a story of survival—it’s one of transformation. Jawny becomes a doula, stepping into the role that might have saved her. It’s a deeply personal, poetic narrative that reimagines what care looks like when systems fall short, and how women show up for one another in the aftermath.
FEMINIST sat down with director Nijla Mu’Min and actor Rachel Hilson (This Is Us, Love, Victor, The Good Wife), who stars as Jawny, to discuss the Black maternal health crisis and feminist storytelling.
I’d love to start by asking—what does feminism mean to you?
Nijla: Feminism, to me, means living your life fully and unapologetically. It’s about honoring our self determination in this country, and globally. It means equal and fair treatment for all people. It means loving freely and not being held back or discriminated against for existing as a woman or non-binary person. Feminism also means acknowledging intersectionality and the inherent differences and disparities that Black and other non-white women face, and allowing for a global dialogue that advocates for human rights.
Rachel: Feminism, to me, is the prioritization of women’s economic, personal, social, and political enfranchisement. It can manifest as an intentional, conscious movement or ideology—taking shape in art, advocacy, organized groups, etc.—or as an often unconscious embrace of one’s own destiny in a patriarchal world that discourages it. Feminism, to me, is the ability to make choices about my own life and about how I want to show up for myself and my community, near and far. Feminism, to me, must be intersectional, include the full breadth of womanhood in all its shapes and forms, and be rooted in liberation. It must be adaptable and oriented toward progress, which means accepting that maybe this isn’t our grandma’s feminism anymore or even our mother’s.
Feminism for me is understanding that advocating requires that I use my platform and privilege to give voice to the intersection between our inherent rights as humans and the social justice initiatives which actualize that power. My book ‘This Is Body Grief’ allowed me a vehicle to put that belief into action by educating all individuals about the personal and societal disenfranchisement that comes from living in a body and how that inherent discord can be used as a source of powerful transformation.
“All Black birthing people deserve to be thoughtfully, attentively cared for—held and kept.” - Rachel Hilson
Congratulations on Water Angel, a powerful response to the Black maternal health crisis. What inspired you to tell this story now, given the systemic neglect Black women face in healthcare?
Nijla: I was hired by the MTV Staying Alive Foundation to write and direct a short film about reproductive freedom. I pitched many story ideas to them for this project, but this is the one that seemed most pressing and relevant for the times that we’re in, where Black women are 3x more likely to die from pregnancy-related complications. There have also been countless news stories of pregnant women, particularly Black women, whose lives have been gravely impacted, or who have died because they weren’t given proper medical care, including an abortion, when it was medically necessary due to state-wide abortion bans.
This film takes us into the inner world of a Black woman, Jawny, who faces this form of medical neglect and is not listened to by her doctor. I also have friends and family who’ve had difficult birthing experiences, or have faced the pain and loss that Jawny has. Often, there’s a kind of silence that accompanies these experiences, and women are made to hold these memories inside. Through Jawny’s experience, we hear, we feel, we care, and we advocate.
Rachel, what drew you to Jawny’s story, especially within the broader context of Black maternal suffering and resilience?
Rachel: All Black birthing people deserve to be thoughtfully, attentively cared for—held and kept. I was drawn to Jawny’s story because I saw myself in her—my sister, my mother, my friends. I felt called to be one of her keepers in the way I know best: through embodiment.
The film centers softness and healing rather than sensationalizing trauma. Why was it important to focus on care and nuance in telling this story?
Nijla: Throughout our history in this country, Black women have been portrayed in ways that emphasize pain, and negate care and nuance. As a storyteller, I am invested in the complexity and fullness of the human experience for my characters. I lean into joy, into laughter, and love, as well as more difficult emotions, of sadness, shock, and grief. I never want anyone to watch one of my films and leave the experience feeling beat down or paralyzed with hopelessness.
Though Jawny and Jamal face a life-altering, traumatic experience, their love for each other and for themselves allows them to keep going. I wanted to show how love and care can elevate us, even in our most trying times. For example, someone sitting by your bedside as Jamal does in the scene when Jawny wakes up after her painful experience, a loved one praying for you, or someone holding your hand near the ocean. And, being able to speak your truth and confront the evil that contributed to your pain in a cathartic way, as Jawny does in a later scene. These were all ways to show the nuance and care, instead of showing extended scenes of distress. The water in the film also represents care, and freedom. It’s an expansive blanket of safety for Jawny, who’s a swimmer. And, the poetic inner monologues allow us to go beyond the harshness of the hospital rooms into the warmth of Jawny’s soul.
How did your research ensure an authentic portrayal of the systemic barriers that many women face in reproductive healthcare?
Nijla: I spoke with several medical and birthing consultants during the development and script-writing stage of this project, including Black Mamas Matter Alliance and Janet Dickerson, a midwife named Jamarah Amani who helped found the Southern Birth Justice Network, and a Black woman obstetrician and gynecologist named Dr. Jamila Perritt, who read drafts of the script and went scene by scene giving notes, to ensure medical accuracy. I also read and researched various articles related to Black maternal health and Black maternal mortality in this country.
In the past, I studied the historical foundations of medical racism in this country in relation to Black women. When I was in grad school, I learned about the white, male gynecologist J. Marion Sims who performed painful medical experiments to repair fistulas on several enslaved Black women, without anesthesia. He was then crowned the father of gynecology, and went on to perform the same procedures on white women, with anesthesia. I wrote a script from the perspective of one of the women he experimented on, named Anarcha. It is a script I continually return to. For this film, I also researched preeclampsia and other pregnancy-related conditions.
Additionally, I have many close friends who are mothers. I listened to them as they recounted their experiences in medical settings, giving birth, and complications they faced during the process. I am also a Black woman who’s experienced extreme pain due to reproductive health challenges, and have felt scared and alone in doctor’s offices.
What role do intimacy and vulnerability play in reshaping narratives about maternal health in a culture that often dismisses women’s pain?
Nijla: I think vulnerability is a strength. For so long, we were taught that not crying or showing emotion was equal to being strong, but that’s not true. When someone is able to express their pain, release it, and speak their truth openly and freely, they are stronger for it. That’s why it was important for me to show the scene of Jawny and Jamal in the hospital room after she wakes up from her painful emergency.
That is a quiet, vulnerable moment where we truly see the consequences and ramifications of medical racism, and medical neglect on a human being. That is real pain and loss. It is what happens when Black women aren’t valued and cared for in a larger, systemic sense. It is through those intimate moments that we understand on a human level, what this means. Another film would’ve focused on the medical system’s malfunction, but I was concerned with Jawny and the moment she woke up.
How do you hope Water Angel advances the movement for reproductive justice and healthcare reform for Black women?
Nijla: Water Angel is a form of art, and it is a film first. I often struggle with the idea that films and art alone can advance movements of social justice, but I do think they can contribute to the dialogue and spark conversation, encourage people to read and seek out new information, ask questions, or just listen to their loved ones when they are navigating these experiences. I think there’s a bigger issue this film confronts around not listening to or caring about Black women, and that’s a larger, historical failure that will take a long time to fix. Seeing Black women, in all body types and skin colors, as human beings who deserve love, respect, care, and life- that is what I hope this film advances. And I hope this film contributes to creating safer, warmer spaces for Black women to give birth, to receive reproductive care, to be heard, to feel seen and to be respected. That’s what we deserve.
