History is messy. It’s usually written by the winners, or at least the people with the loudest megaphones, which is why for over a century, J. Marion Sims was just the "Father of Modern Gynecology." He had statues. He had accolades. He had a legacy built on the literal bodies of women whose names were almost lost to time. But walk through Montgomery, Alabama today, specifically near the corner of Sayre and Mildrum streets, and you’ll see something different. You'll see the Mothers of Gynecology Park.
It’s a heavy place. Honestly, it’s meant to be.
Created by artist Michelle Browder, this park isn't just a collection of statues; it’s a radical act of historical correction. We aren't just talking about bronze and steel here. We’re talking about Anarcha, Betsey, and Lucy. These were the three enslaved Black women Sims experimented on between 1845 and 1849. While Sims was celebrated for "perfecting" the surgical technique to repair vesicovaginal fistulas, he did it by performing dozens of surgeries on these women without anesthesia.
People often argue, "Oh, it was a different time," or "They didn't believe Black people felt pain back then." That’s a convenient lie. The truth is more jagged. Sims himself recorded that Lucy’s surgery was so agonizing that she nearly died from an infection caused by a sponge he left in her body. He knew they felt pain. He just chose to prioritize his medical breakthrough over their humanity.
Why the Mothers of Gynecology Park Matters Right Now
The park matters because it shifts the lens. For a long time, the narrative was centered on the "genius" of the doctor. Browder’s work, which includes a 15-foot tall monument, forces you to look at the patients. These weren't just "clinical subjects." They were teenagers. Anarcha was likely only 17 when her ordeal began.
Think about that for a second.
Seventeen.
The Mothers of Gynecology Park serves as a physical rebuttal to the statue of Sims that stood on the Alabama State Capitol grounds for decades. While that statue portrayed a dignified man of science, Browder’s sculptures use "discarded" materials—metal scraps, old tools, engine parts—to represent how these women were treated by society. They were seen as disposable, yet they are the foundation upon which modern women's healthcare was built.
The Reality of the Experiments at 64 Sayre Street
Sims’s "hospital" wasn't some grand ivory tower. It was a small, wooden building in his backyard. He struck deals with slave owners: they would provide the women, and he would provide the "medical care" and food, so long as he could experiment on them.
It was a grim arrangement.
Anarcha endured the worst of it. Records suggest she underwent 30 surgeries. Thirty. Without ether or chloroform, which were becoming available at the time but which Sims claimed were too dangerous for such "routine" procedures. He also believed the racist pseudo-science of the era that suggested Black people had thicker skin and less sensitive nervous systems.
Eventually, Sims's white male assistants couldn't take it anymore. They walked away, unable to bear the screams and the repetitive failures. So, what did Sims do? He trained the enslaved women to assist in each other's surgeries. Anarcha, Betsey, and Lucy became, in a twisted sense, the first surgical nurses in this field. They held each other's hands. They cleaned the wounds. They were the only support system they had.
When you visit the Mothers of Gynecology Park, you’re standing on the soil where this happened. It’s not a "fun" tourist stop. It’s a site of conscience. It asks you to reconcile the fact that the speculum used in every gynecological exam today was developed through the systematic torture of enslaved women.
Deconstructing the Myths of Sims and "Consent"
There’s this persistent myth that these women "consented" because they wanted to be cured. Let's be real. An enslaved person cannot give consent. By definition, their bodies were legal property. If their owner said, "Go to Dr. Sims so he can fix you so you can go back to work in the fields," they went. There was no HR department. There was no medical board. There was only the power of the state and the power of the doctor.
The Mothers of Gynecology Park forces us to confront the "Great Man" theory of history. We love a hero. We love a singular genius who changes the world. But Sims wasn't a lone genius. He was a man who utilized a brutal social system to his advantage.
What Browder’s Art Tells Us
Michelle Browder didn't just make these women look like victims. That’s a key distinction. If you look at the sculptures in the Mothers of Gynecology Park, they are towering. They are fierce. Anarcha’s womb is filled with discarded objects, symbolizing both the trauma and the strength required to survive it.
The park is also an educational hub. It’s not just about the past; it’s about the terrifying maternal mortality rates Black women face today. There is a direct line from Sims’s backyard to the modern delivery room where Black women are still often ignored when they say they are in pain.
The Movement to Rename and Reclaim
For years, activists in Montgomery and beyond pushed for the removal of Sims's honors. In New York City, his statue was famously hauled away from Central Park in 2018. But Montgomery is different. Alabama has laws protecting historical monuments, making it much harder to remove the Sims statue from the Capitol grounds.
So, Browder did the next best thing. She built a bigger truth down the street.
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The Mothers of Gynecology Park changed the geography of the city's memory. You can’t talk about Sims in Montgomery anymore without talking about Anarcha, Betsey, and Lucy. They are no longer the footnotes. They are the headline.
Navigating the Ethical Tensions of Modern Medicine
If you’ve ever had a pelvic exam, you’ve benefited from this history. That’s an uncomfortable truth to swallow. Does it mean we should stop using the tools? No. But it means we owe a debt of remembrance.
Medical ethics today are built on the "Common Rule" and Informed Consent, largely because of the horrors of the past—not just Sims, but the Tuskegee Syphilis Study and the theft of Henrietta Lacks's cells. The park serves as a permanent reminder of what happens when "progress" is untethered from empathy.
It’s also about the power of Black women taking back their narrative. Browder’s project involved the community. It involved art. It involved a refusal to stay silent. The park isn't just for historians; it’s for anyone who has ever felt invisible in a doctor’s office.
Practical Steps for Visitors and History Buffs
If you’re planning to visit the Mothers of Gynecology Park, don't just snap a photo and leave. Engage with the space.
- Visit the Legacy Center: Adjacent to the park, Browder has developed a space for education and community health. It’s worth going inside to see the deeper research.
- Read the primary sources: Look up Sims’s own autobiography, The Story of My Life. It’s chilling to read his descriptions of these women in his own words. He describes them almost like mechanical puzzles to be solved.
- Support Black maternal health: Use the experience as a catalyst. Organizations like the National Birth Equity Collaborative work on the systemic issues that started in places like Sims’s backyard.
- Check the calendar: The park often hosts events, especially around March (Women's History Month) and February (Black History Month), including guided tours by Browder herself.
The Mothers of Gynecology Park reminds us that healing can't happen without the truth. You can’t fix a wound if you’re still pretending it doesn't exist. Montgomery is a city of ghosts—civil rights ghosts, confederate ghosts, and medical ghosts. By naming Anarcha, Betsey, and Lucy, we finally start to let the right ones rest.
The legacy of the park is ultimately one of transformation. It takes the "discarded" pieces of our history and welds them into something that cannot be ignored. It teaches us that while one man may have held the knife, three women held the future of medicine in their hands, and it’s about time we thanked them for it.
Actionable Insights for the Informed Citizen
- Audit your knowledge: Research other "medical heroes" and look for the hidden figures behind their discoveries. History is rarely a solo act.
- Advocate for health equity: Acknowledge that the pain gap in modern medicine is a real, documented phenomenon. When you see it, name it.
- Support public art: The park exists because of grassroots funding and a singular vision. If there's a "hidden" history in your own town, look into how local artists are bringing it to light.
- Educate the next generation: If you’re a teacher or a parent, tell the full story. Don't skip the "hard parts" of medical history. The kids can handle the truth; it’s the adults who usually struggle with it.