The Opposite Of Sex

By TAMALA M. EDWARDS

When the National Center for Health Statistics released last week a study of birth figures for 1996, one particular set of facts was heralded as Christmas in July: the birthrate among unmarried black women--74.4 per 1,000 births--represented a 40-year low. Best of all, the turnaround is likely to keep going: the sharpest drop is among 15- to 17-year-olds, whose birthrate has declined 20% since 1990.

Hugh Price, president of the National Urban League, says that while other reports had hinted at the coming good news, "we were caught by surprise." So what may be causing the U turn? The experts aren't exactly sure, but a day spent traversing the neighborhood of Harlem in New York City suggests some interesting answers. Don't credit welfare reform. The new federal law didn't take effect until 1996; the study shows a decline in birthrates since 1989. Fear of AIDS, however, may be a contributing factor. Charles Taylor, director of teen programs at the Harlem YMCA, who supervises a weekly rap session with teenagers on sex, says that while boys are as swaggering as ever, more girls are insisting on condom use. The disease has also led to more frank talk and pleas for abstinence from parents and school and community-center health classes. Another surprising possibility is that teens are again attaching an old stigma to unwed motherhood. Marquita Kinsey, 15, dolled up in a Tommy Hilfiger dress, describes a neighborhood girl who became pregnant and quickly an outcast. "You lose a lot of friends," she says. "She had a baby shower and nobody came."

The renewal of shame, if that's what it is, seems curiously linked to the galloping economy. Whereas inner-city kids once were pessimistic about job prospects, those who counsel them say they are now brimming with ambition. Experts also point out that while in 1965 there was a 20-point chasm between black and white high school graduation rates, a Census report last month announced that it had disappeared. "I don't want kids holding me down," says Afrika Harrigan, 17, a would-be journalist. "Why would you do that to yourself?"

But there are also teens like Aisha Grayton, 17, who sits on a bench at the St. Nicolas housing projects, six months pregnant after two miscarriages and an abortion. "I got talked to, but I do what I want to do," she says, calling out the number of girls she knows who are pregnant. But if the present numbers hold, girls like Grayton may someday be on that bench by themselves.

--By Tamala M. Edwards