On 23 September, Black mums won’t just do the nursery run — we’re heading to Parliament. Black Mothers Go to Parliament: Have Your Say rejects the checkbox model of events and panels that silence us and our truths, spoken straight into the halls that have long ignored us.
The Motherhood Group has called us to Parliament from 9 a.m. to noon, and there’s nothing symbolic or decorative about it. This is care work demanding equal weight with lawmaking. Politics isn’t just bills and debates — it’s the pushchair path, the PTA meeting, the labour ward fear. It’s every decision between paying rent or childcare, speaking truth to health professionals who won’t listen, and pleading with schools that see Black children as problems.
Sandra Igwe, one of the organisers, has been clear:
I’m taking Black mothers to Parliament. Yes, you heard that right. For too long, we’ve been told there aren’t ‘enough seats at the table’.
Black women in the UK are more than twice as likely to die in pregnancy or childbirth than white women. Schools disproportionately exclude our children, with Black Caribbean pupils facing some of the highest fixed-term exclusion rates. These aren’t “niche” concerns. They are systemic, life-and-death realities that expose how deeply racism cuts into care, education, and family life.
Tokenistic consultation is draining us twice over
I’m tired of being used as a case study. They ask for our stories, they nod, they say ‘thank you for your courage’ — and then nothing changes.
We know this pattern too well. A government review announces it will ‘look into’ race and maternal health. Data is collected, reports are published, and headlines briefly acknowledge the crisis. The figures confirm what we have been saying for decades — that Black mothers are dying at disproportionate rates. The recommendations are noted, the meetings are adjourned, and then? Silence. Those in power withhold funding, block reform, and dodge accountability. Another cycle of ‘raising awareness’ while mothers continue to bury their children.
Tokenistic consultation drains us twice over. Policymakers force us to relive trauma, then shelve our testimonies instead of acting on them. They mine our words as evidence but refuse to honour them as truth. Institutions use our voices as props to dress up diversity reports. Politicians turn our grief into raw material for speeches that flatter their power while failing our families.
Black mums are demanding more than empathy. Empathy cannot keep women alive. Exclusions will not end with empathy. Childcare will never be funded by sympathy alone. We demand action — action measured not in sympathetic nods, but in budgets, laws, and lives saved.
As Igwe puts it:
Black motherhood has always been a site of leadership.
History proves her right. Mothers built movements from survival — feeding children when the state refused, demanding justice when institutions turned away, and fighting every attempt to erase us. The Black Panther Party’s Free Breakfast Programme wasn’t charity, it was power. Black British mothers who campaigned after deaths in police custody or exclusions from school weren’t just grieving — they were leading. These were acts of political leadership, rooted in love and resistance. Today, that legacy marches with the mums entering Parliament.
Declaration of power
On 23 September, we’re not there for recognition or platitudes. Instead, we’re there because our lives — our bodies, our children — require serious, immediate action. Westminster cannot get away with simply listening; it has to act.
Real action means funding safe maternity care. It also means reforming exclusionary education policies. Crucially, it means investing in childcare so mothers can raise families with dignity rather than constantly fighting for survival. As a result, families thrive, communities strengthen, and the cycle of disadvantage begins to break.
Every nursery run is political. What’s more, every bedtime story is political. And each act of care becomes a form of resistance. When the state neglects us, we build networks of support. Meanwhile, when schools fail our children, we fight for their futures. When healthcare dismisses our pain, we create advocacy that saves lives.
This movement of Black mothers is not asking for permission. On the contrary, it is demanding transformation. We carry generations of struggle and possibility into Parliament — the wisdom of our mothers, the grief of those we’ve lost, and the vision of children who deserve better.
From nursery runs to Parliament: Black mums demand to be heard. We force the state to answer — not through invitation, but by showing up together and refusing silence.
Featured image via Unsplash/Zach Lucero
This post was originally published on Canary.