Embodying the Problem: The Persuasive Power of the Teen Mother 9780813591049

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Embodying the Problem

Embodying the Problem The Persuasive Power of the Teenage Mother

JENNA VINSON

Rutgers University Press New Brunswick, Camden, and Newark, New Jersey, and London

Library of Congress Cataloging-­in-­Publication Data Names: Vinson, Jenna, 1984–­author. Title: Embodying the problem : the persuasive power of the teenage mother / Jenna Vinson. Description: New Brunswick : Rutgers University Press, [2017] | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2017020839 (print) | LCCN 2017011494 (ebook) | ISBN 9780813591018 (cloth : alk. paper) | ISBN 9780813591001 (pbk. : alk. paper) | ISBN 9780813591025 (epub) | ISBN 9780813591049 (Web PDF) Subjects: LCSH: Teenage mothers—­United States. Classification: LCC HQ759.4 .V56 2017 (ebook) | LCC HQ759.4 (print) | DDC 306.874/3—­dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017020839 A British Cataloging-­in-­Publication record for this book is available from the British Library. Copyright © 2018 by Jenna Vinson All rights reserved No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. Please contact Rutgers University Press, 106 Somerset Street, New Brunswick, NJ 08901. The only exception to this prohibition is “fair use” as defined by U.S. copyright law. The paper used in this publication meets the requirements of the American National Standard for Information Sciences—­Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI Z39.48–­1992. www​.rutgersuniversitypress​.org Manufactured in the United States of America

For my mother, Beth

Contents Preface: Embodying the Problem

ix

1

The Role of the Teen Mother in Narratives of Teenage Pregnancy

2

Seeing Is Believing: How Visual Representations of Women Established the Problem of Teenage Pregnancy

42

3

Challenging Experts, Commonplaces, and Statistics: Teen Mothers’ Counter-­narratives

65

4

Resisting Stigmatizing Pregnancy Prevention Initiatives: The #NoTeenShame Campaign

102

5

Confronting the Stranger on the Street: Embodied Exigence in Everyday Rhetorical Situations

136

Conclusion

1

171

Acknowledgments 179 Appendix A 183 Appendix B 187 Appendix C 189 Notes 195 Bibliography 213 Index 227

Preface Embodying the Problem The body has been made so problematic for women that it has often seemed easier to shrug it off and travel as a disembodied spirit. —­Adrienne Rich, Of Woman Born

This book is about the ways in which stories and images of “teenage pregnancy” position young pregnant and mothering bodies as exigencies—­that is, urgent matter demanding an immediate response, often an “expert” response. I explore how pregnant and mothering teens have been represented as problems in US newspapers, political discourses, and teenage pregnancy prevention campaigns from the 1970s until the present; how these representations communicate particular cultural logics; and, most importantly, how these narratives impact the everyday experiences of young pregnant and mothering women. I also investigate how young pregnant and mothering women seize the opportunity engendered by the public attention to the so-­called teenage pregnancy problem to speak back to those who confront them in public and to write counter-­narratives of pregnancy and motherhood—­stories that explicitly resist the statistics, experts, and assumptions that dehumanize “them” as a supposed coherent category of problem people. By exploring the productive tensions between conflicting narratives about young pregnant and mothering women, this book has a lot to say about rhetoric, resistance, bodies, stories, and agency. Rather than pretend to “shrug” my body off and take you through this book as “a disembodied spirit,” as feminist activist Adrienne Rich writes, I want to make clear how the arguments I lay out in this book stem from my ix

x  •  Preface

embodied experience as a pregnant and mothering teen. When I was seventeen years old, I could see that my pregnant body spoke to people, grabbed their attention, and communicated things that I was only vaguely aware of. When I decided to keep my unintended pregnancy, I knew that, eventually, my visibly pregnant form would garner attention for being “wrong.” And it did. However, I found that there were other things my body seemed to communicate. A brief example will highlight this point. One day, in my senior government class, our teacher tried to engage us in a rather polarizing discussion of current political issues by having us stand and walk to opposite sides of the classroom. He would announce an issue (e.g., “The death penalty,” “The legalization of marijuana,” “Bush’s refusal to sign the Kyoto Agreement on climate change”) and those who were “for” it ambled over to the left side of the room; those who were “against” it marched to the right side. From across the room we would yell at each other for having the wrong outlook on whatever issue we had staked a claim to by moving our bodies to that specific side of the room. When the teacher called out “legalization of abortion!” I assumed that we would have another “legalization of marijuana” on our hands, with all the students moving to the left. I was shocked when the room settled and Megan—­curiously the only other girl that I remember being in that particular government class—­and I stood alone on the “for” side. Megan scoffed, shouting to those on the other side of the room: “What the hell guys?! Come on! Even the pregnant girl is over here!” Everyone laughed, but no one budged. Looking down, I thought about the contradictory message communicated by my visibly pregnant body positioned on the “prochoice” side of the room. If anything, abortion was supposed to be for people like me: girls with (assumed) potential who had obviously made a mistake and needed to rectify the situation. The narrative of a young, single woman needing access to a safe and affordable abortion procedure to avoid the doomed fate of teenage motherhood was a common rhetorical appeal in my state, which often sought to limit women’s access to such procedures (e.g., at that time in Arizona, minors had to get parental consent to have an abortion, but did not yet have to get that parental consent notarized as they do now). There was a Planned Parenthood clinic three miles from my high school; perhaps the only reasonable explanation for my pregnancy was that I was antichoice. And, yet, there I stood on the left, embodying the right-­to-­choose location in my made-­the-­wrong-­choice form. This process of critically reflecting on the things my body seemed to communicate did not end in that government classroom. The impetus of this specific book project began when I wrote about my experiences as a teenage mother for a writing workshop my junior year of college. That semester, my teacher asked us to write a “social witness essay”—­a genre

Preface  •  xi

that explores current social issues through the lens of personal experiences, observations, and research. After racking my brain for a week I remembered that I was considered a teen mother (something that, even at nineteen years old, I often forgot). So, I set off to do the work of reimagining my experience of motherhood—­something that had been part of my day-­to-­day school, work, and home life for two years—­as a social issue by using Internet search engines to discover what “teenage pregnancy” meant to the rest of the world. As I sifted through the research which, in 2004, told me only that my child was more likely to go to prison, rely on welfare, struggle with health issues, and become suicidal, I searched more fervently for the light at the end of the tunnel—­some indication that this research was wrong. The process brought back memories of painful encounters with strangers and not-­so-­strangers eager to comment on my youthful pregnant body, my doomed future, my perceived sexual promiscuity, and my participation in a craze of superficial adolescents who supposedly became pregnant because it was “trendy.” I remembered and became reattentive to what teen mother and activist Allison Crews called the “Teen Mom Look”—­the scrutinizing glares that I received at grocery stores, doctors’ offices, and school (“When I Was Garbage” 37). So I wrote. Amid the confusion and pain brought on by my research and memories, I found my satiric writing voice and drafted a paper—­a social critique of the teenage-­pregnancy-­as-­epidemic trope I witnessed in American discourse: I called it the “Dis-­ease of Teen Pregnancy.” In my essay, I wrote about the difficulty of deciding what to do about the pregnancy when I made very little money ($5.15 an hour at my part-­time job to be exact) and had wanted to be the first in my family to go to college. I wrote about the pressure I felt to hide or terminate the pregnancy to ensure my success in life; I wrote of the constant inappropriate comments I experienced like the security guard at my school asking if I knew who the father was and the older ladies in the grocery store line who would loudly castigate young single welfare mothers as I waited in line behind them, baby on hip and WIC check in hand. I wrote of my college friend who, aged nineteen and eight months pregnant, was walking to class when two young men called out to her, “Should’ve used a condom!” Intertwining research with these narrative vignettes, I showed that teenage mothers do graduate high school, that the “normal” age for motherhood has varied across history, and that public responses to teen mothers are often cruel and unusual. The process of researching and writing this paper was cathartic. I finally had a place to release the emotions I had suppressed over the years and an opportunity to bear witness to the everyday microaggressions I had experienced and just kind of accepted or perhaps forgotten. It was also one of the first moments I really explored, in writing, the politics of my body—­the ways in which expert

xii  •  Preface

discourses about sociopolitical issues shaped my embodied experiences as a woman at that particular point in time. I was terribly frightened the week after I submitted the paper for peer review. After all, I was “outing” myself as a mother and challenging a way of looking at young motherhood that even I had come to think was the capital T truth. Yet, much to my surprise, most of my peers praised the piece. My teacher even pulled me aside after class to share that she, too, had her daughter during her teens and she appreciated my bravery for telling this story. After receiving positive reviews from my peers and teacher, I submitted the paper for publication in an undergraduate literary magazine. I read it aloud to an audience of professors, college students, and parents at the celebration of the magazine’s release. After the reading I was approached by an audience member who complimented my point of view and asked how I thought that she could help. I was ecstatic. Sharing my personal narrative, it seemed, did create some semblance of social change. My curiosity about the persuasive potential of the teen mother story stems from my experiences telling my story and the fact that each and every time I tell it, I am approached by people who say that they had never thought about it that way and that they want to treat young mothers a bit differently after hearing it. Yet, if I am to be honest, the reviews were not all good. One peer in particular, Marisol, fervently critiqued my essay during our writing workshop.1 Looking down with disgust at my paper in her hands, she told me (and the class), “You can’t talk about teenage motherhood in this way. You make it sound too easy. My sister just told us she is pregnant. She just started high school and now she has ruined her life!” At the time, I had pretended to jot down Marisol’s comments and sighed with relief when class ended a minute later. For a long time I assumed she had not understood my argument. Did she not read the part where I explicitly acknowledged that motherhood is hard? Where I noted that balancing school and raising children is challenging? Did she not get that I was trying to interrupt the assumption that her sister had simply ruined her life? From my subject position as a white young woman experiencing explicit stigmatization really for the first time, I did not understand how teenage motherhood signified differently across lines of difference, nor did I understand how discourses about “teenage pregnancy” produced and reflected the politics of racism. Perhaps, for Marisol and her sister living in a Mexican American community in Tucson, Arizona’s south side, becoming a mother was not just “becoming a statistic” as I had put it in my paper. Perhaps, it was perpetuating the vicious stereotype that Latinas are hyper-­breeding women, as Elena Gutierrez points out in her book Fertile Matters. Perhaps it was indicative of putting family life before studies and career success. Perhaps it was potentially

Preface  •  xiii

confirming that those with skin colors other than white do not know how to do things “right” and are the cause of their own group oppression. Looking back, I realize that in my junior year I had spoken in universals about stereotypes of teenage motherhood, falling into the trap devised by the seemingly race-­/class-­neutral categorization of “teenage pregnancy” as I will discuss in this book. When I wrote that my biggest struggle as a teenage mother was dealing with how others perceived me, I was speaking from the experience of a white woman—­from a mirage of normalcy that often allowed me to pass without scrutiny even though I was a single, low-­income teenaged student and mother who used state-­funded benefits and extended kin to support myself and my child. I was the “good girl” gone wrong; I was marked as an outsider only by the bulge of my belly or the baby on my hip; I was not the “wrong girl” with something to prove. It took me years of research of the racialization of “good” motherhood to figure out that talk about “teenage pregnancy” often covers deeply entrenched racial and class biases. I tell these stories both to make transparent (and valued) the embodied ways of knowing that led to this project and to demonstrate that I am both an insider and outsider to the subjects of this book. I have experienced pregnancy and motherhood as a teen much like the women pictured in the cover stories and news articles I analyze in chapter 2. I have published counter-­narratives and I have spoken back in moments of everyday embodied exigence like the authors, participants, and activists I discuss in chapters 3, 4, and 5. But I am not the same. Teens are not all the same. Mothers are not all the same. And it is important to keep in mind those differences as we proceed (I say as much to myself as I say to you). I must consistently reflect on the ways in which my particular subject position shapes my understanding of narratives of teenage pregnancy and motherhood. At the time of this writing teenage pregnancy is still tracked and reported in ways that measure “teen births” as indicators of public health and national standing. Googling “teenage pregnancy” produces over seven million results, the top eight sites demonstrating that teenage pregnancy is constructed as a problem for credentialed medical and family planning experts to solve. The so-­called problem is defined and addressed by government agencies, health/ family planning nonprofit organizations, and medical communities. In response to young mothers’ counter-­narratives as well as research that busts myths about the effects of fertility timing, a few sites have tempered the stigmatizing force of their discourse. Some acknowledge that teen pregnancy and birth rates have been declining for decades and write that parenting is hard at any age. Although some of the claims have been nuanced since I first began tracking this pathologizing discourse (e.g., I no longer see claims that the children of young mothers are more likely to become suicidal), teenage pregnancy

xiv  •  Preface

is still forcefully positioned as a social problem that demands attention to the embodied experiences of young mothers, particularly young women of color. While the public’s focus on teenage pregnancy as a social problem most certainly impacts the experiences of the men who father teen pregnancies, particularly young dads, this book focuses on the writing and representations of young women who resist this discourse. This is because, as I argue in chapter 1, the argument to prevent teenage pregnancy functions on the stigmatization and surveillance of young women. Throughout this book I use the terms “teenage mother,” “young mother,” and—­when I need to distinguish pregnancy from motherhood—­ “young pregnant and mothering women” to refer to the writers, participants, activists, and photographed subjects I address in this book who have had children before the age of twenty. However, I want to make clear that I do not think all women who have had children by age twenty are the same. Also, I think that the stigma attached to teenage pregnancy and motherhood negatively impacts women who have reproduced outside of the bounds of their teens who may appear “too young” to others. I do not think there should be a defining boundary, based on chronological age, placed between mothers. In debating over whether to call myself, the counter-­narrative authors, and the participants “teen mothers,” I stumble upon the contested site of identity formation. I recognize that the discursive constructions of “teenage mother” and “young mother” function to divide mothering women on the basis of age, suggesting that the years we have only fairly recently decided to call adolescence are an unacceptable time to engage in childbearing. Using these loaded terms repeats what feminist philosopher Judith Butler calls the “forcible citation of a norm” (232). In other words, women aged twenty and under are “young” mothers as opposed to women aged twenty to thirty-­five who may escape a qualifying label (based on age, that is; there are still plenty of other qualifiers) by reflecting the norm. Childbearing women aged thirty-­five and older are “older” mothers and face their own set of pathologizing discourses. Teresa de Lauretis explains that actually using the terms constructed by the dominant discourse is important because “the only way to position oneself outside of that discourse is to displace oneself within it—­to refuse the question as formulated, or to answer deviously (though in its words), even to quote (but against the grain)” (7). Put differently, de Lauretis suggests that it is only in using the terms of dominant discourse, like “teen mother,” that we are able to speak to those terms, challenge them, and perhaps shift what they mean. In the field of rhetoric, we often claim that a speaker or writer must be recognized in order to influence an audience. Embracing a well-­known identity marker is one way to gain an audience, build ethos or credibility, and potentially enact change.

Preface  •  xv

This book intervenes in the rhetorical practices that continue to prompt the public to see young pregnant and mothering women as problems. It encourages a critical gaze on representations of teenage motherhood and promotes the authority of women to make their own decisions about their bodies with full access to the resources and respect to be able to do so. The book adds to feminist rhetorical studies another example of rhetorical analysis that focuses on how embodied, visual, and narrative rhetoric(s) both challenge and (re)produce hegemonic ideologies. I also practice, as modeled in this preface, an embodied ethic, consistently bringing attention to my own subject position, not to interrupt the focus on the task at hand, but to bring attention to the ways in which the knowledge from this book stems from a partial vision. Finally, it is my sincere hope that this book serves as documentation and validation of the creative and compelling rhetorical tactics young pregnant and mothering women continue to use to resist the stigmatizing and altogether damaging rhetoric of teenage pregnancy. I write this book not to stake claim on an academic theory, perspective, or topic but to continue conversations and collaboration around feminist issues of importance. In some ways, by authoring an academic book, I embody a problem once again by positioning myself as an expert on these writers and activists. By writing about women’s representations of their experiences I do not mean to suggest that my analysis renders me the sole authority on these stories. I hope to speak, as rhetorician Jacqueline Jones Royster argues we must, both with and about the communities I address (275). As a “teenage” mother, I am deeply invested in discovering the strategies women use to join the disembodied expert discourses that seek to define who they are and to resist the hegemonic ideologies that silence young mothers’ perspectives. Furthermore, I agree with sociologist Nancy Naples that feminist professionals can function as allies helping to effect positive change and need not always function as experts who silence the perspectives of others (1178). I hope to function as an ally in a movement to end pathologizing perspectives on young motherhood by using my expertise in rhetoric and creative writing to identify persuasive narrative strategies that can be deployed to trouble dominant (mis) understandings.

Embodying the Problem

1

The Role of the Teen Mother in Narratives of Teenage Pregnancy At 15, I was a good student and determined to apply for college. But after I had my daughter, my high school guidance counselor refused to see me and help me with my applications. She never expected me to graduate. Most people, even within my family, assumed I wouldn’t amount to anything and would be dependent on government assistance for the rest of my life. . . . Today I am a student, an advocate for young parents and, above all, a proud mom. —­Gloria Malone, “I Was a Teenage Mother”

On March  4, 2013, the New York City Human Resources Administration, under the leadership of Mayor Michael Bloomberg, launched a controversial teenage pregnancy prevention campaign designed to “promote the difficulties of teen pregnancy, and why it is better to wait until you are a financially stable adult in a committed relationship to have children” (New York City Human Resources Administration). The campaign included five ads placed in subways and bus shelters throughout New York City as well as an interactive texting program that prompted participants to experience the apparently tragic life of a teen parent. The Bloomberg campaign’s primary strategy was to characterize “teen parents,” but more clearly young mothers, as problems—­problems that 1

2  •  Embodying the Problem

even their own children didn’t want to be a part of. Four of the public ads featured an image of a crying or frowning one-­year-­old posed against a blank background. Adjacent to each child was a statement, seemingly from the child, directed to his or her parent: • A black little girl wonders, “Honestly, Mom . . . chances are he won’t stay with you. What happens to me?” • A black little girl asks, “Got a good job? I cost thousands of dollars each year.” • A brown-­skinned little boy bemoans, “I’m twice as likely not to graduate high school because you [mom] had me as a teen.” • A white little boy—­in a shirt that labels him “Mommy’s”—­states, “Dad, you’ll be paying to support me for the next 20 years.”

The final ad features a photo strip of all four child portraits adjacent to a statement directed to non-­pregnant/parenting NYC teenagers: “If you finish high school, get a job, and get married before having children, you have a 98% chance of not being in poverty.” Each ad included what the NYC Human Resources Administration called a “sobering fact” or generalization about teenage parenthood highlighted in a yellow banner cutting across each poster. For example, the “Honestly, Mom” question is followed by the statement “Are you ready to raise a child by yourself ? 90% of teen parents don’t marry each other.” The ads did not provide citations for the statistics, but those who were curious and had access to the Internet could temporarily find sources listed on the HRA’s website. A close look at the studies these statements were adapted from demonstrates that the numbers are quite misleading.1 As one example, the ad claiming young people can avoid poverty by finishing school, working, and marrying before reproducing comes from Ron Haskins and Isabel Sawhill’s Creating an Opportunity Society. In this book, Haskins and Sawhill make clear their “philosophical orientation” or firm belief in the social norm of “personal responsibility” (70). For Haskins and Sawhill, this means waiting until the age of twenty-­one to have kids and marrying before having children. In other words, their claim is a value statement, not a “sobering fact.” The authors readily admit that their interpretations of data may be critiqued as erroneously based on numerical correlations, not firm evidence of causation (71–­72). As another example, the Bloomberg campaign claim that “90% of teenage parents don’t marry” is construed from a 2005 Child Trends Fact Sheet indicating that “within one year of their child’s birth, fewer than 8% of unmarried teen mothers had married the baby’s father” (Franzetta et al. 2). A statistical snapshot of the child’s first year of life does not tell us much about the martial status of the birth mother or father (who could have been any age despite the ad’s emphasis on “teen parents”) in the long run, nor does this “8%” tell us

The Role of the Teen Mother  •  3

much about why these women did not marry “within one year.” Nevertheless, the judgmental-­phrase-­to-­misleading-­statistic formula encourages viewers to quickly accept the unstated and often contested premises of the claim such as marriage is the marker of good child rearing, all women need/want state-­ sanctioned male companionship, and teenage motherhood is always the result of consensual sex between teenagers. Viewers of the campaign are prompted to feel for the weeping infants—­symbolic of all seemingly doomed children of teen parents—­and adopt the second-­person perspectives that characterize teen parents as irresponsible people worthy of public condemnation. Teen mothers of color, in particular, are represented as naïve, abandoned women who are the source of their children’s educational failure. The Bloomberg campaign, like many US teenage pregnancy prevention campaigns, participates in the long-­ standing practice of conditioning the public to regard the bodies of women as problems—­in this case, as people who lack (fiscal/personal) responsibility, the resources to care for the children they produce, and the authority to know what is best. The campaign potentially silences young pregnant and mothering women as emblems of shame that “we” (i.e., viewers who are not teen parents) should scrutinize and take action to prevent. However, on March  15, 2013, black Latina blogger and activist Gloria Malone critiqued the campaign by publishing an op-­ed titled “I Was a Teenage Mother” in the New York Times. A resident of New York, Malone seized the timely opportunity engendered by the campaign’s release to publicly claim her identity as a “former teenage mother” as a means of expertise on issues of sex education, prevention, child rearing, and poverty. Her article draws readers in with the familiar, heart-­wrenching scene of a fifteen-­year-­old girl telling her mother she was pregnant: “‘Everything’s going to by O.K., mamita,’ my mother said, before walking into her bedroom and crying her eyes out.” Yet, rather than following the scene with the prescribed young-­ mother-­ as-­ cautionary-­ tale script, Malone narrates her experience of teenage pregnancy as a struggle with “people  .  .  . [who] assumed I wouldn’t amount to anything” in conjunction with the demanding daily tasks of child rearing, school, and work. Malone encourages readers to empathize with her as a hardworking student, worker, and mother who faces discrimination. Malone also brings attention to the “few people who encouraged [her] not to listen to the stereotypes”—­teachers and a nurse—­to suggest, “these bits of encouragement are what kept me going” and helped her to achieve conventional middle-­class signifiers of success: good grades, a high school diploma, and admittance to college. Prompting readers to respect her accomplishments and, perhaps, even to think differently about “teen moms” considering her outcomes, Malone cultivates an ethos of responsibility to counter the

4  •  Embodying the Problem

Bloomberg campaign’s claims of teen irresponsibility. Malone writes, “Today I have a 6-­year-­old daughter, and I’m not a teenager anymore. But I can’t help but be affected by New York City’s controversial new anti-­teenage pregnancy campaign.  .  .  . All [the campaign ads] do is take the insults and stereotypes directed at teenage parents every day, and post them up around the city.” Strategically using moments of her lived experience as a stigmatized young mother, Malone sets the stage for her argument that the ads are ineffective as pregnancy prevention tools and perpetuate “stereotypes and blame” that “keep teenage parents from seeking the help and support they need.” Malone still narrates her life as a young mother as marked with struggle—­something most audiences would expect—­but she encourages readers to see the struggle as the result of the pathologizing perspectives on teenage parenthood, such as the ones “promoted” by the Bloomberg campaign (New York City Human Resources Administration). Malone claims the teenage mother identity as a means for public recognition (by the New York Times editor who chose to run her piece and by the public who ultimately read it) and credibility—­she has experienced the consequences of the disparaging rhetoric about teenage pregnancy and motherhood and, thus, knows the damage it causes. I open with the example of Malone and the Bloomberg campaign because it highlights the conflicting narratives and clashing worldviews explored in this book. The Bloomberg campaign (re)produces what I call the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy: the hegemonic depiction of young motherhood as the tragic downfall of a woman’s life.2 It is a rhetorical practice of words and images that persuade many to believe that a teenage pregnancy always leads to devastating consequences for a young woman, her child, and the nation in which they reside. The story goes something like this: an immature, unsuspecting, or irresponsible young woman makes the mistake of having sex and is plagued by a pregnancy that—­if she carries to term and keeps the baby—­leads to an unsuccessful child-­rearing experience and a life of poverty. Composed of visual, narrative, and numerical representations of young mother’s bodies and lived experiences, this story authorizes experts to talk about and for young mothers in order to justify a particular action that experts portray as solving the problem of young mothers’ existence. In other words, the story of the teen mother has persuasive power, potentially generating collective pity or rage—­emotional responses useful for a variety of agendas. Any young mother whose lived experience does not reflect the dominant narrative (e.g., she graduates college, achieves financial independence, gains public notoriety, raises healthy children, or simply refuses to perform the cautionary-­tale life script) is dismissed as exceptional (i.e., “not like the oth­ ers”) or condemned as potentially dangerous (e.g., “glamorizing”) so as to reaffirm the truth of the narrative of failure. The fact that many people perceive teenage pregnancy as a social problem—­often sandwiched in lists of other

The Role of the Teen Mother  •  5

issues plaguing youth including sexually transmitted infections, bullying, and substance abuse—­illustrates that the narrative currently enjoys a “dominant” status in the United States. Although teenage pregnancy discourses circulate (differently) beyond national borders, this book focuses on US discourses.3 In this book, I argue that the dominant narrative supports a worldview that positions women, and poor people in general, as responsible for the structural oppressions they face and encourages hostility toward women, particularly women’s bodies. In marking out a specific category of women deemed not fit to reproduce, mainstream discourse about teenage pregnancy obstructs the movement toward reproductive justice. Women of all ages, abilities, and backgrounds should have the “foundational human right” to reproduce or not to reproduce (Solinger Reproductive Politics 160). Although disparaging representations of teenage motherhood persist, the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy continues to be challenged by researchers, organizations, activists, and many women who have experienced “too-­young” pregnancy and motherhood.4 We do not often listen to the voices of women who refuse or even just complicate the “I made a mistake” script; thus, this book contributes a much-­ needed focus on the stories (at times tragic, at times not) that young mothering women make public to persuade audiences to reject the dominant narrative. What do these counter-­narratives look like? How might the characters and plot structures change in order to persuade audiences to think beyond the monolithic girl-­gets-­pregnant-­and-­tragedy-­ensues story? Where do these counter-­narratives emerge and to what effect? How do everyday youthful-­ looking pregnant and mothering women respond to the public who is called to be critically aware of them? Ultimately, I explore how young women in the United States—­who are often represented as exigencies, or urgent matter to act on or in response to—­use moments of what I call embodied exigence to claim an audience and resist the social practices and worldviews that dehumanize them as problems. In doing so, I interrogate the rhetorical potential of embodying a problem. In this opening chapter, I describe the feminist, poststructuralist theories supporting my rhetorical analysis of teenage pregnancy discourses, situate the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy as a historically specific event, and illustrate how the narrative has shifted from a means for securing resources to a preventative, disciplinary discourse in and of itself. Drawing on documents from the 1970s, contemporary public service announcements, and a recent memoir, I argue that the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy prevents a focus on structures of inequality and poverty, pathologizes young mothers, perpetuates harmful discourses about women, and sustains racialized gender ideologies that construct women’s bodies as sites for intervention and control.

6  •  Embodying the Problem

This narrative about teenage pregnancy is primarily framed by preventative discourse—­that is, the rhetoric forwarded by family planning and public health initiatives to persuade individual women to time their pregnancies according to specific cultural logics. Within this discursive framework, the dominant narrative disciplines women into self-­surveilling subjects who take strides to make reproductive decisions according to norms that serve the interests of the people and institutions that enjoy the benefits of current social structures and power relations. Should women fail to conform to social norms for pregnancy (whether as teens or as older women), the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy and the ideological premises underpinning it encourage women to readily accept the material consequences that are actually constructed by racialized, classed, sexist oppression.

Discourse, Feminism, and Young Motherhood This book is concerned with the creation, circulation, and reception of discourse. I focus on how “teenage pregnancy” and “teenage motherhood” are socially constructed concepts and embodied experiences produced by specific rhetorical practices or uses of language—­including words, visual representations, and bodies that signify meaning. To analyze discourse is to examine the “competing ways of giving meaning to the world and of organizing social institutions and processes” (Weedon 34). In other words, it is important to analyze discourse because language is productive—­it constructs reality: what we know to be true, what we value, what we do, how we set up our institutions (e.g., family, school, work, church), and how we understand ourselves in relation to the world. To return to the example I used earlier, the Bloomberg campaign is one “way of giving meaning to the world” that produces a meaning-­making binary between right and wrong kinds of families. In this worldview, only those who are “stable” (i.e., married with the financial means to pay for childcare and education) are valued as parents. Instability—­of economy, education, and relationships—­is uniformly devalued and represented as the consequence of an individual’s poor behavior as opposed to, say, the workings of capitalism in general. Also implied in this worldview, state institutions—­represented in this instance as the Human Resources Administration—­are constructed as authorities entitled to (or perhaps obligated to) know what is best and discipline family formation by encouraging particular kinds of families and discouraging others. Thus, as this example demonstrates, discourse produces knowledge and power relations (Foucault Discipline 27). Language practices—­and the values, beliefs, and norms they render “commonsense”—­ may privilege particular people and groups at the expense of others. Philosopher Michel Foucault also demonstrates that discourses are disciplinary—­stemming from practices and systems that legitimate particular

The Role of the Teen Mother  •  7

kinds of knowledges and delegitimize others (“From The Order” 1466). For example, medical professionals go through a system of schooling that conditions them into a way of knowing that, then, authorizes them to produce expert knowledge on the body and health that nonexperts are conditioned to listen and adhere to. In this way, discourse defines who gets to know and who gets to be the object of knowledge. As I discuss further in this chapter, since the 1970s the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy has authorized scientific experts—­not necessarily the people who have experienced young pregnancy and motherhood—­to determine what healthy and normal behavior is for women and adolescents (Arney and Bergen 11). It is important to interrogate or deconstruct discourse in order to discover what values, beliefs, and ways of life are implicitly normalized and who is positioned as “the expert” who gets to define these norms. In this book, I explore how the expert constructs, affirms, and resists the dominant narrative. I deconstruct competing discourses of teenage pregnancy by drawing on theories of poststructuralism, feminism, and rhetoric. Focusing on language, subjectivity, discourse, power, and ideology, a poststructuralist research method includes analyzing how a particular discourse functions in a historically specific way, consistently asking of discursive constructions: Whose interests are served by this way of speaking, writing, or viewing the world? Rather than just unearth these power dynamics and theorize how discourses work, feminist poststructuralists identify and intervene in any discourse that naturalizes unjust power relations. Specifically, feminist theorists look for discourses that make systems of domination based on sex and gender—­as they intersect with differences of race, class, age, ability, sexuality, and ethnicity—­seem needed or “just the way it is.” Feminism is a political commitment to “the struggle to end sexist oppression” that demands careful attention to “systems of domination and the inter-­relatedness of sex, race, and class oppression” (hooks “Feminism” 33). As feminist theorists have persuasively shown, sexist oppression often works through the discursive and material disciplining of women’s bodies. By discipline I mean both the traditional sense of forceful punishment including but not limited to physical and sexual abuse, “compulsory heterosexuality, forced sterilization, unwanted pregnancy, and (in the case of the African American slave woman) explicit commodification” (Bordo 21–­22) as well as the regulation of human behavior through expert tactics of individualization, surveillance, and subtle body management as theorized by Foucault (Discipline 136–­137).5 In this way, a feminist poststructuralist analysis pays careful attention to how bodies are subjected, constrained, enabled, erased, and (potentially) valued by particular discourses. The maternal body—­such as the young mother’s body—­is constrained by expert discourse, medical treatment, and social norms. Since radical-­feminist writer Adrienne Rich published Of Woman Born: Motherhood as Experience

8  •  Embodying the Problem

and Institution, feminist scholars have been critically attentive to the ways in which the pregnant or mothering female body is constructed as public domain, justifying attention, touch, discipline, and critique.6 Feminist philosopher Susan Bordo calls the pregnant woman’s body a “fetal incubator,” highlighting Western legal and medical practices that suggest that once a woman becomes pregnant—­and particularly if she is poor or a woman of color—­she is treated as a body first and foremost: a body that is closely watched and held accountable for the fetus within even at the expense of her own constitutional and human rights (80).7 Indeed, feminist scholarship aptly illustrates that cultural understandings of the pregnant body render pregnant women as sites of public/expert surveillance and control. The means and intensity of this visibility and discipline vary dramatically depending on the age, race, ethnicity, sexual orientation, class status, and physical abilities of women. For example, young women who attend school as well as low-­income women of color who use public hospitals are more visible to authorities who may scrutinize and even penalize their conduct. In the case of “too young” motherhood, the cultural imperative to monitor pregnant women and mothers intersects with the cultural imperative to monitor, educate, and discipline youth. We do not often consult with young people to better understand moral, medical, or political issues of importance, even ones that impact their everyday lives (Giroux 46). Instead, young people are often discussed as sources of urgent moral, medical, or social issues that older people should know and (have the power to) do something about. These cultural practices potentially alienate women from their embodied experience of pregnancy and motherhood, encouraging them and others to see women as objects for experts to interpret and address. For example, philosopher Rebecca Kukla demonstrates that “cultural, technological, and medical practices of prenatal care have constituted the pregnant body as public space” (285, emphasis original). Kukla maintains that “expectant mothers’ own relationship to the insides of their bodies is powerfully mediated by public measures and representations” including sonograms, TV shows, and parenting guides that encourage ongoing monitoring and control of pregnancies (288). Providing a compelling textual analysis of pregnancy manuals, Marika Siegel argues that mainstream guides such as What to Expect When You’re Expecting encourage women to think of their pregnancies as first and foremost a process of “risk management” that demands consistent expert supervision of and intervention in their bodies as opposed to the larger social and environmental factors that actually produce risks. Feminists, thus, often advocate for discourses and practices that position pregnant and mothering women as the authorities of their own bodies and experiences with equal opportunity to question, ignore, and consult with (instead of being subjugated to) other experts about matters of sex, pregnancy,

The Role of the Teen Mother  •  9

and parenthood. Writing in the 1970s, amid the women’s liberation movement, Rich called for readers to “imagine a world in which every woman is the presiding genius of her own body” (285). However, Indigenous and women of color advocates of reproductive justice critique a narrow focus on individual women’s autonomy over their bodies as the means of securing healthy pregnancies, children, and lives. SisterSong, a collective of women of color activists, explains that reproductive justice refers to “the human right to have children, not have children, and parent the children we have in safe and healthy environments.” SisterSong and other advocates of a reproductive justice framework highlight feminisms’ (and others’) lack of attention to the broader “racial, economic, cultural, and structural constraints” that shape women’s embodied experiences. For example, in her book Killing the Black Body: Race, Reproduction, and the Meaning of Liberty, Dorothy Roberts demonstrates that for black women in the United States, the embodied experiences of sex, pregnancy, and motherhood have consistently been shaped by national imperatives to regulate black women’s childbearing “to achieve social objectives” (56). Black women were raped and forced to endure pregnancies by white slave owners who then sold their children to sustain slave-­based economies. Later, mothers of color were excluded from Aid to Dependent Children (i.e., welfare) benefits until the 1950s to help to ensure that they would continue to work in exploitative low-­wage positions (Briggs 53). Thus, Roberts, SisterSong, and other reproductive justice advocates call for equitable material conditions (e.g., access to jobs, housing, healthcare, childcare, safety) needed to successfully raise children and equitable access to all reproductive options—­including typically privately funded services, like abortion. Considering this, we might add to Rich’s call by stating, “We need to imagine a world in which every woman is seen and treated as the presiding genius of her own body with equal access to the rights, opportunities, and lived conditions needed to enact that genius.” But how do we get to such a world? Rhetoricians Patricia Bizzell and Bruce Herzberg explain, “Knowledge and belief are products of persuasion, which seeks to make the arguable seem natural, to turn positions into premises” (15). We have been persuaded (consciously and, perhaps, less consciously) to know and believe certain things about pregnancy, teenagers, motherhood, and women. Naturalized but still arguable positions are also known as commonplaces or “statements that everyone assumes already to be satisfactorily proven” that are used to build arguments (Crowley and Hawhee 131). Rhetorical analysis is a process of critically interrogating how we become persuaded to accept particular commonplaces. As such, this method is a valuable tool for unearthing the persuasive appeals and arguable premises hidden in particular discourses and identifying opportunities and tactics people can use to resist oppressive ways of thinking. In this book, I use methods of rhetorical analysis—­in conjunction with a feminist poststructuralist framework—­to

10  •  Embodying the Problem

explore how we are persuaded to believe that teenage mothers are problems and how some teenage mothers attempt to persuade us otherwise. To examine how particular people come to embody a problem I look at prevention campaign materials, news articles, and journalistic photography. To investigate how those who embody national exigencies publicly resist their categorization as problems, I focus on social media exchanges, first-­person counter-­narratives (print and web-­based), and public confrontations experienced by everyday young mothers. Yet these methods of analysis do not render me an objective expert on these discourses or the pregnant and mothering women I spoke with during my research. Knowledge claims are partial and always sites of political struggle. My partial perspective is most certainly shaped by my own subject position. As a reminder that knowledges are produced from a variety of embodied locations and that I bring my histories to bear on my inquiries and analyses (as all scholars do), I have also incorporated stories of my experiences as a white, low-­ income single mother who had her first child at seventeen. The rest of this chapter situates the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy as a historical event, working “on behalf of specific interests” to construct young mothers as exigencies for experts to solve (Weedon 40). In sketching a brief history, I demonstrate how the dominant narrative became commonplace through the strategic use of references to expert perspectives, statistical stories that focused solely on women’s experiences, and photographs of pregnant and mothering women.8

The Origin of the Dominant Narrative; or, How Young Mothers Came to Embody a Problem The onset of ovulation, which occurs around the time a young woman begins to menstruate, typically signals the beginning of a woman’s ability to reproduce. Currently the average age for the onset of menstruation is twelve years old. Yet, there have always been socially prescribed norms for when and how women should reproduce. In order to establish these norms, tales are crafted and told about bad mothers—­women (real or mythic) who fail to meet hegemonic standards and can be used to reinforce an ideal of “good” motherhood. The “teen mother” is, thus, part of a long-­standing history of characterizations used to shame and blame particular women’s sexual and reproductive decisions including the “ruined” and “fallen” woman of the nineteenth century, the “unfit” mother of the twentieth century, the “unwed” and “welfare” mothers of the 1960s—­all of which justify different kinds of national interventions ranging from institutional rehabilitation and punitive laws to forced sterilizations (Luker 20–­34).9 In order to understand how the teen mother currently functions as an embodied exigency, I next sketch a brief history of public

The Role of the Teen Mother  •  11

attention to teenage/adolescent pregnancy by focusing on how the dominant narrative developed as a story told in family planning campaigns. Amid the tremendous changes brought on by the civil rights and women’s liberation movements, the early 1970s marked a time of extending legal rights to adolescents. For example, young people were granted access to funded family planning resources and the voting age was lowered to eighteen. In addition, the passing of Title IX in 1972 promised young women equal access to educational and athletic opportunities—­including the right to remain in school if they became pregnant. At the same time, “adolescent pregnancy” was narrated as the beginning of unique social and health problems for young women. Public attention was drawn to teenage pregnancy in the early 1970s by advocates, politicians, and lawmakers whose rhetorical efforts secured federal funding and legal permission for contraceptive services for minors (Arney and Bergen 11; Luker 15; Nathanson 23; Vinovskis 205). During this time, political figures and health organizations explicitly discussed concerns that overpopulation would strain US economic and environmental resources. Specifically, discourses about a so-­called “population bomb” (re)produced fear of immigration and overpopulation among the poor, even though birthrates were declining at the time (Gutierrez 27; Nathanson 54). The “bomb” metaphor implied that women’s bodies were potentially destructive forces capable of wreaking havoc on the world. “Family planning” was, thus, promoted as a way to curb birth rates by encouraging (or coercing) particular women to use birth control and other contraceptive methods to control their fertility (Collins 75). President Nixon, however, did not approve of the idea of providing contraceptives to young people. In response to the Commission on Population Growth and the American Future’s recommendation for federal support of teenagers’ access to such services, Nixon argued that providing “family planning services and devices to minors  .  .  . would do nothing to preserve and strengthen close family relations” (qtd. in Nathanson 23).10 Nixon’s belief that adolescent sexuality was a personal family matter, along with his administration’s lack of support for funding family planning initiatives for the poor, became an explicit challenge to be taken up by advocates for birth control. Sociologist Constance Nathanson explains that the family planning advocate organization Planned Parenthood and its research initiative the Alan Guttmacher Institute (AGI) used contemporary concerns about poverty and overpopulation to gain support for the pill and other contraceptives as solutions to a newfound problem with teenagers. In other words, in order to persuade Congress to approve of reproductive health resources for minors, family planning advocates positioned teenage pregnancy as a national problem. In her history of the politics of teenage pregnancy, social policy scholar Kristin Luker suggests it was the conversations among family planning representatives and politicians debating the 1975 National School-­Age Mother and

12  •  Embodying the Problem

Child Health Act that made much of the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy “official” (71). In his opening statement at the congressional hearings, Senator Ted Kennedy explained, “All the experts agree that the birth of a child to a school-­age parent has tremendous consequences to the mother, the father, and the child” (“School Age” 9). Often, rhetorical references to experts, such as “all experts agree,” obscure the shifting nature of expert concepts and other ways of knowing, discouraging nonspecialized audiences from questioning the claims being presented as truths. Written into the act and discussed aloud during the hearings were lists of “burdens” brought on by school-­age motherhood. These lists functioned as expert stories about what pregnancy does to young women and their children’s health. “Representatives from the federal government, state and private health service agencies, and medical doctors” participated in constructing school-­age motherhood as a tragic life path that the government could help to improve by funding services for young mothers and their families (“School Age” 1). Although those promoting the act were ultimately unsuccessful in getting it passed, the narratives exchanged during the hearings—­fueled by the AGI’s latest research on adolescent sexuality and reproduction—­continued to circulate, bringing attention to teenage women as bodies simultaneously in danger (of becoming pregnant) and dangerous (as potentially producing children who would damage the economy and lives). The clearest example of the emerging and recurring patterns of the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy is the AGI’s influential sixty-­four-­page booklet titled 11 Million Teenagers: What Can Be Done about the Epidemic of Adolescent Pregnancies in the United States, published in 1976. At the time of this publication, Planned Parenthood had just transitioned from its “5 Million Poor” campaign, which had helped the organization successfully advocate for federal support and funding for poor women from 1967 to 1970, to “11 Million Teenagers” as a population in need of sex education, access to contraception, and social supports (Nathanson 46).11 Out of the 21 million teenagers aged fifteen to nineteen living in the United States, the AGI estimated that 11 million were sexually active and, thus, potentially susceptible to what they called an “epidemic” of pregnancy (9). Deploying colorful graphs, professional black-­and-­white photographs, bold quotes from experts, and statistical claims about teenagers, the AGI booklet prompted policy makers and legislators to support adolescents’ full access to family planning resources. Scholars have since critiqued this document for a variety of reasons—­the exaggerated nature of the booklet’s claims (Vinovskis 222; Furstenberg 16), the unethical manipulation of data (Ericksen and Steffen 96), and the overrepresentation of pictures of white middle-­class women (Ericksen and Steffen 97; Nathanson 48). These are important critiques, but I want to further explore how this booklet encouraged readers to shift attention to the age of a young woman’s first birth as a national problem. Specifically, the booklet demonstrates how stories

The Role of the Teen Mother  •  13

and visual representations of young women’s bodies are integral to establishing teenage pregnancy as an exigence—­that is, an urgent, “recurring situation” demanding an immediate expert response (Bawarshi 356).

Looking at Women, Listening to Experts The AGI’s explanation of why “we,” in the United States, should be concerned about teenage pregnancy includes a series of points made in conjunction with statistical data about young mothers and their children. From the opening pages, AGI encourages the public to see young women’s sexual behaviors and outcomes as impacting the United States’ standing in the world. The first chart illustrates that the United States has one of the highest teenage pregnancy rates of all the industrialized nations (7). After situating pregnant teenagers as the cause of national embarrassment, the report describes pregnancy, birth, abortion, adoption, miscarriage, and marriage rates among women aged fifteen to nineteen. The AGI justifies its focus on the bodies and experiences of young women with a brief qualification on page 9: “Although the consequences of adolescent pregnancy and childbearing must be extensive and serious for males as well as females the unavailability of data make it necessary in this report to focus on young women aged 15–­19” (9). Indeed, of the forty-­ nine figures included in the booklet, thirty-­three are charts focused solely on data about young women. Moreover, even though the cover of the booklet features a photo of a young man and woman walking hand in hand under the gender-­neutral title “11 Million Teenagers,” the twenty-­nine photographs included in the booklet overwhelmingly focus on young women—­most often light-­skinned young women (a visual rhetorical pattern I will discuss further in chapter 2). A close analysis of the bodies represented across these photographs reveals that there are thirty-­five young women, twenty-­seven babies, eight older female medics, seven young men, one older male medic, and one headshot of the male expert whose personal essay concludes the text. The public is prompted to see adolescent pregnancy as a problem with women’s bodies. At the time of this writing (forty years later), the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy is still focused on the lives and bodies of women—­their mistakes, their health complications, and their impact on children and society. This suggests that there is something more than missing data fueling the continued and nearly exclusive attention on young women. While young women’s bodies and lives are overrepresented in the booklet as rhetorical appeals for attention to and action on this newfound issue, the booklet does not include young women’s perspectives. Instead, the photos and graphs of aggregate data are framed and interpreted by authorized experts. For example, throughout the booklet there are eleven quotes highlighted in red font in the wide white margins. These statements help to shape

14  •  Embodying the Problem

readers’ thinking about the onslaught of data and visuals provided in the body of the text. The quotes come from individual male officials and researchers, a conference proceeding, national organizations, and the US Department of Health, Education, and Welfare. For example, the perspective of demographer Arthur A. Campbell is featured: “The girl who has an illegitimate child at the age of 16 suddenly has 90 percent of her life’s script written for her” (18). I will address the statistical illogic of Campbell’s statement in a later section of this chapter, but for now I point to this example to demonstrate that the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy is a life script authored by (adult, middle-­to upper-­class, and often male) experts. The public is prompted to see young women as the source and substance of the problem, but not to listen to or search for their perspectives.

Statistics, Lists, and Women’s Bodies The dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy continues to be shaped by statistical representations of young women’s lives. These statistical claims typically take the form of a list that builds momentum for the argument that there is a problem while allowing little room for questioning the numbers or the author’s interpretation thereof. AGI’s booklet is a perfect example of these rhetorical tactics. Statistics are persuasive, in part because demographic research is often represented and received as objective or even neutral scientific data, collected by credentialed experts who seek numerical truth. However, the selection of data source, the collection of quantitative data, the calculation of the statistics, the interpretation of the numbers, and the presentation of the results are each the actions of people who are influenced by the language, ideologies, and cultural practices around them. Numbers are not neutral. Social constructions of age, gender, race, class, family, sex, success, health, and nation shape the quantification of bodies and lives.12 Using statistical comparisons between the reproductive and life outcomes of women aged fifteen to nineteen and those aged twenty to twenty-­four, AGI argues that all women under the age of twenty are at risk of childbearing experiences that are socially, economically, and physically compromised. These numbers create the exigence of teenage pregnancy, that urgent feeling that something is going terribly wrong. The section of the booklet titled “What a Difference a Year Makes” constructs what has become the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy, or what demographer Campbell hypothesizes is the 90 percent of the pregnant teen’s predetermined “life script.” AGI strategically begins the narrative with the moment a teen gives birth, therein suggesting that everything that happens afterward is the result of this event. A series of statistics are listed to support the idea that “very young women . . . are biologically too immature for effective childbearing” because they are more likely to give birth to low-­weight infants

The Role of the Teen Mother  •  15

and/or infants who die in the first year (Charles U. Lowe qtd. in AGI 21). Readers learn that pregnant teenagers also face more risk of maternal death or pregnancy complications like toxemia and anemia than women aged twenty or older. The story continues as young mothering women face a complicated life path because they desperately need to be “more mature and better able to cope with the realities and responsibilities of parenthood” (21). AGI explains teen mothers’ so-­called immaturity through its booklet subject headings: “Teen Mothers Lack Key Skills” since they have not completed their high school education and are less likely to have had job or marriage experience (24). Furthermore, “Twice as Many Teenage Mothers Drop Out of School” because they cannot handle multiple demands and, the AGI also mentions, schools often encourage them to leave (25). AGI also suggests that teenage mothers are destined for loneliness by quantifying the average length of their marriages: “Three in Five Pregnant Teen Brides [are] Divorced Within Six Years” (28). Finally, after facing obstacles to their health and social development, mothering teens embark on a life of poverty, more children, and dependency on public assistance: “Teen Mothers Face Greater Risk of Unemployment [and] Welfare Dependency” and “The Younger the Woman at First Birth, the Poorer the Family” that she creates (25). The AGI uses numbers and bold headings to create a narrative about immature, doomed young women—­sentences explained (or actually not so clearly explained) by statistical information comparing groups of women—­to achieve its purpose of gaining funding and establishing policies that help teenagers access comprehensive sexual health information and contraceptives. By focusing on young women as too “immature” for motherhood, “ignorant” of effective preventative practices, and unable to access much-­needed contraception, the booklet encourages preventative intervention in teenagers’ lives because each of these problems may be solved with time, education, and resources. The narrative constructed by these statistics relies on both the absence of data about men who remain unaccountable for their actions, choices, and desires and the lack of information provided about young women’s lived contexts and realities prior to pregnancy or motherhood. This practice of framing young mothers’ lives through statistics participates in a broader expert discourse in which demographic researchers often focus on women’s bodies and lives. Feminist medical social scientists Monica J. Casper and Lisa Jean Moore critique this gendered pattern in their study of representations of infant mortality rates. They write, “It is women’s (not men’s) bodies, behaviors, habits, employment, relationships, choices, and practices that are seen to determine whether their babies will live or die” as opposed to the environmental and structural conditions that shape both women’s and babies’ lives (72, emphasis original). This leads Casper and Moore to conclude that “women are highly vis­ ible containers of blame” (72). This gendered focus on women’s fertility rates and

16  •  Embodying the Problem

childbearing outcomes intersects with issues of race and class as demographers also tend to focus on the bodies of the poor and women of color as sources of information about social ills. For example, during the 1960s, concerns about population growth led to the Zero-­Growth family planning campaign that called on US citizens to limit themselves to no more than two children. At the time, statistical representations of Mexican American and immigrant women’s sexual and reproductive behavior—­specifically the fact that they did not appear to limit their family sizes to two children—­helped to focus blame for a strained economy and depleting environmental resources on women of color. Sociologist Elena Gutierrez explains that “social progress” was defined as lower birthrates, a definition that demanded research on and (potential) intervention in women’s bodies (61). In this sense, “teenage mothers” are actually just another group marginalized by statistical information about women’s bodies that erases or at least downplays the socioeconomic structures and power relations that constrain those bodies. In the end, the tragic life of unskilled, immature, and unsuccessful young mothers represented in the AGI booklet functions as a rhetorical appeal for funding and policies that will prevent them from existing. Thus, the phrase “teenage pregnancy” does not just describe people who experience a pregnancy before the age of twenty; instead, it describes a socially constructed problem with young women who give birth and raise children. Although sex educators, researchers, medical experts, politicians, and media figures talk about preventing pregnancy, the list of statistical evidence used to support the urgent need to prevent pregnancy most often describes the outcomes of women who decide to mother. It is the story of the teenage mother, and often images and pathologizing descriptions of her body, that grounds prevention approaches. Helping to legitimize the story as “fact” is the ethos of medicalized experts and demographers whose generalizations are often accepted as truth. As I previously discussed, the pregnant and maternal body has historically been constrained by medical discourses that position pregnancy as a dysfunctional condition or disorder requiring expert treatment and control (Young 55). The story told by AGI authorizes experts to speak about and for young women while continuing to focus on women as “highly visible containers of blame” for societal ills (Casper and Moore 72). At the same time, the story functions as a rhetorical strategy to achieve seemingly good things for young people, including better access to the education and resources needed to manage their reproductive capacities as well as programs that offer support to young mothers.13 Well-­intentioned or not, the story told by AGI was persuasive, to say the least. By 1977, the US Department of Health, Education, and Welfare’s Health Services Administration built on the information provided in 11 Million Teenagers to create and circulate a more concise pamphlet titled Teenage Pregnancy: Everybody’s Problem. This pamphlet repeats points made by the AGI in order to grab the attention of teenagers, parents, and even “taxpaying citizens”

The Role of the Teen Mother  •  17

who are prompted to do something to prevent this problem (6). In 1978, the depiction of a teenage pregnancy epidemic helped to pass the Adolescent Health Services and Pregnancy Prevention Act—­a more successful version of the 1975 National School-­Age Mother and Child Health Act. Illustrating the wide impact of this new way of talking about prevention issues, Nathanson points out that while no articles mentioned teens and pregnancy in the New York Times index in 1970, fourteen articles used the terms in 1978 alone (46). The statistics and the narratives that brought attention to these terms became commonplaces of US discourse during this decade.

Experts Don’t Agree This brief history demonstrates that the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy authorizes a variety of experts—­that is, people conferred authoritative status in our culture based on their educational certifications, collection of information, and socially perceived personal distance from the subject matter—­to observe, classify, interpret, and act on the experiences of young women in the name of solving societal ills. However, it is important to point out that not all experts agree with the narrative’s premises, plot structure, and ultimate conclusions. Alongside the research findings that lobbyists and officials use to shape teenage pregnancy into a social problem to be solved is research from scholars of health, economics, sociology, education, law, gender, race, and sexuality studies who refute the statistics used to produce anxiety over teenage pregnancy. In brief, these experts demonstrate that young women who have babies before the age of twenty do not negatively impact the economy, their own health/future, their children’s health/future, or the sexual behaviors/outcomes of other young women. Maris Vinovskis, a historian, public policy scholar, and participant-­observer in congressional debates about adolescent pregnancy in the 1970s, was the first to publicly question and critique the so-­called epidemic of teen sexuality and pregnancy. Vinovskis states that witnesses of the congressional debate over funding the 1978 act never questioned the validity of AGI’s claims that there was an “epidemic” of adolescent childbearing (214). Emphasizing the inappropriateness of policy makers’ ready acceptance of these claims, he illustrates that the rates of teenage fertility and childbearing had actually been declining for twenty years since “a peak of 97.3 births per 1000 women ages 15–­19 in 1957” (208). Vinovskis’s three key strategies to counter the attention to adolescent childbearing included (1) providing demographic information that shows the epidemic does not exist; (2) employing cause/effect reasoning to argue that the proposed policy/funding will not serve the purpose it is stated to serve; and (3) redirecting attention from universal concern over adolescent childbearing to more specific problems that may underlie politicians’ anxieties

18  •  Embodying the Problem

(e.g., the increasing rate of births to single women, the increasing absence of fathers, the increasing likelihood that adolescents who give birth will keep the child, etc.). Over the years, many scholars responded to Vinovskis’s critique and utilized similar rhetorical moves to point out the inaccuracy of claims about the consequences of teenage pregnancy. Public health scholar Arline T. Geronimus has played a major role in shaping how and why scholars contest popular (mis)perceptions of teenage pregnancy and parenthood. Beginning with her Harvard dissertation in 1984, Geronimus has critiqued teen pregnancy studies that ignore “environmental factors” or the socioeconomic, racial, and cultural factors that shape the outcomes of the mother and child at any age (“On Teenage Childbearing” 245). Specifically, Geronimus refutes the argument that preventing early childbearing will decrease infant mortality rates because it is difficult to control for “true age effects” in contexts of disadvantage where infant mortality is most commonly an issue. Or, put differently, it is hard to tell whether young women (and men) who have grown up in poverty with limited access to good healthcare, quality education, nutritious food, stable shelter, and personal safety struggle to have healthy babies because of the timing of their pregnancy or the everyday difficulty of living in their community context. Geronimus argues that other factors such as “infection, malnutrition, stress, smoking, and inadequate medical services” are more likely to contribute to infant mortality rates (“On Teenage Childbearing” 253). In addition, nursing scholar Lee SmithBattle points out that many early researchers studied girls from disadvantaged communities—­that is, low-­income communities facing a lack of quality healthcare, educational opportunities, jobs, or housing—­and made generalizations about problems with teenage pregnancy by comparing their life outcomes with the outcomes of women who did not become pregnant as teens. SmithBattle shows that many of the young women who did not have babies as teens came from more privileged socioeconomic contexts. Thus, non-­parenting teens’ “better” life outcomes are actually a product of their access to more resources (410; see also Nathanson 38). Many experts argue that the statistics that are presented as consequences of teenage pregnancy are actually the consequences of living in poverty—­a lived condition that is not necessarily improved by delaying pregnancy (Furstenberg; Geronimus “Damned”; Kearney and Levine “Why Is”; Lawson and Rhode; Luker; Males; Moran; Pillow; SmithBattle; Weed et al.). Since the majority of women who become mothers during their teenage years are already living in poverty before they become pregnant, it is also wrong to claim that pregnancy causes poverty (Luker 39; Males 21). In their book On Becoming a Teen Mom, sociologists Mary Patrice Erdmans and Timothy Black present what they learned from listening to the life stories of 108 racially and ethnically diverse young mothers living in Connecticut. Erdmans and Black argue

The Role of the Teen Mother  •  19

that the primary obstacles that the young mothers they spoke with seemed to face were not caused by pregnancy or motherhood but actually preexisting struggles with abuse, rape, education, money, and family produced by socioeconomic inequalities, racism, and patriarchy. Although many (but not all) young mothers struggle with the social and economic issues that plague many US citizens, research studies that control for things like family background and community context actually conclude that the children of teenage mothers do just as well (if not better) in terms of health, education, and future socioeconomic status as children born to older women who live in similar conditions (Geronimus “On Teenage Childbearing”; Geronimus and Korenman; McCarthy and Hardy). In fact, Geronimus’s research has shown that, especially in poor African American communities, young women are less likely than older mothers in these same communities to have infants with health problems. Experts also challenge the assumption that age at first birth determines the educational outcomes of the mother. Public health and sociology scholars Dawn M. Upchurch and James McCarthy compare graduation rates of teenagers who did and did not give birth, finding that school-­age mothers graduate from high school at the same rate as their non-­parenting peers (224; see also Hotz et al. 702). By talking to young mothers about their educational experiences, Erdmans and Black found that “mothers who were doing well in school generally stayed in school; those who did not complete high school either had dropped out before pregnancy or were already disengaged from school when they became pregnant” (152). In other words, young women’s educational trajectory did not seem to be altered by motherhood and correlated more clearly with their economic background (i.e., low-­income students struggled more than those with higher family incomes). Many experts have also brought attention to the problematic focus on “dropout” rates, which (1) fail, at times, to take into account students who have transferred schools or received their GEDs and (2) prevent attention to the problematic administrative practice of pushing out pregnant and mothering women from school campuses (Kelly Pregnant 10; Luker 2; Vinson and Stevens 326). Many scholars agree that the initial claims about the negative effects of teenage pregnancy and childbearing are, at best, overstated (Furstenberg 5; Lawson and Rhode 5; Kearney and Levine “Why Is” 2; Weed et al. xiv). In fact, longitudinal studies suggest teen mothers fare better economically and educationally than their counterparts who postpone pregnancy (Hotz et al.; Furstenberg et al.). Teen pregnancy may be a better long-­term investment for women in poor communities that experience income, educational, and health disparities. For example, for low-­income women with extended families, having children young potentially “maximize[s] grandparents’ and older relatives’ assistance in childraising before health problems associated with aging

20  •  Embodying the Problem

set in” (Males 66; see also Geronimus “On Teenage Childbearing” 258 and Lawson and Rhode 5). In brief, there have been robust and replicated studies that show that young pregnancy or parenthood does not inherently cause economic, educational, and/or health issues. Although these studies stem from different disciplines, many of these experts support a similar call to action: they urge attention to and intervention in the structural and social inequalities that shape the lives of young pregnant and mothering women (and others) such as poverty, racism, and patriarchy. Think about it this way: women and men are more likely to postpone childbearing now than in any other era; yet, many of the problems typically presented as the consequences of teenage pregnancy—­poverty, educational failure, and increasing numbers of US citizens in the prison system—­are still prevalent.

Reaffirming the Dominant Narrative and Women’s Bodies as the Commonsense Source of Problems However, experts who are invested in reproducing the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy dismiss these findings by (re)affirming the value of the cultural practice of focusing on young women’s bodies as the source of and solution to problems. For example, in 1998 Saul D. Hoffman, an economic scholar affiliated with the National Campaign to Prevent Teen and Unplanned Pregnancy, commends scholars like Geronimus for “clever and important” findings (237), but he dismisses each finding by pointing to factors that “bias the results” such as too small sample sizes, co-­residing subjects, and subjects who had children too far in the past—­when things were too different to be relevant to current policy decisions. Hoffman maintains that “the evidence is simply not yet solid enough. The ‘experiments’ are not good enough, and almost all of the biases would tend to make the estimates too small” to conclude that teenage pregnancy does not block “the pathways out of poverty” (243). Hoffman writes, “everyone knows that teenage mothers are much worse off than women who delay childbearing” (236, emphasis added). Hoffman is willing to contend that claims about the outcomes of teenage childbearing have been exaggerated over the years, but he is unwilling to cease rhetorical practices that pathologize young pregnant and mothering women as problems to prevent. In a more recent article published in the 2010 Journal of the Association for Research on Mothering’s special edition on young mothers, Canadian policy makers Gemma Briggs, Marni Brownell, and Noralou Roos similarly dismiss research studies that suggest that it is poverty rather than the age of first birth that determines adverse life outcomes. They argue that the tensions between expert perspectives is a simple case of the “chicken and the egg debate” that should not impede or alter current policy measures that target women’s reproductive bodies as sites for addressing societal ills (62). Women’s bodies, specifically their ability to reproduce, are (re)constructed as the most seemingly

The Role of the Teen Mother  •  21

commonsense and practical solution to complicated problems with the economy, educational structures, and the criminal justice system (68). It seems no amount of number crunching can impact the practicability of disciplining women’s reproduction. Thus, the dominant narrative persists, justified as a means of prevention.

Teenage Mothers: The Common Ground We Trample On The preventative rhetorical frame makes it difficult to disentangle pathologiz­ ing characterizations of young mothers from agendas to improve reproductive health outcomes through better access to family planning resources. This is because the teenage mother is made to embody the exigence that family planning organizations are funded to solve. Furthermore, the teenage mother functions as a powerful common ground, or a means of conflict resolution, between differently positioned people and groups. For example, Daniel Callahan writes in his personal essay that concludes the AGI’s 11 Million Teenagers, “Whatever the other value judgments one may come to about the information assembled here, I doubt that anyone would want to say that it is a good thing that teenagers get pregnant. On that much, agreement can be assumed” (57). Callahan builds common ground with oppositional readers of the booklet—­who may disagree with AGI’s claim that teenagers need comprehensive sex education as well as access to contraceptive services and abortion providers—­by evoking the shared belief that a pregnant teenager is “not a good thing.” In 2010, President Obama relied on the ability of a teen mother to foster agreement among people with different values and beliefs by using “teenage pregnancy prevention” as the primary motivation for revamping federally funded sex education programs from abstinence-­focused to evidenced-­based comprehensive sex education initiatives. In doing so, he (re)identified pregnancy as one of the most detrimental life-­determining obstacles the government should help young women to avoid.14 The conundrum is this: people with vastly different political objectives, beliefs, and values are brought together to discuss how to proactively address teenagers’ sexual behavior and improve young people’s sexual health outcomes by the collective disparagement of women who mother before the age of twenty (Kelly Pregnant 202). Unfortunately, this means that the moment a young woman finds herself pregnant she becomes symbolic of failure, disease (part of an “epidemic”), economic burdens, and even death. Further supporting the pathologized depiction of young mothering women is the new trend of circulating the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy as its own preventative measure. During the discussions of the 1975 National School-­Age Mother and Child Health Act and within the pages of the 1976 11 Million Teenagers booklet, the story of teenage motherhood functioned as a means of persuading politicians to improve teenagers’ access to sexual and

22  •  Embodying the Problem

reproductive health resources. Often, the story also served as evidence of the need for changes that would provide more legal protections, social supports, and educational opportunities for young mothers. Now, however, telling the tragic tale of young pregnancy is seen as a primary method of prevention in and of itself. Popular reality television shows about the struggles and successes of young mothers such as Teen Mom and 16 and Pregnant are produced in collaboration with the teenage pregnancy prevention campaigns and presented as successful tools for pregnancy prevention (Guglielmo viii; Daniel 981).15 Each episode is framed by public service announcements that prompt viewers to look at pregnancy and parenthood as the worst outcomes for teenagers. The teen mother is constructed as what I call a preventative subject—­someone who gains recognition only as a lesson or moral for others who should take preventative measures to avoid her fate. As preventative subjects, young mothers are to be pitied or criticized. The visibility of deviant young motherhood pressures women to conform to societal norms for pregnancy and discipline their bodies. The dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy also encourages the nation, including teens, to keep a careful eye on the conduct of young women. Encouraging what Foucault calls a “gaze,” or a socialized way of looking, helps to produce self-­ surveilling normative subjects. In Unbearable Weight: Feminism, Western Culture, and the Body, Susan Bordo builds from Foucault’s idea that power relations have evolved from “physical restraint and coercion” to “individual self-­surveillance and self-­correction to norms” to argue that normative subjectivity is often maintained through a politics of appearance (27). Indeed, Western social responses to women’s sexual and reproductive deviance have seemingly evolved from “physical restraint and coercion” to more subtle, but still debilitating social stigmatization of the teen mother’s body.16 Bordo uses the Foucauldian concept of the gaze to examine the ways in which women regulate their bodies (or feel the need to) according to the beauty norms they see represented in mainstream media. The disciplinary mechanism of the gaze also helps to explain how the dominant narrative functions. The narrative is a kind of “system of surveillance” that “involves very little expense” (Foucault “Eye of Power” 155). As Luker points out, “making the United States the kind of country in which—­as in most European countries—­early childbearing is rare would entail profound changes in public policy and perhaps even American society as a whole” because it would require major structural changes to address stark economic inequalities and improve conditions of poverty (192). Comparatively, the circulation of the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy is easier and supports a neoliberal worldview that eschews social supports in favor of individualism and personal responsibility. Thus, the motivation behind the circulation of the teenage pregnancy narrative appears, in part, to be a cost-­effective (even potentially profitable) messaging strategy that

The Role of the Teen Mother  •  23

prompts young women skeptical of their sexual desires and fearful of scrutiny of their bodies and sexual/reproductive choices.

“Sex Has Consequences”: Scaring Teenagers with the Life of the Teen Mother Although the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy has become pervasive, told by many over and over again, the leading institutional bases in the United States are currently the National Campaign to Prevent Teen and Unplanned Parenthood (hereafter, the National Campaign) and TheNext​.org (formerly the Candie’s Foundation). With the enthusiastic blessing of President Bill Clinton, who sought to “end welfare as we know it” and identified teenage pregnancy as one of the worst issues facing the United States at the time, the National Campaign emerged in 1996. A nonprofit organization funded by private donations and the US Department of Health and Human Services, the National Campaign aims “to improve the lives and future prospects of children and families and, in particular, to help ensure that children are born into stable, two-­parent families who are committed to and ready for the demanding task of raising the next generation” (“Who We Are”).17 The National Campaign produces media (e.g., public service announcements, press releases, social media, a website, and teen-­targeted shows), policy recommendations, research briefs, information about birth control, and an ongoing argument for attention to the problem of teenage pregnancy. The Candie’s Foundation was founded in 2001 by Neil Cole, the head of the Candie’s fashion brand (which, ironically, often advertises junior shoes and apparel with sexualized images of young women). The foundation rebranded itself as TheNext​.org in May 2016 but retains the mission to prevent teenage pregnancy (TheNext​.org “The Candie’s Foundation Rebrands”). The organization’s strategies include a website and the ongoing circulation of print ads, broadcast public service announcements, and social media messages that “shape the way youth in America think about the devastating consequences of teenage pregnancy and parenthood” (Candie’s Foundation “About: Mission”). In other words, their sole prevention strategy is producing and circulating the dominant narrative. Both organizations circulate the message that women should regulate their sexual behavior according to societal norms or be doomed to a life of hardship. Supporting this argument are gendered constructions of sexuality and mother­ hood as well as strategic avoidance of the topics of racism and the effects of poverty. In this section, I analyze two key examples of public service announcements from these organizations to show how representations of young mothers are used as rhetorical strategies to persuade other teens to abstain from

24  •  Embodying the Problem

unprotected sex.18 These depictions continue to pathologize young mothers as preventative subjects, authorize expert interventions, and reify troubling tropes about women and motherhood. In 2000, the National Campaign released its infamous “Sex Has Consequences” campaign including six ads featuring individual young parents—­four differently racialized young women and two white men—­set against a plain white background. The parents are labeled with shocking terms: the young Latina is “Cheap”; the African American young woman is a “Reject”; the Asian American young woman is “Dirty”; the white young woman is “Nobody”; and the seemingly white young men are a “Prick” and “Useless.” Each derogatory label is contextualized in barely visible sentences running vertically up the side of the image, suggesting that the words are not just epithets for the young parents. The visual representations prompt teens to gaze upon the bodies of these pregnant and parenting teens as outcasts (helped by the fact that their pregnancy is signified only by the negative text on their bodies—­not any visible sign of pregnancy or parenthood on their bodies) and then reflect that gaze upon their own bodies. The National Campaign uses sexist language that compels women to conform to gender norms in order to convince teenagers to surveil their bodies. After all, who wants to be known as “Cheap,” “Dirty,” or a “Reject,” especially during the often emotionally intense experience of high school? By continuing a language of promiscuity and abjection, these images suggest that a woman’s power over her self-­representation comes through disciplining her sexual desires and reproductive capacities so as not to deviate from the “appropriate” time to conceive.19 Intersecting with the traditional gender ideologies (re)produced in this campaign are messages about race and class. Let’s take the example of the “Cheap” ad of the series featuring a Latina teenager—­an important demographic to represent as public reports on teenage pregnancy repeatedly bring attention to higher birth rates of Latinas (see Figure 1.1).20 As with all the shots in this series, the dominant visual element of the ad is the large red lettering across her midsection—­“cheap.” Since our eyes focus there, we are led to examine the young woman behind the text in the context of her “cheap” body. She faces the camera squarely, her eyes accentuated with smeared dark mascara. Has she been crying? Is she returning from a night of partying? Large hoop earrings dangle from her ears, clearly visible because her hair is swept back, not up to connote an elegance or energy, but back, hanging down off her shoulders—­careless wisps escaping the hair tie. The top buttons of her white polo shirt are unbuttoned and her right hand rests at the top of the opening—­as if she is covering up or about to further expose her chest. The shirt is tied up to show her stomach squeezed into her form-­fitting black jeans. Her other hand hooks in

The Role of the Teen Mother  •  25

FIGURE 1.1.   “Sex Has Consequences.” 2001. PSA created by The National Cam-

paign to Prevent Teen and Unplanned Pregnancy.

the right pocket. Her outfit, stance, and slightly disheveled appearance all imply a defiant sexuality, perhaps even promiscuity, which is enhanced by that urgent red text across her midsection. The word choice, “cheap,” reinforces patriarchal logic by maintaining that women’s value stems from their sexual and reproductive decisions. As the term has been used to denigrate sexually active women (or women perceived to be sexually active), it defines women’s worth based on their desirability as wives—­a desirability that hinges on the woman’s perceived sexual purity before

26  •  Embodying the Problem

marriage and her ability to reproduce children for her husband. A “cheap” woman is a woman who desires, seeks, or consents to sex without being married to a man. A “cheap” woman is also one who obstructs the cultural capital of her role as a mother—­an idealized role for many (but not all) women. For example, Gloria Anzaldúa explains the idealization of motherhood as a role of value in Mexican American culture: “Women are made to feel total failures if they don’t marry and have children” (39). Here, the National Campaign taps into the cultural discourse of the value of a childbearing woman, but it suggests that this woman has sold herself short. By failing to delay the fruits of her fertility, she has become a “cheap” commodity. Since she is not yet visibly pregnant, we are encouraged to remain focused on her unsanctioned, unprotected sex act, not the fetus in her womb that may engender sympathy from some viewers. The label, positioned across the body of a brown-­skinned subject, intersects with widespread discourse about Mexican immigrants who are often depicted as both cheap sources of labor and undesirable citizens straining the US economy.21 The young woman’s gaze becomes integral to the interpretation of the image and the language that constrains it. She is obviously not happy—­ she looks tired but nevertheless stares right back at the camera capturing her. Had she averted her eyes, viewers could easily come to the conclusion that her unintended pregnancy is a product of a circumstance that was out of her control—­perhaps, that she was raped or taken advantage of. Audiences could be prompted to think that her current circumstances, as a young woman of color in the United States, are shaped by the explicit and structural racism she may have to negotiate each day. Any of these signifiers could easily incite a more complex reading of her “situation.” The image could work to illustrate, as Luker argues again and again in Dubious Conceptions: The Politics of Teenage Pregnancy, that “preexisting poverty, failure in school, a dearth of opportunities for personal and professional fulfillment, persistent divisions between the races, and traditional gender-­role expectations all lead both to early pregnancy and to impoverished lives” (41). Yet the organization of the photograph (all eyes on her—­her body), the gaze of the subject, and the text across her body all suggest that the National Campaign does not want to explain her actions, pregnancy, or outcomes beyond her stated mistake of not purchasing a condom. The young woman stares directly at us, stone-­faced, confessing through the text along the side of the photograph, “Condoms are cheap. If we’d used one, I wouldn’t have to tell my parents that I’m pregnant.” The text suggests that she accepts the fault for this problem, not noting any difficulty in actually buying the contraceptive device, any cultural beliefs that interfere with using contraceptives, or any ignorance that she needed one to prevent pregnancy. Finally, although there is a “we” written in this image, suggesting that there was a partner in crime, it is only her moment to confess. The blame is put,

The Role of the Teen Mother  •  27

literally, on the exposed body of the pregnant young woman. Her body functions as a rhetorical appeal to focus only on the individual actions of teens, not the contexts in which those teens exist. Although the National Campaign’s series is deeply troubling, the ads allow us, at least, the opportunity for a critical gaze that elucidates how the rhetoric of teenage pregnancy shifts its connotations as it is attached to differently racialized bodies in this series. The dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy—­and the scrutinizing gaze it encourages—­subtly naturalizes racist beliefs and practices while seemingly focusing the public on the universal consequences of teenage sex (an idea I explore further in chapter 2). Young people viewing the ads are not encouraged to think about a history of “rejecting” black women from the rights and benefits immediately granted to white US citizens (including the right to mother), a history of associating Asian women with “dirty” sexual conduct that helped to justify exploitation and exclusion from the United States,22 a history of convincing middle-­to upper-­class white women they were “nobody” if they were not a wife and mother, and a history of ignoring the needs of working-­class “nobodies” who have always balanced motherhood with paid work and other obligations. Racially and economically distinct histories, beliefs, and practices continue to impact the everyday lives of pregnant and mothering women (as well as minorities who postpone or avoid parenthood) who will face different outcomes based on their socioeconomic status, race, sexual orientation, and abilities. Yet together, the verbal text anchoring the four visual representations of young women in this series works to homogenize young motherhood, explicitly arguing that teenage motherhood is the end all of a sense of self-­worth, sexual attraction, friendships, and happiness. One ad features a young mother lamenting, “I want to be out with my friends. Instead I am changing dirty diapers at home.” In this statement, motherhood involves the bleak prospect of changing diapers, which contrasts sharply to what she desires—­social companionship. Who wants to hang out with a dirty mother? Continuing the trope of isolation brought on by motherhood, another young mother’s photo suggests, “Now that I am home with a baby nobody calls me anymore.” Young motherhood brings on the loss of friendships. Together, these ads encourage acceptance of the fact that, for women, motherhood means remaining at home doing child-­rearing work and struggling to connect with the public sphere.23 In much the same way, the final woman in the series mourns her loss of social companionship: “I had sex so that my boyfriend would not reject me. Now, I have a baby and no boyfriends.” The unstated premises in this statement are that men leave their pregnant teenage girlfriends and that pregnant or mothering single women are undesirable sexual/love companions. The ad implies that young women should be spending their time with boyfriends not babies, because—­as the photo of the sad girl clearly shows—­their happiness depends

28  •  Embodying the Problem

upon it. The love of a mother for her child is subordinated to the desire of a man for a woman. Rhetorician Barbara Dickson suggests that women are called to “constantly surveil themselves to exercise some control over how they will be treated by men. They develop an internal male monitor that allows them some agency in their relationships with men” (300). This ad certainly encourages self-­acceptance based on the feedback of men, a male gaze. The problem for this teen mother is that she has lost the recognition that comes with being an attractive, childless young woman. The image suggests that the National Campaign hopes other young women will develop an “internal male monitor” that gets them to judge any decision they make in terms of how it will affect their relationships with men. In this series, the argument that teenage pregnancy is always and only a horrible experience functions on the personal appeal of young mothers’ ruined bodies. The young women are portrayed as critical of their own actions, and we, the public who receive their image, are encouraged to critique them, their bodies, and their reflections. The National Campaign is not alone in forwarding the message of teenage pregnancy prevention through the stories and images of the ruined young mother. TheNext​.org, formerly the Candie’s Foundation, also consistently uses this tactic but often obscures critical attention to the racial connotations (i.e., a history of targeting women of color’s reproductive capacities) and economic structures (i.e., that cause poverty and therein the negative consequences that are erroneously attributed to young motherhood) by focusing on representations of seemingly middle-­class white young mothers.24 For example, a broadcast public service announcement from 2008 depicts two teens sitting in the back of a car that is parked in a quintessential “make-­ out” spot—­a cliff overlooking city lights. The young white woman in the backseat says, “I love you so much Mike.” The young white man at her side responds, “Are we going to do this?” The young woman nods, and the young man leans in to kiss her. Suddenly popular comedienne/actress (and Candie’s sexual icon) Jenny McCarthy swings open the car door and leans in, sternly asking, “What are you doing?” The young man angrily retorts, “What does it look like we are doing?” McCarthy responds, “Obviously not thinking about the consequences.” The young woman asserts, “There is nothing to worry about.” McCarthy disagrees, picking up a large, crying white baby and placing it in the young man’s arms. He quickly hands the baby to the young woman and gets out of the car. McCarthy smirks and says to the young woman in a matter-­of-­fact-­tone, “Welcome to reality.” The PSA ends with a close-­up of the girl’s face, looking defeated as she holds the crying baby. Here, again, the story and image of the young mother—­abandoned in the “reality” of immediate single motherhood after sex—­is deployed as a way to get young women to enact self-­surveillance, prompting ready acceptance of gendered constructions of sexuality and motherhood in the process. Specifically,

The Role of the Teen Mother  •  29

the PSA perpetuates the idea that girls have sex because they love boys while boys are motivated by a sexual urge to “do this.” We do not hear Mike express love for the (unnamed) girl and, hence, we are prompted to see the girl as naïve to acquiesce to his sexual urge to “do this” based on her feelings of love. Young women are denied sexual desire and held uniquely responsible for sexual acts while young men are portrayed as inevitably sexual, unemotional, and irresponsible. Moreover, the PSA suggests that it is commonsense “reality” that men do not co-­parent the children they co-­create. Audiences are, in fact, prompted to think that young women are stupid to think they would (hence McCarthy’s matter-­of-­fact tone in response to the girl’s concerned expression). Why don’t they open the door and ask Mike where he is going and why? Involuntary single motherhood is portrayed as an expected and always tragic consequence of teenage pregnancy—­the outcome that young women should avoid by saying “no” to young men’s advances. The PSA ends with the young woman holding the crying baby, symbolizing the end of her happy life and the sobering “reality” of young motherhood: a lonely and burdensome life for a young woman. The repeated use of visual representations of young mothering women’s bodies and stories as rhetorical appeals to prevent deviant sexual acts has contributed to a “reality” in which a young mother’s body is seen as just that—­a rhetorical appeal to act against her and everything she is made to represent. We must recognize the relationship between bodies and discourse, especially in the case of pregnant and mothering teens, because the widespread circulation of the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy persuades us to pity and condemn these women, treating them as dehumanized exigencies instead of people.

Absence of Men in the Dominant Narrative of Teenage Pregnancy While the TheNext​.org and the National Campaign employ some images of men, the social anxiety over teenage pregnancy is primarily focused on the bodies of women, the desires of women, and the irresponsibility of women. For example, only two of the six images from the “Sex Has Consequences” campaign focus on (white) men. The first young man is labeled “useless.” He is posed with a hand under his chin, as if he is pondering the statement that runs along the side of the image: “My scholarship is useless. Now I need a job to support my baby.” What is at stake for this young father is not social acceptance, future relationships, the mundane life of caring for a child, or the anguish of confessing his sexual activity to his parents, but rather a waste of his economic, academic, and intellectual potential. The next young man is a “prick”—­slang for both a penis and a terrible man. He laments, “All it took

30  •  Embodying the Problem

was one prick to get my girlfriend pregnant. At least that is what her friends say.” This young man struggles with a bad high school reputation, brought on by what he has done to the girlfriend who is now, presumably, ruined. We are encouraged to think of his girlfriend’s body and the one “prick” it took to get her pregnant. The ratio of representation of women to men and the “consequences” attributed to men (both of which have little to do with their bodies, the labor of their bodies, or their future sexuality) suggest the problem is really with the bodies of women. At this time of writing, a visit to the National Campaign’s website demonstrates that the visuals most often used to represent the so-­called problem of teenage pregnancy are photographs and icons of women (e.g., see the “Why It Matters” tab). The Candie’s Foundation communicates this gendered message by using only the testimonies of young women to persuade teens to postpone pregnancy. Fifteen young women share their answers to the Candie’s Foundation’s generic questions about teenage pregnancy on their “Diary of a Teen Mom” web page. Together, these narratives—­with the graphics—­solidify the view that teenage pregnancy is a young woman’s problem. From the stories we learn that girls fail to use contraception or foolishly think that having a child is a good idea. The sexual behaviors, contraceptive decisions, and reproductive urges of men are not discussed or critiqued. The rhetorical strategies deployed by these campaigns against teen pregnancy are devastating as the pejorative terms and inequitable realities feminists have contested are used to get young women to behave accordingly. In fact, these ads work to reify such harmful discourses, masking the patriarchal and often racist construction of the terms to subordinate women and presenting the inequitable burden of parenthood as the natural “consequence” of becoming pregnant. Bordo might attribute such rhetorical practices to a “culture of mystification—­a culture which continually pulls us away from systematic understanding and inclines us toward constructions that emphasize individual freedom, choice, power, ability” (30), a point illustrated by the phrase located on the bottom of each of these ads: “sex has consequences” or, in the case of the Candie’s Foundation, “pause before you play.” These campaigns suggest that these women had a choice. The young Latina could have bought “cheap” condoms and thereby saved herself from her doomed fate as a scrutinized, cheap woman/mother. The young white girl in the Candie’s Foundation PSA could have said “no” to the boy in the car and avoided the terrible fate of abandoned, single motherhood. Such rhetoric masks the systematic structures that objectify women, invisibilize men, and construct the material realities of involuntary single motherhood.

The Role of the Teen Mother  •  31

Prevention/Promotion: The False Binary That Tricks Us into Believing We Have to Pathologize Women The circulation of the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy as a disciplinary mechanism means that any attempt to challenge the depiction of teenage motherhood as a life of failure can be seen as potentially thwarting teenage pregnancy prevention. Two examples will illustrate this point. First, as I write in the preface, when I was an undergraduate I wrote a first-­person creative essay about my experiences as a young mother. Narrating my struggles and triumphs as a single, low-­income student and mother, I explicitly critiqued negative representations of young motherhood as an “epidemic.” A peer in my creative writing workshop wrote on my paper: “Perhaps by telling your own daughter the difficulties and drawbacks to teenage pregnancy rather than its praises, you can avoid having to raise her child while she finishes high school herself, or worse yet, drops out entirely.” My peer interpreted my story of young motherhood through the lens of the dominant narrative: my daughter is at risk to drop out of school and become pregnant, leaving me to raise her child (an apparent travesty in a US middle-­class paradigm of parenthood as the sole obligation of the parenting person—­not the shared work of the extended family or the well-­paid work of a daycare provider). My refusal to perform the sanctioned teen mom story (i.e., “I made a mistake and, though I love my child, my life would have been better if I waited”) was read as a dangerous promotion of motherhood. As another example, an audience member approached me after an academic presentation I delivered about “girl-­moms’” web-­published narratives that challenge the dominant view of young mothers (see chapter 3). She said, “I loved your presentation, and I see myself as a feminist, but . . . I don’t know how to say this . . . I worry that . . . well, what happens if we portray young mothers more positively? Won’t this encourage girls to get pregnant?” The feminist academic, perhaps, worried that girl-­moms’ calls for more respect for young mothers might further the patriarchal practice of portraying a self-­ sacrificing (often white, heterosexual, married, middle-­class) motherhood as the only or most respectable role for women. The upper-­class Evangelical young man in my class, perhaps, worried that the testimony of a seemingly unremorseful single woman admitting to using public benefits may encourage immoral and economically irresponsible behaviors. Although I acknowledge the different values underlying these two reactions to my work, I believe that together, questions and comments such as these testify to the persuasiveness of dominant discourses of teenage pregnancy and the gender ideologies that produce them. Many people believe that to challenge the monolithic, stigmatizing narrative of young motherhood is to encourage (seemingly naïve and excessively impressionable) female teenagers to seek sex for the purpose of procreation.

32  •  Embodying the Problem

This means that positive representations of women are now seen as “risky” representations that could threaten the lives of non-­pregnant/parenting teens. Men are left unaccountable for their actions (young girls just “get” pregnant), and the underlying logic is as follows: if young girls do not gaze upon young pregnant and mothering mothers with disgust, they will not know that they should discipline and control their own bodies and actions.25 This is a false binary that encourages horizontal hostility among women and continues an ideology of domination that positions young mothers and their families as less valuable than other family formations. It is entirely possible to advocate for the resources young people need to prevent sexually transmitted infections and unwanted pregnancies without denigrating women’s bodies and decisions. A great example of tension between the call to end pathologizing representations of young mothers and the call to keep telling the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy (for the sake of other teens) is Gaby Rodriguez’s senior research project turned memoir called The Pregnancy Project. In 2011, a media frenzy erupted when journalists learned that Rodriguez faked a pregnancy for her senior research project. Rodriguez attended Toppenish High School—­a school situated in a low-­income community with a high rate of Latina/o residents and not “much opportunity” (40). Many people (her family included) assumed Rodriguez, as a Mexican American daughter and sibling of teen parents, would become a teenage mother (60, 77).26 In her memoir, Rodriguez writes that she wanted to help fellow students at Toppenish defy stereotypes and avoid the struggles her mother and siblings experienced by practicing pregnancy prevention. At the same time, Rodriguez wondered if the stereotypes and published statistics about young mothers might encourage them to fail. So, she decided to fake a pregnancy in order to learn more about the experience of being a pregnant student in high school. Not surprisingly, Rodriguez had an extremely stressful “pregnancy.” She writes that she became a “nonperson” when her family and some of her former friends would not look at her or speak to her (116). With the help of a friend and a cousin who were aware of the fake pregnancy, Rodriguez recorded what family and peers said about her, such as, “She ruined everything,” “Now she won’t go to college,” “Oh well, it was bound to happen,” “Her life is over,” and “I wonder if she’ll even graduate” (110). Rodriguez writes, “If I were really pregnant, how would I take these messages?” (110, emphasis original). She prompts her readers to consider “how many of the grim statistics about teen moms are unavoidable, and how many are the result of the limits other people project on them” (110–­111). Rodriguez even modifies the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy to include the ways in which young mothers are discouraged by others’ scrutiny and actions: “A teen gets pregnant. People treat her like a pariah, so she becomes depressed. Her boyfriend is scared off because society tells him he’s in for a terrible life. She drops out of school and can’t find a good

The Role of the Teen Mother  •  33

job, so she ends up on welfare. She’s not emotionally or financially prepared to be a parent and doesn’t have a lot of support, so she’s not the best mom she can be, and the baby grows up without a steady father figure. The child is 50 percent more likely to repeat a grade than his or her peers, and performs worse on standardized tests. If he’s a boy, he’s more likely to go to prison, and if she’s a girl, she’s likely to become a teen mom herself and start the cycle over again” (169). Rodriguez reauthorizes the story of the failed teen mother but brings attention to the productive function of the terrible treatment of young women as part of this doomed fate. At the end of her project, Rodriguez presented her research findings at a schoolwide assembly. She read aloud to her peers the statements that people said about her to show them how people changed the way they thought about her just because of her pregnancy. Then, she explained the importance of “fighting stereotypes” like the way she fights the assumptions that she will get pregnant at an early age. She removed her fake belly, and the audience erupted into applause (157). Rodriguez’s ultimate message is a little unclear because of the powerful constraints of preventative discourses of teenage pregnancy. Some interpreted her project as challenging the stigmatization of young motherhood and suggesting that being a teen mom isn’t the end of the road (Seacrest; Pérez). There is evidence for this, as throughout the book Rodriguez argues for better treatment of young mothers. She draws attention to famous children of teenage mothers (e.g., President Obama, Oprah Winfrey, and Selena Gomez) and encourages readers to practice “lifting each other up” as opposed to putting young parents down (127). However, others suggested that her project helped to promote teenage pregnancy prevention by showing that the life of a teen mom is far from glamorous and young women should avoid that life path at all costs like she did.27 Indeed, I would point out that much of her ethos comes from the fact that Rodriguez is not pregnant (hence, the audience applauds when she removes the fake stomach). Rodriguez’s memoir is full of conflicting messages that demonstrate the way the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy is intertwined with the project of pregnancy prevention. On the one hand, she advocates “a few words of encouragement” for the pregnant teens we see every day (213). On the other hand, she asserts, “there’s nothing acceptable about having a baby before you have your own life together,” inspiring disrespect or scrutiny young mothers (212). She explains, “It would be unrealistic to expect everyone to say ‘Congratulations!’ and cheer about it—­and that would probably be harmful to others, because other teens might see the positive attention and want some of it for themselves . . . leading to more teen pregnancies” (125). The importance of preventing pregnancy comes at the expense of respect for women who carry pregnancies and raise children before the age of twenty. We cannot congratulate them, or celebrate their hard work to carry pregnancies

34  •  Embodying the Problem

or raise children, because this may tempt teens to get pregnant. The value is placed on the bodies of teens who avoid pregnancy at the expense of the bodies of those who do not.

Implications of the Dominant Narrative What does it matter that nonprofit organizations happen to use women’s bodies to convince other young women to postpone pregnancy? What is the problem with perpetuating a discourse of failure for teenage mothers? After all, the Candie’s Foundation boasts, “Research has shown that teen girls who have been exposed to The Foundation and its messages are more likely to view teen pregnancy and parenthood as stressful and negative” (Candie’s Foundation “About: Mission”). This means it is working, right? Well, no. Obviously, encouraging young girls to view pregnancy and parenthood “as stressful and negative” does not educate young people about how to prevent unwanted pregnancies (or sexually transmitted infections). These messages also fail to help young people to develop savvy strategies for accessing knowledge about sexual health, contraceptives, or abortion providers in a cultural context that often makes it difficult for minors to do so. Yet, perhaps less obvious are the most important reasons to critique this discourse. Put simply, the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy is not acceptable because it continues a focus on women’s bodies as a site for disciplinary control, naturalizes racialized gender inequalities, encourages institutions and others to mistreat or punish young mothers, and prompts young pregnant or mothering women to think badly about themselves. Approaching the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy from a feminist perspective, looking specifically for the kind of gaze it encourages on women’s bodies, we see that the discourse reifies an ideology of domination, supporting harmful stereotypes about women and minorities while naturalizing inequitable realities of motherhood. Pregnant and mothering teenaged women may very well struggle in the everyday, but dehumanizing them and packaging this struggle as a rhetorical strategy to prevent other teenagers from having sex is problematic at best. The “stress” and “negativity” of parenthood that teen girls are being sold by these organizations are the inequalities women face when they become mothers: they are more likely to have to do the unpaid work of child rearing (married or not; teen or non-­teen); they are likely to have to do this work without the aid of social support systems, such as subsidized daycare, welfare benefits, or community-­based networks of support; they face more struggles to complete schooling whether they are finishing secondary or higher educational pursuits; they are less likely to earn as much as men or non-­mothering women, particularly if they are women of color; if they are

The Role of the Teen Mother  •  35

single parents, they will often have to struggle to attain child support from an absent father; and, as they venture into public, they will likely feel the sting of public judgment based on the often unattainable ideals of good motherhood.28 Feminist scholars of motherhood have critiqued the discourses and material conditions women are made to face as they bear and raise children (Chase and Rogers; Davis; O’Reilly; Rich; Solinger Pregnancy and Power). Thus, advocates of feminism should be concerned that the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy (re)constructs discourses that make gendered constructions of parenting seem commonsense. Furthermore, if we consider the repercussions of associating teenage motherhood with failure for institutions and adults who are charged with caring for young people, we find a rationale for them to refuse assistance to pregnant or mothering young women and/or a reason for them to actively complicate pathways for pregnant or mothering teens’ success. After all, many construct young mothers as doomed to failure and/or deserving of punishment for their mistake of getting pregnant. Feminist scholar Vivyan Adair explains the impact of representations of “bad” women with a circuit metaphor: “bodies are represented and understood in ways that reflect the dominant ideology. . . . That ideology in turn determines, shapes, and reinforces public policy; and public policy leaves its marks on the bodies of poor single mothers of all ages, races, sexualities, and nationalities” (2). Adair uses the example of the 1996 welfare reforms that punished the bodies of many poor single mothers. Politicians repeatedly represented “welfare mothers” as unmotivated, unqualified, or undeserving of higher education during congressional hearings. The outcome of these hearings, the Personal Responsibility and Work Opportunity Reconciliation Act, then forced women on welfare out of higher education and into the minimum wage workforce—­essentially ensuring that these women’s lived experiences would reflect the ideological constructions circulated during the hearings. As another example, it could be argued that the repeated representation of young motherhood as inevitably leading to educational failure influenced Louisiana’s Delhi Charter School’s policy for dealing with teen pregnancy. In 2012, news broke that this school required female students who were suspected of being pregnant to take a pregnancy test to determine whether they should be expelled from school.29 In other words, the policy marked the bodies of young mothers as dropouts as it pushed these students out of school. Young mothers, such as Malone, whose narrative I opened with, testify to the fact that educators and school officials treat them poorly because they assume young mothers will fail. The structural implications of this narrative are not to be overlooked, as schools may continue to justify push-­outs and lack of childcare opportunities for their students so long as discourses remain steeped in misrepresentation and misguided conclusions about the less deserving, the doomed, the “cheap,” and the “reject(ed)” young mother.

36  •  Embodying the Problem

Most importantly, the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy may encourage young women who are currently pregnant to hide their pregnancies, to assume that the struggles they face are only the result of their reproductive decisions, and/or to fail to see how to succeed as a girl and mother (Crews “When I Was Garbage”; Vinson and Stevens 331). Women who have experienced the stigma of young pregnancy and motherhood have long tried to raise awareness of this effect. For example, in 1989, when the Los Angeles Times reported a story about a fifteen-­year-­old who hid her pregnancy until she gave birth in the school bathroom to an infant who ultimately died, a “Lucky Teen Mother” wrote a letter to the editor to bring attention to “how scary” it is to be “alone and pregnant” and the “awful” experience of telling others about it. The “Lucky Teen Mom” uses the moment to call for more school programs for young mothers to make visible that young women who find themselves pregnant are not alone and asks the editor to forward the letter to the young girl in the story who “needs love right now” (“Teen-­Age Pregnancy” 915). As Rodriguez points out in The Pregnancy Project, the narrative of failure, disease, and death that permeates media images of teenage pregnancy encourages young mothers to see themselves as part of that discourse and discourages any deviance from it. Feminist poststructuralist Chris Weedon writes, “The discursive constitution of subjectivity”—­like the narrative and visual representation of young motherhood—­“addresses and constitutes the individual’s mind, body and emotions” (108). In other words, public service announcements, television series, books, and political propaganda that may seem to just address or talk about teenage pregnancy and motherhood also constitute or create what the actual embodied (i.e., emotional, material, social, and intellectual) experience of young motherhood is. Young mothers are encouraged, by these discourses, to identify with characterizations of young motherhood and to see their life circumstances as determined by the timing of their childbearing.

Counter-­narratives: Feminist Rhetorical Interventions in Dominant Discourses Although the dominant narrative may encourage young pregnant and mothering women to think and act like shamed failures, this does not mean that they do. Subjectivity—­people’s sense of self that is mediated by the world around them—­is more complicated than this. My own knee-­jerk reaction to an unexpected pregnancy at seventeen was, of course, shaped by the preventative discourses of teenage pregnancy. It seemed commonsense that I, an abortion-­rights advocate, would need to terminate the pregnancy in order to finish my education and become a self-­supporting individual. In that moment of discovering my pregnancy, I was an embodied subject of the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy. I felt the “consequence” of bad decisions written

The Role of the Teen Mother  •  37

on my body—­I was a problem that I needed to solve. I eventually questioned that line of thinking, in part, because of conflicting discourses around me. My mother and sisters had children “too young,” “unmarried,” and “too poor” and they were—­collective gasp—­relatively happy. Prior to my pregnancy, I had been questioning and actively rebelling against several social and institutional norms. Once the shock of the pregnancy wore off, I eventually wondered, “Why can’t I finish school and raise a child?” Perhaps most importantly, the privilege of an emotionally supportive family (including my single mother who did not berate me or toss me out of my home for being pregnant) and compassionate teachers offered me the materially safe position to question the discourses that would write me as a failure. So as much as I critique the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy, I also recognize that subjectivity is not determined by those discourses. Drawing on Teresa de Lauretis’s theories of discourse, experience, and subjectivity, philosopher Linda Alcoff writes, “all women can (and do) think about, criticize, and alter discourse and, thus, that subjectivity can be reconstructed through the process of reflective practice” (425). Furthermore, discourses—­even hegemonic discourses backed by powerful entities such as the Bloomberg administration, the National Campaign, and particular experts—­make available means of resistance. Foucault explains the irony this way: “Discourse transmits and produces power; it reinforces it, but also undermines and exposes it, renders it fragile and makes it possible to thwart it” (History 101). That is, if power is (re)constructed through discursive constructions of meaning, then discourse is also a means of challenging particular power relations. The bodies of young pregnant and mothering woman—­ made visible through photos, ads, statistics, and expert narratives—­are integral to persuading the public to accept the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy and are also presented as integral to ensuring the self-­discipline of young women. As such, the pregnant or mothering teenage body is repeatedly presented and approached as an exigence—­or what rhetorician Lloyd Bitzer originally defined as an “imperfection marked by urgency,” a “thing that is other than it should be” that prompts people to do something about it (6; see chapter 5). The public is prompted by repeating rhetorical patterns to look at young pregnant and mothering bodies and then act. Young pregnant and mothering women may use this socialized sense of urgency and visible subject position as a means of resistance—­as a public position from which to speak, write, or otherwise perform as rhetors, people who use language and other means of communication to influence audiences. Cultural studies scholar Chela Sandoval explains that subject positions, “once self-­consciously recognized by their inhabitants can become transfigured into effective sites of resistance to an oppressive ordering of power relations” (55). Pregnant and mothering teens may reflect on their subject position, disidentify with its negative function,

38  •  Embodying the Problem

and use their own rhetorical appeals to destabilize commonplaces and claim their rights to personhood, respect, or assistance. Indeed, this book demonstrates that many young mothers have been actively deconstructing and resisting the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy through counter-­narratives, social media campaigns, and everyday interactions (see chapters 3, 4, and 5). While the idea that the very discourses that marginalize a group of people may be a means for those oppressed to resist is documented in critical theories and literatures of resistance, this book contributes to our knowledge of how, rhetorically, this might happen. For example, as Malone and other young mother activists I discuss in chapter 4 will show us, sometimes the best time to resist is at the moment of reproduction—­that is, the moment the dominant narrative is reproduced. Reproduction is not always and only a problem but can be an opportunity—­to act, to intervene, to terminate, to raise (awareness) differently. When the Bloomberg campaign made its ads public, Malone—­who had been blogging about being a young mother for two years—­suddenly had a broader public outlet for her counter-­narratives about young pregnancy and motherhood. The New York Times editor likely published her critique because the Bloomberg campaign’s recent release of its version of the dominant narrative made Malone’s perspective timely. Let me make clear that embodying a socially constructed problem, like the so-­called problem of teenage pregnancy, is dehumanizing for young pregnant and mothering women who face hostility from family, peers, and authorities. Yet at the same time, this position can be a means of securing visibility, allies, and potentially an audience for young women’s own messages. By focusing on rhetorical efforts to challenge the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy, I focus on marginalized discourses—­narratives, social media tactics, and everyday uses of language—­that do not currently enjoy a position of power. As Bordo reminds us, just because cultural resistance exists, this “does not mean it is on an equal footing with forms that are culturally entrenched” (29). The dominant narrative is “culturally entrenched” as a cautionary tale told in churches and living rooms, as a health class lesson presented at school, as a media message broadcast in magazines and PSAs, as a political speech calling for constituent support of sex education and/or family values, and as a recurring justification for a nationally recognized Teenage Pregnancy Prevention Month each May. In other words, although this book often focuses on research, rhetoric, and writing that portray a more nuanced, accepting, or transgressive vision of young motherhood, these texts are not given the same attention in the media. Weedon describes the relative power of some discourses over others as based on “the social power and authority which comes from a secure institutional location” (107). As I have shown in this opening chapter, the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy has a secure

The Role of the Teen Mother  •  39

institutional location in well-­funded family planning campaigns. Considering this, and also considering the embodied ways in which I engage the dominant discourses as a mothering woman and feminist rhetorician, I see this book as a feminist rhetorical intervention in the dominant discourse of teenage pregnancy that pathologizes young mothers and obstructs the goals of reproductive justice.

Chapter Overviews In the following chapter, I further analyze the role that visual representations of pregnant and mothering teenagers played in establishing “teenage pregnancy” as a social problem during the 1970s and 1980s. I demonstrate that there is a historical precedent of using white female bodies in cover stories to portray teenage pregnancy as a universal problem that stems from women’s seemingly irresponsible timing of pregnancy. I argue that this visual rhetorical strategy obscures the United States’ problematic history of condemning the reproductive decisions of poor women and women of color. To support my argument I provide a visual rhetorical analysis of photographs of women in US magazine cover stories and news articles from the seventies and eighties. Attentive to the productive relationship between visual cues and written text, I identify the rhetoric used to (re)construct concerns about the reproductive decisions of minoritized women while deflecting attention from research findings that challenged the idea that teenage childbearing in and of itself is a problem. In the end, I suggest that visual rhetorical analysis, the method I employ in this chapter, can help to foster a critical gaze and new ways of looking at representations of pregnant and mothering teens today. In chapter 3, I turn to first-­person narratives written by young mothers who contest popular (mis)conceptions about the consequences of teenage motherhood. Specifically, I look at stories published in two edited collections—­Breeders and You Look Too Young to Be a Mom—­and one online social network called Girl-­Mom. First, I consider the role of the editor as an “expert” facilitator of the counter-­narrative, identifying ways that the editor may help young mothers counter dominant constructions of teenage pregnancy by developing an oppositional framework and by arranging counter-­narratives purposefully to disrupt monolithic visions of “good” motherhood. Then, drawing on theories of counter-­narrative and resistance from rhetorical, cultural, and critical race studies, I analyze the strategies the counter-­narrative writers use to disrupt commonplaces about teenage pregnancy and motherhood, to illustrate the fallibility of experts and others who construct such commonplaces, to talk back to dehuman­ izing statistics, to complicate the use of “success stories” as a resistive strat­ egy, and to challenge the broader social structures that construct negative

40  •  Embodying the Problem

experiences for young mothers. By illustrating these counter-­narrative tactics, I document young mothers’ interventions in the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy and identify possibilities for challenging discourses that marginalize mothering women. In chapter 4, I examine a case study of a clash between dominant and counter-­discourses on teenage pregnancy. In May 2013, seven young mothers from diverse backgrounds came together via social media to collectively protest a teen pregnancy prevention ad campaign created by the Candie’s Foundation. Using online platforms such as Change​.org, Tumblr, and Twitter, these activists launched the #NoTeenShame campaign that effectively garnered national attention and a public response from the founder of the Candie’s Foundation. Analyzing documents from the campaigns and drawing from my interviews with each of the activists, I explore the kairotic visual, narrative, and coalitional tactics deployed by these young women to interrupt this campaign, construct an ethos of expertise, and disarticulate the shaming of young parents from initiatives to promote young people’s sexual literacy. This case study also illuminates the strategies those in power, specifically the leaders of the Candie’s Foundation and the National Campaign to Prevent Teen and Unplanned Pregnancy, use to dismiss and silence young mothers’ critiques. Finally, in chapter 5, I illustrate the everyday effects of the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy for young mothers who live in a cultural context in which they embody an urgent and much-­debated social issue. Drawing on my interviews with the #NoTeenShame activists and focus groups I conducted with twenty-­seven young pregnant and mothering women in Arizona, I illustrate how young mothers are publicly confronted by strangers because of the problems their bodies seem to represent. I offer the rhetorical concept of “embodied exigence” as a way to understand how discursive and material realities of the body may prompt rhetorical exchanges and how the body may function as a site of agency in those situations. Building from rhetorical theories of agency and exigence, poststructuralist understandings of identity formation, and feminist work on the visibility of motherhood, I argue that in moments of embodied exigence, marginalized young mothers may seize the opportunity to speak to what their bodies represent. Specifically, I describe four tactics that I heard youthful-­looking pregnant and mothering women using to interrupt moments of embodied exigence and challenge dominant perspectives on teenage pregnancy and young parenthood. I conclude by explaining that young mothers and other subjects who embody exigencies need the critical tools and social support to rhetorically engage these often unpredictable and potentially hostile encounters. Before examining the counter-­hegemonic potential of the teen-­mother subject position, I next identify and analyze the visual rhetorical practices that

The Role of the Teen Mother  •  41

prompted the public to accept the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy and the new category of “teenage mothers.” I will show how racialized visual representations of young pregnant and mothering women helped to solidify the nation’s anxiety over and attention to the age of women at the time of pregnancy and motherhood when many experts questioned and contested these claims.

2

Seeing Is Believing How Visual Representations of Women Established the Problem of Teenage Pregnancy Shortly after Governor Sarah Palin accepted Senator John McCain’s invitation to join him on the 2008 Republican presidential ticket, the media broke the story that Bristol Palin—­Sarah’s seventeen-­year-­old daughter—­was pregnant.1 Although the presidential candidates, McCain and Senator Barack Obama, refused to discuss Bristol’s pregnancy during the campaign, the media coverage of her pregnancy continued, even after her mother ceased to be a vice presidential candidate. In June 2009, a year after the story broke, People magazine featured Bristol’s high school graduation. The cover page displayed an image of Bristol in bright red cap and gown, smiling at the camera and holding her chubby, blue-­eyed infant named Tripp. The photograph of Bristol and Tripp could very well signify “happiness” and “success.” However, the statement placed under the seemingly happy mother and child denotes a problem: “Gov. Sarah Palin’s daughter talks about her life with baby Tripp. ‘If girls realized the consequences of sex, nobody would be having sex,’ says Bristol. ‘Trust me. Nobody’” (Westfall, emphasis original). In many ways, Bristol’s experience challenges the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy. She is a young mother who graduated from high school, who is supported by her middle-­class family, and who is unlikely to end up in poverty. Bristol’s teen pregnancy could potentially bring to light that poverty, 42

Seeing Is Believing  •  43

prison time, educational failure, and future reproductive decisions are not determined by the timing of an individual young person’s decision to bear a child but, instead, shaped by the socioeconomic context of one’s situation including the race and class privileges one inherits at birth. Yet, the visual-­textual rhetoric of the People magazine cover and its companion article work to sustain a negative portrait of teenage motherhood as the tragic turn of a young woman’s life. Viewers’ interpretations of the many happy images of Bristol are shaped by the large text placed on the photographs, highlighting Bristol’s ominous statements about motherhood: “My Life Comes Second Now” (59) and “This is hard . . . I don’t think anyone realizes that it really can happen to you—­like, in an instant” (Bristol Palin qtd. in Westfall 58). Contributing author Bill Hewitt stresses, “Even with the unusual advantages of a well-­off family, Bristol Palin is, in some respects, a perfect example of the new trend in teenage pregnancy”—­that is, a reported 5 percent increase in US teen birthrates from 2005 to 2007 (Hewitt qtd. in Westfall 63).2 Readers of this story are asked, explicitly by Hewitt and implicitly by visual representations of Bristol’s body and experiences, to see Bristol as the exemplar of “the problem.” In May 2009, Bristol capitalized on her role as the embodiment of teenage pregnancy by becoming an ambassador for the Candie’s Foundation.3 People magazine is not alone in calling attention to teenage pregnancy through the experience of an individual white young mother like Bristol. As demonstrated in chapter 1, stories and visual representations of young women’s bodies have always been integral to establishing teenage pregnancy as an exigence—­that is, an urgent matter demanding an immediate expert response. The public is continually persuaded to see adolescent pregnancy as a universal problem with women’s bodies. In this chapter, I continue to identify and analyze the particular rhetorical practices producing the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy, this time turning to the emergence of “teenage mothers” as a category constructed in print news media and focusing more closely on the role of the visual in lodging the idea of the teen mother as problem in the public imaginary. I conduct a visual rhetorical analysis of two magazine cover stories and three newspaper articles depicting differently racialized teenage mothers from the 1970s and 1980s—­the periods when teenage pregnancy was first argued to be a contributory factor to poverty and a cause for national concern (Nathanson 23, 32; see also Arney and Bergen; Luker; Vinovskis). Turning to these images, I identify the visual cues used to focus attention on the age of pregnant and mothering women, and illustrate how young mothers came to be understood as a specific category. I compare journalistic images of white, young pregnant women with visual representations of young mothers of color to illustrate the shifting rhetorical function of teenage pregnancy across race and class. I argue that there is a historical precedent of using white

44  •  Embodying the Problem

female bodies in cover stories to persuade viewers to see teenage pregnancy as a homogenous, nonracialized social issue stemming from women’s seemingly irresponsible sexual behavior and reproductive decisions. In the following pages, I first explain my contribution to feminist scholarship on racialized teenage pregnancy discourses, outlining the extent of my research and the analytical lenses I employ. Next, I focus on the visual rhetorical strategies used to produce and envision a new problem of “high school pregnancy” through the individual bodies of white women and groups of anonymous black women in the 1970s. Building on these racialized differentiations, I turn to the context of the 1980s and explain how discourses of teenage pregnancy worked within color-­blind rhetorics of the time—­that is, an ideological framework that explains racial inequality in the United States in ways that deny these inequalities have anything to do with race (Bonilla-­Silva 2). Attentive to significations of race, class, and gender, I show how cover-­page images of white “children having children,” in conjunction with images of African American and Native American women with multiple children, attempt to justify marginalized women’s unequal position in society in terms of their supposedly careless sexual behavior and hyper-­fertility. My analysis shows that visual representations of teenage pregnancy have been a way to associate differently racialized women under the same banner, while continuing to differentiate the value of women on the bases of race and class. I argue that representations of white, pregnant teenage bodies work rhetorically to maintain the existence of an age-­based teenage pregnancy problem and obscure the United States’ problematic history of condemning the reproductive decisions of poor women and women of color. In the end, this chapter provides a model of a visual rhetorical analysis that interrupts patterns of representing pregnant and mothering teen bodies—­representations that teach the public to respond to young women’s bodies as the source of and solution to national problems.

Rhetorical Analysis of Visuals and Bodies: Methods and Lenses Scholars from many disciplines have traced “teenage pregnancy” as a social construct and theorized the ideologies, national anxieties, and power interests producing and produced by this social issue (Arney and Bergen; Lesko Act Your Age!; Luker; Luttrell; Macleod; Males; Nathanson; Pillow). Researchers have identified tropes—­such as “children having children”—­and metaphors—­such as “epidemic of teenage pregnancy”—­used to represent young mothers and therein construct what pregnant and mothering teens mean for the United States (Fields; Luker; Luttrell). Moreover, feminist research has revealed how discourses about, and representations of, young single mothers are problematic, particularly for the ways in which they are racialized (Nathanson). Historian Rickie Solinger illustrates that young, “unwed” pregnancy has always

Seeing Is Believing  •  45

been explained and treated differently, dependent on the race of the pregnant woman (Wake Up 1–­3; see also Kelly Pregnant 42–­45). For example, during the post–­World War II era, young and single pregnant white women were often discreetly sent away to maternity homes to eventually relinquish the children to a thriving adoption market. After birth, these women could return to live potentially “successful” lives as wives and mothers when they were older. In contrast, young and single pregnant black women—­who faced a world with few maternity homes willing to accept them and no available adoption market—­often raised their babies. Education scholar Wanda Pillow similarly pays close attention to how race shapes the meaning of teenage pregnancy and motherhood, finding that representations of white teen mothers were used by lobbyists in the 1970s to gain public sympathy for, and federal responses to, the problem of young pregnancy (33). Drawing on documents produced by the Florence Crittenden Maternity Home, reports from the Alan Guttmacher Institute, and coverage of unwed motherhood in popular magazines during this period, Pillow illustrates how the white unwed teen mother was depicted as “one of us” (29–­33). By demonstrating that discourse about sympathetic all-­American, middle-­class, unwed, “our girls” making mistakes was circulating at the same time that public policy that guaranteed rights to unwed young mothers was introduced, Pillow suggests the white teen mother was essential to gaining sympathy and rights for some young mothers. For example, Title IX, passed in 1972, helped to cease the routine practice of expelling pregnant or mothering students from school.4 Title IX stipulates that pregnant and parenting students are entitled to an education equal to that of their non-­pregnant and non-­parenting peers. In deconstructing mainstream (mis)perceptions of teenage pregnancy and childbearing, these scholars reference certain visual representations—­in media outlets, family planning pamphlets, and public service announcements—­as reflective of the discourses that construct teenage pregnancy as a national social problem. Yet, it is not always clear how visuals work with (or against) broader discourses. How can images of pregnant or mothering teens persuade audiences to see teenage mothers as a homogenous category of problem women and (re)construct racialized stereotypes at the same time? Historian Sander L. Gilman writes, “the representation of individuals implies the creation of some greater class or classes to which the individual is seen to belong” (204). In other words, just by including images of young women who experience pregnancy or motherhood in an article labeled “High School Pregnancy” or “Children Having Children,” the journalists and editors of newspapers encourage readers to envision a greater, homogenous class of too-­young mothers. Images of young mothers’ bodies are persuasive texts, and visual representations of young women have always been central to “proving” that there is a teenage pregnancy problem.5 Yet, the visual representations used

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in articles about teenage pregnancy do not simply amplify the message of the article because, sometimes, the journalists bring attention to the contextual complexities (such as structural poverty, educational policies that expel students, and a lack of good schools in specific communities) that make it difficult to compare the outcomes of women from different backgrounds and/ or to blame societal ills on the age when a young woman gives birth. Instead, I demonstrate that visual elements prompt viewers to focus on one particular way of looking at the myriad problems these articles address: a problem of young women. By using the method of visual rhetorical analysis, I can explore the relationships between verbal language and visual symbols in news articles and unearth the ironies and contradictions in discourses of teenage pregnancy. Rhetorical analysis is a process of critically interrogating how we become persuaded to accept particular ideas, values, and practices. Visual rhetorical analysis is a similar process but is particularly focused on how images—­including but not limited to photographs—­communicate culturally specific meanings to viewers in a particular social context (Peterson 27; see also Ohmann; Propen xiv–­xvi). As communication theorist Cara Finnegan makes clear, “visual rhetoric” does not refer to a special or different kind of rhetoric (244). That is, photographs are not visual rhetoric, while the words that constitute a news article are regular “rhetoric.” After all, words are visually represented in type and emphasized by typographic choices (e.g., enlarging headings, bolding pullout quotes, etc.). Visual rhetorical analysis is, thus, a method that pays close attention to how a variety of visual elements produce meaning. This process is attentive to the productive interactions between different signs—­visual, aural, material, verbal. Visual content is often accompanied by verbal text such as image captions or magazine articles. Yet, images can function as arguments that do not necessarily parallel the words of the text (Kress and Van Leeuwen; Lemke 72–­77; Odell and McGrane 212). Drawing on rhetorical theory, I ask the following questions of images used in print media about “teenage pregnancy” from this period: 1. 2. 3. 4.

What do we see? Who or what is emphasized and how? What don’t we see? Who or what is invisible and why? What is the relationship between the verbal and visual rhetoric of the article? How do the visual components of the image persuade an audience to see the problem in a particular way?

Specifically, I look at how teenage mothers are represented through clothing, facial expressions, associations with other elements in the frame, and perceived racial and class identity.6 I then examine how the meanings of all these visual

Seeing Is Believing  •  47

cues “are contained and constrained by language practices” (Dickson 298). In the case of magazine representations of teenage pregnancy, “language practices” include the language around the image—­the captions and content of the article—­and the specific sociohistorical context of the magazine itself. In order to better understand the historical context for the images I analyze, I draw from primary research on visual representations. I looked at online archived editions of the Chicago Tribune, Los Angeles Times, New York Times, Newsweek, the Nation, and Washington Post, reviewing over 110 articles about teenage pregnancy or teenage mothers from 1970 to 1989.7 Of these, 50 articles included images of some kind—­for example, photographs, sketches, graphs, or charts—­and over half of the images included representations of women’s bodies. I use recurrent patterns in the framing and construction of these visuals to inform my visual rhetorical analysis.

Envisioning Teenage Pregnancy as a Problem of Its Own National concerns about the reproductive practices of poor women, along with historically entrenched racism, rendered women of color the emblems of family planning challenges in the 1960s (Roberts 110; Solinger Pregnancy and Power 168). However, as discussed in chapter 1, political debates in the mid-­1970s about funding contraceptives for minors shifted national attention to the age—­as opposed to the socioeconomic status—­of single pregnant women. Luker writes that, during these debates, family planning advocates simply inverted the generally accepted claim that “older women lacked access to contraception and abortion because they were poor,” to claim that “teenagers were poor because they lacked access to contraception and abortion” (67, emphasis original). This rhetorical move both secured minors’ access to contraceptives and introduced the age of a woman’s first pregnancy as a point of national intervention. Public attention to young pregnant and mothering women was also generated by the efforts of pregnant students and liberal advocacy groups concerned about educational inequality as well as changing understandings of gender roles brought on by the women’s liberation movement (Luker 62–­64). The fact that pregnant (married and unmarried) students were commonly expelled from school—­without legal recourse until 1972—­seemed incongruent with movements for women’s and civil rights. In 1969, two black students, Clydie Marie Perry and Emma Jean Watson, brought legal action against a recently integrated Mississippi school that expelled them based on the fact that they were pregnant and not married.8 In 1971, a white unmarried pregnant student, Fay Ordway, sued for her right to remain in regular classes at her public high school. Thus, prior to the research and debates that brought the problem of teenage pregnancy to the forefront in the mid-­1970s, newspapers brought

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attention to “school-­age” mothers. Articles from the early seventies reflected greater acceptance of young pregnant and mothering women on school campuses. Yet the composition of the images used in these articles, and the assumptions about why these students needed/deserved continued education, varied with the apparent race of the mother. An analysis of one cover story and two articles will demonstrate this point. In 1971, Life magazine featured one of the first cover stories on “High School Pregnancy” (see Figure 2.1). The article describes Citrus High School’s initiative to keep pregnant students in school, as opposed to the more common

FIGURE 2.1.   Photograph of pregnant student, Judith Fay, reading a book in front of her class. Photograph by Ralph Crane/The LIFE Picture Collection/Getty Images. 1971.

Seeing Is Believing  •  49

practice of expelling them. The author, Richard Woodbury, calls the scene captured on the cover “an everyday event at Citrus High in Azusa Calif.—­ and elsewhere around the country where educators are taking a radical new approach to an old and painful problem” (35). So what do we see? The cover image depicts a pregnant white student, Judy Fay, presenting a book report to her English class. The juxtaposition of Fay’s body with the centered subtitle “High School Pregnancy” invites viewers to read Fay—­her stomach emphasized by her profile stance and her short plaid maternity dress—­as the representative of a broader category of young mothers. Reporters will often choose one mother to interview, photograph, and therein suggest a representation of all teenage mothers. In her analysis of media representations of teenage mothers in US and Canadian newspapers, Deirdre M. Kelly notes that journalists will often focus on the experience of one “typical” young mother to engage readers’ emotions and interest and to “build on the ‘it could happen to you’ angle” (Pregnant 85). Furthermore, those familiar with the cover-­story genre note that one goal is to establish human interest, most often done by displaying a picture of one or two cover models (Held 179). However, the choice of cover model determines the impact and understanding of the topic of the feature article—­not only for subscribers or readers of the magazine, but also for those who just happen to see the magazine’s cover, say on a shelf in a grocery store checkout line or public library. Life’s choice of an individual white woman aims to persuade viewers to accept that there is something problematic about the timing of women’s pregnancies by accepting Fay as representative of all young women, side-­stepping issues of race or class that typically underlie public concerns about women’s reproductive decisions.9 I did not find a cover story or first-­page article that used a pregnant teen from a minoritized race as representative of an age-­based problem in the 1970s. While the image of Fay potentially provokes sympathy for a universal category of abnormally young mothers, the focus on her body (and the many images of young mothers in the interior pages of the article) deflects attention from the gendered and institutional practices that make “High School Pregnancy” a problem for women. By associating a pregnant body with a seemingly traditional classroom, viewers are invited to accept that the “old and painful problem” of accommodating pregnant bodies is fitting them into the school context. Although the journalist does bring attention to the fact that “[u]ntil a few years ago, the nation’s public schools dealt with teen-­age pregnancies by expelling the girls or by putting pressure on them to leave” (35), the composition of the cover photograph—­including a male teacher and non-­pregnant students, centered by a unity of gazes on Fay—­encourages attention to Fay’s difference and discourages attention to the broader high school structure that fails to serve, or refuses to acknowledge, adolescents as potentially reproductive or caretaking bodies. Why not represent “the problem” with a chart listing

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the schools that expel students? Furthermore, the absence of any visual representation of fathers centers “High School Pregnancy” on women’s bodies and women’s experiences; men are pictured later in the cover story as admirable onlookers or sources of help for these women’s problems, but not as contributors to the phenomenon. Men’s roles in sex, reproduction, and child rearing are not illustrated or discussed. Despite the cognitive dissonance established on the cover between pregnancy and the suburban school setting, the photo ultimately encourages a positive view of the scene; the space between the bodies of the non-­pregnant students and Fay creates symmetry, or visual balance, therein suggesting harmony. The first page of the feature article inside the magazine replicates this scene, this time highlighting that the teacher and a few students are smiling at Fay. Prompting an empathetic response, another page features a large quote between two photographs of other white pregnant and mothering students: “i feel like a person again” (38, emphasis original). Photographs depict mothers taking mandatory childcare classes, nurturing children, focusing on studies, and happily socializing with non-­parenting boys who, Woodbury explains, “cleaned up their language, courteously hold open doors, and even push strollers” (40). The article is a positive affirmation of young mothers’ rights to remain in school, supported by visuals of young mothers actively engaging in the school context and non-­pregnant students who can function seemingly well alongside these women. The principal is even quoted saying things that transgress what will, in a few years, become the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy. For example, he maintains, “We should treat the problem not as a social disease but as a fact of life. . . . You can’t condemn a pregnant girl for life. . . . Particularly when you don’t know why it happened” (38). Highlighted claims about humanity (the feeling of personhood) and the future of baby and mother suggest (white middle-­class) teen mothers deserve education, because they are people with potentially productive futures.10 The year before, the New York Times also reported on school experiences of pregnant young women. Judy Klemesrud’s “On Bulletin Board, Pictures of Pupils’ Babies” focuses on a special inner-­city school for young mothers called Center for Continued Education (50). Similar to Life’s report on Citrus High, the article suggests that young mothers feel more welcomed at schools where they are not stigmatized for their pregnancies. A pregnant student named Diana explains, “Most people think we’re dogs. . . . They stare at us when we walk down the streets, and they stare at us on the buses. But we’re not dogs. We’re just like everybody else—­except we’re gonna be parents” (50). The journalist quotes supportive statements from the school officials and brings attention to the institutional structures that prevent the educational success of pregnant and parenting students. For example, the article highlights the policies that, up until 1967, made it a standard practice to “discharge” pregnant

Seeing Is Believing  •  51

girls and “prevent them from returning” (50). However, the visual rhetoric of the article reflects and constructs issues relating to the reproductive decisions of women of color by focusing on young black women receiving instruction from teachers. In Figure 2.2, a male teacher leans against a wall, talking to a visibly pregnant student in a hallway. Viewers can clearly see the face of the teacher, who is referred to by name in the caption. Yet, the student is left anonymous, her face turned away from the camera. There is no rhetorical appeal to empathize with this pregnant teen, as neither the caption nor the article offers background information about her. Instead, the focus of the photo is on the interaction

FIGURE 2.2.   Photograph of teacher and pregnant student in school hallway. Photo-

graph by Barton Silverman/The New York Times/Redux. 1970.

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between teacher and student, with the male teacher centered in the frame. The teacher’s arm cuts sharply across the girl’s body and his face appears stern. The interaction seems wrought with tension, although the caption describes the moment as a “chat.” This may indeed be a friendly encounter because, as the principal of the school points out in the body of the article, the best thing about this alternative school (which, she says, lacks critical educational resources like labs) is the individualized attention the students receive from the teachers. However, the composition of the photograph encourages viewers to see this school-­age mother as safely confined in her school, under the watchful eye of her instructor. In another photo from this article, the principal instructs a group of five anonymous female students on “good mothering” and how to prevent future pregnancies with birth control (see Figure 2.3). Again, the image emphasizes the instruction and guidance of the women, because the visual is unified by the women’s shared focus on the teacher. Pregnant and parenting female bodies, in these visual representations, are closely associated with adult figures of authority. In both of the article’s images, the students face away from the camera—­anonymous members of the general demographic of mothering teens at the school. The article itself uses racialized physical descriptions in conjunction with fear-­provoking illustrations that these girls are “bitter” and feel comfortable in challenging the traditional (white, middle-­class) family structure. For example, the article includes quotes from a “bitter black girl of 14,” a “15-­year-­old in an Afro hairdo,” and one

FIGURE 2.3.   Photograph of principal instructing students in childcare class. Photo-

graph by Barton Silverman/The New York Times/Redux. 1970.

Seeing Is Believing  •  53

“strapping 13-­year-­old who is on ‘The Pill’” (50). The latter young woman, Janet, is quoted after the journalist describes the school’s policy on birth control (a topic not explored in Life’s article). Janet says, “Maybe marriage was the proper way to have a baby in the olden days . . . but as long as I am young, I still want to party” (50).11 The photographs in the article, in conjunction with the verbal text, prompt viewers to support education for (black, low-­income) teen mothers based on the visual premise that the schools instruct groups of black young women how to behave. The threat young black motherhood poses to the nation is illustrated in another New York Times article, from 1971, titled “Illegitimacy: Teenagers Largely Account for Startling Increase” by Jane E. Brody.12 As with Life’s use of “High School Pregnancy,” the title suggests a race-­and gender-­neutral report on teenagers’ contributions to a shift in national reproduction rates. Indeed, the article explores several explanations for the rising rates, featuring the expert perspective of a sociologist, Phillips Cutright. Cutright “explodes” several myths by presenting research that shows that welfare benefits, the demise of the “authoritarian” nuclear family structure, and the lack of sex education in schools are not to blame for rising rates of births to unmarried women. Cutright also openly discusses men’s role in sexual and reproductive behavior, bringing attention to the “failure” of a program designed to teach men in the Armed Forces to use condoms and men’s problematic assumption that only women are responsible for preventing pregnancy. Cutright calls for federally funded family planning clinics and access to abortions “on request” for women, including teenagers (E7). Thus, the article brings attention to gender dynamics, social practices, and structural issues shaping the rates. Yet, readers of Brody’s 1971 article see the issue with “teenagers” being solved by educating a group of young black women. The article includes a graph depicting rising rates of “illegitimate” or out-­of-­wedlock births during the period 1940 to 1968. Adjacent to the graph is a photograph of a class of “unwed mothers-­to-­be” learning about “conception and contraception” in Harlem (E7). The young women are, again, turned away from the camera’s gaze and watching a serious teacher who gestures toward a chalkboard drawing of the female reproductive system. The image reflects and constructs the belief that black communities are inherently sexually deviant and in need of reproductive control (Lawson 194). Indeed, the parallel drawn between the women and the chart balances the image. This implies that the real problem is with certain communities. Readers who quickly scan the newspaper for headings and visual content or who fail to read the entire article are left with the idea that black young women (and their reproductive systems) are to blame for changing birthrates. The New York Times articles illustrate “teenage pregnancy” or “school-­ age” motherhood with the bodies of women much like the Life cover story. Fathers are still missing, as are visual representations of problematic social

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structures, poverty, inequality, and so on. However, the use of particular visual strategies—­such as including multiple bodies in a single frame and associating those bodies with instruction and supervision—­provides a completely different rationale for supporting the education of school-­age mothers. The differences in how young mothers were represented may reflect the reproductive politics of this period. Although concern for adolescents’ rights to contraception and education played a part in the categorization of young mothers, the focus on reproductive decisions of teenagers also helped to continue conversations about controlling women’s fertility while potentially deflecting attention from reproductive injustices being reported at the time. For example, the War on Poverty contributed to a climate of racially and economically distinct experiences of reproductive injustice for women in the sixties and seventies.13 While white women had to confront panels of male physicians and endure psychiatric evaluations for approval of sterilization procedures, poor women of color were coerced into unnecessary hysterectomies or sterilizations in order to receive medical assistance and welfare benefits (Enoch 5; Luker 35; Roberts 89–­98). Thus, at the time that young mothers were becoming a category to pay attention to, several rights movements leveled scrutiny and legal action against unfair treatment of poor single mothers. In their separate works Nathanson and Pillow suggest that the media focused their attention on the experiences of white middle-­class “school-­age” mothers to distinguish concern over young pregnancy from racist and sexist reproductive injustices. Representations of white middle-­class young women helped to construct a sympathetic though problematic pregnant teen subject in the public imagination—­a subject who needed access to contraception and education (Nathanson 55–­56; Pillow 31). Indeed, during my research of newspaper articles published in the 1970s, I found photographs of white “school-­age mothers” constructed as sympathetic women deserving of education and accommodations. Yet, I also found an equal number of photographs of women of color represented in articles about education for young mothers. Thus, I argue that it is not that images of white middle-­class women were used, but how they were used that persuaded the public to accept the categorization of too-­young motherhood and remain (consciously or not) anxious about the reproductive decisions of women of color. The visual rhetoric used to bring attention to school-­age motherhood in national media like Life and the New York Times situates generalized claims about teenage women’s fertility in (familiar) racialized categories: sympathetic white girls deserved humane treatment, and unthinking black girls needed discipline. At the same time, these images circulated as arguments for the public to see all young mothers as a coherent category of problem people based on the age at which they first gave birth. As Susan Sontag writes in her study of journalistic war photography, photographs “reiterate. They simplify. They agitate. They

Seeing Is Believing  •  55

create the illusion of consensus” (6). The photographs of these young women imply and therein invoke a public consensus that teenage pregnancy is a thing, that the age of a mother is a problem in and of itself, and that there is an appropriate time for pregnancy. Visually balancing young women in their school context, focusing on their bodies as illustrations of the phenomenon, and labeling women with seemingly race-­neutral phrases like “teenage mother” helped to initiate public attention to the age of the mother, establish a norm of appropriate timing for pregnancy, and encourage a public praxis of critically gazing at the young pregnant form.

Teenage Pregnancy as Code Words for Racial Concerns The rhetorical effectiveness of using generalized terms like “teenage pregnancy” became more fully realized in the 1980s, when a new political administration sought to reverse the effects of the women’s liberation, gay, and civil rights movements. In Racial Formation in the United States, Michael Omi and Howard Winant suggest that the New Right made efforts to frame racist politics as race-­neutral. Referencing the Reagan administration’s emphasis on establishing a “color-­blind society,” Omi and Winant argue that during this period, the political gains of racial minorities were “rearticulated” through the use of racially neutral rhetoric, or “code words” (117–­118). In this way, “the centrality of race in shaping American politics and culture” became hidden beneath policies supported by liberal democratic ideologies (5). Indeed, during this time, teenage pregnancy functioned as a code for race-­ and class-­based concerns. Luker argues that discourses of teenage pregnancy “permitted people to talk about African Americans and poor women (categories that often overlapped) without mentioning race or class” (86; Lesko “Curriculum Differentiation” 121–­122). The Reagan administration addressed teenage pregnancy as a problem that threatened “family values.” Patricia Hill Collins illustrates how the ideal of the traditional family invoked in “family values” discourses works both as “an ideological construction and as a fundamental principle of social organization” (63). The heteronormative, biologically tied traditional family structure constructs, maintains, and naturalizes hierarchal relations based on age, gender, race, and nation. Thus, visualizing a pregnant teenager as a disruption to the idealized family structure creates the appearance of a threat to the “fundamental principle of social organization” in the United States and promotes measures to (re)construct ideal hierarchal family relations. In this case, a political agenda to end public funding for contraceptives encouraged more family control over daughters (Luker 76). The focus on teenage pregnancy and family values also coded anxiety over changing national demographics and social practices. For instance, reports at the time suggested that young white women were engaging in nonmarital

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sexual activity at similar rates as young black women (Luker 91). This information challenged cultural discourses about racialized differences in female sexuality and reproduction—­specifically, stereotypes that position(ed) women of color as sexually deviant. Moreover, declining white birthrates, in conjunction with consistent black birthrates, and rising numbers of Latina/o immigrants also fueled the “epidemic” and “crisis” language used in descriptions of teenage pregnancy (Pillow 38).14 In the following section, I show how gender and race are constructed in visual representations of teenage pregnancy by closely reading one cover story and one news article from this period. I note the strategies used: (1) to code racialized anxieties with the bodies of adolescent white women; (2) to persuade audiences to see a difference between white and minoritized populations by strategically posing elements in a frame; and (3) to (re)focus attention on the bodies of women as the source of, and solution to, societal ills when challenged by research that suggested otherwise.

From a Solitary White Pregnant Body to Multiple Mothers of Color In December 1985, Time magazine published an in-­depth feature story by Claudia Wallis titled “Children Having Children: Teen Pregnancy in America” that included several photographs illustrating the “epidemic” of teenage pregnancy. So what do we see? The cover of the magazine features a very youthful-­looking, visibly pregnant white girl, Angela Helton, standing sideways but staring directly at the camera, her blonde hair swept away from her face. Set against a blank background, her profile stance encourages viewers to gaze directly at her fully pregnant form. As educational scholar Nancy Lesko notes, this pose highlights the juxtaposition of “the face of a child and the mature, sexual body” (“Curriculum Differentiation” 115). Dressed in a loose-­fitting pink smock and dark denim jeans, Helton appears as an image of contradiction, a feeling emphasized by the article’s title “Children Having Children,” which her body is posed against. This fifteen-­year-­old’s pregnancy complicates her position within the ideal nuclear family, and thus in the United States as well. She is a child, emphasized by her doll-­l ike image, and hence subject to the authority of her parents—­she is their obligation. Yet, she is also a mother-­to-­b e with her own obligations. Further complicating her image is the fact that she stands alone; there is no male partner. This absence emphasizes that teenage pregnancy disrupts two potentially functional families. Viewers are prompted to view this child from the perspective of a concerned adult, and to question how this child can mother in her subject position as a single daughter.

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Time’s decision to use an image of a white unwed “child,” in a sociohistorical context that most readily imagined black unwed mothers as detrimental to national progress, is a rhetorical choice that encourages viewers to look at teenage pregnancy as something different from issues like racism or poverty. Just as in Life’s cover story on “High School Pregnancy,” a white body appears useful in universalizing the problem. In 1987, two years after Time’s “Children Having Children,” Newsweek also came out with a cover article on the issue. This time, the image was of a young white couple embracing under the title “Kids and Contraceptives: A Moral Dilemma: How to Prevent Teenage Pregnancy—­And AIDS,” two issues often attributed to black communities. The couple appears to be traditionally wholesome, the young man sporting a varsity letterman jacket. They are just “kids,” potential victims of a teenage pregnancy epidemic. The Newsweek and Time covers suggest that white cover models convey teens’ potential. The intensity of the Time model’s straight-­on gaze suggests that she is acknowledging the problem and that there may be an opportunity to save her. She is fully pregnant, but not yet envisioned as a single mother. The young couple on Newsweek’s cover might still have a chance, as they are centered in a loving embrace and not yet visibly afflicted with either epidemic. The country’s concern about teenage pregnancy is rooted in national anxieties concerning race, class, and gender. By whitening the emblematic bodies of teenage pregnancy—­that is, the teens who made the cover of national magazines in the 1980s—­the magazines covered the racial aspects of the nation’s concerns over the sexual conduct and reproductive decisions of young women. The cover images invoked national attention and promoted magazine readership by relying on whiteness to focus on the phenomenon of age and reproduction. There are two reasons why a white body may assist in focusing on age. First, whiteness has a history of not being seen as a color or a race, because it functions as a powerful cultural norm visible only in its relation to people constructed as nonwhite (Kennedy et al. 367; Morrison xii; Nayak 157). For example, African Americans and Native Americans are often seen as having race, while white Americans are often viewed as race-­less. Thus, an individual white “child” on a cover helped to suggest that public concern over “teenage pregnancy” was not about race, but rather age. Second, the concept of age, and specifically the idea of a developmental, age-­ based stage of adolescence, is intertwined with the production of whiteness. In her book Act Your Age! A Cultural Construction of Adolescence, Lesko describes adolescence as “a technology of whiteness,” or a construct that produces and reflects the colonialist idea of whiteness as civilized (9). “Adolescence” developed in the early twentieth century in conversation with recapitulation theory, theorizing the development of the individual (middle-­class white male) as parallel with the development of civilization, from tribal culture to monarchal

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urban society. White children were seen to age in development as individuals, while other races were constructed as being consistently culturally deficient. Thus, a white pregnant body on a national cover may prompt action and intervention in this important life stage. In contrast, a pregnant young woman of color placed on the magazine cover could potentially reveal racist beliefs or signal national concern about poor women on welfare (who were most often imagined as nonwhite) having kids. Although I did find visual representations of teens of color in the 1980s, these photos were often not cover images and the women were not presented in the same childlike way. For example, Time’s 1985 feature article included images of mothers representing different racial groups. Author Claudia Wallis emphasizes that the mothers she presents “are of different races, from different places, but their tales and laments have a haunting sameness” (79). Wallis provokes public fear (“haunting”) about similarities in the experiences of women across racial and geographic divides. Yet, the rhetoric used to represent young mothers makes clear that young mothers are valued/understood differently depending on race. While the young white girl is described as a “prototypical adolescent” flipping her “blond curls” and wishing she would have thought more about how hard having a baby would be (78), the mothers who are not white are presented as less typical. One of the clearest distinctions among Time’s images of women is that the white young women are presented as childlike, pensive, and still pregnant; they are not yet visualized as outcast mothers. Viewers can imagine that there is still the potential that something better may come for these pregnant children. In contrast, the images depicting women of color show them with their children, most often more than one. For example, one of the Time feature article photographs depicts a Native American young mother, Stephanie Charette, described as one of ten children and a mother of two children herself (see Figure 2.4). She was photographed with her brothers, sisters, mother, and children in front of a white clapboard house. The pose of the family, with children peeking out from the home’s three windows and doorway and some seated in the front yard, suggests that the house is overflowing with children. Indeed, the composition of the image constructs the idea of an excess fertility in Native American mothers. The abundance of children suggests that Charette and her mother irresponsibly reproduced too many children. Moreover, the meaning of this image is constrained by the text of the article. Wallis writes that in studying teenage pregnancy we see “disadvantage creating disadvantage,” and thus, “it is no wonder that teen pregnancy is widely viewed as the very hub of the U.S. poverty cycle” (79). Yet, returning to the composition of the image of the white woman on the cover, one could argue that America is not persuaded to view white young mothers as disadvantaged women reproducing disadvantaged children; instead, the white mothers are used

Seeing Is Believing  •  59

FIGURE 2.4.   Photograph of mother, Stephanie Charette, and her family outside of

their home. Photograph by Duane Michals/Time magazine. 1985.

to engage audience interest by prompting fears for the potential degeneration of this individual girl gone wrong.15 African American mother Desirée Bell is also pictured in Time as having many children, and she is associated with discourses of bad mothering. The photograph shows Bell pushing her two sons in a grocery cart in Brooklyn. She is quoted as saying, “I was resentful of my unborn child. I used to punch myself in the stomach. Poor Eddie . . . the first year I wouldn’t play with him” (87). The quote encourages readers to pity the young boy who has a black teenager for a mother, instead of questioning what exactly Bell is resentful about. Readers do not read the narratives of resentment in conjunction with photos of white young mothers. These differences reflect a pattern Solinger identifies in her analysis of discourses about motherhood: poor women of color are often labeled as bad choice makers and inherently bad mothers (Beggars and Choosers 7). Through the rhetorical work of these textualized images, a rationale still appears for preventing these women from making such unsound choices—­a rationale that legitimized the sterilization of poor, immigrant, and racially minoritized women in previous decades. However, it is important to note the tension created by setting Bell and her sons against the background of Brooklyn. The visually blurry though textually identified low-­income community setting could potentially lead to an understanding of Bell’s motherhood as implicated in a larger context of poverty. She is shown doing caretaking work—­taking her two children to purchase

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food—­and thus readers could interpret her as a hardworking mother of circumstance. But the text of the article, specifically the decision to highlight Bell’s own statement about neglecting her child, works to foster the reading of Bell’s experience as negligent behavior. The article quotes Alan Guttmacher Institute president Jeannie Rosoff, who insists, “It’s not a black problem. It’s not just an East Coast Problem. It’s a problem for us all” (80). Yet, the images clearly support speculation that the national consequences of this problem have to do with the behavior of poor women. For example, Wallis reports from her interview with Joy Dryfoos, a researcher for the Rockefeller Foundation, that “[m]iddle-­class girls tend not to have babies, [Dryfoos] says, ‘because Mother would kill them if they did.’ For the lower socioeconomic groups, she says, ‘it’s the big shoulder shrug. They don’t get abortions. They don’t use contraception. It’s just not that important; they don’t have a sense of the future,’” to which Wallis adds: “No wonder teenage pregnancies have reached epidemic proportions in some ghetto areas” (84). Dryfoos and Wallis gloss over the history of poor women struggling to access sexual health information, contraceptive services, and abortions in order to attribute poverty to poor women’s sexual behavior, ignorance, and carelessness. It is young women—­and their mothers—­who are envisioned as the exigencies to respond to, not the environments in which these women live. Further constructing a view of teenage pregnancy as the consequence of immature and unthinking women, large gray text boxes are interspersed throughout the article and feature young women’s seemingly immature or superficial comments highlighted in a large font: for instance, “I was going to have an abortion, but I spent the money on clothes instead” (79); and “I had birth control pills in my drawer. I just didn’t take them” (87). The visual rhetoric in the article, including photos of young women and the highlighted quotes, focuses the problem on women’s behavior and downplays cultural constraints that shape women’s lived experiences and outcomes like poverty, racism, sexism, and unequal access to education and contraception—­even though these issues are mentioned in the article. I found that articles from the 1980s often explored multiple and contradictive aspects of the so-­called problems of young motherhood. Journalists draw attention to issues such as bans on federal funding for abortions, a lack employment opportunities, and limited support systems available to mothers in specific communities. Indeed, it is difficult to explain women’s reproductive decisions and outcomes without addressing the contexts in which women live. Yet, readers are not provided with visual representations of these factors or environments. Thus, I argue that the visual representations used in print media help to socialize the public to focus on women as the problem, even in a context that acknowledges multiple factors at hand. The visuals amplify easier explanations for societal ills, such as the idea that poor people did not try hard

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enough or did not care, that women were failing to control their fertility in responsible ways, or that teenagers were careless, oblivious, and self-­centered. These explanations reflected and produced color-­blind racial ideologies with an emphasis on individualism and bootstraps mentality. For example, in that same year of 1985, the Chicago Tribune included a front-­page article by Bonita Brodt and Jerry Thomton on teenage pregnancy. The exposé features a close-­up picture of a happy young black mother named Iris Moore. However, the image and title create a startling irony: namely, Moore stands in the nursery, smiling at an equally happy onlooker, and holding her swaddled newborn, yet the headline decries “Cycle of Poverty, Despair Born Again in Delivery Room.” Through this juxtaposition, Moore’s fertility is associated with the root of poverty in America. The authors of the article explain, “At 17, Iris is the oldest of five children in her family. Her mother is on welfare and her father is unemployed” (1). Like Time’s article, this piece portrays women of color as excessively fertile by drawing attention to the number of children in Moore’s family. Furthermore, the image of Moore and the descriptions of her “chewing bubble gum and singing along with a song on the radio” (1) present her as oblivious to or undisturbed by the seriousness of her reproductive decision. Indeed, the authors maintain that Moore “seems unaware of any of the complications the baby may face later. Iris has not bought her baby any clothes, and she said it will not have a crib” (10). While the ominous phrase about “complications” may refer partly to the fact that the baby was born premature, the statement more clearly refers to the fact that “there is good reason to believe that [the baby] will be condemned to repeat the same vicious cycle that took hold of her mother, her grandmother and her great-­g randmother, by having a baby during—­or perhaps even before—­her teens” (1). The authors explain, “Once the cycle takes hold and a young girl has a child, her ability to improve her economic or social condition and pull herself out into a more productive segment of society is limited” (10). Hence women are assigned the responsibility of pulling themselves up by their bootstraps, and when they fail to do so, they are labeled as careless perpetuators of poverty. Although they are not explicitly stated in racial terms, these statements and Moore’s image demonstrate what critical race scholar Eduardo Bonilla-­Silva calls “blaming the victim,” an integral part of racial ideology that suggests that “minorities’ standing is a product of their lack of effort, loose family organization, and inappropriate values” (40). In the Chicago Tribune article, Moore is described as a member of a deviant family that does not try to escape the poverty cycle. Although the article briefly mentions major structural issues in her community, such as segregation and a lack of jobs and housing, these are not proposed as the main sources of the problem of poverty.

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Moore’s image enacts the rhetorical effects of the mythic welfare queen, “the lazy mother on public assistance who deliberately breeds children at the expense of taxpayers” (Roberts 17). Images of so-­called welfare queens divert attention from the social and economic forces that have created hardships like poverty. What viewers see is a smiling Moore and, in a subsequent photo, a close-­up of her small baby breathing with the help of a ventilator. The article ends with the perspective of Ruth Rothstein, the president of the hospital where Moore gave birth, reflecting on the partially unreimbursed costs the hospital bears for delivering infants to poor women like Moore who rely on public aid to pay for medical services. Rothstein maintains that these costs are “the price we are paying for unresolved social problems, the costs of social neglect. They are the effects of substandard housing, poverty, and ignorance” (Rothstein qtd. in Brodt and Thomton 10). Yet, arguably, the visual rhetoric of the image of Moore brushes over the implications of her living conditions and poverty and explains her situation through her supposed ignorance.

Implications of Images of Teenage Pregnancy Cover stories representing teenage pregnancy during the 1970s and 1980s used individual white young women situated under generalized banners like “high school pregnancy” and “teenage pregnancy” to focus viewers’ attention on the timing of women’s reproductive decisions as the source of national problems. This suggests that print media relied on white bodies as race-­neutral entities to focus attention on an age-­based social problem, universalizing the societal concern over reproductive decisions beyond race and class. However, images from this period continued to reflect and construct anxiety over the reproductive decisions of minoritized women by depicting groups of unidentifiable black young women alongside graphs of rising birthrates and other women of color with multiple children. During the 1990s, the phrases “welfare mother” and “teen mother” were used interchangeably in news media and political debates. News articles about teenage pregnancy and teen birth rates often reported on how proponents of stringent welfare reform, such as Charles Murray and President Clinton, planned to solve teenage pregnancy (most often depicted as a problem of young girls making poor decisions to become mothers and therein causing poverty and other ills) by limiting young women’s ability to access public benefits. At the same time, many of these news articles continued to highlight rigorous research that questioned public and political assumptions about welfare recipients and teenage pregnancy. For example, a Newsweek article published in 1990 reported “surprising new” findings from sociologist Frank Furstenberg’s twenty-­year study of four hundred black young mothers in Baltimore. Furstenberg found that young women who have children during their teens

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end up with similar educational and occupational outcomes as young women, from the same communities, who postpone child rearing (Kantrowitz 78). Nevertheless, the image above the title of the article is a color photograph of a very youthful looking black woman staring despondently at the viewer and holding a crying infant in a dark living room. Her tragic image, adjacent to the bold title, “Breaking the Poverty Cycle,” continues to encourage the public to quickly associate young mothering women of color with large socioeconomic problems—­even as the article debunks the myth that teenage pregnancy always and only leads to a life of poverty and long-­term welfare dependency for young women and their children. Regardless of whether articles in these decades explored dominant or counter-­perspectives, photographs and drawings of mothering teens along with charts and graphs quantifying their experiences remained visual staples. In “The Oppositional Gaze,” bell hooks asserts, “There is power in looking” (107). Visual representations provide opportunities for a critical gaze—­a gaze that may intervene in pathologizing discourses about teenage pregnancy. By breaking down how photographs and other visuals function in print news media to prompt and focus public concern about/on pregnant teenagers, I hope to destabilize common readings of the teen mom as simply a glamorized or stigmatized figure in society. She is, when composed just right, a useful rhetorical construct that helps to keep the public focused on the bodies of women as the simplest explanation of and solution for national problems and reinvigorates concerns about the reproductive decisions of poor women of color. This repeated visual pattern encourages us (the non-­pregnant, non–­teen parent) to immediately associate “problem” or perhaps more specifically “problem that affects us” with them (the pregnant or mothering teen) as they appear to us in print publications and, as I will explore in chapter 5, in everyday situations. They are embodied reasons for political and social action. This visual pattern also discourages viewers from interrogating the racial, gender, class, and structural dynamics shaping these problems and producing the so-­ called consequences erroneously attributed to age. In this way, young pregnant and mothering women are simultaneously present and absent from the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy. Visual representations of their bodies as objects for the public gaze and sound bites from their experiences (e.g., “This is hard”; “I had birth control pills in my drawer. I just didn’t take them”) are integral to reproducing belief in teenage pregnancy as a social problem. At the same time, young mothers’ perspectives as experts on their lives, communities, and varied needs are often missing; or, if a perspective of a young mother is featured, her ideas are moderated by the authorized expert perspectives also featured in the article. This certainly does not mean that pregnant and

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mothering teens have not challenged, changed, or intervened in the dominant constructions of who they are. But it does mean that young mothers’ narratives that challenge dominant discourses of “teenage pregnancy” are not often heard by journalists or the broader public. Thus, in the next chapter I analyze published first-­person accounts from teen mothers who contest popular (mis)conceptions of the social consequences of teenage motherhood—­testimonies that I see as counter-­stories to the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy.

3

Challenging Experts, Commonplaces, and Statistics Teen Mothers’ Counter-­ narratives In resistance, the exploited, the oppressed work to expose the false reality—­to reclaim and recover ourselves. —­bell hooks, Talking Back

As I write this chapter, the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy—­the grand narrative of irresponsible, careless, and/or victimized young white women and irresponsible, careless, and/or manipulative young women of color—­is alive and well, calling for audiences to recognize these characters, to mourn the loss of such women’s life ambitions, or to publicly condemn their reproductive decisions as detrimental to the national economy, other youth, and the American way of life. This gendered and racialized discourse prompts young women who find the foreboding two lines on the pregnancy test stick to see the first signs of their pregnancy as the tragic downfall of their lives. Commentary about teen pregnancy from presidents, doctors, scholars, and other authorized officials invites little skepticism from those who are brought up to trust authoritative expert opinions, particularly when those opinions are 65

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reiterated by family and culture. Thus, to identify as a teen mother is to recognize oneself (or to be recognized) as a character in this tragic narrative. I know that I felt this way when I was seventeen and discovered that I was pregnant. Later, as a creative writing undergraduate frustrated with my peers and professors being so damned surprised that a real, living teen mother was sitting with them at a university, I wrote a creative nonfiction story about my experiences as a mothering student. I was invited to read this narrative at a public literary event. When I arrived, I was certain that the audience would berate me for publicly embracing my role as a young mother and for using my experiences as a stigmatized woman to critique the rhetoric of teenage pregnancy. Instead, the audience applauded. One audience member, a graduate student pursuing a nursing degree, actually approached me after I spoke to thank me for opening her eyes to the ways in which she had unfairly scrutinized young mothers. The potential of sharing a counter-­narrative—­that is, a story that confronts the taken-­for-­ granted assumptions of a particular worldview—­became clear to me. In this chapter, I analyze the potential for young mothers’ first-­person counter-­narratives to resist hegemonic discourses that are meant to dehumanize, silence, and discipline marginalized subjects. In a culture that deems teen motherhood a national crisis, young pregnant and parenting women must reckon with how their experience aligns with popularized assumptions. In her history of public and political attention to adolescent pregnancy, Dangerous Passage: The Social Control of Sexuality in Women’s Adolescence, Constance Nathanson argues that “sexually unorthodox women, unlike homosexuals and even prostitutes, have played little conscious role in the creation of their own identity as a sexual category” (5). While Nathanson is absolutely right that the identity category of too-­young motherhood was a calculated construction of several different “moral, medical, and legal authorities” (12), I emphasize that “sexually unorthodox” young mothers have most certainly been active in deconstructing and/or resisting that identity marker.1 The social construction of what philosopher Judith Butler would call “abject” subjects also constructs opportunities (admittedly constrained) for those same subjects to resist—­that is, to utilize the identification as other than normal for the purpose of speaking back to or “reversing” the discourses that construct and constrain them (Foucault History 101; Butler 15). Drawing on feminist poststructuralist theory, Weedon argues, “As individuals we are not the mere objects of language but the sites of discursive struggle” (102). Therefore, pregnant and parenting young women “may resist particular interpellations or produce new versions of meaning from the conflicts and contradictions between existing discourses” (102). Weedon’s point suggests that the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy can be resisted, revised, or subverted by new ways of representing young pregnancy and motherhood.

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In this chapter, I focus on the stories that women who have raised children during their teenage years publish to intervene in discourses that construct them as examples of a teenage pregnancy problem. First, I demonstrate the challenge of using a personal narrative to disrupt the dominant narrative within a cultural context where experts consistently frame the “teen mom” personal story as a message of pregnancy prevention. Then, I rhetorically analyze first-­person accounts from writers who contest popular (mis)conceptions of the social consequences of teenage motherhood—­testimonies that I see as counter-­narratives to the dominant narrative.2 Drawing on theories of counter-­narrative and resistance from feminist, cultural, and critical race studies, I analyze the strategies editors and young pregnant and mothering women use to confront commonplaces about teenage motherhood, to destabilize the authority of “experts,” to talk back to dehumanizing statistics, and to challenge broader social structures, such as the educational system, that fail to support young mothering women. Then, I consider the precarious challenge counter-­ narrative writers face when trying to resist dominant narratives that write them as failures without reproducing a “success story.” Such stories potentially reify neoliberal logics that valorize individualism and personal responsibility at the expense of paying attention to socioeconomic structures that shape individual experience (Duggan 14). By illustrating these counter-­narrative tactics, I document young mothers’ intervention in the dominant discourses of teenage pregnancy and identify the available means of countering rhetorics that contribute to the marginalization of women.

The Teen Mom Story and “Expert” Frameworks Often, when and if we do hear from women about their experiences with young motherhood, their stories are framed as sensational dramas (think MTV’s 16 and Pregnant and Teen Mom series)3 or sobering lessons for others. Young mothers’ perspectives are often followed by statements from experts—­such as psychologists, educators, and policy makers—­who tell audiences what these experiences really mean. For example, season finales of MTV’s popular reality-­ based series Teen Mom often feature the main characters on a panel discussing the joys and struggles of motherhood. These testimonies are prompted and followed by statements from psychiatrist Dr. Drew, who interprets these stories for audiences, most often packaging them as indicative of problems with sex education and “too-­young” parenthood. As another example, ethnographer Deirdre Kelly spoke to young mothers and researched media coverage of teenage pregnancy from 1980 to 1992, ultimately finding that teen mothers’ testimonies in news media are often “selected and edited in ways that make them feel that their main message has been distorted” (Pregnant 81). Furthermore, teen mother success stories—­which could arguably be considered a

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counter-­narrative to dominant assumptions that teen mothers are educational, familial, or financial failures—­are framed as exceptional cases, sustaining the belief that most teenage mothers do not make good parents, students, or citizens. Finally, as discussed in chapter 1, teen mothers’ stories are often used in pregnancy prevention campaigns as strategies to prevent other teenagers from having unprotected sex or babies.4 Considering this discursive context, young pregnant and mothering women who wish to challenge the social stigmatization of young motherhood must be wary of when and where they tell their stories. They must seek outlets that will help the political message of their testimonies be heard. In making this claim, I draw from the argument of feminist philosophers Linda Alcoff and Laura Gray in “Survivor Discourse: Transgression or Recuperation?” Alcoff and Gray demonstrate how the framework of a given speech act determines whether the story is interpreted as “transgressive” to dominant discourses or is “recuperated” into the dominant discourse and therein stripped of its ability to confront the status quo. The context of a speech act or a piece of writing also determines whether the person who shares her personal story is positioned as an agentive authority on the topic she has experienced or, instead, positioned as an object of analysis—­that is, a spectacle for readers/viewers to gawk at and a problem for an authorized, even-­tempered expert to interpret. Building on Michel Foucault’s analysis of confessional discourse and their own research on “survivor discourse”—­or the testimonies of women and children who have experienced sexual abuse, incest, or rape—­Alcoff and Gray illustrate that in some contexts for women’s personal testimonies, such as talk shows and news outlets, “some participants are accorded the authoritative status of interpreters and others are constructed as ‘naïve transmitters of raw experience’” (264). That is, the framework of the testimony determines whether the audience is encouraged to find truth value in the words of the women testifying or to hear the women only as an example of something that an expert interpreter will later explain. Alcoff and Gray call for women to be wary of speaking situations wherein they do not have autonomy over the discursive framework for their experiential knowledge or they may just become an object for analysis. The importance of power relations constructing and constructed by the discursive forum for counter-­narratives guided my selection of texts for analysis. First, I selected publications that allowed young mothers to compose their narratives before submitting them for publication. In other words, these outlets did not prompt young mothers to respond to specific questions or follow a predetermined structure (e.g., you must tell your story starting from the moment you became pregnant). Second, I chose edited forums in which both editors and contributing authors appeared to share the goal of challenging the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy. That is, these publications frame teen mothers’ counter-­narratives as acts of resistance—­not as

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sex education lessons for others. As young mother Julie Cushing writes in her essay published in You Look Too Young to Be a Mom, “My life doesn’t suck, and no amount of guilt or ‘concern for the public good’ will make me say it does” (173). Specifically, I turned to two edited collections and one website to find counter-­narratives for my rhetorical analysis. First, I analyzed young mothers’ counter-­narratives published in Ariel Gore and Bee Lavender’s 2001 book Breeder: Real-­Life Stories from the New Generation of Mothers. Gore and Lavender previously worked together on the popular zine Hip Mama that is touted as “the original alternative parenting magazine.” Breeder is a collection of nonfiction narratives by creative writers who challenge mainstream representations of motherhood. Other than Gore’s introduction to the text (which briefly mentions that she and co-­editor Lavender were teen mothers), three narratives function as counter-­narratives to the dominant discourses of teenage pregnancy and motherhood: Allison Crews’s “When I Was Garbage,” Lavender’s “Bread and Roses,” and Jennifer Savage’s “Learning to Surf.” Second, I analyzed thirty-­five narratives published in the 2004 collection You Look Too Young to Be a Mom: Teen Mothers Speak Out on Love, Learning, and Success, edited by Deborah Davis, a doula (childbirth assistant) with experience facilitating writing workshops for pregnant and parenting teenagers. Finally, I looked at counter-­narratives posted on Girl-­Mom, a website that provides “community, advocacy, and support by and for young mothers” and aims to “change the face of ‘teen parenthood’” (Girl-­Mom). Most of the activity on Girl-­Mom includes exchanges in the discussion forum. However, I focused my analysis on twelve personal narratives posted in 2003 to the “features” section.5 Although the topics of Girl-­Mom feature articles vary considerably—­from guides to getting affordable legal aid to manifestos on reproductive justice—­I chose narratives that were structured around what it was like to become or be a “teen mother” (e.g., the experience of discovering a pregnancy, telling others, going to the hospital, raising the child, etc.) as these stories could serve as a point of comparison for Breeder and You Look Too Young to Be a Mom. At the time these stories were made public, in the early 2000s, the teen mother was fixed in the public imaginary as a cautionary tale and symbol of economic disaster. As Jackie Lanni explains in her counter-­narrative, published in You Look Too Young to Be a Mom: “What I know about teenage mothers I have read in magazines and seen on newsmagazine shows. I know we are a population ‘spiraling out of control.’ I hear that we are sucking the life out of the welfare system, leeching off honest taxpayers. I hear that we are incompetent and selfish mothers at best, abusive and neglectful at worst. It is said that we commonly drop out of high school, have more illegitimate babies while still young, and ultimately spend our lives in poverty” (122). Teenage pregnancy and birth rates continued to decline, but scathing welfare reform

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discourses of the mid-­1990s had centered on public condemnation of “the welfare mother” and teenage mothers (figures often represented interchangeably). The culmination of these political discourses, the Personal Responsibility and Work Opportunity Reconciliation Act passed in 1996 and reauthorized in 2002, transferred “responsibility for assistance to the poor from the federal level to the state level, and through a range of block grants, sanctions, and rewards, encouraged states to reduce their welfare rolls by developing stringent work requirements, imposing strict time limits, discouraging ‘illegitimacy,’ and reducing the number of applicants eligible for services” (Adair 4). Higher education could no longer count as “work” that entitled mothers to assistance with paying for daycare, forcing many women receiving welfare benefits to leave college in pursuit of low-­wage jobs. The act also provided $250  million to abstinence-­only sex education programs. Any educational programs receiving federal funding were required to uphold particular cultural values, namely that marriage is the only appropriate context for sexual activity and child rearing (Pillow 179). Thus, young women who experienced pregnancy or gave birth during their teenage years—­particularly poor, single young mothers—­were feeling the ideological and material effects of welfare reform. The early 2000s also marked the launch of the National Campaign to Prevent Teen Pregnancy’s stigmatizing “Sex Has Consequences” series (see chapter 1) and the initiation of a National Day to Prevent Teenage Pregnancy (Pillow 192).6 In other words, young women wishing to challenge the dominant narrative on teenage pregnancy were facing an increasingly hostile cultural context.

Editor as Expert Facilitator of Counter-­narratives In this section, I consider how editorial practices may help to intervene in the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy. As Alcoff and Gray argue, the framework for a personal testimony may facilitate or impede the potential of that personal narrative to challenge dominant discourses. Regarding counter-­ narratives published in an anthology or on a website, the editor and the structure of the publication forum function as mediating forces. Editors collect, select, shape, and present narratives included on websites and in print-­based collections; in doing so, they consciously construct a framework for the personal stories they choose to publish. In a way, editors function as the authorized “experts” of the collections. Alcoff and Gray are skeptical of any speaking situation (such as confessional discourses) in which an expert interprets or shapes the marginalized rhetor’s narrative; they warn, “We must . . . struggle to maintain autonomy over the conditions of our speaking out if we are to develop its subversive potential. And an important aspect of this autonomy is the disenfranchisement of outside expert authority over our discourse,

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obstructing the ability of ‘experts’ to ‘police our statements,’ to put us in a defensive posture, or to determine the focus and framework of our discourse” (284). However, in her work, Nancy Naples points out that feminist “experts” may “participate in creating resistance strategies and oppositional politics” by forwarding movements for social change and by linking women’s narratives to other struggles against oppression (1177). In collections that feature young mothers’ narratives, I see evidence for Alcoff and Gray’s concerns about expert mediation as well as evidence of the potential benefits of expert allies as suggested by Naples. Each framework determines the kinds of stories that get to represent “teen mother” experiences either through the editors’ choice of texts or through the privileged medium of the framework. For instance, it takes literacy, time, materials, and access to the “call for papers” to submit a story to an editor of a book collection. It similarly takes writing and computer literacy, time, and critical access to technology to submit a story to a website editor. The complications of the editor’s framework are worthy of attention because in framing the call for submissions, defining the terms of submission, selecting the stories, and editing the submissions, editors determine who gets to counter the dominant narrative and how that counter-­narrative is told.7 However, for the purposes of this chapter, I will focus on two potentials I see for an editor’s framework to facilitate the oppositional effect of young mothers’ counter-­narratives. First, I discuss how editors help to define an oppositional framework for counter-­narratives. Second, I consider how editors foster an opportunity for readers to see new connections and conflicts between diverse experiences of motherhood.

Developing an Oppositional Framework to Encourage Reading for Resistance Editors of counter-­narrative collections develop frameworks that orient audiences to the oppositional agendas of the included texts. By using the phrase “oppositional agenda,” I do not mean to construct or reify a simple dichotomy between discourses. Instead, I am trying to describe the way that the authors and editors explicitly resist dominant understandings of motherhood and position their narratives as interventions in women’s experiences of motherhood. For example, Girl-­Mom is a website structured as an oppositional framework that shifts who gets to tell the story of teenage motherhood. The website was created in 1999 by Bee Lavender, a young single mother and publisher of an online zine called Hip Mama. After observing a surprisingly hostile backlash to a discussion forum she created for “Girl-­Moms” on Hip Mama, Lavender decided to create a separate “feminist, pro-­choice advocacy website by and for young mothers.” The “About” section on the homepage helps to position the website as an oppositional framework that intervenes in the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy. It features a mission statement and disclaimer of sorts which states the purpose of the website: “Teenage pregnancy is not

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a ‘crisis’ or ‘epidemic,’ like so many people would like us to believe. The only true epidemic associated with teen pregnancy is the overwhelming and universal lack of support available to young mothers. The only true crisis is the denial of the fact that teenage girls can be, are, and always have been, both sexual and maternal beings, with the capacity to love, procreate, and nurture. We love our children fiercely. We protect and care for them like any mother, of any age, would. Through Girl-­Mom, we hope to slowly show that to the world” (Girl-­ Mom). The statement articulates the political mission of the website, encouraging visitors to align with the mission before clicking the various links on the site. In the third paragraph, the Girl-­Mom website editors also strive to preempt typical critiques prompted by the prevention/promotion binary (see chapter 1). They write, “Girl-­Mom in no way encourages teen pregnancy, as some critics have implied. Girl-­Mom encourages mothers.” In the fourth paragraph they make clear, “We do not encourage childless teens to follow our path; face it, it’s a tough path. But we encourage all teens that wake to the call of ‘mama!’ before dawn breaks, to do all that they can to empower themselves and nurture their children.” By carefully framing their site as a space for empowering young mothers, the editors attempt to deflect judgmental posts in the discussion boards and encourage visitors to accept the terms and values of their space. The packaging of the edited collection Breeder also emphasizes its rhetorical purpose as a counter-­narrative. The cover of the collection features a pregnant light-­skinned woman in a white T-shirt with a “Breeder” logo across her chest. The image is cropped so that only the woman’s midsection is visible, her shirt arranged to expose her pregnant belly. Situated under the cover model’s belly button are statements that engage readers with the ethos of the contributors: “From the editors of Hip Mama” and “Foreword by Dan Savage.” Calling out to readers who are familiar with Gore and Lavender’s zine Hip Mama and Dan Savage’s nationally syndicated sex column, the collection is packaged as a raw and edgy take on motherhood—­one that will most certainly be political, sexual, and frank. Adding to the rebel feel of the book are chapter break pages illustrated by tattoo artist Johnny Thief. If a book is judged by its cover (and its image content), then Breeder is positioned to attract readers who are interested in challenging norms of motherhood. Moreover, the decision to title the collection with the pejorative term “breeder” suggests a direct engagement with judgmental attitudes and material forces shaping the experiences of women who reproduce. Dan Savage’s forward partially explains the title when he writes about the first time he heard the term as a sixteen-­year-­old. Savage explains that his lover had used the word to refer to “Straight people. Breeders make babies, [his boyfriend] explained, they breed. We don’t. Gay people don’t have to worry about birth control or children or expectations” (vii–­ix). By sharing a story about his first experience with the term, Savage aligns “breeder” with negative attitudes toward straight

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people who reproduce and as a way to distinguish the gay community from those issues.8 Co-­editor Ariel Gore, who writes the introduction of the collection, further clarifies the choice of expression when she tells a story of her experiences with the word “breeder.” She explains that whenever a pregnant woman walked by the punk rock crowd she hung out with in high school, one of the people in the group would yell out “Breeder!” as a way to express their revulsion at the idea of bringing children into a messed up world (xi). Thus, the three teen mothers’ narratives positioned within Breeder may benefit from a framework that encourages audiences to read for challenges to negative beliefs about women who reproduce. At the same time, feminist scholar Mary Thompson has rightly critiqued Gore and Lavender’s use of the term “breeder” as a title for their collection for seemingly suggesting, but not delivering, a critical exploration of how racism shapes experiences and representations of motherhood. Thompson draws on the work of feminist and critical race activist Angela Davis to point out that the term “breeder” has historical roots as a means of justifying the captivity, rape, and forced impregnation of African American women whose children were sold as slave laborers. Breeder’s lack of attention to racialized tropes of motherhood, and the material conditions and structures that make “motherhood” an experience stratified across racial lines, is especially problematic considering that the issues young pregnant and mothering women mothers face are constructed by inequalities with roots in, among more, racism and disenfranchisement. The cover nevertheless signifies contested political and social constructions of motherhood, and readers who pick up the book may be more apt to read for these messages in the narratives that are included. Finally, the visual-­verbal rhetoric of the cover of You Look Too Young to Be a Mom also helps to orient readers to the oppositional purpose of the text. Under the title, readers can see a blurred photograph of a tattooed mother holding a child—­the mother and child are both turned away from the camera’s gaze. The photograph puts the viewer in a spectator’s position. The label above mother and child (“You Look Too Young to Be a Mom”) helps to simulate a moment of viewing a young mother from afar and labeling her based on assumptions about teenagers and teenage pregnancy. In her introduction to the collection, Davis explains the goal of the book: to change readers’ worldview so that they accept teenage mothers as people who do not deserve “insensitive” comments and discrimination (3). Davis begins her introduction by writing, “‘Teen Mom.’ What image comes to mind when you hear this?” (1). The opening prompts someone who is not a teenage mother to instinctively respond with commonplaces about teenage motherhood. Davis explains she hopes to challenge those commonplaces and get readers to see teenage mothers differently. Davis shares a story of witnessing a young couple treated poorly by the registration clerk at a hospital. Reflecting on this moment she writes, “I wanted to offer [young mothers] a forum for sharing their voices and experiences so

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that others’ eyes might be opened and their prejudices and preconceived ideas questioned” (4). Thus, this book is packaged as a means for initiating a paradigm shift for those who believe commonplaces about young motherhood. To prepare readers for this paradigm shift, Davis uses herself as an example of someone who assumed teenage mothers were failures. She writes, “I didn’t always view young mothers in the positive light I now see them” (1). With some stated trepidation, Davis tells of an interaction she had with a young pregnant woman while directing a community service program for abused teenagers. She admits that when “Julie”—­a victim of family abuse who was living with a friend at the time—­became pregnant Davis was “stunned” (1). The pregnancy complicated Davis’s idealizations of Julie as the innocent young woman Davis was trying to help. Davis explains, “I was disappointed. She was to be one of my success stories, but she’d gone and ruined her life—­and, consequently, a portion of mine” (2). By opening the collection with a memory of Davis’s past unthinking acceptance of the dominant narrative that frames teen mothers as failures who cannot (or should not) be helped, Davis encourages readers to rethink their own assumptions about teenage mothers. Her ethos, or sense of character and credibility, as an ally for teenage mothers is built upon her willingness to share how she was complicit in the dominant narrative as well as her efforts to solicit and publish young mothers’ stories. Although Davis appears committed to handing over the status of “expert” on teenage motherhood to the young women who contribute to the collection, she also appears to recognize her role as a liaison between young mothers and those who look down on them. She builds her ethos as an expert on teenage motherhood who can testify for teens’ worthiness as parents and people (1) by referencing her experiences with pregnant and parenting teens (as a doula, community service director, and writing instructor) and (2) by illustrating her status as a middle-­class white adult who accepted the dominant narrative of teenage motherhood and postponed her pregnancy until she was thirty-­five—­with two published books under her belt (2). If Davis can change her mind and think that young parents have great potential, then why can’t everyone else? By defining an oppositional framework, these collections invite readers who are open to challenging dominant discourses and orient audiences to the rhetorical purposes of the creative personal narratives within. Of course, this doesn’t necessarily mean that the narratives included will be read this way. I only mean to draw attention to the importance of these rhetorical frameworks considering that young mothers’ narratives are often read or circulated as exceptional success stories or cautionary tales for young people.

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Surfacing Connections and Conflicts between Narratives to Disrupt Monolithic Visions of Motherhood The second potential I find of edited print and web collections of counter-­ narratives relates to the connections and conflicts established between individual stories. Editors may strategically arrange different mothers’ counter-­ narratives before or after one another in order to further trouble normative constructions of reproduction and parenthood. In her analysis of zines, (b)orderlands scholar Adela C. Licona calls such articulations (b)orderlands rhetorics, or third space tactics that challenge either/or dichotomies. Licona explains that making connections between previously unconnected experiences can prove “discursively disobedient” in a way that makes clear that “our lived experiences [are] partial, real, and imagined, and always in the process of becoming” (“(B)orderlands’ Rhetorics” 106). Specifically, by situating young mothers’ narratives alongside other women’s narrative experiences of mother­ hood, the editors help to subvert dichotomies and create new understandings about obstacles mothers face across lines of difference. Breeder’s collection of stories from women of different ages demonstrates that many problems attributed to teenage motherhood—­such as difficulty finishing school, physical and mental stress, and lack of friends or support systems—­are experienced by other mothers as well. For example, young mother Allison Crews’s “When I Was Garbage” is situated in the first section of Breeder called “Rites of Passage.” This section includes narratives about the process or aftermath of becoming a parent and (often) struggling to achieve norms of “real” or “good” mothering. Reading these narratives in sequence may prompt audiences to notice patterns such as women’s feelings of disbelief, fear, disappointment, and anger around the time that they try to conceive or they discover a pregnancy. This section also brings to light the power of institutions structuring the experiences of motherhood, such as medicalized care and adoption processes, as well as people who judge and disrespect prospective mothers, such as strangers, pharmacists, and boyfriends. Crews’s stated feelings of disbelief and fear following her realization that she is pregnant at fifteen years old are echoed by a short introductory excerpt from “Pricilla” (2), by twenty-­three-­year-­old Liesl Schwabe in “Motherhood and the Indian Post Office,” and by married lawyer turned professional writer Min Jin Lee in “Will.” The counter-­narrative frameworks constructed by editors help to further oppositional agendas by fostering critical awareness of connections between different mothers’ experiences. Other stories in Breeder subtly confront the often-­unstated premise in dominant discourse(s) of teenage pregnancy and motherhood—­that parenting is easier and more successful if done when you have passed the threshold of your twenties and have finished your education. Bee Lavender’s counter-­narrative

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in Breeder presents her reflections, as a thirty-­year-­old woman, remembering the experience of parenting in her teens and twenties. Lavender is positioned to speak to how age affects the ability to parent. For example, she writes, “As a teenager it had been easy to put out zines, organize protests, work in nonprofits, study, have fun, even have a baby. But adding a real job on top of all the other commitments tipped the balance” (118). Lavender makes the rarely publicized claim that the teen years may be the more manageable time for finding the energy and resources to support multiple life projects at once (motherhood included). Lavender’s narrated struggle to finish graduate school, figure out the working world, and find a lover functions as proof that motherhood in her mid-­twenties is different, but not necessarily any easier. In addition, narratives in the section “Working Girl” document working mothers’ concerns and experiences, such as breastfeeding in the workplace and losing out on opportunities to pursue a career change because of childcare issues. By positioning narratives alongside each other in specific sections, the editors of Breeder encourage readers to find new connections among struggles and successes of mothering experiences and the social and institutional structures that shape those experiences. Editors’ arrangement of personal narratives may also highlight important contradictions or tensions between narratives, therein discouraging monolithic visions of “good” mothers or “teen” mothers. For example, Davis’s decision to place Jackie Lanni’s “How to Get to Law School” before Judy Moses’s “My Independent Study Abroad” may discourage readers from coming to any easy conclusions about teenage mothers and education (e.g., “teenage mothers are dropouts”). Lanni explains that prior to the discovery of her pregnancy at sixteen, she was not attending high school. Once she decides to raise the child, she returns to school and begins to “make A’s” (122). After narrating a series of trials and triumphs, she ends her story with her first semester in graduate school. “Teenage motherhood,” for Lanni, meant a newfound motivation to finish high school and seek a meaningful career. For Judy Moses, who was attending her first year at college when she discovered she was pregnant, the pregnancy and decision to mother offered her an excuse to do what she was already considering doing: leaving college where she had “no feeling of purpose” (131). Moses tells her story of ultimately deciding to move to France to be with the father of the child and finding that motherhood, and this experience abroad, taught her to be more assertive. As another example, generalizations about young mothers and poverty are troubled by the differences between Latisha Boyd’s “Growing Up Too Fast” and Sarah Tavis’s “Grace and Mama in the World” that follows it. Boyd chronicles her experiences growing up in the projects, struggling with a “dysfunctional home” and an abusive boyfriend, well before giving birth to a child she very much wanted (221). After further trials—­including homelessness and the death of her boyfriend—­Boyd

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explains that extended family, church, grief support groups, and women’s studies courses helped her “learn to love myself ” and eventually graduate from college (224). Boyd’s experience with poverty and a lack of love prior to her pregnancy (something that, the plot of her story suggests, the birth of her child did not cause or fix) contrasts sharply with Tavis’s narrative that situates “welfare, food stamps,” and shame as things she fears only when she becomes unexpectedly pregnant after her first year of college (227). Boyd’s narrative, which illustrates economic disparity as a lived condition of her community, may complicate a premise underlying Tavis’s narrative: that welfare benefits and low-­paying jobs are the result of a single life decision. Thus, Davis’s strategic organization of narratives disrupts homogenous visions of “teen moms.” Some young mother counter-­narratives deploy idealizations of pregnancy, childbirth, mothering tasks, and children to persuade audiences that teens can be good mothers. Following such narratives with a story from a mother whose narrative challenges those idealizations also helps to complicate and diversify cultural constructions of motherhood. This facilitates a more inclusive intervention in traditional discourses of motherhood. The positioning of Crews’s narrative in Breeder illustrates this potential. Responding to the commonplace assumption that teens are unfit parents, Crews uses traditional markers of a “good mother” to build her ethos as a young mother. She expresses her decision to keep her child by writing, “I did not want them [the couple who wanted to adopt her child] to be the parents of my son. I wanted my boyfriend and I to be his parents. We were his parents” (33, emphasis original). One of the premises of Crews’s line of reasoning is that those who can conceive a child are the most natural parents of that child. After giving birth to her child, Crews writes, “I had an abundance of precious golden milk that only a mother could make. I was a mother” (36, emphasis original). Crews’s status as a sympathetic mother is premised on the cultural logic that real mothers are those who can conceive babies, bring them to term, and naturally produce the materials needed for their survival (i.e., breast milk). Crews also uses cultural markers of a happy and healthy child to end her narrative by providing a skeptical audience with proof that teen mothers can be good mothers and successful people. Crews begins the final paragraph describing her child: “Cade Mackenzie is now a happy twenty-­four pound, eight-­month old. He sleeps in my bed and is happiest when he is nursing, watching Teletubbies or listening to Bob Marley” (37). Emphasizing Cade’s healthiness (“twenty-­four pounds,” “nursing”), happiness, and typical middle-­class baby activities (watching kid-­ friendly television and listening to music) helps Crews show that she is a normal and successful mother. She assures readers that she is continuing her education and “graduating a semester early” (37). Building from these markers of success, she argues that she is not “garbage” but, instead, “an excellent

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mother” (37). Crews’s narrative suggests that one way of countering the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy is to highlight personal experiences that demonstrate traditional norms of successful parents and adolescents. If a teen is eager to do the domestic and physical work of childbearing, able to perform middle-­class practices of motherhood, and competent enough to continue/ prioritize secondary education on top of that, then what is wrong with teenage motherhood? Many scholars and activists well versed in feminist critiques of motherhood and the social mechanisms that make women inequitably burdened by childbearing may cringe at the implications of accepting the implied premises of Crews’s narrative argument. What about women who cannot produce golden milk? What about the teens who are unable to find a “wonderful homeschool program” that allows them to raise their child and finish high school (Crews “When I Was Garbage” 37)? Interestingly, the editors position Crews’s narrative before Sara Manns’s testimony of the struggle to become a parent as a lesbian, titled “Real Moms.” Manns begins by describing the “childhood script” that her experience of parenthood challenges—­that “kids are supposed to happen to you” (38) and that “[r]eal parents have kids that look like them” (39), kids who are biologically produced by their parents. Using sarcastic humor (e.g., “In our situation, the claim [forwarded in promotional sperm donor video] that no one will know I’m not the real daddy was hard to believe. The breasts give it away every time”; 40) and scenes of her and her partner’s struggle to first conceive and then adopt a child from another country, Manns challenges one of the underlying cultural logics of Crews’s narrative: that heterosexual couples who biologically conceive children are the most natural and fit parents. Therefore, though an editor is certainly mediating the message of Crews’s narrative by strategically positioning a narrative that questions the accepted cultural premise in her story, it may actually facilitate the oppositional intention of Crews’s story—­a story that, ultimately, seeks to deflect judgment and question normative scripts for motherhood. Moreover, Crews’s story—­which illustrates the profound pressure she faced from family, friends, and an adoption agency to relinquish her child to a financially stable, married couple—­may encourage readers to identify some tensions in Manns’s narrative, which does not provide information about the woman who gave birth to Manns’s child or the politics of transnational adoption. Again, Licona’s emphasis on the potential of (b)orderlands’ rhetorics is useful here, as the editors’ efforts to cultivate a text that opposes dichotomous thinking about good/bad motherhood relies on surfacing conflicts within and between experiences of motherhood. Licona writes, “(b)orderlands’ rhetorics move beyond binary borders to a named third space of ambiguity and even contradiction” (“(B)orderlands’ Rhetorics” 105). Breeder blurs the understanding of who counts as a “mom,” exposing contradictions between the ways in

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which differently positioned women experience and practice motherhood. In such an ambiguous, contradictory “third space,” it becomes difficult (or perhaps nonsensical) to respond to such narratives with dualisms like Crews is a real mom while Manns is not or that Manns is a “good” mom because she waited until her older adult years to adopt a child while Crews and her boyfriend unexpectedly conceived a child when Crews was fifteen. Editorial practices may facilitate the rhetorical purpose of counter-­ narratives by constructing oppositional frameworks through book or website titles, image content, dedications, prefaces, forewords, and introductions. Girl-­Mom, for example, is a website explicitly dedicated to “young mamas,” and this dedication is visible on the home page and in the search engine links to the site. You Look Too Young is dedicated to Davis’s mother and “mothers of all ages everywhere.” Both dedications further the aim of supporting (not stigmatizing) mothering women in a cultural context that often frames young mothers as a problem. Conscious choices made by editors and their teams can also invite readers to see important connections among differently positioned subjects. Editorial practices may also reveal contradictions between minoritized experiences, helping to resist tendencies to homogenize others (Kelly Pregnant 205). Connective themes and contradictory tensions can occur implicitly through the editors’ juxtaposition of selected stories as I described, or explicitly through chapter section or node titles and editorial interludes. Few scholars have fully considered the importance of the editorial function in publishing counter-­narrative work. There is much more to be said about the editor function, and it is important to reiterate that there are drawbacks to the editorial frameworks that I analyzed. However, as I am most concerned with the persuasive tactics of resistance available to those who are made to embody a problem, the rest of the chapter explores the tactics young mothers use to intervene in dominant discourses with stories about their personal experiences. First, I outline the theoretical lenses that inform my understanding of teenage mothers’ narratives as rhetorical texts. Then, I review theories of counter-­narrative before identifying common narrative strategies young mothers use in their counter-­stories.

Counter-­narrative Analysis Stories are powerful means of persuasion. Stories help to sustain particular worldviews by implicitly encouraging people to look at things in a particular way. For example, the teen mother saga helps to sustain a worldview that suggests reproduction should occur only when planned within the context of heterosexual marriage, situated within an economically self-­sustaining household, and in accordance with a lifestyle that allows for the parents to keep the upbringing of the child private (i.e., separate from work, school, and other

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institutional obligations). Since many teen mothers’ experiences stray from these conventions, circulating stories about teen mothers’ hectic or troubled lives (in reality television series, talk shows, news specials, congressional hearings, and academic scholarship) functions to idealize heteronormative middle-­ class conditions of adolescence and parenthood. Feminist, critical race, and Latina/o critical scholars, activists, and rhetors have long recognized the potential of stories to captivate and move audiences to change perspectives and take action. Narrative forms of expression have been of particular use to marginalized groups who are denied voice in the public sphere or whose personal and collective experiences of oppression are silenced, ignored, or explained away. Educational researchers Daniel G. Solórzano and Tara J. Yosso define counter-­story as “a method of telling the stories of those people whose experiences are not often told” (32). Solórzano and Yosso are particularly interested in counter-­story as a “tool for exposing, analyzing, and challenging the majoritarian stories of racial privilege” such as the bootstraps narratives of meritocracy discussed in chapter 2 (Solórzano and Yosso 32; Fernandez 46; Jackson 28). Critical race theorists Richard Delgado and Jean Stefancic add that more than just telling stories that have not yet been told, effective counter-­narratives may confront “embedded preconceptions that marginalize others or conceal their humanity” (42; Delgado 2413). Thus, counter-­narratives are stories that challenge and resist the status quo, bring to light injustice, highlight alternative ways of being, and/or assert cultural strengths unacknowledged by the dominant culture. Such stories can be traced throughout history.9 Counter-­narratives potentially serve many functions for both the storyteller and diverse audiences. Delgado, hooks, and others suggest that the act of telling a counter-­story can serve a “psychic-­function” for authors because it helps them to resist inclinations to “self-­blame” for their life circumstances and lived oppressions. That is, the telling of the counter-­story may serve as a catalyst for self-­growth (Delgado 2436–­2437; hooks Talking 3, 159; Delgado and Stefancic 43; Alcoff and Gray 283). Furthermore, publishing and circulating counter-­stories may assist with coalition building as audiences who have similar experiences of injustice may feel inspired to share their own counter-­story or build an oppositional movement (de Lauretis 185). Related to this function, a third possible outcome of counter-­stories is the formation of a “counter-­ reality” when counter-­stories are shared and circulated within a group or community and assist in building consensus for a particular worldview (Delgado 2412). Building from this literature, I think that teen mothers’ counter-­narratives can function as catalysts for self-­growth and coalitional building. Scholars of teenage pregnancy discourses have similarly suggested that getting young mothers to share narratives and (re)construct representations of their

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experiences can help to build their self-­esteem and awareness of social justice issues (Kelly “Young Mothers”; Luttrell). My personal experience writing and sharing my counter-­story brought feelings of self-­satisfaction and influenced my future decisions to align myself with feminist movements. Moreover, in the next chapter, I demonstrate how seven young mothers came together to form a coalitional movement called #NoTeenShame, in part based on their experiences with sharing counter-­narratives via blogs and social media. However, in this chapter, I am particularly interested in the ways in which counter-­stories can function to intervene in the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy by telling the story of young motherhood differently. Delgado argues that in order for counter-­narratives to oppose widely accepted beliefs, the story must strategically destroy the “mindset” or the presuppositions of the dominant group (2413). This takes rhetorical skill. Narratives must at once engage with common ways of thinking about the world that are already in circulation and then use strategies (such as irony, satire, strategic but subtle organization of narrative events, and details that trigger emotional responses) to counter the oppressive or problematic implications of that line of thinking. Put another way, counter-­narratives must bridge the worldviews of differently positioned people (Delgado and Stefancic 41). In the following section, I look carefully for the ways in which young mothers narrate their experiences with pregnancy and motherhood to engage with, question, and confront the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy and the worldviews it implicitly encourages. It is important to make clear that in my analysis of teen mothers’ texts, I do not theorize why the authors became pregnant at a certain age or determine whether their decision to parent children within a specific context is “good.” Instead, I approach these texts from a feminist poststructuralist rhetorical perspective. Personal narratives and the experiences reflected through them are as always partial, reflective of political struggle, and constructed for an audience/ purpose. My aim in this chapter is not to identify the “truth” of an experience, but rather to identify and analyze the rhetorical strategies that some young mothers use to engage, deflect, and counter dominant narratives and the stigmas associated with teenage pregnancy and parenthood. I do this by focusing on how young mothers tell their stories and by thinking through the effects these strategies may have on normative constructions of motherhood.

Rhetorical Strategies in Teen Mother Counter-­narratives In this section, I identify rhetorical strategies writers use to engage with and/ or counter the dominant discourses of teenage pregnancy and motherhood. I identified these strategies by close reading narratives in You Look Too Young to Be a Mom, Breeder, and Girl-­Mom and taking notes on common narrative elements: characters, settings, phrases, events, and the organization of plotlines.

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Before identifying these recurring elements it is important to emphasize that, overall, these counter-­narratives startle expectations of the “teen mom story” by providing altogether different plotlines. The beginning, climax, and conclusions of these narratives are diverse. Some writers begin their narratives with the moment of discovery of a pregnancy but startle our assumptions that the pregnancy or baby are the burdens to overcome, instead encouraging us to think about the structures or social behaviors that get in the way of supporting women with multiple responsibilities. Some writers begin their narratives months or even years prior to the birth of their children to emphasize that the real obstacles in their lives are things that came before the announcement of the pregnancy. For some, the climactic moment of the birth of their child is a moment of transformation that provides momentum or motivation for a much-­needed life change such as moving to (or making) a new community, returning to school, leaving toxic lovers or family members, or developing a sense of self-­worth. Other writers choose to open their narratives in the midst of their mothering years to point us to different moments of climax and resolution. The diversity of plotlines helps to obstruct monolithic visions of women, adolescence, motherhood, and teenage motherhood. In now turning to patterns across texts I do not mean to suggest that all the narratives I read had these elements. Instead, I draw attention to the recurring narrative tactics that I see as undermining the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy.

Rendering Uncommon the Commonplace One recurring rhetorical strategy I found in teenage mother counter-­narratives is what I call rendering uncommon the commonplace. Commonplaces are statements that help to maintain ideologies and are circulated as commonsense adages. Rhetoricians Sharon Crowley and Debra Hawhee write, “Commonplaces are, literally, ‘taken for granted’—­they are statements that everyone assumes already to be satisfactorily proven. So no one bothers to discuss them” (131).10 The idea of a “teen mother” is a commonplace in American rhetoric. While “teen mothers” are often discussed, the categorization is rarely questioned—­that is, people do not often question why we qualify particular people’s caretaking responsibilities as “teenage” while others are just “mothers.” The broad circulation of the term “teenage mother” helps to persuade many people that it has been proven that the (young) age of a mother affects her ability to carry a fetus to term and to raise the child. People do not often think about the fact that “teenage” is an adjective placed next to “mother” by an individual writer making a rhetorical choice. In the counter-­narratives that I analyzed, many authors drew attention to the arbitrary connection between their age and their identity as a mother by incorporating commonly circulated commonplaces into their narratives. In her study of community-­based, self-­published magazines or “zines” created by

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feminists and queers of color, Licona identifies a tactic like this that she calls “reverso.” Reverso is when “the penetrative power of the gaze [is] reversed and returned on (dominant) society in complex ways that move beyond simple inversions” (“(B)orderlands’ Rhetorics” 119). In other words, reversing the gaze from on the bodies and experiences of teen mothers as the “problem” to the commonplace statements that construct young mothers as the “problem” does not just make teen moms “good” or society “bad.” Coming from the perspectives of women who are already mothering teens (or older women reflecting on their teenage years), the often-­circulated commonplaces about teenage pregnancy may also appear mean-­spirited and inaccurate, calling into question what Licona calls “authorized knowledges” (“(B)orderlands’ Rhetorics” 119). For example, Ariel Gore writes in the foreword of You Look Too Young to Be a Mom, “When my tits swelled and I started throwing up outside the soup kitchen I knew I’d be a mother, but I didn’t know about all the prefixes that would be used to describe my motherhood” (Gore xiii). Gore sets up her narrative to suggest that since she was in Europe at the time of conception, she was unaware of the negative discourses of “teenage pregnancy” (as part of the US media and political discourses about welfare reform in the nineties). It was only later, when she returned to the United States, that she heard about “the single mothers, the unwed mothers, the teen mothers, the welfare mothers—­bloodsucking leeches, all. Irresponsible. Promiscuous. Lazy. Their chaotic homes were breeding grounds for criminals and drug addicts. As one columnist put it in Newsweek, ‘Every threat to the fabric of this country—­from poverty to crime to homelessness—­is connected to out-­of-­wedlock teen pregnancy.’ Every threat to the fabric of this country? Who were these women? Did they live anywhere near us? Would they hurt my baby?” (xiv, emphasis original). Creating playful irony with a scene of an eighteen-­year-­old mother fearing for the safety of her child at the hands of single, unwed, teen mothers on welfare, Gore mocks the attribution of societal ills to women who mother. Contrasting the physical signs of her pregnancy (swollen breasts and vomiting) with her uncertainty about “pre-­fixes” attached to her motherhood, Gore questions the underlying (il)logic of public discourses about teenage pregnancy. In much the same way, Jessica Allan Lavarnway uses her story of helping to raise (and eventually adopting) her boyfriend’s child when she was seventeen to question the thinking behind assumptions that child rearing is incompatible with the teenage years. She writes about her college friends’ encouragement to leave the relationship to avoid being tied down. Lavarnway hyperbolizes the underlining logic of these well-­intentioned suggestions: “Children are anathema, and if I help raise a child who loves me and whom I love, my life is over. I’ll be condemned to a life of scrubbing carpets and cashiering at super-­markets” (Lavarnway 266–­267; see also Lanni 122). As a (seemingly) middle-­class student in college, Lavarnway uses her experience as

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a teenage mother to question the commonplace cause/effect reasoning underlying the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy—­that is, that young mothers are destined to be poor. While Gore, Lavarnway, and other writers convey their astonishment at statements about teenage motherhood by repeating those statements in hyperbolized or ironic ways, other authors situate the commonplaces of teenage pregnancy as the central conflict of the narrative. Communication scholar Robert Rowland writes, in “The Narrative Perspective,” that an effective rhetorical narrative must construct a plot structure that “keep[s] the attention of the audience and reinforce[s] the theme or message in the story” (135). Since the theme or message of teen mother counter-­narratives is often that teen pregnancy discourses are inaccurate, offensive, and discriminatory toward women, it is a critical rhetorical move to incorporate these discourses as the antagonizing force in the plot. Readers are at once shown the negative effects of such discourse and encouraged to sympathize with the main characters who must overcome the material effects of these statements in order to have a happy ending. For example, in “When I Was Garbage,” Crews uses a flashback to the moment she discovered she was pregnant as an opportunity to explicitly reflect on what she thought it would mean to be “a pregnant teenage girl”: “I remembered facts I had learned about teenage pregnancy as a freshman in ‘sex-­ education.’ Teenage mothers are a burden to society. Their children inevitably become crack-­addicted gang members. Teen mothers never successfully complete high school, let alone attend college. There weren’t just statistics, I was led to believe, but invariable truths. I had become garbage” (32). The story line Crews learned in her sex education class functions as an obstacle in her narrative that “led her to believe” she could not, in good conscience, keep the baby and still finish school and pursue other life ambitions (37). Her stated recognition that she is “garbage” is strategically positioned after her summary of the stereotypical teen mom story line. The placement of the metaphor suggests that her feelings of unworthiness stem from the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy. This meta-­narrative moment conveys the rhetorical purpose of the story—­to counter this kind of discourse. After a series of conflicts the narrative ends with Crews’s strong statement: “Contrary to what fear-­based sex education classes, lovely couples and wonderful counselors had led me to believe in the past . . . I am not garbage . . . I am an excellent mother” (37). Crews rewrites the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy that would suggest that a teenage mother’s life obstacles include her child, her education, her financial circumstances, and her male partner by suggesting, instead, that a teenage mother’s major life obstacles are the narratives and characters who accept dominant perspectives on teenage pregnancy and who get in the way of her life decisions.11

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Bad Characters Circulating Bad Rhetoric Related to the authors’ efforts to render uncommon the commonplaces of the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy is the strategy of characterizing the people who (re)produce pathologizing statements about teenage mothers. Many narratives highlight the terrible, antagonizing characters people become when they participate in the dominant constructions of teenage pregnancy. In “Storytelling for Oppositionists and Others: A Plea for Narrative,” Delgado suggests that counter-­narratives “can show us what we believe is ridiculous, self-­serving, or cruel” (2415). Contributors to the collections I analyzed describe interactions with people who talk disparagingly about young mothers and the writers characterize such people as mean or, at least, narrow-­minded. Often this is done by establishing sympathy with the narrator (we typically witness her struggles prior to this interaction) and then capturing a scene between the mother and an insensitive, flat character. For example, adoptive mother Lavarnway reconstructs the day she and her husband terminated her daughter’s biological mother’s rights in order to take on full guardianship of the child: “The judge sighed as he signed the papers authorizing Alicia to be returned to our full legal and physical custody, explaining, ‘This is what happens when children bear children.’ If the guy had glanced at birth dates, he’d have realized that the child who bore a child was more than a year older than the ‘child’ who was now being given full parental rights” (267). Lavarnway shows how a judge in a court setting—­a setting that readers may associate with tropes like “blind justice”—­uses commonplace logic to justify his decision to grant custody to Lavarnway (who is, ironically, a teenager). Throughout her story, Lavarnway consistently conveys her astonishment that no one acknowledges the work that she and her boyfriend turned husband do to raise their child because of the assumptions about teenage parents. As another example, Katherine Robins reflects on memories of giving birth to her child while her nurse tells her, “Of course it hurts! Maybe you should have thought of that before you went out and got yourself pregnant—­this is what you get for having babies when you’re still one yourself ” (192). And Crews shares her history teacher’s reaction to her pregnancy: “You know what this means, don’t you? Not that you would have had much of a chance to begin with, but now you are just finished. I still expect you to show up every day, but I don’t know what good it will do you. Girls like you don’t graduate anyway” (Crews qtd. in Davis 117). Just as the reiteration of teenage pregnancy commonplaces in these writers’ narratives makes such statements seem callous, these scenes characterize people who speak such statements as antagonists (e.g., teachers who do not believe in the abilities of their students, nurses who do not soothe and assist women laboring to give birth to a child, and judges whose courtroom rulings are guided by prejudice).

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As another example, Crews illustrates in “When I Was Garbage” that each time she tells people that she is pregnant, their responses and assumptions work as obstacles to her own decision about her pregnancy. For example, her boyfriend and three friends “assumed I would abort” (32). Later, after her mother takes her for a sonogram, she writes that “it was assumed my son would be given up for adoption” (33). Her mother tells the couple who expresses interest in adopting Crews’s baby, “We can call your lawyer and work out the rest of the details this week,” and her boyfriend whispers, “I guess we made our decision” (34). And, finally, when she begins meeting with the couple who plans to adopt her child, “‘Our Baby’ became his name” (34). Crews’s narrative shows that a consequence of the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy is that adults and peers pressure teens with “assumptions” that they should fix their mistake (see also Landrum 64). By structuring the sequence of plot events by the “assumptions” of others (assumptions that—­except for the initial one about abortion—­become the actual events of her experience), Crews makes the implied argument that the real struggle of motherhood, for teens, is figuring out how to speak back to authorities and others’ assumptions in order to make life decisions. Indeed, the climactic turning point of many counter-­ narratives is when the main character finally resists an authoritative/abusive figure or commonplace belief that is holding her back. As the previous examples begin to illustrate, counter-­narratives centering on the experience of teenage pregnancy have the potential to illustrate the fallibility of experts or to “create spaces where expert and authorized knowledges can be critically examined” (Licona “(B)orderlands’ Rhetorics” 119). By including seemingly educated authority figures as the characters who constrain young mothers’ experiences (making them feel uncomfortable in school or pressured to make certain choices), counter-­narrative authors subtly disarticulate the expert from the god’s-eye view on the world. Characterizing the expert as an antagonist is a way to situate often unquestioned experts as people with the potential to silence, oppress, or misunderstand individuals based on cultural prejudices. This is extremely important considering that many experts (anthropologists, psychologists, public health specialists, sociologists, politicians, educators, etc.) publish interpretations of what it means for a young woman to become pregnant before the age of twenty. In her narrative featured on Girl-­Mom, Nina Packebush explains that for her son’s fifteenth birthday she plans on giving him his life story including memories of the trials and tribulations she went through as an eighteen-­year-­old mother. She explains, “I will write about how they assigned me a social worker that tried to talk me into giving him up for adoption. I will write about how they would talk to his grandma and my aunt instead of to me.” Packebush’s experience with young motherhood is narrated as a series of confrontations with “them”—­professionals such as

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doctors and social workers who question her credibility as a mother. Blurring these people together as an ominous and recurring “they” helps to disassociate such individuals from the credentials and educational processes that render them figures of authority and depict such figures as people who complicated Packebush’s ability to raise her son. This is not to say that counter-­narratives cast all credentialed experts as antagonists. Although I identify this as a potentially effective move to make considering that teenage pregnancy rhetoric(s) are often constructed and circulated by those with “expert” status, some young mothers’ counter-­narratives explicitly mention teachers and midwives along with strippers, neighbors, peers, other teenage/single mothers, and family members who offer them critical guidance and support. As I have argued elsewhere, counter-­narratives that call out the commonplace assumption that those who occupy the social and institutional location of expert are always right may help to shift the terms and values of readers’ worldviews. The most admirable characters in many of these counter-­narratives are those who offer advice and support based on shared lived experience and a commitment to social justice for marginalized women (Vinson 100).

Characterizing “the Statistic” as the Antagonist In addition to positioning commonplaces and experts as antagonizing forces, “the statistic” is a recurring obstacle in young mothers’ counter-­narratives. This narrative tactic calls into question the authoritative force of statistics in US discourses. For example, consider this list of statistic-­based statements from the Why It Matters report commissioned by the National Campaign to Prevent Teen and Unplanned Pregnancy: • 38% of teen girls who have a child before age 18 get a high school diploma by age 22. • 30% of teen girls who have dropped out of high school cite pregnancy or parenthood as a reason. • 67% of teen mothers who moved out of their own families’ household live below the poverty level. • 63% of teen mothers receive some type of public benefits within the first year after their children were born. • Less than one quarter of teen mothers received any child support payments. • Children born to mothers younger than 18 years old score significantly worse on measures of school readiness including math and reading tests. (Ng and Kaye)

The urgency of the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy stems from aggregates that construct young mothers as a category of people who fail to meet

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the mark of education or income or who harm others by raising future teen mothers or sons who are likely to end up in prison (see National Campaign “Making the Case” and National Campaign “Teen Pregnancy”). By centering demographic questions on the “teen mother” (her likelihood of education, her family’s income, her use of public assistance, her sons and her daughters), this well-­circulated body of research erases the diversity of people who bear children as well as the structures and material conditions women have to navigate prior to and during pregnancy. Monica J. Casper and Lisa Jean Moore argue that “demography, epidemiology, and economics often lack critical grounding and instead reduce the understanding of human bodies and experiences to auditing operations. Establishing the rates, odds, ratios, and cost/benefit breakdown of bodies erases personhood and subjectivity in the name of the aggregate” (9). In the case of rhetorics of teenage pregnancy, statistics often construct “teenage motherhood” through costs to the nation and rates of failure. This dehumanizes young mothers and encourages people to perceive pregnant and mothering women as evidence of larger national problems. In chapter 1, I reviewed scholarship that critiques such statistics about teenage pregnancy because the researchers who produce the statistics often fail to control for important variables such as young mothers’ prior economic status and the health patterns in the communities where they live. However, it is clear from the counter-­narratives I analyzed that pregnant and mothering teens also scrutinize statistics. Some counter-­narrative authors bring attention to the ways in which “the statistic” becomes interchangeable with who they are. For example, Rebecca Angel writes that once she shares the news of her pregnancy, “A ‘friend’ tells me now I’m just a statistic” (47). And Gore realizes, “Now here I was on the nightly news! A political issue. A statistic maybe, but a critical statistic” (Gore xiv, emphasis original). These examples illustrate that teen mothers must reckon with the “statistics” that encourage others to dismiss them as failures. Furthermore, writers’ references to the fact that they are a “statistic” in their personal narratives counter the erasure of personhood that Casper and Moore identify as an outcome of such research; these writers construct themselves as people pissed off at being quantified. By writing about their life experiences in conversation with “the statistics” that stigmatize them, these young mothers complicate discourses that construct them as a financial burden or social problem. It is interesting to note that the writers do not necessarily reference specific statistics, but instead refer to the statistic, in general, as a negative identity marker. To be a statistic, it seems, is to be a problem. In Rebecca Trotzky-­Sirr’s narrative about her experiences as a teenage mother at Stanford, “Scaling the Ivory Tower with a Baby on My Back,” she writes of the irony of taking “notes from a Nobel Prize–­winning neoclassical economics professor about how welfare distorted the economy” when “right after, I would meet with my welfare

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caseworker” (273). Reflecting on her college experience, she writes, “Every professor whom I met with my boy in tow now realizes that young mothers aren’t statistics, that we can be honor roll students” (276). Trotzky-­Sirr’s narrative emphasizes that people (specifically mothers) are not the statistics that are associated with them—­using her experiential knowledge to claim a flaw in the numbers. Certainly “honor roll students” could be represented in aggregate form; as young mother Rebecca Angel writes, “We’re all statistics, somehow, someway” (47). Yet Trotzky-­Sirr seems to be drawing attention to the fact that “statistics” about teen mothers are typically depressing, blaming them for societal ills and branding them as different from other students, mothers, and citizens. Beyond highlighting the stigmatizing function of “the statistic,” many young mothers’ counter-­narratives illustrate that the broad circulation of such numbers makes teenage pregnancy a doomsday premonition for young women: “these weren’t just statistics . . . but invariable truths” (Crews “When I Was Garbage” 32). Many young mothers describe in detail the anxiety they felt in response to rhetoric that generalizes or quantifies outcomes of teenage motherhood. Rosie Allain writes, “I had heard from various people that pregnancy, childbirth, and breastfeeding were especially hard for teenagers, and this made me further doubt myself ” (77). Through these scenes of self-­doubt, the writers suggest that the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy persuades young women who become pregnant that they are no longer able to (or no longer entitled to) graduate from high school, attend college, and/or ask for family or government assistance without shame. In Clea Roddick’s reflection on her experiences with unplanned pregnancy, she writes, “The sharp jabs of others’ unspoken expectations and unconscious stereotypes pierce into my brain and heart until we do it to ourselves. I do it. I doubt myself ” (145). These narratives illustrate that the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy makes many young mothers feel bad about themselves and causes them to think that they cannot “succeed” (whatever success means to them in that moment). Readers who may otherwise readily accept statistics as neutral descriptions of real-­life outcomes are encouraged to see statistics as capable of producing or at least influencing life outcomes. The counter-­narrative descriptions call into question the ethics of the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy—­which is often justified as a parable that will increase positive outcomes for young people—­by showing how this narrative discourages young pregnant and mothering women. Many counter-­narratives testify to the physical strain and self-­blame produced by dominant discourse. In You Look Too Young to Be a Mom, one young mother writes that the most difficult challenge for teenage parents is “exhaustion. We’re fighting so hard not to be seen as failures that we can barely let go, even for a moment” (207). Lydia Prentiss adds, “I always felt I had to make it

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look easy, to prove to the world that the assumptions about me were wrong. When I got older and my friends started having children, it was strange to hear thirty-­year-­old moms with houses and husbands and cars complaining about how hard it can be to raise a child” (qtd. in Davis 177). Prentiss implies that young mothers cannot complain about their circumstances; young mothers may feel the obligation to grin and bear it in order to avoid comments such as “Well, what did you expect?” or “Welcome to reality.” Considering the ways in which young mothers’ stories are currently circulated in mainstream media—­as dramatic tales that punctuate teenage pregnancy prevention efforts—­Prentiss’s feelings are understandable. A young mother’s struggles with finances, school, family, and fathers are not often taken up as evidence of a problem with the economy, education, family structures, gender relations, or fatherhood that we should try to change. Instead, such struggles are often packaged as the expected outcome of making the mistake of becoming pregnant as a teen. In fact, fixing these social structures to better the lives of mothering women (say, by offering childcare on a high school campus) can be dismissed as encouraging bad behavior (see Mellon; Associated Press; Pillow 164–­166). Thus, complaints about the undue burdens of pregnancy and child rearing become the privileged discourse of women who adhere to middle-­class reproductive norms. The counter-narrative writers’ descriptions of pressures to perform and moments of self-­doubt are a potentially savvy way of talking back to the effects of teenage pregnancy rhetoric(s), if readers are encouraged to see that dominant discourses unfairly position women’s life outcomes on their individual behaviors and decisions—­leaving out the constraints and contexts in which they live. Building from this stated burden of proving the “statistics” wrong are young mothers’ tales of doing just that. Some young mothers explicitly reflect on how statistics, antagonists, and teen mom stereotypes motivate them to work harder to achieve traditional markers of cultural success. For example, Allain writes that she “heard that the number of teenage moms who nurse is very low, and I was afraid I would join those statistics, proving how inadequate teenage mothers are” (77). Transitioning from this moment of fear, Allain describes her efforts to educate herself, her reluctant boyfriend, and other young mothers about the benefits of breastfeeding, detailing her strategies to counteract popular misconceptions and the nurses who discouraged mothers not to breastfeed, and reflecting on the trials and triumphs of breastfeeding her child for two and a half years. Publishing her narrative is a way to extend Allain’s efforts to educate the public (young mothers and non-­parenting people alike) about the benefits of breastfeeding. Readers may admire her advocacy efforts and the fact that a high school student spoke back to seemingly ignorant nurses, doctors, and friends to assert her right to breastfeed her child. Many

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of the narratives in Breeder, You Look Too Young to Be a Mom, and Girl-­Mom startle audiences’ assumptions that young mothers cannot be well-­rounded individuals who balance school, work, family, and children. However, Allain’s narrative also highlights another pattern across some young mothers’ personal narratives—­the subtle (or not so subtle) hint of danger of becoming what the statistic associates with young motherhood. Allain’s narrative suggests that she corrects negative stereotypes about young mothers who do not breastfeed by actively breastfeeding while encouraging other mothers to do the same. The unstated challenge seems to be: if young mothers can illustrate that they do not experience the outcomes described by published research on teenage pregnancy, they can counter the stigma and encourage a more positive outlook on teenage motherhood. For instance, Jackie Lanni writes that upon learning of her pregnancy, “I know right away I must graduate high school to avoid becoming negative stereotype” (122). And Katie Huber passionately asserts that her abusive father and other naysayers, “were wrong. I could do it. I was strong. So I did it. Even though people expected me to drop out. Even though, as soon as I had a tiny little baby belly, strangers were asking me if I was still in school. It pissed me off ! These people assumed that, because I was pregnant, my brain had suddenly disappeared” (142). A persuasive counter-­argument to a claim like “young mothers drop out of school” is to show that young mothers do not drop out of school. Furthermore, considering that these narratives are published in collections for mothers (e.g., You Look Too Young is categorized as “parenting/teen” and Girl-­Mom has the stated purpose of helping other young mothers), telling stories of young mothers defying the odds and achieving (or demanding) what they want or need can inspire other young mothers to do the same. Single mother activist Katherine Arnoldi illustrates the importance of role models when she describes how young mothers responded when she shared information about applying to college. She writes, “I shockingly realized that these single moms felt that they, too, had made their bed and had to lie in it, that they had made a ‘mistake’ that in turn made them ineligible to participate in the world. . . . I could discern on their faces the same feeling that I had as a teen mom, the feeling that I had ruined my life” (“How I Became”). Stories that show that young motherhood is not the end of your life and that you have the right to demand help and resources can be transformational.

Troubling Success Stories Seemingly hoping to inspire other members of the Girl-­Mom online community, Yvonne Fide writes, “I know we (teenage mothers) can beat the statistics.” Yet, surely, not every young mother can avoid what the statistics prescribe because these numbers actually reflect larger socioeconomic inequalities (see chapter 1). For Sarah Tavis, the moment she realized she was pregnant, “All

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of the crap I’d been fed about teen moms reverberated in my panic-­ridden head: welfare, food stamps, shame. Forget about school, girl. Might as well get a job at the nearest fast-­food joint, frying various animal parts for minimum wage” (227, emphasis original). Tavis’s stated fear of ending up on welfare and working for minimum wage suggests that she did not experience such things before her pregnancy. Sustaining the fear that welfare or a minimum-­wage job would mean the end of a happy and productive life may work against efforts to remove the stigma from young motherhood because many mothers—­young and old—­struggle with conditions of poverty and must navigate welfare programs.12 Most teenagers who become mothers are living in poverty before they become pregnant (Luker 39; Males 21). Their mothers, fathers, sisters, and brothers may already be “frying various animal parts” in a community where a lack of job opportunities, and/or a love of cooking, makes such positions valuable. The US Census Bureau reports that in 2015, 43.1 million US citizens lived in poverty (Proctor et al. 12). Drawing on this data source, the National Women’s Law Center (NWLC) brings attention to the intersections of poverty, gender, race, class, and ability. NWLC points out that women are more likely to be in poverty than men, women of color are more likely to be in poverty than white women, and people with disabilities are more likely to be in poverty than the able bodied (Tucker and Lowell 1). Data such as these suggest that there is much more to economic inequality than women’s timing of their children or individual will to “beat those statistics.” At academic conferences, I have been asked if young mothers’ personal stories risk propagating a “supermom” vision—­one that suggests young mothers deserve respect because they can do it all. Such stories could pressure other young pregnant and mothering women with a high, perhaps even impossible, standard for success. This is an understandable concern and could be a way that young mothers and other readers interpret such personal stories. Young mothers’ achievements and happy endings become (along with the statistics and stereotypes that tell them they can’t) more pressure to try to do it all. For women from low-­income communities with inequitable access to quality education, career opportunities, childcare, and health resources, narratives that claim the statistics are wrong might encourage self-­blame for conditions beyond their control. For instance, Jackie Lanni writes, “If I wanted to, I could receive welfare benefits and food stamps and drop one of those part-­time jobs, but if I do I will be a teenage welfare mother. I feel obligated to do it the hard way, so no one can point a finger at me” (124). Lanni situates welfare as a choice (the implied easy way) she could make, instead of a resource she would need to invest considerable time, paperwork, and indignities to get in order to partially support herself, her mothering work, and schooling. On the one hand, Lanni’s description of her choice illustrates the profound pressure young mothers feel to raise children without assistance—­in order to prove judgmental people

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wrong. On the other hand, Lanni’s statement brings to light the impact of ideological constructions of public assistance as a “hand-­out” for people who fail to achieve.13 Some young mothers use the fact that they finished school or raised their children without public assistance as a premise in their argument for respect. In “Navy Mama,” Shannon Minydzak demands respect based on normative roles that defy stereotypes of teenage motherhood: “I pay taxes, I support my son and myself, and I defend your right to free speech and freedom. I am a productive member of society. I am not the exception, either” (190). These examples illustrate that while trying to counter the presumption that all young mothers are the same and/or that women who bear children early are inevitably a tax burden, young mothers’ stories of success may (re)produce ideologies that establish binaries between good and bad citizens. A valuable citizen, by these standards, is one who is able to financially support themselves and their children without publicly funded assistance. Such narrative appeals to end stigmatization of teenage motherhood may unintentionally contribute to the stigmatization of the poor and/or (re)produce limiting idealizations of “good” mothers. However, some young mothers creatively draw attention to the impossibility of countering dominant discourses by reflecting on their anxieties about sharing personal success stories. For example, in her short story “Revelation,” Pat Beresford explains why she often chooses not to tell others about her experiences with young motherhood. Beresford, a former young mother and executive director of programs at New York City’s Inwood House for pregnant young women in foster care, highlights how such tales of young mothers defying the odds and achieving cultural markers of success may actually serve to sustain negative outlooks on teenage motherhood. Beresford explains that when she shares her own story of terrible struggle, shame, and eventual success, people often hear it as “a simple morality tale” that demonstrates the importance of shaming young women: “to them the shame I’d felt had served as moral fiber to help me overcome my obstacles of ten years of night school, eventual single parenting of two girls, and owning and keeping my own home” (31). In fact, audiences who hear Beresford’s story comment that nowadays (as opposed to when Beresford had her first child in 1962) young women lack a sense of “remorse” (31). This example suggests that perhaps some see the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy as beneficial in pressuring young women who make the “mistake” to work extra hard to correct it. In this way, stories of teen mothers “beating the statistics” or doing it all serve only to support this line of reasoning. In order to trouble this logic, some young mothers write stories about the ways in which teenage mothers’ narratives are taken up to reassert the status quo. Gore writes that people often dismiss her experiences as a young mother: “I was an exception, they told me . . . [my mothering friends and I] were going

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back to school. We were good mothers. We were ‘pulling us up by our bootstraps.’ Unlike . . . those others” (xv, emphasis original). Gore points out that the teen-­mother-­as-­successful-­student-­citizen-­or-­mother story can be dismissed as “exceptional” and actually sustain negative outlooks on the assumed “most” who do not deserve respect. As another example, Crews published “I Was a Teen Mom Success Story” in You Look Too Young to Be a Mom a few years after her story “When I Was Garbage” was published in Breeder. Through her more recent narrative, Crews illustrates the pressure teen mothers feel to publicly perform “success” in order to prove that teen mothers deserve respect and support. She shares how every visible “success” of her son (such as his ability to articulate his thoughts at a young age) that was recognized by someone allowed her to comment about the positive things she does as a mother: “I could smile, demurely smug. ‘Well, we read a lot. . . . And, he is breastfeeding still, of course’” and she would think “One point: teen moms!” (103). She uses the narrative to explore the problem of wanting to prove common assumptions about teenage mothers wrong and the implausibility of that task: “My son and I could exist forever, I thought, as walking contradictions to the stereotypes used to define us” (103). Yet, she stresses, “But sometimes I know that I am failing,” especially when her four-­year-­old throws angry fits that put her at her wit’s end (104). Crews composed “I Was a Teen Mom Success Story” to explicitly confront the pressures women feel to perform “good mother,” leading herself (and hopefully her audience) to conclude, at the turning point in her plotline, “Maybe in my attempts to buck the societal scripts for teen mothers, I let those same scripts define my happiness” (107). By reflecting on the effects of the normative gaze on her experiences as a mother, Crews encourages readers to critique the ways in which dominant society encourages mothers (young and old) to be consistently aware of their every behavior in terms of raising their children. As another example of challenging the imperative to be “successful,” J. Anderson Coats, a professional writer and teen mother, uses her narrative “The Story Behind the Story” to reflect on what a teen mother counter-­narrative would do in a popular publication as opposed to a an oppositional framework like Girl-­Mom. Coats shares how flattered she was that “an editor at a well-­known magazine,” which she calls RPM, solicited her to write “a feature article about being a successful teen mom.” At first Coats is eager to share the struggles of her experience and easily writes a first draft about graduating from an Ivy League college, raising a happy child, and altogether proving her parents wrong. But then Coats wonders what her success story would do in a publication designed for middle-­to upper-­class women who have the time, leisure, and money for reading magazines about mothering. She imagines an audience of “SUV-­driving suburban moms with fifty dollar manicures” responding to her story: “Oh yes, she’s successful, went to a top-­drawer school, has a master’s degree, happily married, has a well-­adjusted kid. She’s not like those other teen

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moms.” Coats recognizes that, outside of the framework of Girl-­Mom, her narrative would work only to maintain binaries between successful women (those able to achieve middle-­class cultural capital) and teen mothers. Furthermore, Coats wonders, “But what the hell right do I have to tell a fifteen-­year-­old girl who’s been raped by her brother’s friend and whose parents have put her on the street when she is seven months pregnant, that everything will be okay if she just studies hard? That she won’t be successful unless she is just like me? What the hell right did I have to hold myself up as ‘successful’ merely because I’ve manage [sic] to gain the socially accepted trappings of success?” Considering Kelly’s study of media representations of teen motherhood, Coats’s decision to publish her story in a different framework was a smart move. Kelly finds that “both Jet and People magazines . . . have carried stories about teen mothers who get straight As and become valedictorians” (Pregnant 85). Kelly argues that “such Supermom storytelling, while compelling and even destigmatizing, plays down structural constraints and the benefits of institutional supports like day care and school services, sending instead a signal that young women, given enough individual mettle can do it all” (Kelly Pregnant 86). In other words, the success story does not encourage power structures and hegemonic systems to shift and may even further stigmatize young mothers who are not capable of negotiating the many obstacles society sets up for mothers. The story about the disciplining function of the “success story,” however, is a practice of reverso that creates a space beyond the duality of successes/failures of motherhood (Licona “(B)orderlands’ Rhetorics” 118).

Success, but Not by Your Standards So, in answer to the concerns I have heard about the move some counter-­ narrative writers use to challenge stereotypes and statistics about teenage mothers, I want to emphasize that, first of all, such a concern may be a result of the limits of my methodology. Singling out rhetorical strategies across narratives may actually lead to generalizations about “teen mothers’ narratives”—­as if there is a coherent category of women who write in the same way about their experiences. As I hope I show, there are a lot of other moves going on. Second, not all young mothers’ narratives make the implicit argument that traditional notions of “success” make them good moms. Not only do some young mothers explicitly call out how young mothers’ stories are made to function in the status quo (e.g., Beresford; Gore “Foreword”; Crews “I Was a Teen Mom Success Story”; Coats), but other writers compose narratives that challenge what counts as success. For example, in Lisa’s Girl-­Mom feature article, “Resistance Is Not Futile,” she declares that she is a college dropout and single mother on welfare who is fully aware that she is considered a “statistic” and finds empowerment in her position as such. She explains her decisions to remain “dependent” via a critique of welfare reforms. In much the same way,

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Judy Moses acknowledges the aspects of her experience that confirm dominant discourses of teenage pregnancy: “It’s true I am not in school and that I don’t have as much money or get as much sleep as I might were I childless” (134). But Moses contests the idea that authorized forms of higher education and money are indicators of success or happiness. She writes, “Being a mama has been fiercely empowering” (135) and “If this is the ruined life of a college dropout, so be it” (136). Furthermore, some narratives in Breeder and on Girl-­ Mom also describe complicated and confident experiences with miscarriages and abortions, challenging notions that a woman (young or old) must bear a child to have a happy life or to enter into critical discussions about pregnancy or motherhood (Pruden; Lee). The point, for me, is that these collections feature counter-­narratives that humanize women who may otherwise be seen as flat statistical representations of a “problem” with dynamic first-­person narrators who struggle to achieve, fail to achieve, and explicitly question what counts as “good” or “successful” motherhood.

Speaking to Structures: Taking the Personal Narrative beyond the Individual Some individual teenage mother “success stories” may risk obscuring structural constraints because they illustrate that mothers with merit can pull themselves up by their bootstraps and navigate secondary and higher education, careers, and care work. Therefore, personal narratives that explicitly illustrate problems with social structures are crucial to intervening in dominant discourses that obscure the material conditions and social relations that shape young women’s experiences of pregnancy and motherhood. The final recurring narrative strategy I identify is a rhetorical move in some young mothers’ counter-­ stories that I call speaking to structures. Some authors use settings and character dialogue to illustrate how negative outcomes of “teenage motherhood” are produced by specific systems of power. I draw attention to this strategy to begin a conversation about how young mothers’ narratives may begin to not only intervene in the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy but also challenge limiting social structures. Feminist theorists of “the personal” draw attention to the challenges of using stories as acts of resistance; it is a struggle to illustrate—­through one’s first-­person narrative—­the ways in which this individual experience is implicated in broader power relations and social structures that need to be changed to improve life experiences for diversely marginalized subjects. Reflecting on the second-­wave feminist focus on “the personal as political,” bell hooks argues that not enough attention has been paid to how the personal becomes politicized: “Politicization necessarily combines this process (the naming of one’s experience) with critical understanding of the concrete material reality that lays the groundwork for that personal experience” (Talking Back 108). I draw attention to young mothers’ efforts to talk back to “the concrete material

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reality” or structures that “lay the groundwork” for their experiences with struggle and oppression. I have already illustrated how young mothers reflect on specific issues structuring their experiences, including authorized experts who offend or belittle young women as well as statistics and commonplaces that continually construct young women as “the problem.” But some counter-­ narratives also call out specific structures such as adoption agencies, mandated counseling (Crews “When I Was Garbage”; Landrum), and schools. For the purposes of this chapter, and because it was a structure many of the narratives addressed, I only analyze the ways in which some young mothers draw attention to schools as material groundwork for their negative experiences. In Karen Landrum’s “A Leap of Faith,” she describes her decision to leave school just months before she would have graduated in 1981. Landrum describes the “choices” the principal offered her when he discovered she was pregnant. “In order to finish high school, he informed me, I needed to withdraw from my regular classes, come to school through the back doors after school hours, and complete the year by correspondence course. He strictly forbade me to communicate with other classmates; talking to them would be cause to terminate the course and I would not get my diploma” (63). While describing the scene, Landrum continually emphasizes the injustice of these comments, putting her “choices” in quotation marks and drawing attention to the fact that her boyfriend, also a student at the school and the father of her child, did not receive any ultimatum from the principal and graduated as a normal student (64). Landrum writes, “I hated [the principal]—­his authoritarianism—­as well as the rigid school structure” (64). So she decides to leave school, ultimately completing her high school degree at a local maternity home. Landrum’s story moves on to describe her struggle to decide whether to keep her child, amid a community of people telling her she should place the baby for adoption. While Landrum’s story briefly critiques the “rigid school structure” that encourages her to leave prior to graduation, other writers spend more time illustrating the implications of educational contexts for young mothers. For instance, Katherine Arnoldi, author of the award-­winning graphic novel The Amazing “True” Story of a Teenage Single Mom, writes about her battle against oppressive and uninviting educational structures in “Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Education.” Arnoldi emphasizes, “If a teen mom drops out of high school or is coerced to leave, she misses out on guidance counseling, which would inform her about financial aid and the process of applying to college. Even if she overcomes the isolation and discovers the way to a GED program, usually no one there tells her about the process of applying to college” (260). Arnoldi argues that teen mothers’ chances for “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness” are based on making pathways to education more accessible (259). Arnoldi illustrates this problem with her own experiences as

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a young mother in a small factory town. She did not know how to find, apply to, or get funding for college. Arnoldi writes, “No one I asked told me I’d ever be able to get there. Instead they told me I had ‘ruined my life’” (258–­259).14 Arnoldi highlights the implications of statistics, commonplaces, and antagonistic people who construct young mothers as “failures”—­these rhetorics serve a reciprocal relationship with educational structures that are not accessible for young mothers. Thankfully, Arnoldi explains, she met a single mother who explained how to get financial aid and apply for college. In a paragraph with a series of sentences began by “suddenly,” Arnoldi emphasizes how much her life changed once she started attending college. She went from grappling for guidance in a life of struggle to critically thinking about gendered power relations in the context of college. Arnoldi explains that she now dedicates herself to emulating the single mother who mentored her. She describes her work with “the New York Civil Liberties Union in a class action lawsuit against the New York City Board of Education for coercing teen moms to leave high schools” (261). She writes that she is now working on a book about the inaccessibility of college campuses for young mothers (261). In much the same way, Trotzky-­Sirr explains her work to address the inaccessibility of the college structure as a student at Stanford. By narrating her experiences there, she highlights why higher education is such an unfathomable achievement for low-­income, mothering women. She cites lack of support for the “Little Things, like finding a way to get to the library to cram” and the “Big Things, like finding quality and affordable child care while living in Silicon Valley” or balancing jobs and school (271). After the birth of her son, Trotzky-­Sirr sought out other single mothers at Stanford and initiated change in Stanford’s financial aid packages to make the school a bit more manageable for single, undergraduate parents (276). Trotzky-­Sirr, like Arnoldi, now dedicates time to mentoring high school student mothers in how to apply for financial aid and college. By emphasizing a specific structural issue and describing efforts to make higher education more accessible for single, low-­income mothers, Arnoldi and Trotzky-­ Sirr potentially persuade readers to join such efforts. Furthermore, such stories intervene in constructions of teenage mothers as “dropouts” by showing how schools pressure young mothers to leave and fail to support their efforts to attend college. Perhaps future counter-­narrative collections could be structured around a specific structure—­such as a school—­in order to initiate a specific policy or legal change at that school. While many counter-­narrative authors highlight that they “come full circle” by offering the kind of support that they felt they lacked as young women and mothers (e.g., Katherine Robbins became a midwife after having such a horrible birthing experience with a judgmental nurse who did not attend to her needs during labor), a collection of

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counter-­narratives focused on a similar structure could encourage others to contribute to making more supportive environments.

Conclusion The dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy encourages many to see pregnancy as the climactic moment of downfall in a young woman’s life. Commonplaces about teenage pregnancy, including the statistics that render it an urgent social issue, invite people to see young mothers as embodied exigencies—­problems to address or prevent—­not people who deserve respect and rights. In Talking Back, hooks writes of a need for marginalized people to reclaim and recover themselves by contesting, with authority, the structures and ways of speaking which objectify them. Drawing on poststructuralist theory of language and subjectivity, I have shown that some young mothers use their subject position as “teenage mothers” to craft and publish new stories, assertively reauthoring their lives to counter popular ways of thinking about teenage pregnancy and motherhood. By providing analysis of young women’s first-­person narratives about pregnancy and motherhood, I provide a new way of thinking about statements from young mothers—­as statements constructed for a rhetorical purpose. Focusing on edited collections and a website that resist the imperative to sensationalize young mothers’ stories to prevent future teen pregnancies, I examined how young mothers tell counter-­stories in order to intervene in popular constructions of who they are as women, students, and mothers. Describing specific strategies employed in counter-­stories helps to identify the narrative elements and discursive tactics available to those who want to resist dominant discourses. In order to contest the commonplaces of teenage pregnancy discourses, many young mothers render uncommon the commonplace by re-­iterating well-­known statements about teenage pregnancy in ironic or satiric ways, questioning the fact that their motherhood is somehow “teenaged” or that their pregnancies determine their economic or educational success. Using narrative characterization, many young mothers also situate people who would construct or repeat such commonplaces as shortsighted or mean. These scenes invite readers to see those statements as barbaric and, as some mothers illustrate, as potentially pressuring teens to make choices they would not otherwise make (such as placing their child for adoption or not applying for college). Considering the current cultural context in which authorized experts—­such as scholars, politicians, and medical officials—­actively construct teenage pregnancy as a social problem, I highlight that many of these antagonizing characters in young mothers’ narratives are “experts.” This tactic may persuade readers to see the expert as fallible. Along with the expert production of “teenage motherhood” are the statistics that collectively brand

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young mothers as a problem. Many young mother counter-­narratives reference “the statistic” as a source of conflict in their life experiences. “The statistic” typically demeans women, causes people to react to young mothers as numerical problems, and incites young women’s fear and feelings of pressure to avoid what the statistic prescribes. Some young mothers reconstruct the statistic as a source of inspiration and use their achievements as premises for an argument to respect them as people who care for children and work hard in life. While this move certainly counters predominant erroneous assumptions that teen mothers will not achieve the same life outcomes that non-­mothering women do, it does not attack the mindset behind such demographic questions (Delgado 2413). Readers may admire the writer while still scrutinizing other women who fail to achieve those things, sustaining ideologies of individualism and meritocracy. Yet, as I have shown, each counter-­narrative collective includes stories from young mothers who question and trouble the “success story” as a form of counter-­discourse. Finally, drawing on feminist critique of the limits of personal story to politicize or confront structural issues, I identified how young mothers speak to the need to reform social structures, such as educational institutions, though other structures surfaced across narratives as well. Future counter-­narrative collections might focus more thoroughly on a specific structure that affects/ constructs young women’s life experiences: institutional racism, welfare policies, medical procedures, childcare costs, or sexism in the workplace. These counter-­stories, and the editors who publish them, position young mothers as the everyday experts on pregnancy and motherhood in their own lives. In contrast to the discursive forums that ask young mothers to “confess” their stories within the framework created by an expert (that is, an authoritative adult who will alter and explain their stories for the audience), Breeder, You Look Too Young to Be a Mom, and Girl-­Mom value the knowledge of those who have experienced the subjects they write about. Yet, as Alcoff and Gray, and Naples have shown, the role of the “expert” in mediating women’s personal testimonies is complicated and, often, determines how the testimony is heard or acted upon. I have paid attention to the role of the editor as a facilitator of the counter-­narrative, identifying two ways that the editor may help young mothers intervene in dominant constructions of teenage pregnancy and motherhood. Editors can define an oppositional framework for the counter-­narrative and discourage readers from reading these narratives as the customary cautionary tale by packaging the collection with verbal-­visual rhetoric that orients readers to the political intent of the text and by including forewords and introductions that explicitly articulate the rhetorical purpose of the collection. Furthermore, editors choose and arrange counter-­narratives in ways that create important, new connections between experiences of oppression and/or important conflicts between narratives that may rely on problematic commonplaces of

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“good” motherhood. Editors, then, may help to create a broader understanding of motherhood and the challenges mothering women face across lines of difference. In the end, how effective are these stories in challenging predominant views on teenage pregnancy and motherhood? Feminist scholar Teresa de Lauretis explains that “subjectivity is an ongoing construction” that is shaped by experience, or “one’s personal, subjective, engagement in the practices, discourses, and institutions that lend significance (value, meaning, and affect) to the events of the world” (159, emphasis added). As published stories written by and for young mothering women, these narrative interventions in the dominant discourses of teenage pregnancy are a way to encourage a change in the significance of events like pregnancy and motherhood for both the young women who experience them and, since they are published, the broader public who reads them. While my analysis of counter-­narratives makes clear that resistance is happening—­young mothers are refusing to always and only play the part of a cautionary tale for non-­pregnant or non-­parenting youth—­it is not clear whether or how these counter-­narratives are interrupting dominant assumptions and the people and organizations that propagate those assumptions. Thus, in the following chapter, I turn to a recent case study of young mothers’ resistance to teenage pregnancy prevention campaigns to explore what happens when they publicly challenge the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy.

4

Resisting Stigmatizing Pregnancy Prevention Initiatives The #NoTeenShame Campaign I am one of seven women who decided not only to own our narrative, but decided to push back against the narratives people put out about what it means to parent while also growing up. —­Consuela Greene, #NoTeenShame activist

In April 2013, the Candie’s Foundation—­a nonprofit organization, founded by the CEO of the Candie’s retail fashion brand to bring attention to the “devastating consequences of teenage pregnancy and parenthood”—­released a new public service announcement in anticipation of National Teenage Pregnancy Prevention Month.1 The 2013 campaign featured a sultry image of Canadian singer Carly Rae Jepsen alongside the statement “You’re supposed to be changing the world  .  .  . not changing diapers. Nearly 750,000 teenage girls will become pregnant this year. Change it! #NoTeenPreg.” From a feminist perspective, the ad is troubling in its disparaging portrayal of child rearing (women, throughout history, have worked to change the world while raising kids after all) and in its assertive call to control which populations get 102

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pregnant. Also disconcerting is the foundation’s use of a decontextualized and, thus, alarming number to produce anxiety about the seemingly growing number of girls becoming pregnant with no attention drawn to men’s role in impregnating women.2 Critiques aside, there was nothing particularly different about the Candie’s Foundation’s campaign strategy in 2013. The photo of Jepsen was likely used because she was the featured fashion model for Candie’s that year (the photo is a cropped shot from one of their fashion ads). In the past, young US actresses such as Lea Michele and Hilary Duff have performed dual roles as models for the retail brand—­rather ironically helping to sell Candie’s clothing to teenage girls by striking sexy poses in revealing outfits—­and spokespersons for the Candie’s Foundation. Furthermore, the foundation uses what have, since the mid-­1970s, become standard rhetorical strategies—­misleading numbers in conjunction with devastating statements about what happens to young women if they fail to prevent a pregnancy. As discussed in chapter 1, since its inception the Candie’s Foundation has actively produced and circulated the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy. Often deploying visual, narrative, and numerical representations of young mothers’ bodies and lived experiences, the dominant narrative authorizes experts to talk about young mothers in order to justify a particular action that experts portray as solving the problem of young mothers’ existence. That is, young mothers are consistently positioned as exigencies, or what rhetorician Lloyd Bitzer defines as an urgent “thing which is other than it should be” (6) that others—­credentialed experts, politicians, and nonprofit organizations—­should speak about and take action to address. The dominant narrative prompts young pregnant or mothering women to remain silent (unless they are willing to share their experience as a rhetorical appeal for other young women to prevent pregnancy), shamed, and accepting of any obstacles they face in life as the deserved outcomes of their “mistake.” However, in May 2013, seven young mothers—­Jasmin Colon, Consuela Greene, Marylouise Kuti, Gloria Malone, Christina Martinez, Lisette Orellana Engel, and Natasha Vianna—­came together via social media to collectively protest Candie’s message. Using free online platforms including Change​.org, Facebook, Twitter, and blogs, the activists deployed tactics to position themselves as experts and interrupt the Candie’s Foundation campaign. In doing so they garnered national attention, help from youth-­supporting organizations, and even a (questionable) public response from Candie’s CEO Neil Cole. In the process of reacting to the Candie’s Foundation campaign, the women solidified themselves as leaders of #NoTeenShame, a “movement illuminating the need for shame-­free LGBTQ-­inclusive comprehensive sexuality education & equitable access to resources and support for young families” (#NoTeenShame). In this chapter, I share what I learned from my individual interviews with six of the seven activists and present close analysis of the discourses exchanged between #NoTeenShame and the Candie’s Foundation from April 2013 to May

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2014 as a case study of dominant and counter-­discourses. I maintain that the #NoTeenShame movement illustrates the problems and potentials of embodying a problem. The position of embodied exigence is dehumanizing for young pregnant and mothering women who face hostility from family, peers, and authorities. Yet, at the same time, this position can be a means of securing visibility, allies, and potentially an audience for young women’s own messages if young mothering women are able to seize opportunities to interrupt the discourses that pathologize them. In her article “Interrupting Our Way to Agency: Feminist Cultural Studies and Composition,” rhetorician Nedra Reynolds theorizes that interruption, “a familiar feature of spoken conversation,” is a tactic that allows marginalized speakers or writers to enact agency, using feminists’ interruptions of the male-­dominated field of cultural studies as an example (898). She invites us to consider, “How can women and other marginalized speakers and writers interrupt the very discourses and practices that exclude or diminish them?” (907).3 I draw on Reynolds’s concept of the feminist tactic of interruption in conjunction with Carl G. Herndl and Adela C. Licona’s theory of constrained agency to explore how the #NoTeenShame activists seized an opportune moment to position themselves as experts, interrupt dominant discourses of teenage pregnancy that typically “exclude and diminish” them, and call for an end to the stigmas and shame attached to young pregnancy and parenthood. In the following pages I first unpack the relationship between visibility, vulnerability, authority, and agency through feminist scholarship on resistance. Then, using Herndl and Licona’s theory of constrained agency, I articulate a set of research questions that guide my analysis of the #NoTeenShame case study. Next, I tell the story of the #NoTeenShame campaign, looking closely at the social and subjective relationships that led to its emergence, the means of resistance deployed by the activists, and Candie’s Foundation’s ultimate response. As I analyze the particular rhetorical tactics used by the activists, I draw on feminist scholarship on anger, ethos, and social media activism.

Visibility, Resistance, and Constrained Agency Pregnancy and motherhood—­particularly from a stigmatized standpoint such as “young,” “old,” “addict,” “disabled,” or racialized Other—­renders women visible and vulnerable to public and institutional surveillance. As I discuss further in the next chapter, a woman’s rounded belly or proximity to a small child can prompt unwanted observation, touch, analysis, advice, reproach, and intervention. Yet, activist Audre Lorde reminds us that the “visibility which makes us most vulnerable is that which also is the source of our greatest strength” (42). Encouraged by Lorde’s perspective, I consider the vulnerable subject position of pregnancy and motherhood—­particularly young

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pregnancy or motherhood—­as a potentially kairotic, or timely, means of rhetorical strength. Many poststructuralist theorists agree that because dominant discourses make visible abject subjects, like “teenage mothers,” in order to maintain social norms and produce self-­disciplining subjects, there is also the possibility that young pregnant and mothering women use that visible subject position as a means of resistance. Cultural studies scholar Chela Sandoval explains that subject positions, “once self-­consciously recognized by their inhabitants, can become transfigured into effective sites of resistance to an oppressive ordering of power relations” (55). Drawing from Sandoval’s theory of power and resistance, we could theorize that young pregnant or mothering women can use their subject position as a means of visibility from which to speak, write, or otherwise perform as rhetors—­people who use language and other means of communication to influence audiences. Pregnant and mothering teens may reflect on their subject position, disidentify with its negative function, and use their own rhetorical appeals to claim their rights to personhood, respect, or assistance. But how does this happen? Under what conditions is it possible for women who are so often depicted as lacking morals, knowledge, and responsibility to assume a position of authority to speak and effect social change? Here I turn to rhetoricians Herndl and Licona’s theory of constrained agency as a way to explain how, why, and when marginalized subjects may enact agency to change the dominant discourses that marginalize them. In “Shifting Agency: Agency, Kairos, and the Possibilities of Social Action,” Herndl and Licona provide a theory of agency that acknowledges the complications of subjectivity, ideology, and discourse raised by poststructuralist theory while still offering a way to explain how individual and collective action may effect social change. Herndl and Licona maintain “agency is not an attribute of the individual but the conjunction of a set of social and subjective relations that constitute the possibility of action” (133). In other words, agency is not something an individual can have, gain, or lose. Young pregnant or mothering women do not have agency or claim agency, nor are they given or denied it. Instead, “agency is a form of kairos” or “social location in time and space” wherein there is an opportunity for change or action to happen (133). Building from philosopher Michel Foucault’s notion of the author function, Herndl and Licona theorize an “agent-­function” as the outcome of a relationship between authority and agency (141), or what they call “constrained agency” (134). Particular social constructions, events, structures, and relationships create time-­bound spaces of authority that individuals may move in and out of in particular moments. These spaces or moments of authority are limited by the material and discursive constructions that produce them. The possibilities for social action in these ripe moments are not limitless, but they are present, waiting for particular social subjects to recognize them.

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Constrained agency acknowledges the material and institutional limits of subjects’ potential actions (think about the fact that there are very few places where youth may assume a position of authority in relation to someone else), while also understanding that subjects are multiply situated and actively engaged in discursive constructions and power relations. Put differently, marginalized people do not just passively accept practices and beliefs that marginalize them. Herndl and Licona urge us to “question not only who has the authority to speak and represent, but also what are the conditions and opportunities that allow subjects to act to change or to reproduce social, institutional, and discursive practices” (134, emphasis added). Rather than focus on the intentions and actions of an autonomous individual, this theory of constrained agency prompts us to consider how, when, and why a particular subject may shift into a position of authority to speak or act.

Research Questions and Method Herndl and Licona’s theory is exciting in its potential to explain both actions that reproduce the status quo and actions that contribute to social change. Drawing from Herndl and Licona’s theory of constrained agency, I pose the following questions to guide my inquiry into the production, circulation, and reception of #NoTeenShame’s strategic interruption of the 2013 Candie’s Foundation campaign: Questions of Production: • What was the “set of social and subjective relations” that allowed the young women to come together and publicly act as #NoTeenShame in response to the Candie’s Foundation campaign? • What means of resistance were available to them as young mothers in this particular moment? • How did they employ these means to achieve specific rhetorical ends? Question of Circulation: • How did their message circulate? Questions of Reception: • What kinds of responses did they receive? • What were the outcomes of their tactics? In order to pursue answers to questions of production, I collected and analyzed texts produced by the individual #NoTeenShame activists since they each began to advocate for young pregnant and parenting people. I also researched the messages generated by the Candie’s Foundation since its inception in 2001. Additionally, I looked at whether and how the media

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covered the efforts of #NoTeenShame and Candie’s Foundation to consider how each message circulated. In this chapter, I focus most closely on the exchanges between the activists and Candie’s Foundation from April 2013 to May 2014, but I supplement this analysis with insights drawn from my broader research into the contextual factors that produced and shaped this exchange. In addition, I conducted individual interviews with six of the seven #NoTeenShame activists in the spring of 2015.4 During the interviews, I asked each activist to tell me the story of how #NoTeenShame formed, to explain how #NoTeenShame works, to describe her role in the collaboration, and to reflect on what she saw as the struggles and successes of the #NoTeenShame movement (see Appendix A for a list of interview questions). I also took the opportunity to talk with each activist about her experiences as a young mother who speaks publicly about her life. In chapter 5, I share what I learned about how each activist handles public confrontations prompted by her visibility as a young mother. In this chapter, I draw on what I learned about the social and subjective relations that led to the activists taking action in the ways that they did. Herndl and Licona write, “The rhetorical performance that enacts agency is a form of kairos, that is, social subjects realizing the possibilities for action presented by the conjuncture of a network of social relations” (135). Qualitative research methods, such as interviews, provide an opportunity to ask speakers and writers how they came to personally understand or feel that it was time to act. By asking each activist to tell her story of the campaign, I was able to get a sense of why the activists realized that the Candie’s Foundation’s campaign release carried the possibility for collective, strategic action. I also include the #NoTeenShame activists’ perspectives on why the exchange with the Candie’s Foundation went the way it did. In order words, I turned to them as experienced, tech-­savvy experts on activism, nonprofit organizations, youth empowerment, and young motherhood. This makes for a complicated exploration of conflicting discourses and interpretations that tries to do justice to representing the multiple constraints on counter-­hegemonic rhetoric and the productive outcomes of this particular exchange. It will become clear that paying attention to the many moving parts of rhetorical situations that open and influence the moments of constrained agency for young mothering women is a difficult and messy process. However, it is a necessary process if rhetoricians and activists are to better understand when, why, and how social action happens.

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The Subjective and Social Relations That Set #NoTeenShame into Motion In this section I explore the social and subjective relations that allowed the young women to come together and publicly act as #NoTeenShame in response to the Candie’s Foundation campaign.

Critical Consciousness and Previous Advocacy Prior to the formation of #NoTeenShame, the seven activists had all come to critical consciousness about their experiences as young mothers—­that is, an understanding that their personal experience as a young mom was shaped by political beliefs and power relations. Moreover, each activist was putting this consciousness to use by working individually across the nation to support young parents (see Appendix B for background information about each activist). Natasha, Jasmin, and Consuela advocated for young parents through their work for a nonprofit organization called the Massachusetts Alliance on Teenage Pregnancy. Natasha wrote and edited The PushBack, a blog sponsored by the alliance to provide a space for young parents to confront prejudice and share narratives that “show what young parenthood really looks like” (The PushBack). Gloria Malone maintained a blog, called Teen Mom NYC, that she created in 2011 as a space of supportive messaging and resources for young parents. Lisette Orellana Engel published counter-­ narratives on The Pushback and worked with the National Women’s Law Center and other organizations to bring awareness to violations of Title IX that impact young parents in school. Marylouise Kuti actively supported young parents through her role as teacher and then administer of the New Mexico public school initiative for young parents called the Graduation Reality and Dual Role Skills Program. Christina Martinez, a teacher, used her experiences as a young mother to counter dominant assumptions on her blog Not Another Teen Mommy and contributed posts to The Pushback. Thus, although they were not all yet aware of each other’s work or the possibility for collective action, they were each critically conscious of the institutional and social struggles of young parenthood. The Power of Being Pissed: Anger as Motivation for Coalitional Rhetorical Action Every woman has a well-­stocked arsenal of anger potentially useful against those oppressions, personal and institutional, which brought that anger into being. Focused with precision it can become a powerful source of energy serving progress and change. —­Audre Lorde, Sister Outsider

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Critical consciousness and previous experience with public advocacy provided each activist with a predisposition for action and fostered a network of connections for future alliance. Yet it was, to borrow from Lorde’s quote above, the “arsenal of anger” triggered by a teenage pregnancy prevention campaign and troubling individual attempts to interrupt that campaign that eventually brought the activists—­and allied organizations—­together to launch #NoTeenShame. On March  4, 2013, the New York City Human Resources Administration released a controversial campaign against teenage pregnancy (hereafter referred to as the Bloomberg campaign). As discussed in the opening of chapter 1, the campaign included a texting initiative as well as posters featuring upset infants and hostile statements directed at teen parents. Natasha explained: “So here are images of mostly babies of color crying and telling their parents that they have basically ruined their lives. Young moms across the country were pissed, and not just young moms. People in general and people of color were pissed . . . because they were like, ‘why are all but one of the babies of color?’ and ‘what kind of message is that sending?’” Natasha’s response suggests that the Bloomberg campaign’s chosen models brought to the surface the racist undertones of teenage pregnancy prevention discourses that are often obscured by white representatives of “the problem” (see chapter 2). Natasha, Gloria, and Lisette were each critically conscious of the intersections of racism, sexism, and ageism based on their lived experiences as Latina young mothers and their previous collaborations with antiracist organizations, such as the National Latina Institute for Reproductive Health. Furious with the stigmatizing portrayal of children of young parents of color, the activists individually tweeted, blogged, and spoke out against the Bloomberg campaign. Natasha actually authored the first public critique, which appeared on The PushBack blog (“Teen Mom Shaming”). A week later, Gloria, a resident of New York City, published her op-­ed, “I Was a Teenage Mother,” in the New York Times. Seemingly because of their visible presence as East Coast young mothers voicing counter-­perspectives on the campaign, Natasha and Gloria were then each individually invited to speak in mainstream media outlets. Gloria entered what she called the “lion’s den” when she appeared on a Bill O’Reilly segment with Laura Ingraham. Gloria was also a featured panelist on a Huffington Post Live segment alongside the spokesperson for the Bloomberg campaign, Executive Deputy Commissioner Marjorie Cadogan (“Do Ads Use Teen Shaming”), and was the focus for an exclusive interview on National Public Radio (“New York Ads”). Natasha was a featured guest on a different NPR segment along with Bloomberg campaign supporter, and chief executive officer of the National Campaign to Prevent Teen and Unplanned Parenthood, Sarah Brown (“Teen Pregnancy Ads”). Thus, the visibility of Natasha’s and Gloria’s teenage motherhood both made them vulnerable in a moment

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when the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy was being (re)produced by the Bloomberg campaign but at the same helped to secure them invitations to speak to broader audiences. It was these experiences writing and speaking against the Bloomberg campaign that led to feelings and critical reflections that primed the activists for further action—­coalitional action.5 During our interview, Gloria explained that she and Natasha, who knew each other from previous advocacy work, would call each other to “debrief ” after they each spoke to the press. Gloria and Natasha would vent about how little they were allowed to talk, how they felt unable to express the ideas they wanted to express, and how they were shocked that people they thought were allies on the panel said things that were “vicious or triggering” for them (Malone). As an example, Gloria received less than two minutes of total talking time on the thirty-­one-­minute Huffington Post Live panel. Gloria told me that she wondered if she was brought onto some panels just to be attacked by the other panelists or host. It was during these debriefing sessions that she and Natasha discussed “wanting to do something and create something” together (Malone). It is important to pause to explain that though Natasha and Gloria faced online criticism for their perspectives, the young mothers were not alone in publicly critiquing the Bloomberg campaign. An additional component of the social and subjective relations that set #NoTeenShame into motion was the fact that several entities, including Planned Parenthood New York, the National Women’s Law Center, and the New York Coalition for Reproductive Justice, came forward with public statements against the campaign. Editorial perspectives critiquing the campaign were also published in media outlets including Reproductive Health Reality Check, Colorlines, Time, and the New York Times. The New York Planned Parenthood’s swift public statement against the Bloomberg campaign suggests that the organization has been persuaded by research showing that the consequences of teenage pregnancy are actually the consequences of poverty and inequality (Planned Parenthood New York City). The National Women’s Law Center may have been similarly spurred into action by research as the group had recently completed a study that found many young pregnant and parenting women face violations of Title IX at their schools (e.g., by being pressured to leave their school because of a pregnancy). Speaking from her years of experience in the nonprofit sector, #NoTeenShame activist Consuela pointed out that there has been an “influx of resources,” including grant funding for youth-­focused sexual health research and support, that encourage nonprofit organizations to understand that “you can care for and support expectant and parenting teens and work to decrease unintended pregnancies” (Greene). The social and subjective relations of this moment allowed for these organizations to shift into a position of agency from which to interrupt the campaign.

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During our interviews, I took the opportunity to ask each activist why she thought there was such a backlash to the Bloomberg campaign. #NoTeenShame activist Marylouise pointed out that the visibility of statistics that demonstrate teenage pregnancy rates, teen birth rates, and traditional family structures are declining may contribute to the public’s readiness to critique messages, like the Bloomberg campaign, that attempt to reaffirm marriage as an ideal and pregnancy rates as a cause for concern. Gloria suggested that perhaps the national uproar happened because New York is supposed to be progressive—­a leader in the smart/right way to do things. New York City is known for liberal policies on sex education, including sexual health clinics in public schools that are authorized to distribute information and resources to students. Again, Natasha speculated that the backlash happened because the PSAs perpetuated racism, and thus triggered young parents and antiracism activists. As I discuss further later on in the chapter, each activist also mentioned the role of social media in fueling national conversations and debates about the campaign from multiple perspectives. These multiple interpretations of the rhetorical context suggest that many factors influenced the rather immediate activist and organizational critiques of the Bloomberg campaign. Yet, #NoTeenShame did not form to respond to the Bloomberg campaign. After all, only Natasha, Gloria, and Lisette openly critiqued the messaging strategy with individual public appearances and blog posts. Instead, it is important to understand the context of the Bloomberg campaign as a primer for the next set of subjective relations and social actions because it was a discursive event that prompted shared feelings of outrage for young mothers and feminist organizations. In April, in the midst of anger among the individual activists and organizations serving marginalized populations, the Candie’s Foundation released its new ad implying women cannot mother and change the world. Natasha explained the activists’ response: “That frustrated us not only as moms but as activists because we were like, this is what we’re doing. We’re changing the world because we change diapers. And so we were really frustrated that there was this narrative that you have to pick one, that if you become a teen parent that’s it. We were frustrated that it was perpetuating a stereotype about the kind of people that we are and what our children become. And we were like, ‘how are these organizations getting so much money and funding that could be used to help young people, but they’re using it to shame teen parents?’ That’s not effective at all!” (Vianna). The shared frustration helped to bring the young activists together. Emphasizing the productive force of feelings, Licona represents emotion as “e-motion,” or an “embodied knowledge practice” that may motivate collaborations based on “shared understandings and feelings—­lived experiences—­of domination, subordination, and exclusion” (Zines 67). Even though a few of the activists who eventually signed on had not really paid attention to the Bloomberg or Candie’s

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campaigns initially, they each mentioned that they had always felt uncomfortable with or infuriated by teenage pregnancy prevention posters and campaigns that stigmatized young pregnant and parenthood. Furthermore, Natasha, then the Manager of Digital Communications at the Massachusetts Alliance on Teenage Pregnancy, could see that the young activists she knew through virtual connections were “pissed,” and “for the first time . . . a lot of organizations that work with young people across the country, that work not just to prevent teen pregnancy but to really help young people grow and guide them through their development” were upset as well (Vianna). Specifically, Gloria and Natasha were offered support by the organizations they had already been in touch with when reacting to the Bloomberg campaign, and also a coalition of numerous US-­based nonprofit organizations called Strong Families. The stated support of these allies helped the activists realize more possibilities for action.

Collective Action as a Means of Resistance to the “Exceptionalism” Problem Instead of responding with an immediate, individually published critique as she did with the Bloomberg campaign, Natasha paused to reach out to these supportive youth-­serving organizations, Gloria, and five other young mothers whom she knew personally or through social media. Natasha explained: “So often when it is just one teen parent speaking up, everybody is like, ‘Well, you’re just one teen parent. You’re just one teen mom. You’re the exception. Yeah, you turned out fine, but that’s not the case for most young moms. And we don’t want you talking about this because you’re perpetuating the idea that teen pregnancy is great.’” Many of the activists I spoke with discussed their frustration with the “exceptionalism” response to their counter-­narratives. During our interview, Christina lamented, “I hear it voiced all the time: ‘Oh, you’re different from most young parents.’ And actually, I’m not. It’s just, even if I was different, that doesn’t give you any excuse to treat me differently than any other young parent. We hear that so much. You’re different or you’re . . . oh, what’s the term? Marylouise got it the other day from someone she was working with at the statehouse. He’s like, ‘well, you’re one of the successful ones’ or something like that.” As discussed in the previous chapter, a frequent response to the cognitive dissonance or general confusion prompted by a counter-­narrative that depicts a young pregnant or mothering woman graduating from school, achieving a career goal, or perhaps just displaying a confident, happy, or knowledgeable persona is to frame that narrative (and the woman who writes it) as “exceptional”—­a deviation from the norm of the teen mother as

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failure/burden. The exceptionalism critique reflects what rhetorician Jessica Enoch calls the “rhetoric of normalization,” a discursive strategy that dismisses women’s personal testimonies of social injustice by rewriting or resituating those women’s lived experiences as “atypical.” Specifically, Enoch draws attention to a judge who dismissed ten Chicanas’ claims of sterilization abuse in the 1970s by suggesting that these women were atypical due to their primary language (Spanish), socioeconomic standing, and cultural background (16). By framing the plaintiffs as abnormal, the judge normalized the actions of the doctors who sterilized them without the women’s informed consent. In a similar way, reinterpreting the young mothers who confront stigmatizing (mis)conceptions about teenage motherhood as exceptional or atypical people helps to justify the dismissal of young mothers’ calls for empathy and respect for teenage parents. The rhetoric of exception proves the rule: the commonplace assumption that pregnant and parenting teenagers are, for the most part, problems and should be treated as such. Indeed, as Gloria and Natasha publicly critiqued the Bloomberg campaign for contributing to everyday hostility toward young parents, a standard response they faced was the dismissal of their critiques as based on their seemingly exceptional personal experiences or abilities. One commenter wrote on Gloria’s blog, “I read your piece in NY Times. You are one in a thousand thousand [sic]—­willing to work, sacrifice, and put in the effort for your daughter. But you are truly an exception (which I admire you for)” (Anonymous). When NPR aired an exclusive interview with Gloria, several online commenters lambasted the news outlet for featuring her, writing things like, “She is one of the fortunate ones,” “she is not in any way the norm and it is irresponsible for her and for NPR to suggest that the teen pregnancy ads are the result of narrow-­ minded bigots,” “sure there’s always going to be an exception,” and “nice report. Let’s find the anecdotal outlier to show 15-­yr-­old girls that it’s a good idea to have babies!” (“New York Ads”). These responses illustrate that many audiences receive individual pregnant and mothering young women’s testimonies as exceptional (nonnormative and even potentially dangerous) experiences if they stray from the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy. Considering this context, Natasha and the other activists decided to respond as a group of diverse women, building a collective ethos, to preempt the exceptionalism critique and interrupt the representation of young mothers as a monolithic category of problem people: “We are all at different places in life. We have different numbers of children. We have different stories about our partners and how we got pregnant. We come from, again, different parts of the country. We come from different racial, ethnic, religious backgrounds. . . . We all experienced the same type of shame and stigma. And so there was absolutely no way someone could look at this group of young moms and say, ‘Well, you all are exceptions because you went to this program or you

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lived in this city’” (Vianna). A set of social and subjective relations helped to foster a network of diverse mothers that Natasha could turn to. Christina told me, “It was kind of like a perfect storm. We were all there and available . . . everybody had [just recently] become aware of each other.” For example, Natasha and Christina met when Christina traveled from her home in California to Massachusetts to do a workshop at the Boston Summit for Teen Empowerment and Parenting Success in June 2012. Social media, blogs (specifically The PushBack and Malone’s Teen Mom NYC), and each activist’s affiliation with nonprofit organizations also helped to create the context from which this diverse group of women came together. Figure 4.1 demonstrates the connections that preceded the movement that Natasha was able to tap into when she was frustrated, supported, and ready to act. The arrows indicate which activists were connected to each other prior to the formation of #NoTeenShame, and the organization names printed near those lines of association help to illustrate which nonprofit organizations brought the women in contact with each other. The arrow leading to Marylouise is dashed to highlight that she had not been in prior contact with Natasha or the others. Natasha contacted Young Women United to see if they knew of another young mother who would want to contribute, and the representatives there mentioned Marylouise, who had worked with Young Women United in the past. This network of prior connections was one means of resistance available to the young women in this particular moment.

FIGURE 4.1.   Author illustration of prior connections that fostered #NoTeenShame.

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Social Media as a Means of “Interrupting Our Way into Agency” Another means of resistance that proved crucial to the formation of #NoTeenShame was social media. Some of the activists became aware of each other’s work through social media, and particular social media platforms provided a way to both gain visibility as a collective and interrupt the reproduction of dominant discourses on teenage pregnancy. Feminist scholars have identified the ways in which digital spaces—­such as blogs, discussion boards, and social media—­help some women who have experienced pregnancy, miscarriage, childbirth, and/or motherhood to share knowledge that may challenge expert discourses and build a sense of community with other women (Friedman and Calixte; Haas; Moravec; Nesbitt). For example, May Friedman’s analysis of over two hundred “mommyblogs” demonstrates that the technology of the blogosphere, including the ability to hyperlink to and comment on one another’s blogs, allows for ongoing intimate conversations between women about mothering. Friedman maintains that mommyblogs help to alleviate feelings of isolation and inadequacy by making visible women’s messy, self-­reflexive, and divergent experiences of mothering—­women whom bloggers might not encounter in their lives offline (47, 82). In addition, in her book Writing Childbirth, Kim Hensley Owens argues that when mothers post critical reflections on disappointing experiences of childbirth online—­to a wider audience of readers—­they “offer other women ways of understanding, writing their ways into, and asserting feminist rhetorical agency over their own birth experiences” (2). Owens shows that women who wish to give birth at home or, at least, with few medical interventions are often constrained by powerful institutional practices and expert discourses that position medicalized hospital births as the norm. Owens maintains that when women’s birth experiences do not go as planned, writing about their experiences online afterward is a way to reassert authority over their experience in response to the doctors, nurses, and hospital practices that may have denied women authority over their experience. In this sense, online birth narratives can resist expert discourses and disempowering practices while critically educating target audiences—­that is, other mothers-­to-­be—­about the power relations at play in childbirth. While participatory and community-­building digital spaces allow some women to make the personal political, Friedman, Owens, and others also make clear that these are not utopian spaces free from hierarchal power relations or the influence of consumerism. Furthermore, the reality of differentiated digital access—­or the uneven access and use of social media and Web 2.0 technologies by people across lines of difference—­means that only some women’s narratives are circulated online. As rhetoric and composition scholar Adam Banks explains when he addresses narrow understandings

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of “access” and the digital divide, systematic inequalities (racial, economic, regional) determine who has access to the Internet, computers, digital technologies, and the knowledge and skills needed to “use, critique, resist, design, and change technologies in ways that are relevant to their lives and needs, rather than those of the corporations that hope to sell them” (861). To return to the example of differentiated access and mommyblogs, Judith Stadtman Tucker argues that writers of mommyblogs are overwhelmingly white, educated, and class privileged and, thus, mommybloggers’ resistance to ideals of motherhood usually focuses on the ideals of white, middle-­class motherhood, not the issues of homophobia, poverty, and racism that determine and complicate the parenting experiences of many mothers (2, 14).6 Moreover, talking to each other online does not always translate into social activism in the aim of changing the discourses, institutions, and social structures that shape women’s reproductive and child-­rearing experiences. Thus, feminist scholars and activists should think carefully about when and why use of a particular Web 2.0 technology is a smart rhetorical tactic for effecting social change. In the case of #NoTeenShame, social media provided a rhetorically savvy means of interruption considering their target audiences. Natasha explained, “We definitely wanted to do a social media campaign because the Candie’s Foundation really uses social media to reach young people” (Vianna). Candie’s encourages the broad circulation of their messages through teen-­based print publications like Seventeen magazine and social media platforms including Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram. Thus, one way to interrupt the Candie’s Foundation’s stigmatizing message for young people is to use the same means of messaging—­such as Twitter hashtags, Facebook comments, and Instagram notes—­to spread a different message to young people. Social media were also important because the activists did not have direct material access to Candie’s CEO Neil Cole, the Candie’s Foundation board, or the celebrities and funders who facilitate the foundation’s campaigns against teenage pregnancy. Writing in 1998, Reynolds theorized, “Interruption is most effective in the spaces where physical presence heightens the effect—­at conferences, in classrooms, around tables” (“Interrupting” 907). That is, if people who are being silenced and excluded from conversations that shape and impact their lives want in, they must make their way in and interrupt with action that brings attention to their marginalization in that space. However, in many cases young mothers are denied any access to the decision makers who produce the discourses that “diminish them” (Reynolds “Interrupting” 907). Activist Consuela Greene—­who had little experience with social media prior her participation in #NoTeenShame—­explained to me that through social media, “young people and marginalized people have found an outlet that they don’t have to pay for and they don’t have to ask permission to be in it.” Not only do social and digital media provide outsiders with a public arena where

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they may produce, shape, and share their own messages, these platforms can also allow outsiders a way into the arena where dominant discourses are now being (re)produced. Gloria explained to me, “social media has given voice to people who have been kept out of the conversations for a long time.” Rhetoric and composition scholar Lauri Goodling shares a similar sentiment when she defends digital-­media-­based activism against charges of “slacktivism” (i.e., lazy, inefficient activism) to point out that social media may be a savvy means of interrupting the powers that be: “Perhaps most valuable is that digital media, unlike its alternative and activist media predecessors, effectively disrupts the existing power dynamics in politics and media, making it an ideal situation for activists to do their work. This shift in dynamic puts the power in the hands of the user as one who transmits and circulates at her will, on her timeframe, and to the extent she desires. It levels the playing field to some degree, and it provides opportunity for voices to be heard that might otherwise be ignored by those holding the reigns in politics and media.” As Goodling points out, social media allow users to actively intervene in the transmission and circulation of messages from those “holding the reigns”—­in this case the Candie’s Foundation—­and, as Gloria and Consuela assert, allow for new voices to be heard. Thus, the Candie’s Foundation’s social media outlets became spaces where young mothers’ voices could be heard, not only by Candie’s (who would see the #NoTeenShame comments) but also by the public who typically “follow,” “like,” and “share” Candie’s messaging.

Crafting and Circulating the Message Thus far, I have identified important social and subjective relations preceding the #NoTeenShame campaign, including the previous activism, discursive events, and relationships that contributed to the seven young mothers coming to the realization that the release of the Candie’s Foundation campaign (in conjunction with the support of feminist and youth-­focused allied organizations) held the potential for coalitional social action. I have also considered how diverse standpoints and social media were means of resistance available to the activists, who come from different backgrounds and who (like most young moms) are excluded from the decision-­making process that goes into representations of teenage pregnancy and motherhood. Yet, Herndl and Licona explain, “Agency is a social/semiotic intersection that offers only a potential for action, an opportunity. Subjects must occupy that location skillfully; a rhetor’s abilities and accomplishments make a difference in how her performance is accepted” (141). In other words, what speakers or writers do with/ in these opportune moments matters. Interrupting dominant discourses takes rhetorical skill. Considering this, I next analyze the tactics #NoTeenShame deployed to interrupt Candie’s Foundation messaging and illustrate how these

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messages were shaped and circulated by digital platforms and organizational allies.

The Change.org Petition #NoTeenShame officially launched late in May when the activists began using a #NoTeenShame hashtag to consistently interrupt social media posts that deployed the Candie’s Foundation’s #NoTeenPreg hashtag.7 At the same time, the activists published a Change​.org petition directed to the founder of the Candie’s Foundation, Neil Cole. Established in 2007, Change​.org is an open platform that allows anyone with an email address and access to the Internet to create an e-petition directed to a target “decision maker,” or relevant figure of authority who has the means to actually make the change the petitioner is looking for. Change​.org claims to have over 100  million users in 196 countries—­its tagline is “The World’s Platform for Change.” The site packages itself as a way for ordinary people to reach authorities they wouldn’t have otherwise been able to reach, building from the premise that those in power are seemingly more likely to pay attention to calls for change if they are highly visible and supported by numerous people. The website offers users a step-­by-­step guide to creating an effective petition. Change​.org encourages the inclusion of personal stories, a captivating visual, a clear “ask,” a nonaggressive tone, and follow-­up steps to ensure that the petition is shared on social media and, ideally, taken up by others who can publish articles about the petition and help “build momentum” for the cause (“Tips”). The petition format includes an area for the petitioner to explain the reason for the petition and why people should “support” it by signing and sharing it. The petition also includes a section that displays the letter that will be emailed to the target decision maker each time a supporter signs the petition. Typically, this letter is a more generalized version of the message calling for supporters. When users sign a Change​.org petition, they are prompted to specify their name, city, and state. A text box also prompts users to explain why they are signing the petition (this comment is then made visible on the petition), though they may sign without providing a rationale. Users are also prompted to “share” a link to the petition on Facebook, therein generating more visibility and, possibly, more signatures. This digital platform provided #NoTeenShame with a way to gather support from allies and reach Cole since each and every time someone signed the petition, the general letter was emailed to him. With the goal of getting one hundred signatures of support and a personal meeting with Cole, the activists carefully crafted the petition to rebrand the Candie’s Foundation campaign as a shaming initiative and to reconfigure their ethos from women who have deviated from cultural norms (and, thus, seemingly lack moral character) to

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experienced, credible experts on issues of positive youth development and young parenthood.

The Young Mother as Expert: Changing the Ethos of Teen Motherhood Beginning with the title, the activists unearth and critique what they see as the primary tactic of the Candie’s campaign: shame. The petition is titled “Candie’s Foundation: Stop Shaming Teen Parents” and features a large black-­and-­ pink graphic that mimics the color scheme and font choices characteristic of Candie’s graphics (Vianna “Candie’s Foundation”). The parodied design prompts petition viewers to recognize that Candie’s campaign materials are design choices, or just one of many ways to represent pregnancy and parenthood. The graphic reads, “@Candie​’s​.org: Shaming Young Parents Negatively Impacts Their Families. #NoTeenShame,” and when Candie’s ads are referenced in the letter, they are referred to as a “shaming campaign on young parents” (Vianna “Candie’s Foundation”). Much like the counter-­narrative authors in chapter 3, these activists seize the opportunity to rename and characterize an “expert” entity as an antagonist obstructing the lives of parenting youth. Through these means, the activists encourage viewers to see the campaign (and the shaming of young motherhood) as something different from teenage pregnancy prevention. The graphic and title of the petition speak directly, imperatively, to the Candie’s Foundation as if chastising them for bad behavior. In this way, the young mother activists shift themselves from emblems of shame to figures of authority who have the means and knowledge to set the foundation right. In his treatise on rhetoric, Aristotle identified ethos as one of the three modes of rhetorical appeals, bringing attention to the fact that audiences will likely agree with those who project through their rhetorical action a credible character with good sense, virtue, and goodwill expressed toward the audience (1378a). As Michael Halloran and Nedra Reynolds point out in their respective work, ethos is contextually specific: shifting, changing, and always reflecting the norms, values, and “habits” of the community at that point in time. Feminist rhetoricians such as Reynolds, Coretta Pittman, Jacqueline Jones Royster, and contributors to the recent collection Rethinking Ethos: A Feminist Ecological Approach to Rhetoric have demonstrated that Aristotle’s theory overlooks the challenges faced by those whose race, gender, class, age, or, I would add, embodied stigma already negatively impacts the audience’s perception of them, before they type or speak a word. For example, Royster writes that African America women who try to reach audiences outside their “home community” are “compromised” by the “stereotypes and other negative expectations” of black women and must “shift the ground of the rhetorical engagement by means of their abilities to invent themselves and create their own sense of character, agency, authority, and power” (65). The seven young mothers who

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launched the #NoTeenShame counter-­campaign faced a challenge of a situated ethos already compromised by intersecting stereotypes about teenagers, teenage mothers, and women of color, as six of the seven activists are women of color. Thus, in order to appeal to Cole—­a white male CEO—­and the broader public they asked to sign their petition, they had to resignify young parenthood through strategic ethical appeals. Though collaboratively drafted, the petition is written from the perspective of one of the activists, Natasha, on behalf of the other six. It begins: When the Candie’s Foundation launched a teen pregnancy prevention campaign with the tagline “You’re supposed to be changing the world . . . not diapers,” I was outraged by their attempts to shame young parents, people like me. Although I was changing diapers at age 17, I am changing the world—­and so are Lisette, Consuela, Jasmin, Gloria, Marylouise, Christina, and so many other young parents like us across the country. We’re working to make our communities better and we’re not doing this work in spite of being young parents. Our activism has been shaped by our experiences as young moms; we are working to change the world because we are young parents. (Vianna “Candie’s Foundation”)

Here the activists reveal their primary rhetorical appeal: developing an ethos for young parents as world-­changing activists as a direct response to Candie’s Foundation’s implication that teenage parenthood obstructs young people’s ability to positively effect change in the world. The “experience of young motherhood” is resignified into an experience that lends itself to activism. As evidence of this point, the petition concludes by listing the names of each of the six other activists along with a brief bio. These bios mention not the activists’ age, race, pregnancy status, marital status, or children—­personal information that is often demanded from people seeking to scrutinize young women—­but instead their professional title and the ways in which their work positively impacts young people in their communities. For example, Lisette’s bio reads, “Lisette Orellana  is a graduate student studying nonprofit management, who collaborates with many organizations on raising support for young parents, and recently worked with the National Women’s Law Center on a campaign to introduce the support of the Pregnant and Parenting Student Access to Education Act” (Vianna “Candie’s Foundation”). As Lisette’s biography models, the activists strategically use pieces of their personal narratives to challenge Candie’s Foundation’s representation of parenthood and encourage readers to view “young mothers” as more than simply failed women or women who are completely consumed by the everyday tasks of child rearing. The activists could have countered with the obvious point that changing diapers (a symbolic reference to child rearing) is a way of changing the world by caring for future generations, but they seized the opportunity to position

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themselves as experienced, knowledgeable experts on youth. They build a collective ethos of expertise as diversely skilled people who care deeply about helping young people. Furthermore, the petition emphasizes the ethos of “young parents” and “young people.” For example, the activists use the phrase “young parents like us” eight times in the petition. This deflects attention from them as women (who are potentially interpreted as overly emotional, lacking restraint, irrational, etc.) and focuses conversations about youth sexuality, pregnancy prevention, and parenthood on men and women, not just teen girls (the Candie’s Foundation focuses on young women, not the men who impregnate them, as the problem). This encourages broader audiences of young mothers, young fathers, and young people in general to identify with their standpoint. Natasha’s lived experience as a young mother and marginalized student is also deployed as a way to build her ethos as an intelligent, determined individual who faced injustice. She writes, “Becoming a mother at 17, I knew my life was going to get harder but I never expected to face the isolation, judgment, and bitterness from society. I was an honor roll student in high school, but when my teachers discovered I was pregnant, their treatment towards me changed. In front of classmates, I was shamed for my pregnancy and told my life was over” (Vianna “Candie’s Foundation”). Here Natasha situates herself as someone with good sense—­she knew parenthood makes life harder and was an honor roll student. Thus, the audience is prompted to feel for her when teachers begin to treat her differently and she has to learn that society can be bitter. By bringing to light the “isolation, judgment, and bitterness” she faced, she creates an authoritative standpoint as someone who has observed this firsthand and, thus, can rightly call for such bitterness to end (Reynolds “Ethos as Location” 332). Natasha writes, however, that she “never let this stigma deter me from my goals: I knew that I could be successful, not just for myself, but for my daughter. I’m working to change the world for the better, not just for the both of us, but for her entire generation” (Vianna “Candie’s Foundation”). Natasha portrays herself as self-­determined, hardworking, and selfless for continuing to strive for success for the good of an entire generation—­therein shifting the “teen mother” from an obstacle communities face to a community asset. Also significant and unique in their approach is the activists’ emphasis on the values of open communication, reciprocity, education, and support as well as their efforts to establish goodwill toward the Candie’s Foundation. Although the activists did not use the term “feminism” to describe their tactics, these values align with feminism—­an ideology and politics that eschews ways of thinking or being that position one entity as dominant and the other inferior. These values conflict with the underlying logic of the Candie’s Foundation approach (i.e., that the best way to help young women is to tell them,

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authoritatively, what they should and should not do). #NoTeenShame asks readers to sign the petition not to call for the resignation of Cole or the end of Candie’s Foundation, but because they are “requesting a meeting with Mr. Neil Cole” (Vianna “Candie’s Foundation”).8 In the petition, the activists explain that they would like to “offer ways the Candie’s Foundation can shift its approaches to include: increasing comprehensive sexual education . . . and using messaging that supports and empowers all young people to make the best decisions for themselves.” In other words, they position themselves as expert consultants. Although the petition opens with bold imperative statements directed at the Candie’s Foundation, the activists’ use of terms such as “meeting,” “offering,” “shifting,” “supporting,” “empowering,” and “increasing education” in the body of the petition suggests that while #NoTeenShame is firm in calling for a “halt to shaming tactics”—­no longer accepting the pathologized teen mother as the common ground upon which to discuss sex education and pregnancy prevention—­they are willing to work with the Candie’s Foundation on the common ground of improving the lives of young people. #NoTeenShame activist Lisette explained the reasoning behind the group’s decision to seek a meeting with Cole: “What I brought to the table was that we can’t be angry and we can’t be defensive. We have to come on top of it and show that we’re the better person and we’re the better group” (Orellana Engel). While anger may have been an e-motion that drove the activists to come together to interrupt the campaign, the activists demonstrate critical consciousness of the power dynamics that make it risky to project an angry persona. As Sue J. Kim explains in her book On Anger, “Anger may be partly physiological, cognitive, and psychological, yet it is also deeply ideological” (1). Kim points out that “cultural and ideological figurations of anger” vary based on “factors such as race, class, gender, sexuality, ethnicity, nation, and religion” (and I would add age), rendering some people’s anger as appropriate and, thus, deserving of attention and other people’s anger as irrational and just further evidence of their group’s problematic nature (1). The activists were keenly aware that they faced a cultural context wherein the critiques of youth and women of color may be dismissed as irrational expressions of anger inherent in their nature (e.g., stereotypes of “moody” teenagers, “feisty” Latinas, and “angry black women”). This is not to say that the petition projects an emotionally neutral persona; after all, the petition opens with a declaration of Natasha’s “outrage,” and the general letter sent to Cole each time someone signs the petition begins with the sentence “I am outraged.” Yet, the activists carefully position the feeling of rage as the expected consequence of a particular social messaging strategy, one that the activists are willing to help the Candie’s Foundation revise. By calling for a meeting and transparent communication, the petition models the kind of discourse the activists feel is acceptable. The #NoTeenShame petition, thus, rewrites characterizations of the “teen mother” as lacking responsibility,

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education, a sense of shame, or a meaningful future by cultivating a collective ethos as “young parents” who improve their communities, value education, promote open communication, have valuable expertise, and deserve just treatment from society. The petition was published on May 28, 2013, and each activist tweeted links to the petition to their own followers on Twitter as well as the Candie’s Foundation’s followers with the hashtag #NoTeenShame. The organizations that had offered their support when Natasha first reached out similarly tweeted links to the petition with the hashtag and published information about the #NoTeenShame campaign on their websites. For example, the National Latina Institute for Reproductive Health (NLIRH) wrote a press release endorsing the petition. Executive director of NLIRH, Jessica González-­Rojas, writes, “Telling teen parents that they won’t achieve anything because they are parents does nothing to address the systematic issues surrounding unintended pregnancy. We welcome a conversation with Mr. Neil Cole and the Candie’s Foundation to discuss how we can work together to support all young people, including young parents” (National Latina). The press release ends with a list of thirteen organizations helping to “coordinate” the #NoTeenShame campaign. These organizational allies contributed to #NoTeenShame activists’ efforts by publicizing and supporting their petition.

The Candie’s Foundation’s First Response: It’s Not Shame It’s Fact! What were the outcomes of these tactics? How was #NoTeenShame’s message received? The day after the petition was made public, the Candie’s Foundation responded by posting a graphic on Twitter (see Figure 4.2). The heading reads: “we don’t play the shame game. here are the facts.” The graphic lists how many teen girls “get pregnant” each day and hour, four familiar statistics about teen mothers’ lives, and one claim that half of teens do not think about how “pregnancy would affect their lives.” No citations are offered for any of the statistics, and no effort was made to explain how “the facts” speak to the critiques leveled at their ad. Although the title of the Candie’s Foundation graphic suggests a direct response to the #NoTeenShame activists’ allegation that the foundation’s messaging shames young parents, the graphic does not really address the issues raised by the activists. How does a list of numbers about young women getting pregnant prove that the Candie’s Foundation’s 2013 ad does not shame young parents? How do statements about the perceived outcomes of teenage motherhood address the fact that young mothers, like Natasha, are shamed at school? Is the Candie’s Foundation suggesting that statistical correlations in and of themselves can’t be shaming? Is the Candie’s Foundation suggesting that an alleged increased likelihood of being single, taking longer to

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FIGURE 4.2.   “We Don’t Play the Shame Game.” May 29, 2013. Twitter post created by the Candie’s Foundation.

complete one’s education, or having a son spend time in prison means that it is a “fact” that young mothers don’t change the world for the better? The Candie’s Foundation’s “fact” response is a recurring strategy used to silence and dismiss counter-­discourses. For example, Executive Deputy Commissioner Marjorie Cadogan defended the controversial Bloomberg campaign by stating, “stigma is not at all at the heart of what we are trying to do here . . . the message is about statistical fact” (“Do Ads Use Teen Shaming”). When Natasha appeared on NPR’s special segment addressing the Bloomberg campaign, chief executive officer of the National Campaign to Prevent Teen and Unplanned Pregnancy Sarah Brown admitted the ads were “edgy” but “the facts that they relay are true” (“Teen Pregnancy Ads”). Moreover, in his New York Times opinion piece defending shame as a liberal teaching tool, Brookings Institution fellow Richard Reeves claimed, “Nobody is arguing the facts” presented by the campaign. Yet, public critiques of the campaign did argue with the facts, pointing out that teenage motherhood does not in and of itself lead to poverty and that many of the outcomes correlated with teenage

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pregnancy are effects of poverty (Planned Parenthood New York City). Moreover, the content on the Bloomberg ads was arguably not facts but hypotheses, select mathematical calculations (e.g., the findings of bivariate not multivariate analysis), and value statements from a neoliberal worldview that positions economic hardship as the result of individual behaviors instead of socioeconomic structures.9 At the surface level, the Candie’s Foundation’s and #NoTeenShame conflict hinges on competing understandings of the source shame. The Oxford English Dictionary defines “shame” as a feeling: “the painful emotion arising from the consciousness of something dishonouring, ridiculous, or indecorous in one’s own conduct or circumstances  .  .  . or of being in a situation which offends one’s sense of modesty or decency.” For the #NoTeenShame activists, young parents’ sense of shame stems from the messages and practices that communicate to the public that pregnant and parenting youth have done something dishonoring, ridiculous, harmful, or altogether wrong. They illustrate this fact with Natasha’s lived experience of being shamed by teachers at school. For the Candie’s Foundation, young mothers’ sense of shame (they continually focus on girls) stems from the “fact” that they have done something dishonoring, ridiculous, harmful, or altogether wrong. Thus, they remind the public of the extent of that wrongdoing (by quantifying it, reiterating it as such, and correlating with societal ills) as a way to justify their actions. The numerical “fact” response is a potentially effective way to counter arguments built on personal experience because individual lived experience does not provide an understanding of broader, quantifiable patterns. However, with the help of Natasha’s mentor and young mother ally, sociologist Gretchen Sisson, #NoTeenShame generated a swift response. The following day they posted their own graphic that, again, appropriated the design scheme and word play of the foundation. It reads: “@Candie’sOrg plays the shame game. here are the facts” (Sisson). Countering the anxiety-­producing numbers about the amount of girls becoming pregnant, Sisson and #NoTeenShame point out that teen pregnancy and birth rates are declining. Addressing the Candie’s Foundation’s claims about teen moms’ marital status, Sisson and #NoTeenShame state that studies find that having a child at a young age does not correlate with a higher likelihood of unmarried status, more children, or lower hourly wages. Indeed, the graphic highlights that the majority of women who bear children at a young age are poor and that poverty, “not parenthood,” produces most the “challenges young parents face” (Sisson). Responding to the foundation’s point about teenage motherhood and education, Sisson and #NoTeenShame claim that “among young people who do not complete high school, teen moms are more likely to complete their GEDs” (Sisson). The graphic affirms what I believe the Candie’s Foundation seemed to suspect—­that #NoTeenShame’s

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critique is built on the premise that young parenthood is not something to be ashamed of. #NoTeenShame’s response graphic interrupts the assumed “fact,” or rather firmly held belief, that teenage pregnancy is to blame for societal ills. The graphic closes with the line, “The Candie’s Foundation ads shame young parents and misrepresent the realities of teen pregnancy. Young parents need support not shame” (Sisson). The graphic includes detailed citations for all statistical information presented, continuing to promote the value of transparency and encouraging viewers to interpret this bulleted list of information as a more credible list of information. The Candie’s Foundation offered no response this time. Thus, the activists and their allies continued to promote the petition by publishing articles on The PushBack, Ms. magazine, and Policy Mic and calling the Candie’s Foundation office to try to schedule a meeting with Cole. Eventually they collected 881 signatures on their petition—­surpassing their original goal more than eightfold.

The Candie’s Foundation’s Second Response: Children Shouldn’t Be Having Children Then, on June 11, 2013, two weeks after #NoTeenShame launched their petition, Cole published a blog entry on the Huffington Post—­a media outlet to which he often turns to defend the Candie’s Foundation against public criticism—­titled “Shame on Who?” to respond to the critiques and, I would argue, to put young mothers firmly back in their place as always and only emblems of failure. He begins his post with a sentence that seems to be speaking directly to his accusers: “The last time I checked, reminding young women that they can have lofty dreams and goals, and encouraging them to delay parenthood so they can pursue those dreams, is a good thing” (Cole). Interpreting the foundation’s ad as an encouraging “reminder” to have a goal in life, Cole presents himself as surprised that “some”—­he does not say who—­are proclaiming that the Candie’s Foundation “shames teen moms.” Nevertheless he expresses joy that “our recent Candie’s Foundation PSA campaign sparked an incredible national dialogue” and kept “the conversation about teenage pregnancy prevention top of mind” (Cole). Cole’s emphasis on dialogue and conversation is interesting considering he did not agree to meet with the #NoTeenShame activists for a conversation about better prevention strategies. That is, he refused to have the “incredible dialogue” that he credits the foundation with starting. Or, perhaps, he thinks that the dialogue should be, as he states later in the article, among “companies, families, schools, [and] individuals” who are seemingly not teen parents who oppose such messaging. Cole articulates numerous defenses of Candie’s Foundation’s campaign tactics. Although he claims that he does not see the campaigns as “shaming

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teen moms,” each defense implicitly affirms that teen mothers are rightly being shamed. Cole first defends his foundation’s campaign strategy as an effective way to cut through “all of the media clutter” to “make teens understand that having a child is difficult and will change your life forever” (Cole). Reifying the assumption that young people need authority figures to tell them what to do, Cole defends the ad as an important and much-­needed lesson for kids who are distracted by “media.” The idea of youth being too distracted by multiple media messages surfaced as a defense of the Bloomberg campaign as well. The PSAs appearing on public transportation and billboards were justified as necessarily “edgy” because in these busy areas with much ad content, people might overlook a PSA about teenage pregnancy (“Do Ads Use Teen Shaming”). This defense concedes to the accusation that the ads draw much attention to teen parents as spectacles, but counters that the visual spectacle is a justified means to an end: getting young people to pay attention to the fact that teenage parenthood is bad and encouraging them to avoid it at all costs. Next, Cole uses a strategy that I call invoking the anonymous teen mother—­or bite-­sized perspectives of young mothers who seemingly do see themselves as having made a mistake by becoming pregnant and/or raising a child and whose perspectives are used to justify the teenage pregnancy prevention frame. He writes, “Teen moms repeatedly tell us how they feel isolated from peers, judged by teachers, and experience hardships that they were not prepared for” (Cole). Cole, here, may be referring to sentiments expressed by young mothers who were interviewed by the Candie’s Foundation for their “Diary of a Teen Mom” web page. However, he may also be appropriating Natasha’s narrative in the Change​.org petition. She writes, “Becoming a mother at 17, I knew my life was going to get harder but I never expected to face the isolation, judgment, and bitterness from society” (Vianna “Candie’s Foundation”). Specifically, she brings attention to the mistreatment she received from teachers who shamed her in front of other students. Natasha was trying to shift the public’s perspective on teenage pregnancy from seeing teenager mothers as struggling because they reproduced too young, to seeing the struggles of teenage motherhood as the consequence of the nation thinking that women are too young to have children and, thus, treating them poorly. Cole, again, seems to grant that shame and mistreatment are occurring, but shifts the perspective back to seeing that the way to address it is to make teen girls want to avoid that shame and mistreatment by not “getting pregnant.” Cole ends his post by maintaining, “We believe we can all agree, children should not be having children” (Cole). Cole refuses to accept young parents as having an authorial position or welcome the #NoTeenShame activists (who were of various ages, ranging from nineteen to thirty-­six) into the dialogue about pregnancy prevention as expert consultants. Instead, Cole infantilizes all

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teenage mothers as “children” who have behaved badly. No matter what young mothers have experienced, Cole’s message implies that they have done something they should not do. Another meaning of shame is “to tell the truth boldly in defiance of temptation to do the contrary” as in the popular saying “tell the truth and shame the devil” (OED). The tone of Candie’s Foundation’s responses, including Cole’s opening admonition of his accusers and his closing line about “children having children,” reflects this meaning of shame. Each response suggests that the foundation does not shy away from stating generalizations about teenage pregnancy and motherhood boldly without care for how these statements may demonize young parents and contribute to everyday experiences of hostility and exclusion. What Cole and the Candie’s Foundation do not address, or even indicate that they have heard, is the critique of these generalizations as truths. The #NoTeenShame activists were frustrated by Cole’s response to say the least. The next day Gloria commented directly on Cole’s Huffington Post blog entry, critiquing the Candie’s Foundation’s tactics as ineffective means of accomplishing what the foundation says it is trying to accomplish: “Shame is not a teaching tool. Comprehensive sex ed, access to sound information on how to delay the onset of sexual activity/safe sex, and access to birth control will and does reduce teenage pregnancy. not ads with crying babies, bottles or telling people changing diapers is not part of changing the world. I saw these ads before I became a pregnant teen. Didn’t work on me and for the 750,000 that become pregnant teens each year.” Here, Gloria claims an ethos of expertise built on her experience as someone who did experience an unintended teenage pregnancy in a cultural context of negative teenage pregnancy prevention ads. She appears to agree that 750,000 pregnant teens is a problem (a perspective she later shifted), but challenges the premise that the best way to decrease that number is by publicizing negative messages about teenage pregnancy and parenthood. Indeed, much of the public controversy around the ads centered not on whether shame was justified (as in the Twitter exchange between Candie’s Foundation and the Sisson/#NoTeenShame response) but on whether shame is an effective means of changing behavior. In response to the controversy over the Bloomberg campaign, Richards Reeves published a piece in the New York Times that admonished liberals for overlooking shame’s use value as a way to guide people (without physical force) into making the best decisions for society. Reeves made clear that “facts” about teenage pregnancy were indisputable. In much the same way, during the Huffington Post Live panel with the Bloomberg campaign spokesperson, Gloria, and others, host Marc Lamont Hill mentions briefly in passing that he could question the statistics on teenage pregnancy

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but he “wouldn’t get into that” (“Do Ads Use Teen Shaming”). Instead, he focused his next question for Reeves on whether shame is an effective teaching tool. This public conversation distracts from the debate over the truth value of the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy and centers attention on weighing the risks of deploying shame (i.e., alienating/discouraging young mothers and encouraging others to mistreat them) against the seeming rewards of shaping non-­pregnant and non-­parenting teens’ behavior by encouraging them to assume “personal responsibility” (a key phrase from Bloomberg’s administration).10 What this public exchange fails to explicitly confront are the sexist, racist, and elitist neoliberal logics that construct an understanding of structural oppression (e.g., economic inequality, educational failure, the prison-­industrial complex) and everyday microaggressions (e.g., hostility toward women, the poor, and people from minoritized racial backgrounds) as the result of individual teenagers’ (mostly women’s) sexual and reproductive decisions.

Feminist Interruptions: Making Visible Who Is Excluded and How Nonetheless, #NoTeenShame’s interruption of the Candie’s Foundation’s 2013 campaign, and even more so Cole’s response, successfully brings to light the power relations that are embedded in the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy. Reynolds explains, “Through interruption and talking back, women rhetors can draw attention to their identities as marginalized speakers and writers as they also force more attention to the ideological workings of discursive exclusion” (“Interrupting” 898). Cole’s refusal to meet with or even name the seven young mother activists brings public attention to the fact that teenage pregnancy prevention discourses marginalize women who have experienced young motherhood as objects, not subjects and definitely not expert sources of information, to talk about or for but not authentically with—­at least not with them on their terms. For instance, Cole did not respond within the discursive framework constructed by the #NoTeenShame activists—­that is, their petition, phone calls, or requested face-­to-­face meeting. Instead, he and his foundation responded within the discursive framework they controlled: their Twitter feed, Instagram page, and a major media blog that Cole had used four times before. This strategy demonstrates that while the #NoTeenShame movement had material and functional access to the skills and tools necessary to interrupt and critique Candie’s messaging via social media, they still confronted the problem of differential access to information technologies (Banks 861). The Huffington Post blog is a commercial, corporate

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entity edited by people who select authors to post articles. This blog potentially reaches a broader public than a social-­media circulated Change​ .org petition or individual Twitter post. Cole and the Candie’s Foundation denied the #NoTeenShame activists transformative access or “genuine inclusion in technologies and the networks of power that help determine what they become” (Banks 865), including the conversations and deliberations that go into constructing a teenage pregnancy prevention campaign. After all, the activists just asked to be allowed into a conversation about how to prevent teen pregnancy without shaming young parents. The Candie’s Foundation took advantage of their differential access to mainstream media outlets to leverage their voice on the issue, defend their tactics, and silence/diminish the perspectives of #NoTeenShame. In her March  5, 2014, “update” to the 881 people who signed the Change​.org petition in 2013, titled “Victory,” Natasha seized the opportunity to bring more attention to this marginalization and exclusion: “Imagine how a group of six [sic] young moms felt when a nonprofit organization ignored our voices and continued to bash our movement in the media. Instead of responding to us, Neil Cole wrote a dismissive post for The Huffington Post reminding young mothers ‘children should not be having children.’ They sought to render us invisible, but we never accepted defeat” (“Candie’s Foundation”). Natasha makes clear that Cole’s response is an elitist power play. By writing again to the petition supporters she ensures that allies are aware of Cole’s post and, thus, hopefully angry with the result. Natasha encourages admiration and empathy for young moms as determined (“never accepted defeat”) and marginalized (“ignored” and “bash[ed]”) women. During our interview, Natasha called Cole’s response an illustrious example of “mansplaining”: “That’s the first thing that came to mind when I read the article. I’m like, this is such a mansplanation because it was like we were reduced to emotions and being emotional women. And it was totally like, ‘yeah, okay. You’re offended. But here’s why I am right anyway, and here’s why what I’m doing is still worth it. And here’s like why I have all this power and you don’t. And if you feel that way, it’s not going to change what I am doing’ . . . that just felt like the common man-­in-­power explanation. He’s just so full of himself ” (Vianna). Natasha unearths the gender dynamics underlying Cole’s response. While feminist tactics of interruption may not immediately change the social structures and practices that oppress women, the response to feminist interruptions often brings to the surface power relations that would otherwise go unnoticed. The Candie’s Foundation, with its stated purpose of “educating America’s youth  .  .  . about the consequences of teenage pregnancy and parenthood,” may appear to actively help young people (“About Us”). Yet, the foundation’s explicit refusal to answer the calls, emails, or petition

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generated by a group of women with experience with young motherhood and (as evident from their bios) education, sexual health promotion, and positive youth development brings this altruistic mission into question.

Conclusions This case study demonstrates that young pregnant and mothering women may seize the opportunity engendered by widespread attention to the so-­ called teenage pregnancy problem to cultivate an ethos of expertise and publicly challenge the authority of those who construct them as problems. The moment of (re)production of the dominant narrative—­in this case the releases of the Bloomberg and Candie’s Foundation 2013 ad campaigns—­functioned as timely opportunities to gain visibility for some young mothers’ counter-­ perspectives. This is not to say that it was an easy or inevitable chain of events. The young mothers who became most visible were those who were able to use social media and other platforms to manipulate these discursive events—­which are about reminding the public of social norms for reproduction—­to turn them into moments to discuss the shaming effects of the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy. While the idea that the very discourses that marginalize a group of people may be a means for those oppressed to resist is documented in critical theories and literatures of resistance (Butler; Foucault History; Sandoval), this chapter contributes to our knowledge of how this might happen. Drawing on Herndl and Licona’s understanding of “contextualized opportunities” for action (133), I examined the social and subjective relations that produced timely moments for rhetorical action and shaped the means of resistance available to particular subjects in these moments. We saw that the shared frustration and anger felt in the aftermath of one feminist intervention may function as a kind of rhetorical conditioning for another response. For some of the activists, responding to the Bloomberg campaign helped them to test and develop the rhetorical tactics and frameworks needed to form #NoTeenShame and respond to the Candie’s campaign a couple months later. For instance, Natasha knew that gathering young mother allies and responding as a diverse collective of women from different backgrounds would (and, from what I have observed, did) help them to successfully avoid the exceptionalism response, or the dismissal of their critiques based on seemingly unique personal circumstances or abilities. Furthermore, the temporal climate of hostility toward the Bloomberg campaign brought public visibility to resistive young mothers and organizational allies willing to fight the fight with them. The participatory nature of social media platforms—­such as Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram—­allowed #NoTeenShame a way into a shared rhetorical space with the Candie’s Foundation officials and supporters where the activists

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could interrupt the #NoTeenPreg messaging and draw attention to its material effects on young families. Interruption, after all, demands proximity between interrupter and interuptee. For marginalized subjects who do not have direct (or even tangential) access to those in power, social media seem to be key. Open online platforms also allowed the activists to define their own discursive framework and avoid situations where they function only as the token teen mom. Their carefully constructed Change​.org petition and Twitter graphic (1) destabilized Candie’s messaging by mimicking their design and hashtag choices and (2) established an ethos of expertise through imperative demands, experiential authority, and boldly renaming Candie’s tactics as shaming. The petition also emphasized what I see as feminist values of reciprocity, inclusivity, and transparency. They invited a meeting, encouraged a change in approach based on common ground, and cited all sources used to build their arguments for accepting and supporting young parents. However, my analysis of the Candie’s Foundation’s ultimate responses to these messages draws attention to the powerful strategies those invested in dominant discourses use to address counter-­perspectives and reiterate the status quo. First, the foundation’s responses illustrate that the dominant discourse relies on public conception of lists of numbers, presented as facts, mattering more than the dignity and lived experiences of women. “Fact” claims deflect attention from the young parents who are trying to highlight the fact that they are stigmatized and, instead, focus attention on the potential value of non-­pregnant and non-­parenting teenagers who are willing to conform. This fact response is a recurring strategy deployed by teenage pregnancy campaign designers who distract from the material and social effects of shaming discourses by focusing the public on the reasons why teenage pregnancy and motherhood should be something to be ashamed of. The debate about the pedagogical value of shame prevents sustained public discussion of the research that challenges the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy and the reasons why young families, particularly low-­income, single young mothers of color, experience (structural) inequality and microaggressions in the everyday. Ultimately, #NoTeenShame was ignored by Cole, who refused to meet with the activists and deployed his privileged access to a mainstream media blog to reaffirm the importance of “children not having children.” In his post he (1) erases the identity of his accusers, (2) justifies Candie’s tactics as necessary means of getting attention, and (3) reappropriates the “teen mom” as a preventative subject—­someone we should look to only as a reason why we should be doing everything we can to prevent teenage pregnancy. Despite Candie’s Foundation’s refusal to meet with them to create a more empowering campaign together, the activists all felt that #NoTeenShame’s 2013 campaign was successful. First, each activist pointed out that the foundation’s

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public responses showed that #NoTeenShame was effective in getting the organization to pay attention to counter-­perspectives. Second, #NoTeenShame maintains that other nonprofit organizations working on teenage pregnancy prevention initiatives across the country have reached out to the activists as experts who can help youth-­serving organizations avoid stigmatizing young parents. This suggests that although the group’s ethical appeals did not convince the Candie’s Foundation that they were valuable experts, their collective ethos did appeal to others. In the spring of 2014, #NoTeenShame was given an award for their efforts by the Healthy Teen Network, a “national membership organization” that seeks “to improve the health and well-­being of young people” (“About Us”). It was at the Healthy Teen Network’s annual conference that all the activists met each other face-­to-­face for the first time. Finally, what the activists remain most proud of is the ways in which they have inspired other young parents to use the #NoTeenShame hashtag to express pride and joy about their pregnancies and parenthood on social media—­something that was not possible for Consuela, Gloria, and Marylouise during their teenage years.11 This suggests that the #NoTeenShame counter-­narrative has helped to change the significance of the experience of pregnancy and motherhood for at least some young pregnant and mothering women. Furthermore, the continued use of the #NoTeenShame hashtag suggests that the movement has encouraged other young pregnant and mothering women to similarly recognize that their position as a “too-­young” mother may be a place of authority from which to speak. As Beth Daniell and Letizia Guglielmo explain, “audiences are not merely consumers of information in the cyberspaces of Web 2.0 but also producers” (99). Daniell and Guglielmo point out “comments sections and tools for sharing these texts” (such as hashtags) “allow readers to add their voices to a discussion, often borrowing the original author’s ethos and speaking from personal experience, sometimes disagreeing with or refining the original author’s position” (100). In this way, readers find their way into arguments about issues that matter to them and the teen -­mother-­as-­positive-­member-­of-­society ethos gains ground as it is used again and again. The process of responding to the Candie’s Foundation as a diverse collective also solidified the #NoTeenShame activists as a coalition, or what they would describe as leaders of a movement. By 2014, the activists decided to focus on a “proactive” approach by consulting with organizations that are willing to change their approach to pregnancy prevention and by circulating supportive messaging for young pregnant and parenting people on their own Tumblr blog. For instance, their first post was a graphic that explains “5 Ways to Be an Ally to Young Parents” (see Figure 4.3). The activists explained to me they are still trying to figure out what they are (an organization? a coalition? a company?). However, they are clear on

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FIGURE 4.3.   “5 Ways to Be an Ally to Young Parents.” 2014. Created by Natasha

Vianna, #NoTeenShame.

what they are trying to do and that they will continue to do it together.12 Their rhetorical tactics focus on, first and foremost, changing the language we use to discuss young pregnant and parenthood. Second, they believe in the power of visuals to communicate clear messaging to broad audiences, particularly through social media. Finally, they seize timely opportunities to shape and, if needed, interrupt discourses about teenage pregnancy. In 2016, the Candie’s Foundation changed its name the TheNext​.org, yet it continues to use the message “You’re supposed to be changing the world, not diapers,” the #NoTeenPreg hashtag, and the rhetoric of “fact” to support a worldview that positions women (and specifically their ability to reproduce) as the cause of the inequalities and injustices they face. A particularly horrific example is a Facebook post on September 20, 2016, titled “Know the Facts,” which reads, “Teens who are pregnant are at increased risk of experiencing domestic violence.” Here TheNext​.org situates abuse as a consequence of pregnancy. But where there is power there is resistance—­young parenting people are still using the #NoTeenShame hashtag, often directly on the organization’s Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook posts. For example, on August 4,

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2015, the Candie’s Foundation posted, “Know the facts. Don’t be another statistic. #noteenpreg” alongside a large pink graphic stating “Be safe, not sorry.” On August 17, young mother Susannah Bautista commented: “I am not sorry. The only reason my life is hard at all is because of the stigma surrounding teen moms. Stop. #noteenshame.” Under her comment, Bautista posts a photograph of two happy young girls who are, presumably, her daughters and who function as visual proof that Bautista does not feel ashamed about being a mother. Thus, the hashtag is still deployed as both a tactic of interruption and an emblem of pride. Young parents are continuing to use #NoTeenShame to shift the public perspective of the “young mother” from an immoral character to be prevented to a proud woman deserving of respect. In other words, #NoTeenShame’s efforts are now part of the social and subjective relations that produce opportunities for rhetorical actions by other young parents. While this chapter has demonstrated the tactics marginalized young women deploy to interrupt the discourses that position them as problems, the next chapter explores how young pregnant and mothering women are continually interrupted in everyday public contexts (grocery stores, school campuses, public transportation) by strangers who respond to them as embodied exigencies. I explore whether there is potential for constrained agency in these moments as well.

5

Confronting the Stranger on the Street Embodied Exigence in Everyday Rhetorical Situations It is my first day back to school. I hesitantly trudge onto campus. I am wearing the teal summer dress that I purchased at a discount department store—­hoping to purchase an air of confidence, beauty, and sexiness for my first day of senior year. The dress clings to my large, round stomach—­a healthy sixth-­month maternal figure in a junior-­ department size dress. My body is not supposed to fit into this dress, but I make it work. My body, in this form, is not supposed to traverse a high school campus, but I plan to make that work too. I have a surprisingly good day back. Students and teachers notice my pregnant form, surprised that over the summer I have changed from the outspoken but scholastically complacent girl to this Other thing that is so visibly marked, so out of place. Everyone noticed my pregnancy, some asked happily about it, but no confrontations, no hurt feelings. At noon, I waddle happily to my car in the back school parking lot, thinking that this school year just might work, especially since I am “ahead of the game” in school progress and earned, in my senior year, a schedule with only half days of classes. In the midst of this daydream, I am hailed by our school security guard. He asks to check my school ID for the tiny gold star that authorizes me to leave before 2:30 in the afternoon. Instead of looking at the plastic card I hand him, his dark brown eyes survey my pregnant form for what feels like a full minute. I have trouble watching his eyes watch me. He sneers, then grunts: “Huh! Do you know who the father is?” 136

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My face crumbles. My heart begins to pump its way up to my throat, urging me to confront him. I am only able to manage a dirty look before stomping off to my car. Later, I remember that I answered his question. I told him the father’s name. He hailed a teenage mother, and I spoke from that position.

The pregnant teenage body is repeatedly constructed as an exigence that calls for women who become pregnant during their teenage years to explain their pregnancies to peers, family members, teachers, school administrators, and even strangers. Often, young mothers are asked to speak or write about their experiences in order to prove how hard this life path is and how wrong they were to deviate from prescribed norms. Yet, this invitation to speak as a “teenage mother” can also be a moment of constrained agency wherein young mothers may challenge dominant perspectives and interrupt pathologizing social practices. As rhetoricians Carl G. Herndl and Adela C. Licona maintain, agency is not something an individual can have or lose, but instead a rhetorical performance dependent upon a kairotic moment—­a moment when a subject has the opportunity to speak with authority and to deploy means of persuasion to move an audience to do or think something. As the previous chapters have illustrated, many young mothers seize opportune moments to speak, write, and publish counter-­narratives that talk back to the stigmas associated with them and their pregnancies. In this chapter, I consider whether moments when strangers confront young pregnant and mothering women in public may also be kairotic opportunities for constrained agency. The dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy constructs an everyday lived context in which young pregnant and mothering women embody an urgent and much-­debated social issue (Lesko “Curriculum Differentiation” 121). As Wanda S. Pillow writes, the pregnant (and I would add mothering) teen body “is used as a symbol of all that is wrong in America and thus is also situated as a body in need of regulation, control, surveillance, and reformation” (10). In this cultural context, youthful-­looking pregnant and mothering women are often confronted in public because of the problems their bodies seem to represent. I offer the rhetorical concept of “embodied exigence” as a way to understand how discursive and material realities of the body may construct everyday situations during which the body may function as a site of constrained agency from which to challenge or reproduce dominant discourses. Building on rhetorical theories of exigence, poststructuralist understandings of subject formation, and feminist scholarship on motherhood, I argue that in moments of embodied exigence, people who are perceived as embodying a problem may seize the opportunity to speak to what their bodies represent. Drawing on interviews and focus groups I conducted with pregnant and mothering young women, I describe four tactics that I hear

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them using in moments of embodied exigence to challenge the power relations and misunderstandings embedded in dominant perspectives on teenage pregnancy: walking away, talking back to invasions of privacy, employing humor, and educating the stranger with counter-­points. I conclude by calling for the critical tools and social supports marginalized subjects need to rhetorically engage these often unpredictable and potentially hostile encounters.

Confronting the Pregnant or Mothering Teenage Body So far, this book has demonstrated that there is a rhetorical pattern of using the bodies (photographed and quantified) and partial testimonies of young mothers to persuade the public to believe that “teenage pregnancy” is a social problem with consequences such as poverty, educational failure, and increasing numbers of US citizens in the prison system. In 2010, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention even proclaimed teenage pregnancy a “winnable battle” (3).1 Thus, young women who experience pregnancy or motherhood before the age of twenty are emblems of a battle lost. The public is not to respect or value the pregnant or mothering teen bodies that are made highly visible through media coverage and the institutional measures that monitor them. This repeated way of representing the “problem” means that the bodies of young pregnant and mothering women signal to the public an opportunity to speak about national issues—­poverty, healthcare, welfare, education, single parenthood, and child rearing. In such a cultural context, visibly youthful pregnant and mothering bodies often prompt antagonistic responses. For example, activist Natasha Vianna created a list of “100 Things You Should Never Say to a Teen Mom,” posted on The PushBack blog, just by reflecting for fifteen minutes on the nasty comments and “invasive questions” she has received from people since becoming pregnant at the age of seventeen. In addition, during her ethnographic research at a school for pregnant and parenting teens, Wendy Luttrell observed that teachers became increasingly uncomfortable and angry with students as they began to “show,” or grow into a visibly pregnant form. Luttrell found that teachers were more likely to criticize the students’ conduct—­including their clothing, physical movements, and attitudes deemed in/appropriate for women in “their condition”—­and this led to “recurring conflict[s]” (18). In much the same way, during her ethnographic research with black young mothers and their families in Oakland and Richmond, California, Elaine Bell Kaplan found that the pregnant body is a source of conflict in young women’s homes and public spaces. Kaplan observes mothers who become increasingly intolerant of their pregnant daughters’ presence in the home as the young women grew more visibly pregnant (53, 76). Kaplan explains that

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for communities struggling with poverty and all that is associated with poverty (e.g., drug abuse, poor education, and a lack of positive relationships for youth) a pregnant teenager symbolizes the end of the American Dream as well as an easy explanation for why the community struggles (133). Drawing from her qualitative research with thirty African American young mothers who shared stories of struggles with child protective services, schools, and hospitals, Chishamiso T. Rowley maintains, “The stigmatization of young mothers gives people an opportunity to show and sometimes act on their feelings of condemnation, disapproval and outrage” (176). Indeed, preventative discourses of “teenage pregnancy” encourage everyday US citizens to notice and even comment on the living but dehumanized representations of deviant sexuality, educational failure, and economic burdens before them. In short, the ongoing surveillance, quantification, representation, and scrutiny of the pregnant/mothering teenage body prompt people to address pregnant and mothering teenagers.

Collecting Stories of Public Confrontations with Young Mothers Over the years, I have had the opportunity to speak to several young mothers about the comments and questions they have received during their pregnancies and as they raised their children. First, I spoke to pregnant and mothering women about this phenomenon during a research study called the My Pregnancy Story Project (MPSP). During this project, I collaborated with the executive director of the Southwest Institute for Research on Women, Dr. Sally Stevens, to conduct focus groups with twenty-­seven pregnant and mothering women aged fifteen to nineteen in Tucson, Marana, and Phoenix, Arizona, from October 2011 to January 2012.2 The goal of our research, situated in a state known for comparatively high rates of teenage pregnancy, was to learn about the support systems available to young mothers in order to potentially improve those systems or identify gaps where community stakeholders could develop more support for young parents (Vinson and Stevens 325–­326). Ultimately, Stevens and I conducted nine focus groups at four diverse sites that served or housed pregnant and mothering young women: two public high schools with teen parent programs (one urban, one rural), one juvenile correctional facility, and one community nonprofit organization that provided support for young pregnant and parenting teens. The analysis in this chapter focuses primarily on participants’ responses to the final series of questions. We asked participants, “Have you received comments from strangers relating to your pregnancy or motherhood? If so, can you give examples? How did you respond? Were you happy with your response?” Later, in the spring of 2015, I asked the same set of questions during my individual interviews with six of the #NoTeenShame activists (see chapter 4 and Appendix A).

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It is important to note that young mothers, and I assume young fathers as well, experience rude comments and questions from family members, partners, teachers, and medical staff. However, I asked participants to reflect specifically on comments from people they did not know. During the focus groups two young mothers who looked a bit older than their teenage years explained that, while they did experience interactions with strangers because they were pregnant (including unsolicited touching and questions about the gender of the baby or their due dates), they never received skeptical or concerned comments relating to being “too young.” Thus, although I use the adjective “young” throughout the chapter to describe the participants and other pregnant/ mothering women who are addressed as teenage mothers, I mean to refer to those who are perceived as young—­that is, women who look like teenagers to the people who address them. For example, activist Lisette Orellana Engel, who is only four foot ten and, at the time of our interview, twenty-­eight years old, consistently experiences stares, comments, and questions because she appears to be “too young.” The majority of the young women I spoke with explained that they had received comments from strangers relating to their pregnancies or their status as mothers. For example, when describing school peers’ responses to her pregnancy, Molly made a distinction between the supportive treatment of students who knew her and just genuinely wanted to know how she was doing and the negative comments from peers who did not know her and “give you the worst looks ever and they’re just like, ‘You slut!’”3 Most of the time, confrontations related to visible pregnancy or motherhood occurred while the young women were using public transportation or out shopping at grocery stores, malls, or supercenters. Often, strangers would inquire about their age, perhaps to verbally verify that visual evidence they are too young by cultural standards, and then offer judgments about the timing of their pregnancies. Gloria, who lives in New York, explained she often received comments in taxis: “So, that’s what would happen every time I would get into a cab with [my daughter]. She’d be like ‘Oh, mommy,’ and the cab almost crashes because he brakes and looks in the back seat. ‘That’s your daughter?’ And I’m like, ‘Yeah.’ ‘Well, how old are you?’ ‘I’m twenty.’ ‘How old is she?’ ‘She’s five.’ Quick math in his head. Da da da da da. ‘Oh my God! When did it? Where’s her dad?’” (Malone). Other encounters happen when young pregnant or mothering women walk across open spaces such as school or detention center campuses. For example, Miranda explained, “I was walking over [across the school campus] to the daycare with my son and some freshman little boy was like, ‘Well, shoulda wore a condom.’” Interpreting Miranda as only an embodied example of a teen’s failure to practice safe sex, the male student responds with the sex education cautionary tale punch line.

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Some focus group participants drew attention to strangers who ask young mothers what they are going to do about their pregnancies: I think older people look down on me. They’re like, “What are you gonna do?” MIA:  Yeah, I hate it when they ask, “What are you going to do?” JENNA:  Okay, so, where do you get those comments? MEGAN:  Well one of them was yesterday when I was taking the bus home [from school]. [The bus driver] was asking all these weird questions, like, “it must be hard for you,” and all this kind of stuff and I am like, “yeah it’s hard,” but I’m like, “I’m still going to school.” MEGAN: 

Other participants also reflected on experiences when strangers conferred with them about the problem of their pregnancy and what was going to be done about it. Thus, in addition to prompting antagonistic responses about the inappropriateness of young pregnant and mothering women’s life decisions, the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy appears to generate concerns for the well-­being of the young woman and child. If teenage pregnancy is an epic “battle” claiming victims and impeding the success of young women and their children, then it can be alarming, shocking even, to see the sufferers in the flesh. This fuels comments made in public spaces to visibly mothering or pregnant young women about what can be “done” to help the seemingly horrible situation. Some participants hypothesized that perhaps these comments were the natural result of people’s inclination to be nosy. Other participants thought that such questions and comments were part of an effort to make young mothers feel bad. And, indeed, many participants admitted that such encounters caused them anxiety. Belinda explains, “I was like, ‘Oh, yeah. You’re right. What am I going to do?’” Participants at another focus group agreed. Sara explained that after receiving many negative comments about her pregnancy “it kind of gets to you.” Another mother in that group, Salma, chimed in: “[It] kind of makes you have like a second thought.” Sara agreed: “Makes you have a lot.” These stories were especially alarming for a newly pregnant focus group participant, Mia, who had not received any comments relating to the intersection of her youth and pregnancy. After hearing a fellow student describe an incident during which male students yelled “MILF” (an abbreviation for “mom I’d like to fuck”) at her as she strolled her son to daycare, Mia exclaimed, “I can’t take that. My heart’s beating really fast right now and it didn’t even happen [to me]!” During our interview, Natasha explained, “I got so tired of people staring at me, or looking at me, and wondering if they were going to ask me a question that I just avoided people in general. I didn’t go to support groups. I didn’t even like going to Target or grocery shopping or anywhere I

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would be seen because I just wanted to avoid as much interaction as possible” (Vianna). As anxiety-­producing moments that shock, shame, and/or potentially infuriate young women who carry pregnancies or raise children, and as moments that seem to be unfairly centered on women’s bodies, it is important to theorize these encounters to better understand how young mothers and their allies can rhetorically respond.4

Embodied Exigence These instances of pregnant and mothering young women being approached, at least in part, because of the political, economic, and social problems they are made to represent illustrate what I call embodied exigence. In order to explain what I mean by embodied exigence, I will review rhetorical theories of exigence as they have been debated and refined over the past several years. Lloyd Bitzer first defined exigence in his influential article, “The Rhetorical Situation,” that brought attention to how context both prompts and shapes possible rhetorical responses. Bitzer explains that rhetorical situations are “natural context[s] of persons, events, objects, relations, and an exigence which strongly invites utterance” (5). To illustrate, he offers the example of John F. Kennedy’s inaugural address, a speech called into existence by the situation at hand—­the appointing of a new president (2). Bitzer identifies exigence as the factor in the situation that impels a rhetor to speak. Exigence is “an imperfection marked by urgency; it is a defect, an obstacle, something waiting to be done, a thing which is other than it should be” (6). In the encounters I have been describing, the pregnant or mothering teen body is the “imperfection marked by urgency” that seems to “strongly invite utterance” from those who see it. Questioning Bitzer’s claim that it is a preexisting, materialized exigence that “invites utterance” (4), Richard Vatz argues that it is the rhetor who interprets (and possibly creates) the exigence to which she or he responds. From Vatz’s perspective, it would be the stranger who is constructing the exigence by interpreting the pregnant/parenting person as a problem and by deciding to speak to her as such. Vatz maintains, “No theory of the relationship between situations and rhetoric can neglect to take account of the initial linguistic depiction of the situation” (228). Since Bitzer’s essay was first published in 1968, rhetoricians have debated the role of exigence and the situation in rhetoric. Barbara Biesecker explains that in these debates “either speaker or situation is posited as logically and temporally prior, one or the other is taken as origin” (235). Eschewing this either/or dichotomy, Biesecker contends that “neither the text’s immediate rhetorical situation nor its author can be taken as simple origin or generative agent since both are underwritten by a series of historically produced displacements” (239). That is, we cannot easily point to

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the stranger or the pregnant/mothering teen body as the source of “exigence” because the stranger, the stranger’s response, the pregnant/mothering teen, and the pregnant/mothering teen’s response are all mediated by social constructions including, but not limited to, the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy, histories of interactions (between people of different ages, occupations, classes, genders, races, classes, orientations, and abilities), and ideological frameworks. Drawing on poststructuralist theorist Jacques Derrida’s theory of différance, Biesecker depicts the rhetorical situation as an articulation between “symbolic action,” such as the stranger’s comment, “and the subject” or audience of the symbolic action, such as the young pregnant or mothering woman who hears that comment (233). Biesecker encourages us to recognize that the symbolic action of the confrontation and the subject of the response (in this case, the young mother) are both socially constructed and constantly shifting (233). While acknowledging that “at the center of action is a process of interpretation” (as opposed to “material causes” or the objectively identifiable exigencies emphasized by Bitzer), Carolyn R. Miller still finds Bitzer’s “demand-­ response” approach to rhetorical situations useful in explaining how exigencies seem to recur—­prompting similar responses each time (156). Miller explains, “Exigence is a form of social knowledge—­a mutual construing of objects, events, interests, and purposes that not only links them but also makes them what they are: an objectified social need” (157, emphasis added). Thus, an exigence is a shared construction of an urgent discursive and material need that “provides the rhetor with a socially recognizable way” to act each time the rhetor encounters this need (158). Many organizations, institutions, media, and people construct pregnant or mothering teenagers as “things that are other than it should be” (Bitzer 6), and many young mothers report being talked about or talked to as if they were a defect that must be addressed in the everyday—­they embody the mutually constructed exigence of “teenage pregnancy.” Pregnant teenagers are often brought to public attention as problems when an organization, institution, or rhetor wants to discuss social changes packaged as solutions. For example, in chapter 1, I discussed how Planned Parenthood and the Alan Guttmacher Institute first brought attention to pregnant and parenting teens in order to discuss the importance of approving sex education and contraceptives for minors in the 1970s. Pregnant and mothering teenagers can be both exigencies to address in and of themselves (with comments like “shoulda worn a condom” or “you are too young!”) or pathetic rhetorical appeals for action to change other social inequalities (like substandard education, lack of access to contraception or abortion, or failing family structures). Because public discourses of teenage pregnancy prevention construct a negative view of “young” parenthood, people

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who experience these discourses—­in school, the media, or politics—­are prompted to respond to the exigence of a pregnant teen body. Perhaps the commenter just feels impelled to speak by something larger to respond to the urgent need before them. After all, responses to everyday young pregnant and mothering women do not make a lot of sense in the moment. Many of the young pregnant and mothering women I spoke with questioned the function of these comments and questions. One focus group participant, Salma, said, “It’s not like [the person’s] words could stop it [my pregnancy].” Yet, representations of the pregnant and mothering teen body and narrations of the young mother saga are continually deployed to urge action to “stop it”—­to stop the problem that young mothers are made to embody. Thus, a stranger seeing Salma as a signifier of “teenage pregnancy” may feel impelled by the socially prescribed response of doing something about the problem before him or her. Another focus group participant, Tabitha, explained that when she was sixteen a teacher looked at her pregnant body and then announced to the class that they would be having an impromptu discussion about teenage pregnancy. A class discussion of the reasons why students should practice pregnancy prevention was a socially recognizable way for this teacher to address the “urgent issue” sitting in her room. During our interview, #NoTeenShame activist Christina suggested, “I think people really take liberty to like correct something that they see as wrong. Especially when it’s a young person.” Christina interprets the comments and stares she received as a teenage mother as the result of an urge to “correct something”—­an urge that stems from both the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy that dehumanizes young mothers as indicators of things always and only wrong and, as Christina points out, the cultural imperative to teach or guide young people in how to behave. Anis Bawarshi explains that since “we recognize a recurring situation as requiring a certain immediate attention or remedy (in short, an exigence),” our responses to exigencies are “also socially defined” (356). In this way, “exigence becomes part of the way we conceptualize and experience a situation, and, as a result, how we respond to and maintain it” (356). In other words, how people respond to exigencies is determined, in part, by how they are supposed to respond—­that is, how they have been socialized to respond (Miller 158; Bawarshi 341). Rhetorician Krista Ratcliffe explains that “just as radiation fields permeate bodies and (un)consciously affect our cell functions, so too do cultural discourses permeate our bodies and (un)consciously socialize our attitudes and actions” (619). We are socialized to act with certain attitudes and actions toward those we perceive as too-­young mothers. Intersecting with the cultural imperative to do something about teenage pregnancy and motherhood is the social practice of treating the maternal body as public domain. Pregnancy, in particular, is a seemingly opportune moment to interact with the bodies of women through medical practices and everyday encounters in public spaces. It is also a period of time when women

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are often asked to speak about and account for their bodies. Approached by friends and strangers alike, women’s pregnant bodies frequently become the center of conversation: “How far along are you?” “Is this your first?” “Are you expecting twins?” In her essay “On Pregnancy and Privacy and Fear,” creative writer Aubrey Hirsch expresses her anxiety about announcing the news of her pregnancy because it will prompt others to touch and discuss her body on a daily basis. She writes, “In our society, pregnant women are public property.” As reviewed in chapter 1, feminist scholarship demonstrates that pregnant women are often treated as objectified bodies (as opposed to subjects with wills, rights, feelings, and dignity) to touch, discipline, monitor, and critique. Public responses to everyday pregnant and mothering bodies are shaped by differences of class, race, ethnicity, sexual orientation, physical appearance, marital status (is there a ring on your finger?), religious affiliation, community context, and family dynamic. As Elizabeth Grosz writes, bodies are multiply situated, “sexually specific” but “necessarily interlocked with racial, cultural, and class particularities” (19). For example, a black young woman who is approached in public as an embodied example of a “teen mother” faces a response shaped by years of US white supremacist and patriarchal violence against black female bodies—­including institutionalized rape and forced pregnancy as slaves and, later, sterilization as free women; continual denial of welfare benefits and access to shelters, jobs, schools, and neighborhoods that would help to sustain healthy pregnancies and children; predatory prenatal surveillance in public hospitals leading to incarceration; as well as a host of racist tropes including the mammy, the animalistic slave, the welfare queen, the crack mother, and the angry black woman that may shape the way she sees herself, the way people read her body, and the way people listen to her speak about her pregnancy and motherhood. A white young woman who is approached as a “teen mother” faces a response shaped by years of white privilege but also patriarchal and class-­based violence against the white female body—­including institutionalized rape and abuse of wives; forced pregnancy and childbirth due to the withholding of contraceptive options and the cultural imperative to raise the next elite; forced rejection from the community and relinquishment of any children in maternity homes as unwed mothers as well as a host of cultural significations including the “fallen” woman, the “unadjusted” girl, and the idealized supermom that may shape both the way she sees herself and the way people read her body and listen to her speak about pregnancy and motherhood. As an example, for Natasha—­ a light-­ skinned, first-­ generation Brazilian American—­the embodied experience of being a (publicly visible) young mother intersected with issues of race and class. She explained how she initially felt she could avoid scrutiny by reconsidering the way that she spoke and dressed in public:

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I had to change the way that I talked. I had to change the way that I dressed. If I dressed “whiter” and more professional and older, then maybe I’ll be perceived that way and, again, it came with the assumption that how I present myself is how I’ll be received. And it’s my fault that people think I’m ghetto. Because throughout my pregnancy, I was the mom who wore like really tight Brazilian jeans and Airforces.5 I had like my gel hair. And for a lot of people, that was what a teen mom looks like. And I was like, “Crap! I don’t want to be that.” And so I had to change my whole wardrobe. I had to stop doing my makeup certain ways. I had to stop doing my hair certain ways. . . . I struggled with that because I’m like, “Am I being authentic or am I pretending to be someone I’m not?”

By dressing “older,” more “professional,” and “white,” Natasha felt that she could avoid being read as a typical teen mom or, perhaps, avoid fueling the stereotype that Latinas are “ghetto” low-­class people prone to young motherhood. A pregnant or mothering woman’s position in the class structure shapes public responses to her as well. For instance, young women who use public benefits like WIC, TANF, and SNAP are more visible as low-­income mothers who often need to go to state agencies, public health clinics, and grocery stores with the visual cues of poverty. These women may be more readily approached as embodied markers of a national exigence. In contrast, women who have access to wealth—­higher personal incomes, shared family income, or inherited material goods—­can maintain more privacy.6 In thinking about the various rhetorical significations of bodies and the ways in which exigence may be embodied by particular subjects, I draw on and respond to feminist and rhetorical scholarship on the body. For example, collections such as Jack Selzer and Sharon Crowley’s Rhetorical Bodies explore how rhetoric “marks” particular bodies and consider the “cultural freight” or implications of those significations (Crowley 361). In Branded Bodies, Rhetoric, and the Neoliberal Nation-­State, Jennifer Wingard argues that during times of economic hardship and political change, particular bodies—­such as immigrants and LGBTQ citizens—­are branded as “threatening” in a way that “redirects anxieties that the material conditions of neoliberal capital produce through unemployment, economic disenfranchisement, and changing demographics” toward dehumanized, monolithic others (ix). Building from feminist theorists of the body, such as Rosi Braidotti, Susan Bordo, Elizabeth Grosz, and Judith Butler, rhetorical theorists have considered how our understandings of bodies are shaped by particular rhetorical practices. Moreover, feminist rhetorical theorists have considered how cultural depictions of gendered and racialized bodies have influenced the strategies women use to present their bodies in public when trying to effect social change (Buchanan; Mattingly). In this sense, rhetoric marks and is generated through the body. Roxanne Mountford

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contends that “it is really not possible to think about rhetoric without drawing in considerations of the body. The body is the subject in both senses: it is the subject of rhetoric as well as the actor/orator/rhetorician herself ” (8–­9, emphasis original). Drawing on this scholarship, I ask us to consider how the body may prompt rhetorical situations when others read it as an exigence (a reading encouraged by rhetorics that continually mark that body as a crisis or subject of debate) and how the person who embodies that exigence may rhetorically respond. Embodiment may refer to the experience of living in a particularly situated body, and it may refer to the material representation of a discourse, idea, or problem. I claim both senses of the term, deploying embodiment in my definition of embodied exigence as a way of bringing attention to women who have lived through a pregnancy or motherhood that began in their teen years and as a way of bringing attention to the fact that those women are often seen to represent the larger idea that teenage pregnancy and motherhood is a problem. The Oxford English Dictionary defines “embodied” as something that is “expressed or exhibited in material or concrete form.” Thus, when I use the phrase embodied exigence, I am thinking of embodiment as the experience of exhibiting a rhetorical construction in material or concrete form—­a lived, everyday experience. I do not mean that one is always and only marked or branded in the same way. After all bodies are constantly changing (leaking, growing, shrinking, moving, etc.) and multiply situated. A woman’s sense of embodiment depends on where she is and how she is related to other things around her. I mean to refer to those particular everyday instances in which, due to a conjunction of elements, one feels or one is approached as an embodiment of a particular exigence. I theorize that the body—­as it appears pregnant or in proximity to children or as it has experienced a physical endeavor such as gestation and labor—­represents or exemplifies a current, urgent issue or debate. I believe that Bitzer’s understanding of exigence, as reread through Biesecker, Miller, and Bawarshi, helps to explain everyday situations in which a young women’s socially recognizable pregnancy or motherhood impels strangers to speak with her. Of course, it is not just the physically observable body that prompts speech, but the socialized recognition of that body as a problem demanding a response—­a recognition that comes with the repeated representation of “teenage pregnancy” in political debates, prevention campaigns, and media outlets. Thus, I define embodied exigence as a moment in which subjects, like teenage mothers, are addressed as an urgent issue or social problem within a specific cultural context.7 The embodied exigence of a pregnant or mothering teenager often demands an antagonistic or sympathetic response that reaffirms she is an objectified social problem. However, I posit that a subject who embodies exigence may also seize the opportunity to act as a rhetor in her own

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right, shifting a moment of personal confrontation into a rhetorical situation that better suits her own rhetorical purpose.

Recognition as Interpellation and Opportunity for Constrained Agency Few situations offer a position of authority to speak for young people or everyday pregnant/mothering women. However, the fact that some pregnant and mothering women are already approached in public means pregnant or mothering young women could possibly use those moments to actively intervene in discourses about pregnancy and motherhood. Michel de Certeau explains, in The Practice of Everyday Life, that nondominant subjects—­or those who do not operate from a secure position of power—­must deploy tactics that “manipulate events in order to turn them into ‘opportunities’” (xix). I contend that young mothers’ actions during these events are tactical efforts that turn a moment of stigmatization into an “opportunity” for resistance. Considering situations when teenagers are engaged by strangers because of the visible markers of pregnancy or motherhood highlights an important contribution to Herndl and Licona’s theory of constrained agency: the materiality of the rhetor/subject’s body. Herndl and Licona maintain that “in order to participate in a debate, a speaking subject must first be recognized and able to enter the discussion” (134). In current political and media contexts, the public is encouraged to recognize and actively respond to pregnant and mothering women, and particularly, teenage mothers. Perhaps this recognition can function as a means of resistance, providing a way for marginalized subjects to speak back to social practices and norms. Yet, recognition is also the means of subject formation. In his influential essay “Ideology and Ideological State Apparatuses,” Louis Althusser discusses recognition, specifically misrecognition, as a powerful source/effect of ideology that helps to sustain the status quo that benefits the ruling class. He explains that in order to construct ideologies that reproduce the relations of the ruling class, individuals are “interpellated” as subjects who enact the practices and rituals of that ideology (175). Althusser defines interpellation as a hailing, recruitment, or transformation of individuals into subjects of ideologies, offering the example of a police officer hailing someone: “Hey, you there!” (174). Althusser’s theory of interpellation illustrates that moments of recognition are also moments of ideological subject formation. In answering the hail, in recognizing oneself as subject of the hail, one is misrecognizing oneself as a subject in that ideological construction. When individuals are recognized and hailed with comments such as, “Hey you! How old are you? Is this your child? You are too young,” they are subjected to the ideological construction of teenage motherhood.

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When a woman is recognized as a teen mother, whether or not she speaks, she is positioned in a rhetorical situation as an abject subject. Feminist poststructuralist Chris Weedon explains, “It is misrecognition in the sense that the individual, on assuming the position of subject in ideology, assumes that she is the author of the ideology which constructs her subjectivity” (30, emphasis original). In other words, when the young pregnant or mothering woman sees herself as a teenage mother, a child-­rearing person who is younger than the norm, being approached because she gave birth a child before the age of twenty, she is misrecognizing an ideological construction as an objective reality. For example, I opened this chapter with a reflection on a moment when I was addressed as a teen mother (read: promiscuous, careless woman) and I felt impelled to speak as a subject of that ideological relation. When the adult male security guard asked for the name of the father of my child, I (misrecognizing myself as a “teenager” who must answer the questions of school guards, a “woman” who is subject to scrutiny if sexually active, and a “mother” who is accountable for the legitimacy of her child/family) answered his question. However, not all moments of recognition as a teenage mother need or do function this way. Distinguishing Marxist theories of ideology and interpellation from poststructuralist theories of discourse, Weedon writes, “For feminist poststructuralism, it is language in the form of conflicting discourses which constitutes us as conscious thinking subjects and enables us to give meaning to the world and act to transform it” (31). The awareness of “conflicting discourses” such as discourses of individuality, feminism, or the right to personal privacy may lead to a different response in the moment of recognition as a teenage mother. In fact, Judith Butler explains, “The paradox of subjectivation (assujetissement) is precisely that the subject who would resist such norms is itself enabled, if not produced, by such norms” (15). That is, the process of understanding that one is recognized as a teenage mother may be a moment when young women also recognize they are entitled to rights and respect as mothers. Michel Foucault explains, “Where there is power, there is resistance, and yet, or rather consequently, this resistance is never in a position of exteriority in relation to power” (History 95). The relations of power that construct moments of confrontation between strangers and young pregnant and mothering women also construct potential for subversive rhetorical exchange.

Coping with Confrontations Pregnant and mothering young women are well aware of the issues their bodies represent to other people and thus develop tactics to cope with the confrontations they experience.8 For example, during her interviews with thirty-­four women who had given birth between the ages of fifteen and nineteen, social scientist Kathryn Bondy Fessler learned that some young mothers strategically

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avoid spaces where they are often stigmatized (113–­114; Berman et al. 46).9 Recall Natasha’s decision to avoid shopping and other public spaces while she was pregnant. Fessler also finds that young pregnant or mothering teens manage the hostility they encounter in the everyday by going places with other people (104–­106), which offers more than just the comfort of presence. One focus group participant, Silvia, explained that when a stranger confronted her at a store, saying “Mi’jita, you’re so young! Why would you do this to yourself ?” her mother told the stranger to “please leave.” Finally, Fessler briefly illustrates that some young mothers directly respond to people’s skeptical comments or stares. She rather pejoratively labels this kind of response “attitude” (102). Erving Goffman, a foundational scholar of stigma whom Fessler draws on, also seems reticent to explore stigmatized individuals’ assertive engagement with the stranger situation, labeling such moves “militant” (113) and encouraging, if anything, a “sympathetic re-­education of the normal” (116). However this is exactly the thing I am interested in as a feminist rhetorician—­an academic hopeful that intentional use of symbols can change limited and limiting perceptions, actions, social structures, and power relations. Under what circumstances and in what ways can a person—­who is perceived as an embodied exigence to act/judge/comment in response to—­use language and other means of persuasion to shift into a position of authority in the moment, to “re-­educate” the stranger or intervene in the (re)production of the dominant narrative? Drawing on my research with young mothers, I illustrate that these are not only moments of being stigmatized but also lively rhetorical situations during which young mothers deploy a variety of tactics.

How Young Mothers Respond to Strangers in Moments of Embodied Exigence These everyday rhetorical situations are important because it is in these moments of confrontation when individual women are (re)constructed as “too young” or “teenage” mothers—­an exigence in our current cultural context. Subjectivity, or one’s felt sense of self as mediated by one’s cultural context, is constructed discursively and relationally. In other words, subjects are positioned in multiple, conflicting, and shifting ways. “Teenage mothers” are not always “teenage mothers.” They don’t always feel that way and they are not always perceived that way. As one focus group participant put it, “I don’t see myself as a teen parent, I am a parent and, you know, I’m dealing with it the way any mother would.” She admitted that others may see her as a teen parent but she sees many similarities between what she does and what other women who bear and raise children do. It is in these moments of confrontation when teachers, peers, strangers, and others in public spaces hail the individual as a “teenage mother” that the subjective position of embodied exigence is constructed. As Rachel C. Berman, Susan Silver, and Sue Wilson put it, young

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mothers “are positioned as ‘social problems’ through acts of open hostility because of their youthful appearance” (44, emphasis added). Although confrontations are not the only moment of constructing teenage mother as a rhetorical exigence, it is one moment of abject subject formation and (re)authorization of the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy. Individual actions during such confrontations may disrupt this construction, shift the rhetorical situation, and therein intervene in the (re)production of dominant discourses. I contend that individual women’s actions within these moments of subject formation can interrupt or challenge the interpellation that would sustain the status quo. However, it is difficult to assess the outcome or ultimate end of the tactics young pregnant and mothering women use in these moments. I have access only to participants’ stories about what the stranger did in the moment and how the young woman responded. Nonetheless, looking at their responses through a rhetorical lens, as tactics deployed to interrupt everyday situations in which they are interrupted by others who address them as exigencies, I further this book’s ultimate goal of understanding how young pregnant and mothering women actively engage in the discourses that construct them as nonnormative. Specifically, I identify and discuss the following resistive tactics I heard young mothers using to rhetorically respond in confrontations: walking away, talking back to invasions of privacy, using humor, and educating the stranger on counter-­points.

“I Just Got Up and Walked Out”: Walking Away The first tactic participants described as a way to respond to people’s uninvited stares, questions, or comments was to ignore them and walk away. For example, this is how Belinda responded to a student who stopped her on her first day at the juvenile correctional facility to question her about her pregnancy, how many children she had, and who the father was before telling her it was “crazy” that she would soon have two kids before the age of seventeen. She explains, “I walked away, I was like, I don’t care. It’s my responsibility not yours. That’s what I said in my head though [laughs].” Walking away is one strategy young mothers can use to avoid rhetorical situations where they feel they are being dehumanized as an object to judge. While some feminist theorists are understandably wary of silence as a response to moments of domination (Lorde 41), Belinda suggests ending or ignoring the confrontation is also an embodied way of illustrating that she does not care that the other person thinks she is “crazy” or a “problem.” Some participants discussed walking away as a way to deny the rude person the dignity of a response. Young mothers’ decisions to walk away may bring the stranger’s impelled response to “teenage pregnancy” to a halt and prompt the asker/commenter to reflect on what he or she is doing. Rhetorician Cheryl Glenn writes that silence “can also be a position—­a choice. . . . We can use silence to make the

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other person worry, wait, wonder, work harder. Silence can be used to make the other person worry about filling the gap, making peace, starting up the conversation or the negotiations again” (177). Not only may silence encourage others to “wait, wonder, and work harder” to understand young mother­ ing women as people worthy of dignity and respect, silence is a way to reject the stigmatized subject position. During our interview, activist Mary­louise explained that silence is perhaps the ideal response to a stranger’s skeptical comments or questions in terms of empowering the young mother: “I almost think saying nothing in that that particular situation can be powerful because I think we always feel this need to defend ourselves.  .  .  . And typically the people who are making these comments, you can say whatever you want, they’re not going to change what they think. It’s like you’re giving that attention right where it doesn’t need to be” (Kuti). Of course, it is important to distinguish between choosing to be silent and feeling silenced. Many young mothers described a combination of silence and removing themselves from the situation as opposed to remaining silently in the stranger’s presence. However, walking away may indicate success to a stranger who intended to make the young pregnant or mothering woman feel ashamed. Such a move may also be understood as rude “adolescent” behavior and potentially (re)construct the notion that adolescent pregnant or mothering women are deviant. In her book, Act Your Age! A Cultural Construction of Adolescence, Nancy Lesko points out that teenagers are often stereotyped as moody and hostile to authority (3). Perhaps young mothers who walk away are read as negligent people who just don’t know any better. At the same time, it seems that young mothers’ silence and desertion of the moment is also way to refuse the position of embodied exigence by disembodying it—­literally moving their body away from a situation in which they are addressed as a problem. Walking away from overtly hostile strangers is also a safety protocol, particularly in a patriarchal culture wherein women, and particularly women of color, experience harassment and violence in public. As feminist rhetorician Nedra Reynolds points out, “being a girl, by yourself, in public space, has enormous consequences, especially when factoring other embodied differences like being a Muslim female in traditional dress” (Geographies 151). Women are often made to feel unsafe in public spaces, particularly when men offer comments on their bodies as sexual objects. Activist Gloria Malone urges young mothers to think about the culture of street harassment in their region when considering the best way to respond to strangers in public. Moreover, the director of a community nonprofit organization serving pregnant and parenting teens told me that their teen support group leader always recommends that young mothers walk away from encounters with strangers in order to ensure their safety. The director explained that this was because of two separate incidents

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when young mothers from her organization were approached by strangers on the city bus who berated them and even followed them off the bus in order to continue harassing them. Reflecting on this question of safety prompts consideration of how the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy contributes to a climate of aggression toward women. Other participants similarly explained that they had to walk away from uninvited touches or rude comments because of the constraints of the situation. For example, at the correctional facility where Stevens and I conducted a focus group, there are rules about prolonged conversation in the courtyard or touching other young people. When I asked Belinda if she was happy with walking away from the peer who said it was “crazy” that she had two kids and asked her pointed questions about the father, Belinda explained, “Well, if I would have kept talking somebody would have called me. The staff, they wouldn’t have allowed us to keep talking.” Her peer Brooke further explained the constraints of their context: “Like a lot of people, they like they just come up to me and just touch my stomach. I am like, ‘We’re going to get boundaries!’ cause you can’t touch each other in here.” Since this facility had specific rules about talking in the hallways and touching each other’s bodies, responding to peers’ persistent line of questions and uninvited touches by walking away ensured that they wouldn’t get in trouble with the staff. In much the same way, students at a local high school with services for pregnant and parenting students mentioned that in order to enroll in this special program they had to sign a “Student Agreement” with special code of conduct provisions.10 Therefore, when other students yelled hurtful things at them, such as “shoulda worn a condom!” the pregnant and parenting students felt like all they could do was walk away. Miranda explained, “you can’t be in fights and you can’t be in altercations and stuff. . . . We get kicked out. Like one fight or anything we get kicked out” of the program. This would mean that the young mothers would have to find other accommodations for pregnancy-­/parenting-­related services and childcare for their children while they attended school. Considering the constraints of the moment, walking away or responding with silence is a conscious decision not to allow the moment of confrontation to become a situation that gets the pregnant or mothering teen, and the comment-­making or body-­touching peer, in trouble. At the same time, walking away from a moment of embodied exigence can also get the pregnant or mothering woman in trouble if it challenges the established authority in that situation. For example, Tina, another focus group participant, described a moment at school when a substitute teacher told her during class, “I look down on you because you’re pregnant.” Tina explained, “I just got up and walked out of the classroom. I just got up and walked out.” As a student constrained in a situation that does not allow students the authority of movement outside the classroom without teacher permission, Tina’s decision to leave could have led to negative consequences. Recognizing that the

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principal would support her decision to leave based on students’ rights to respectful treatment in the classroom, Tina “went into the principal’s office, told the principal what happened and he immediately went into the classroom and he was like [to the substitute] ‘you can leave now, I’ll sub the class.’” Tina strategized to go to the higher authority of the school for support. It is perhaps important to note that Tina is a white young woman who described herself as well-­known and well-­liked at the public high school she attended. This may have been a uniquely successful rhetorical tactic for her considering her existing privileges and position in the school. Furthermore, her school did not offer special programs or services to parenting teens but instead accommodated each (if any—­Tina explained that she knew of no other pregnant or parenting students at the school) student on a case-­by-­case basis. Perhaps this tactic would be less successful for minoritized students who already receive unequal or disrespectful treatment at the school and/or students who are not well-­ known or ­liked. For this participant, however, leaving the classroom led to the immediate replacement of the substitute teacher and the potential for both the teacher and the students in the classroom who witnessed the exchange to reflect on what is or is not appropriate to say to/about young mothers.

“I Don’t Even Know You”: Talking (or Staring) Back to Invasions of Privacy Other young pregnant or mothering women responded to strangers’ comments by interrupting the moment to draw attention to infractions on personal privacy. That is, in moments when strangers make the personal political by critiquing the pregnant or mothering young woman in a public place, the pregnant or mothering young woman may remind strangers that her decisions about her body should be a personal matter. One participant, Tatiana, recommended that pregnant or mothering women who receive scrutinizing stares in public spaces should just stare back. Tatiana explained that in staring back, the young woman could make evident that she sees the person staring: “It makes them lose their power of judging you because it’s like, ‘Hey, she doesn’t care.’” Staring back may also startle the stranger (who may or may not realize that he or she is staring), because the stranger may feel caught doing something that is culturally frowned upon. In her book Staring: How We Look, feminist disability scholar Rosemarie Garland-­Thomson explores the psychological, biological, and cultural factors that entice us to stare at something that appears unusual, deviant, or at least unique in our “visual landscape” (7). Complicating this inclination to stare at the “unusual” is a history of cultural taboos placed on staring (as a classed and gendered marker—­g ood people, and especially good women, do not stare). If a young pregnant or mothering teen wants to stop the stare, and get the stranger to leave her alone, staring back may work if the stranger feels shamed in doing something that is considered impolite.

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Other participants used verbal responses to draw attention to the infraction on personal privacy. For example, when Beatrice was at the store with her infant, a woman she did not know approached her to ask how old she was. When Beatrice answered, the woman commented, “Oh you’re so young!” Beatrice responded by saying, “[That’s] none of your business.” As Beatrice told the story, she smiled and laughed about it, expressing happiness that this tactic worked because the woman walked away. I asked another participant in this same focus group if anything similar had happened to her. She described an interaction at the store: I was shopping. But there’s like a girl saying stuff like that and I am like “Why do you care? I don’t even know you. Why am I going to answer you stuff ?” She was asking me questions, even though I didn’t even know her. And I was like “oh, whatever.” Like, why is she going to ask me things about it? I didn’t even know her. And stop judging me. And I started saying things to her and she walked away. Why is she going to talk to me when I don’t even know her? JENNA:  So you were able to say those things to her right then? BELLA:  Well, I did, because that’s not a good thing to ask. BELLA: 

Bella explains these confrontations as being about people who “say stuff ” to you when they have no right. Bella and Beatrice formulated responses that addressed this infraction on personal privacy—­you don’t ask someone you don’t know about her life. When describing interactions she’s experienced, Natasha told me that while she initially tried to avoid being in public at all in order to avoid those situations, she now engages to “try to make them uncomfortable” (Vianna). If someone tells her she looks too young, she says something like “Oh, are you commenting on how great my skin looks?” Or, when she picks her child up from camp and people ask if she is the nanny or babysitter she may respond, “Oh my god, I wish I had a nanny or a babysitter. I’m her mom.” Natasha finds that this direct acknowledgment or questioning the question prompts discomfort: “They’re like, ‘Oh, so sorry!’” The trope of personal privacy, supported by the cultural imperative not to stare or ask for personal information from people you do not know, helps to interrupt the moment and shift the young pregnant and mothering woman from a caricature of a social issue to a person calling for her right to privacy. Moreover, Bella later added that she felt that her response also defended her right to be happy about having a baby. For Bella, saying something like “What do you care? I don’t even know you,” interrupts the construction of her as “too young” to mother, by resisting the authority of others (older adults) to judge the appropriateness of her pregnancy. Bella was pleased to be having a baby and so she challenged the woman by employing the trope of personal privacy.

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Young and single women’s feelings of joy about bearing a child are often pathologized, presented as an indication of something being wrong with them (i.e., they lack love in their lives, they lack fathers, they lack self-­esteem, they are naïve, they cannot access better opportunities). Feelings of excitement and joy about an upcoming child are, thus, privileged emotions only some women get to display publicly without judgment. Bella does not tell the woman she is happy, but in interrupting the moment (wherein Bella is hailed as the tragic teen mom), Bella feels she has maintained her right to joy.

“I Just Be Lying”: Using Humor to Shift the Tone of the Situation When participants in one focus groups were struggling to figure out why people would approach them to make comments about their pregnancies or motherhood, many could not explain it beyond the fact that such interactions function to shame young mothers. One participant suggested that young mothers could use humor to make themselves feel better and potentially ward off future harassment. If you hear negative comments, though, I always just make a joke about it. It surprises people and catches them off guard. Did she really just make a joke about that? MIA:  People would tell me when I was pregnant that I waddle. I would be like, “Yeah I am a penguin!” MICHELLE:  Most of my friends—­I know they’re joking, like, they’re not serious about it. My friend was like “do you have a tampon?” and someone was like “we know Michelle doesn’t need one.” Then I would like pop off and say something back. And then they don’t even know how to react to it. They are like, “Oh, crap, what do you say? She doesn’t even care.” Eventually all the comments will stop. Go with it. “Oh, well, obviously it doesn’t get to her. So why am I going to even waste my breath on it?” MICHELLE: 

Michelle implies that if young mothers are supposed to just feel ashamed and quietly receive mean-­spirited comments about the fact that they are pregnant (and waddle or no longer need a tampon), then a response like a joke or laughing at oneself will alter the rhetorical situation and perhaps startle the person giving the young mother a hard time. Humor is a tactic that may challenge the power relation between harasser and the harassed because it shifts the moment from harassment to a collegial kind of joking. It is important to note that both participants I quoted—­Mia and Michelle—­are referring to peers at school, that is, people they will see again and, thus, are invested in sustaining a positive relationship with. Yet, in almost every focus group we discussed how humor might function in interactions with strangers as well.

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Exchanging humorous retorts we could have made in response to seemingly ridiculous comments was a fun and boisterous point in many of our focus groups. For example, when discussing the fact that many strangers ask young mothers who the father is—­especially if the mom has more than one child—­participants at one focus group considered the tactic of “lying.” Belinda—­who was pregnant with her second child—­explained that she could have been honest with a boy who asked her if her two children had the same father by saying that “yeah, it’s the same dad.” This would challenge the assumption that young mothers are promiscuous (but not the assumption that it is wrong to have children with different men) and the racist stereotype that black women like Belinda are hypersexual. Yet, Belinda decided to tell the boy that she has “two different baby daddies.” Hearing this response, another focus group participant chimed in: “Tell him you have three different baby daddies!” To which Belinda said, “I will tell him I have, like, four. He’d be like ‘Really? Oh my gosh!’ . . . I just be lying. I don’t want them up in my Kool-­Aid, you know? . . . It’s better for us to just lie to them.” For Belinda, making up information about baby daddies is a way to refuse the questioner the right to her personal information (i.e., “I don’t want them up in my Kool-­Aid”). Moreover, questions about the fathers of young mothers’ children stem from heteronormative constructions of nuclear families held together by one man. Discourses about the consequences (national and familial) of women-­headed, “single-­mother” households provoke fear about social degeneration wrought at the hands of women who cannot or will not keep a (consistent) man. Considering this discursive context, a funny fabrication of the father situation may shift the moment from a reproduction of the normative construction of family (by having a young woman answer to whether she is “normal” and has one father for her children) to a rhetorical situation in which the young woman pokes fun at the fears and assumptions that prompt such questions. This kind of humor changes the dynamic of the rhetorical situation, particularly for the young pregnant and mothering teen. As another example of how a “lying” response may reflect a shift in the young mother’s subject position, during our interview, Gloria told me about an incident during which she deliberately decided to make up information about her personal situation in order to draw out and make light of the stranger’s underlying assumptions about her and her family. One day, she decided to take her young nephew and daughter, who are very close in age and look a lot alike, to the zoo. As she was struggling to get the active children onto the bus, a woman already seated on the bus asked her a question. Not fully understanding what the woman said and busy with the kids, Gloria absentmindedly told the woman “uh, no.” Then, she heard the woman respond, “Oh, well, that’s good because all these young girls out here are having too many babies, and they’re not even ready to have kids. And it’s just kids having kids, and they’re just destroying their lives and the economy” (Malone). Gloria describes what happens next:

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And I’m like, “I’m sorry, what was the question?” And she’s like, “I asked you if she was your kid” [gesturing to Gloria’s daughter]. And I was like, “Yeah. She is.” She was like, “Oh, well what about him?” [gesturing to Gloria’s nephew]. I was like, “Yeah, he’s my kid, too. They’re eight months apart. I just couldn’t help myself. I loved sex so much.” Yeah, I said something like, “I just couldn’t help myself,” or something about liking to have sex or wanting to have more kids, and she looked at me like, “What the fuck?” and completely walked away. So that’s my favorite [memory of a moment]. I think I got from a point of shying away, to wanting to give answers, to realizing that I don’t owe anybody answers. (Malone)

In this example, the stranger states her concerns about “kids having kids” who “ruin” the economy and their lives only after she learns that Gloria is not the mother of the two children she is caring for on the bus. Gloria’s body—­in proximity to the children she was with—­was read not just as “mother” but as “too young” mother, a signifier for larger national problems. Gloria’s decision to confront the situation by clarifying that she is the mother and then her decision to stretch the truth by claiming her nephew as her son as well puts the stranger in direct contact with “kids having kids.” Gloria identifies promiscuity and carelessness as the stereotypes fueling the stranger’s response and decides to engage them by joking that she “couldn’t help” her sexual desires and this led to children. The stranger potentially walks away feeling affirmed that young mothering women—­and perhaps Latinas like Gloria in general—­are troublemakers, but the stranger does not get an honest confession or a moment wherein she can take out her anger about the economy and ruined lives on Gloria. Furthermore, what is important for Gloria is that this moment signifies a shift in her consciousness. Since she became pregnant at fifteen, she experienced a trajectory of feelings about how she should respond to the questions and comments she received. As she explains, she used to “shy away,” then she used to spend time “giving answers” (honest answers) to those who asked pointed questions, and finally she realized she doesn’t “owe anybody answers.” She comes to realize that her body and lived experiences are not public domain. Using humorous untruths in these moments is a way to intervene in the underlying logic of the moment: the assumption that young women owe others explanations of their sexual and reproductive decisions. In her book The Hip Mama Survival Guide, creative writer and young to-­ be mothers for the comments mother Ariel Gore prepares soon-­ young, single, low-­income, no-­income, or lesbian parents may get. In a text box called “Talking Back,” Gore lists funny potential responses to comments mothers may receive in everyday situations. For example, in response to a comment like “You look too young to have a child,” Gore recommends, “You say, smiling . . . I have fabulous plastic surgeon.” Concerned questions like “How

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do you do it?” could be answered “with your tax dollars.” And a question many young mothers report getting, “Are you the nanny?” can be answered with “no, I’m the grandma” (144). These retorts are similar to the tactics that participants said showed you “don’t care” about the person’s concerns about your status as a mother. One young mother, Tatiana, explained, “There is always going to be that one person. You know, the person who believes in, like, abstinence before marriage. Then all of a sudden you are sixteen, you are having sex and a baby and it’s like ‘Oh God’ you are the devil.” Indeed, the confrontations between young mothers and strangers described during our focus groups suggested that strangers see young mothers as either deviants or victims—­both of whom need to be addressed with either shame or stated concern. Considering this Tatiana recommends, “the only thing I can think of right now that would actually make people just get over it is to actually, like, wear a shirt that says, ‘Yes I’m young, I’m pregnant, Get over it.’” By engaging the person who stares with a display of confidence instead of shame, and defiance instead of compliance with the scripted response of “Yes, I made a mistake,” Tatiana suggests the would-­be commenter may by startled into reconsidering his or her position on teenage pregnancy and motherhood. Such a T-shirt would complicate the deviant/victim dichotomy by stating the intersection of youth and pregnancy as a fact to “get over.” Gore’s responses also draw attention, in ironic ways, to the commonplaces and fears underlying such comments—­fears about too-­young mothers and fears about how tax money is spent on the “undeserving.” Humor is a tactical response that can prompt young or otherwise “deviant” mothers to brainstorm interventions in their construction as problems to solve.

“Shit Happens”: Educating the Stranger on Counter-­points So far, I have reviewed three ways young pregnant and mothering women respond to confrontations with strangers who approach them as “teenage mothers” and therein urgent social problems to shame, contain, fix, or control. First, walking away or responding with silence refuses strangers the opportunity, halting the moment of construction as an embodied exigence. Second, staring at the person who stares or calling him or her out for a breach in manners shifts attention away from whether or not the young woman is bad by drawing attention to the inappropriateness of the confrontational behavior toward women in public. And, third, when young mothers engage the rhetorical situation with humor, it is no longer simply a moment to address an exigence, but a moment when the young mother has a little fun. Yet, as I have argued in this chapter, young mothers may also take advantage of the position of embodied exigence by speaking back to those who are reproducing social norms and assumptions that construct them as an exigence—­a thing that is other than it should be. One way young pregnant or mothering women may respond to confrontations about their “too young” pregnancies is to intervene with a

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counter-­ point—­ a point that complicates the incorrect information and narrow assumptions that construct young motherhood as an exigence. For example, Sasha reflected on a hostile encounter with a substitute teacher at her school. When she requested to go to the nursery during class time (an option available to her because she attends a school with a daycare on campus), the substitute teacher questioned her: “For what? What are you going to do in the nursery?” When she explained that she needed to see her baby, he looked shocked and asked how old she was. During the focus group that took place at Sasha’s school, participants expressed astonishment that the substitute would question Sasha so judgmentally in front of her entire class. Sasha responded to the teacher by saying that “shit happens” and reminding him that “back in the old days girls used to get pregnant at thirteen.” As replies to another’s concern that she is too young to parent a child, both responses function as counter-­points. “Shit happens” draws attention to the wider context of a woman’s pregnancy that people often ignore when they focus narrowly on an individual woman who “gets” pregnant. Before sharing this story, Sasha told the group that though she agreed that teenagers should not “be getting pregnant,” “I think that people need to be more educated on the whole [situation] . . . we come from some pretty, [laughs nervously] I don’t want to say, messed up families? . . . We have some issues. I know everybody does but, like, I believe that girls that get pregnant at an early age—­they have some issues in their family and stuff since we were little, and I think that they need to be aware of like how we grew up and like stuff like that before they’re like, ‘oh you just got pregnant.’ No, there’s a back story to it, you know?” For Sasha, the substitute’s astonishment at the fact that she is a mother reflected his ignorance of the context of her unintended pregnancy, family situation, and socioeconomic status. Scholars who critique discourses of teenage pregnancy similarly draw attention to the complexities of young mothers’ lives to encourage a more positive, nuanced, or at least complicated view of young parenthood. Sociologists Mary Patrice Erdmans and Timothy Black published their findings from interviews with 108 diverse young mothers in a book called On Becoming a Teen Mom: Life Before Pregnancy. Erdmans and Black draw attention to the fact that many of the young mothers they interviewed were struggling with abuse, rape, education, money, and family long before pregnancy, in large part due to structural and socioeconomic inequalities (including racial, gendered, and class-­based oppression). Pregnancy and motherhood did not cause these hardships, but these hardships are part of the “shit” that happens to young women. As another example, researcher Arline Geronimus demonstrates that teenage pregnancy correlates with poverty. Thus, she maintains that it is the context and consequences of poverty—­not the age of the mother—­that leads to comparatively complicated maternal/child outcomes. Widening the scope beyond the “choices” of individual women shows multiple

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contextual factors contributing to the societal ills attributed to teenage pregnancy. In Sasha’s case, her “shit happens” remark could similarly encourage a broader understanding of the factors that contribute to wanted or unwanted pregnancies, healthy or unhealthy maternal outcomes, and positive or undesirable life outcomes for the mother, father, and child. Furthermore, Sasha’s response, “back in the old days girls used to get pregnant at thirteen,” is a counter-­point because it draws attention to the social construction of “teenage pregnancy” as a historically situated discourse. Implying that people generally accepted or approved of younger women’s pregnancies in historical times, Sasha highlights the arbitrariness of judging her for being an eighteen-­year-­old mother now. When she described this response to the substitute teacher, other focus group participants joined her line of reasoning, adding that young women used to have babies with “way older guys too,” “with old men too. And it was perfectly fine,” “they were married, but still.” In their separate works, historians Luker, Nathanson, and Solinger also use this counter-­rhetorical strategy of historicizing social responses to pregnancy and motherhood to emphasize that cultural values and expectations of women shift, usually in response to specific, socially constructed national/economic issues that threaten the hegemony of white, capitalistic patriarchy. Another example of a student offering a counter-­point to educate a stranger and intervene in the limited and limiting perception of teenage motherhood was Megan seizing the opportunity to educate someone about the types of social support available to her as a young mother. Megan answered a bus driver who asked her, “What are you going to do? It must be so hard! How are you going to do it?” by pointing out that there was a program at the school that supports young mothers by offering parenting services and affordable childcare. Thus, in this moment the young mother shifts her position from being an embodiment of a tragedy to a rhetor who informs her audience of the support systems available to mothers her age, reaffirming the importance of community support for parenting people. Although I heard many stories about encounters with strangers and other hostile people, these were the only examples of young mothers offering counter-­points in a public exchange with someone who responded to her as a “too young” teenage mother. However, during many interviews and focus points to negative group conversations, participants brought up counter-­ claims about teenage pregnancy and motherhood. Participants questioned whether it is a problem to solve and pointed out that it is unfair to judge a mother based on her age. For example, Christina said: “It would be really cool to just be able to point to somebody who’s super famous who’s had a child young and be like, ‘Yeah. And the President of the United States’ mom had him when she was seventeen, too. And he seems okay.’ And just be able to, you know, knock it out like that. You don’t have to answer them and be like ‘Well

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I’m in school.’ Or ‘I have a job.’ Or get on the defensive like that” (Martinez). Christina carefully distinguishes between disclosing actual personal information that might prove that the young mother herself does not reflect the stereotype (which would “get on the defensive”) and a more general point that would “knock out” the assumptions behind the comments. Her example of referencing President Obama would counter the commonplace assumption that the children of young mothers are not successful. Another example of young mothers brainstorming counter-­points took place at a focus group where participants, ironically, were adamant that nothing could really be done about the comments made to pregnant and mothering teens in public. Participants explained: Well it’s not, I mean, like there’s so much focus on teen pregnancy. Which makes it more, like. . . . MIRANDA:  That’s just how it is supposed to be. MIA:  We might have not all been like “hey let’s not get pregnant,” but we chose to have a child. MIRANDA:  We did what we did and put ourselves in that situation. MIA: 

Since teenage pregnancy is constructed as a terrible social problem that young women are assigned the responsibility to avoid, these participants see such comments as “how it is supposed to be”; that is, hostile or dramatically concerned public commentaries in response to their bodies are expected outcomes of their decision to carry the pregnancies to term and/or keep the children. However, when exchanging stories and venting frustrations about the kinds of comments they receive in public places, these same participants brought up many counter-­points that could interrupt the negative focus on teenage pregnancy: [sarcastically] So, like, it’s hard unless you’re like twenty and having a kid? Honestly, I don’t think it matters what age you are. You still always have the struggles. You still always get frustrated; that comes with having a child. JENNA:  Why do they think it’s harder when teenager? Why don’t they just notice it is hard for everyone? MIRANDA:  I think it’s because we’re not stable; we’re not, we don’t have our lives together. We’re not out of school. MICHELLE:  We don’t have money either. MOLLY:  Some people aren’t mature enough. MICHELLE:  Yeah, and you’re not mentally ready or anything. MEGAN:  They think teens are like crazy animals. MIA:  I think it’s different though depending on the person. My sister’s like twenty-­five and my entire family is like, “You’ll be a better mom than she’ll MIA: 

MIRANDA: 

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be right now” [laughs]. Because my sister, like, she’s got a really good head, like she’s going to school and stuff, but she’s not ready to have a kid. She couldn’t put away everything to like raise a child, and like I can. . . . But many people raise their kids and they’re twenty-­five and they like work somewhere where teens work and they make same amount of money and they raise their kids like. Or even older, thirties, forties. MARIA:  People are poor! MIA:  They raise their kids completely fine. It’s just about the love you are willing to give them and, like, the morals you want to teach them and that’s all that matters to raise kids.

This exchange demonstrates that young pregnant and mothering women are well aware of the social norms that construct them as “bad mothers”: good mothers have money, good mothers are stable, good mothers have completed school, and good mothers are not adolescents who are “immature” and “crazy.” At the same time, participants draw on or complicate these norms to articulate counter-­ points such as other people without much money or schooling raise kids “completely fine.”11 Moreover, Mia’s comment builds upon the contested but influential commonplace that mothers should sacrifice their self-­development for their children; Mia suggests that she is particularly fit for motherhood as a woman at a point in her life when she can set everything aside for her child in contrast to her college-­ attending older sister. Another participant at a different focus group pointed out, “Like I’d be a different kind of parent if I was older. It wouldn’t. I may have a job. I may be a little bit less strapped for cash, but at the same time, they’re still wearing clothes, they have their shoes . . . [they] eat every day and they’re happy.” And recall Bella’s insistence that she was happy to have a child, a counter-­point to the expectation that young mothers are downtrodden victims of mistakes. But, I still wonder, why didn’t more of the young pregnant and mothering women I spoke with deploy counter-­points like these with people who approach them as social problems?

Preparing Young Women for Future Confrontations My own experiences as a young mother, along with the stories shared with me during the My Pregnancy Story Project focus groups and #NoTeenShame activist interviews, suggest that moments of embodied exigence are not often sustained rhetorical exchanges. The person who embodies exigence does not often shift into the position of a rhetor who engages the moment by deploying interventions meant to destabilize taken-­for-­granted assumptions and/ or increase critical awareness. This is, in part, because some pregnant and parenting teens agree that women should not raise children during their teenage years, so they also see “teenage pregnancy” as an exigence for people to speak about and prevent. Also, pregnant and parenting teens may lack the

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preparation to engage such encounters as rhetorical situations because these encounters are unexpected and unpredictable. If constrained agency for marginalized rhetors involves social and subjective relations that allow an individual to recognize and seize an opportunity to act, then young pregnant and mothering women need tools and practice to speak in public. Before I consider how to prepare young pregnant and mothering women to engage these encounters, let me pause and complicate my own assumption that it is necessary or worth young pregnant or mothering women’s time to do so. My enthusiasm for the agentive possibilities of embodied exigence comes from my partial, disciplinary belief that rhetoric holds possibilities for social change, even in everyday situations. I am swayed by Ellen Cushman’s call to pay attention to how “people use language and literacy to challenge and alter the circumstances of daily life” (12) and feminist rhetoricians’ belief in the value and worth of marginalized rhetors tactics of interruption (Licona “(B)orderlands’ Rhetorics”; Reynolds “Interrupting”; Ryan et al.). In all honesty, I am also haunted by the confrontations I have avoided or failed (in my mind) to adequately address. Whether it is at all appropriate to engage rhetorical situations on the street, in the grocery store, at the park, on the bus, or in other public areas is worthy of debate. After all, even for established public figures, “motherhood” is tricky rhetorical terrain. In Rhetorics of Motherhood, Lindal Buchanan explores how cultural constructions of motherhood encourage audiences to identify with and emotionally respond to public speakers who are mothers. At the same time, conditioned responses to “the Mother,” “discourage critical distance, in effect shutting down analysis, discussion, deliberation, reflection, and nuance” (Buchanan 7). Perhaps the emotional response evoked by the pregnant or mothering young body obstructs the possibility for analysis, discussion, deliberation, and reflection on teenage pregnancy and the issues that underlie public concern over it. Furthermore, I learned much from the #NoTeenShame activists who have years of lived experience speaking to public audiences at official events and dealing with strangers in public spaces. During our individual interviews I asked them each what the “best way” to respond to these comments is. Each one of them was adamant that there is no “best way”—­it depends on how the young mother feels about herself, her situation, and her energy in that moment as well as the stranger and public context. Gloria explained, “I don’t really have a best way to respond. I think, I guess my thing is you don’t owe anybody anything. You don’t have to respond. You don’t have to answer. But even if you don’t respond, it’s still hard to deal with. And then if you don’t respond, it’s just like, ‘Oh, you’re just a disrespectful little bitch.’ Things can escalate” (Malone). Natasha pointed out that things could also escalate if the young woman engages the encounter because the stranger may become more irate with her confidence or response. Most of the activists seemed to think

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that it was probably not worth the young pregnant or mothering woman’s time or energy to engage these types of encounters as situations that could lead to social change. Consuela pointed out, “From an agenda perspective”—­ that is, the larger agenda of ceasing the pathologizing discourse about young parenthood—­“responding to some individual person’s bullshit is most times not a good use of energy. [That] is my take on it. But when they piss you off bad enough, it just makes you feel better to say something snarky back” (Greene). Consuela also thought that the anger that comes from being confronted can be productive in terms of motivating future activism: “sometimes the interpersonal interactions is what triggers [young women] to do the bigger platform stuff, right? It’s usually because someone pissed them off.” Considering Consuela’s point about the connection between interpersonal interactions and the drive to participate in larger social movements, I maintain that pregnant and parenting teens could be better prepared to engage these encounters as rhetorical situations—­moments when they could potentially inform audiences and challenge the dominant perspectives on teenage pregnancy—­even if they do not end up deploying these tactics in everyday encounters. It is clear that young pregnant and mothering women are already developing tactics to both cope with and interrupt encounters with strangers who approach or interpellate them as social problems. But it is also clear that they could use support and education that will equip them with more tactics to seize the opportunity of constrained agency that a visibly pregnant or mothering body can offer. This is especially important because peers, teachers, and strangers are often impelled to address embodied exigencies (like youthful looking mothers) because they are influenced by the stereotypes and misinformation that exists about teenage pregnancy and motherhood. Furthermore, people who make comments to pregnant and mothering young women may be motivated from genuine concern for the woman’s well-­being or from a curiosity about this experience. Comments like “How are you going to do it?” or “mi’jita what have you done?” may be a kneejerk attempt to start a conversation, and/or empathize with “the situation.” This is all the more reason to discuss with young pregnant and parenting teens the misinformation that is out there so that these interactions may be seen as not just a rude comment on their personal life decision but also a moment with potential for reeducation. For the young woman, there is the potential in these moments to practice a constrained agency that asserts an authority to speak and intervene in the dominant discourses and social practices that would render her an embodied example of a tragedy or deviant female behavior. For the stranger, a young pregnant or mothering woman’s recognition of the questions or acknowledgment of the impulse to stare can lead to a better understanding of the world, including (young) pregnant and parenting women. While walking away, pointing out infractions on personal privacy, and deploying

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humor all interrupt a narrow, one-­way line of questioning or commenting that would shame young mothers as problems to solve, each of these tactics also shuts down the opportunity to further converse with the stranger. Of course, it is important to halt instances when a stranger is trying to intimidate, harass, or otherwise dominate the teenager, but as Garland-­Thomson writes, strangers’ staring (and I would add personal questioning or commenting) is not always about domination. Talking about confrontations only as disciplining moments “can foreclose on the complexities of how we look at one another” (44). Perhaps the stranger looks or asks to better understand how to treat or engage with a newly pregnant young woman in the stranger’s own family. Perhaps Bella’s questioner may have benefitted from Bella telling her explicitly, “Actually, I am happy about having this child,” providing an example of a woman who affirms her right to have children on her own terms, and be happy about it. Garland-­Thomson writes, “An eye-­snagging stare of intense attention opens a social relationship between two people” and “individual improvisation can take the staring encounter in fruitful directions” (33). This is not to say that Bella or other young pregnant and parenting women who deploy the first three tactics are wrong. In fact, as a rhetorician I have aimed to illustrate the resourceful ways women who embody “teenage pregnancy” in this current cultural context actively intervene in and respond to their construction as too-­young-­to-­be-­good mothers by using diverse tactics. But there may be opportunities in discussing with mothering women (of any age really) both the variety of reasons strangers may ask them pointed, personal questions or stare at their round bellies and the valuable knowledges the young pregnant or mothering woman could share in response. Discussions could center on the kinds of comments made and the tactics we can use in different contexts to change the rhetorical situation into one that suits our own purposes—­whether that purpose is affirming a teenager’s right to dignity as a parent, discussing the lack of the support for low-­income parents, or just conversing about the stranger’s life decisions as well to try to establish a moment of mutual recognition as human beings. One possibility for supporting young mothers as rhetors in training for the rhetorical situations they will most likely encounter is by using a support group setting. For example, in response to our question “How can people be more supportive of pregnant and parenting teens?” Brooke suggested, “Maybe you can build the confidence. ’Cause you know you can get hurt inside. But we should be able to accept the fact, because it’s going to happen.” Brooke, like many other participants, expressed a strong belief that young mothers will continue to encounter hostile strangers in the everyday. Yet, in order to “accept the fact” and not just feel “hurt inside,” young mothers need opportunities to “build the confidence.” She further explains that participants in such a support group could “just tell like what has been said to them and they could be

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like ‘Oh yeah? Well [this happened to me]’ and relate to each other.” When we shared this participant’s idea with another focus group, Salma agreed: “It would have been helpful to have like prepared yourself, like, to know that, like, ‘oh yeah people are going say that about you.’ That would have been like easier instead of like, ‘Wow, I can’t believe they just said that!’” In exchanging stories about moments of embodied exigence, young mothers may find confidence, social support, and strategies with which to face the next encounter and shift the rhetorical situation from a moment of abject subject formation to a moment in which they seize the opportunity to drive the rhetorical situation. This could include correcting misperceptions, interrupting unacceptable behavior toward women, and challenging social norms. This is similar to reasoning behind consciousness-­raising groups in which women share “personal” stories to come to a better understanding of the political and patriarchal forces that construct those personal struggles (de Lauretis 185; Weedon 82). It would also be helpful for young mothers to understand that others have developed counter-­points to dominant assumptions about teenage pregnancy. From my limited experience with the curricula and materials offered at the research sites, I did not see evidence of discussion of counter-­discourses on teenage pregnancy. While claims about the negative consequences of teenage motherhood from the National Campaign to Prevent Teen and Unplanned Pregnancy were well represented on program websites and in brochures in the classrooms, there did not seem to be a space allowed for the broader consideration of the politics and complexities of teenage pregnancy beyond the preventative framework. Pregnant and parenting teens were seemingly unaware of other arguments and research that contests the idea that age determines the successfulness of one’s pregnancy, one’s parenting, or one’s life outcomes. Introducing such literatures—­or at least some of the key research findings from such literatures—­would help pregnant and parenting teenagers to develop their own points in response to rhetorical situations with strangers. For example, participants in one focus group drew attention to the fact that women used to get pregnant by “way older guys”—­a point they saw as potentially persuading the commenter that they are not abnormal. What if young women had access to Males’s research that points out that, even now, we don’t count or track teen-­fathered pregnancies with women aged twenty years or older as “teenage” pregnancies and that “6 in 10 men who impregnate teenagers are adults” over the age of twenty (21–­24)? Could these facts and numbers help pregnant and mothering young women respond to hostile or concerned comments by informing strangers and others of the gender biases that construct and are constructed by a narrow focus on teen (females) pregnancies and bodies? These participants also drew attention to the fact that young pregnancies used to be socially acceptable. What if young parents could reference the fact that the peak of teenage birth rates was in the 1950s and that

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the rates have rather consistently declined since then (Erdmans and Black 13)? Could this historical information give more young mothers the confidence to respond to people who construct them as a current exigence with information about how rates and attitudes about teenage pregnancy have shifted throughout time? Could information about the high rates of unintended pregnancy among couples of all ages help young pregnant and mothering women shift comments about their “careless” behavior into fuller discussions of how people in the United States plan (or don’t plan) their pregnancies? In the summers of 2015 and 2016, I conducted a workshop on Dealing with Confrontational Strangers and the Myths of Teen Pregnancy for about ten to fifteen pregnant and parenting teens at the Boston Summit for Teen Empowerment and Parenting Success (STEPS). During the workshops, participants brainstormed possible responses to the comments we have received in the everyday. After discussing all possible ways to respond to strangers, I shared a handout of “counter-­points” with the participants (see Appendix C). The handout is organized with comments young mothers report hearing (e.g., “You look too young to be a parent” or “My tax dollars pay for your family”) and brief lists of possible responses based on researched information that confronts the underlying assumptions of those comments. For instance, a comment like “You have ruined the life of your child” could be countered with, “Actually, research shows that teenage mothers aren’t more likely to have kids who struggle than their peers who wait to have kids. Researchers discovered this when they studied sisters who had kids at different ages (one had a baby in her teens and one had a baby later in life) and found timing of childrearing made little difference in terms of infant/child outcomes” (Appendix C). In addition to these counter-­points about teenage pregnancy, young pregnant and parenting teens could be introduced to the political efforts of mothers living in poverty and using public assistance, the arguments of mothers calling for educational and career-­based reforms to accommodate women’s pregnancies and/or child-­rearing responsibilities, or the activists bringing attention to issues with fatherhood and the undue burden women face in terms of domestic chores and child rearing. In her article “Young Mothers, Agency, and Collective Action: Issues and Challenges,” Kelly argues for exposing teen mothers to critical theories of oppression so that they may align themselves with other social movements and work to change the constructions of their motherhood (which have material effects on their sense of self, schooling, etc.). Kelly points out, “Young people do not  .  .  . have equal access to these alternative or counter-­discourses” so “programs can invite guest speakers representing various groups, organizations, and movements who might help young mothers locate and think about their lives in the context of wider social issues” (14). I support Kelly’s call not only for helping teen mothers to see how their experiences align with other mothering movements, but also to expose

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them to more counter-­claims about teenage pregnancy that they may use in rhetorical situations with strangers.

Conclusion I know, they probably looking at my belly. They aren’t looking at me; they’re looking at my belly. —­Belinda, My Pregnancy Story Project

Embodied exigence refers to a sociohistorical moment when a subject or subjects are misrecognized as urgent and objectified problems to rhetorically address. More specifically, embodied exigence refers to moments experienced by those who currently represent an ongoing rhetorical campaign—­a movement to change something that is “other than it should be”—­for which those who represent it are made to answer. I have considered how the pregnant and mothering teen body stands in for the rhetorics and discourses of teenage pregnancy, providing an everyday example of the statistics, social issues, and behavior patterns that the public is supposed to feel bad or mad about. Indeed, when people stop to stare or comment on the pregnant and mothering bodies of young women they do not know, I suggest that they are often addressing them not as people who they want to engage with or learn from but instead as exigencies they feel impelled to speak to through socially prescribed responses. Furthermore, the social construction of teenage pregnancy as a social problem caused by young women’s failure to control their sexuality or prevent pregnancy, along with strangers’ comments, interpellate young women as “teenage mothers” who must answer for their presumed mistakes and who should see the struggles they face as caused by their decision to stay pregnant or raise the child. In order to actively engage these encounters, either by intervening to halt the moment or by shifting the focus of the exchange away from their bodies and experiences, young pregnant and mothering women employ a variety of tactics. I have discussed walking away, staring back, calling out violations of personal privacy, poking fun, and counter-­educating as tactics that shift the young pregnant and mothering teen from an exigence to talk at, question, shame, or control to a rhetor making her own point. The concept of embodied exigence helps us better understand the limited but productive means of action for people who are not often granted opportunities to speak with authority about their lives and the structures and social practices that shape their lives. If some bodies are marked as dangerous to the economy, other teens, or future children—­bodies to watch, control, prevent through strategic social practices—­then those bodies receive attention in the everyday.12 It is absolutely true that this attention is stigmatizing. At the same time, the fact that people who embody such discourses are cognizant of this attention seems ripe with rhetorical possibilities.

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As I have been using it throughout this book, embodied exigence may also refer to a moment wherein someone whose body is often read and represented as an exigence taps into this immediate and urgent energy, takes advantage of the visibility of her body read as such, and claims an audience for a new message. In this moment, she who embodies the exigence shifts from “an objectified social need” (Miller 157) to a speaker/writer/actor making new social knowledge, bringing attention to different social needs—­the need for personal privacy, the need to act with care toward others, the need to support diverse students at school, the need to end the stigmatization of the young family, the need to provide more pathways out of poverty, and so on. In the end, I think maybe a pregnant or mothering teenager may be at once a rhetor and an exigence. When she speaks, she is further disturbing notions of exigence rooted in a rational worldview where the problems are simply out there for a rhetor to discuss and solve. Exigence that is embodied in the pregnant or mothering form may walk, talk, write, and potentially resist dominant constructions of the issues she represents.

Conclusion Respect young mothers and young fathers and believe in their ability to make the best informed choices for themselves and their families. —­#NoTeenShame, “5 Ways to Be an Ally to Young Parents” Teen pregnancy is not a social “phenomenon” that will end some day with enough shame tactics and birth control. Teenagers always have and always will become parents, and instead of shaming the young adults who have taken this route, we must work to make sure that they are doing so in a supportive society, where all parents are awarded the same respect and resources and all children are supported and loved. —­National Coalition to Empower Teen Parents I believe that society should respect and support the right of young women to bear and raise their own children. To do otherwise compromises the reproductive rights agenda as a whole. —­Deirdre M. Kelly, Pregnant with Meaning

I join the chorus of young mothers, activists, and feminist scholars calling for an end to the ongoing stigmatization of young parenthood. In order to end this stigmatization, we must end the battle against “teenage pregnancy.”1 We cannot respect and support the rights of young parents if we rhetorically represent 171

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them as always and only emblems of a battle lost. Furthermore, the rallying cries of this battle encourage us to discipline women’s sexual and reproductive decisions to solve societal ills. We are battling the bodies of women. Deploying feminist poststructuralist rhetorical analysis, I have traced teenage pregnancy as a discourse, unearthing gendered stereotypes, racist tropes, and elitist assumptions embedded in this discourse. I have shown how this way of telling the story of young motherhood serves patriarchal agendas by encouraging women to blame themselves for the undue burdens they face. Under the guise of helping youth, this discourse reinvigorates the long-­standing cultural logic that unruly, naïve, or ignorant women need authority figures to manage their sexual and reproductive lives. I have also explored how the public has become persuaded to accept commonplaces about women who begin to raise children while they are teenagers. Statistic speak, lists of numbers presented as hard truths, references to authoritative experts, and photographs of young pregnant and mothering women have contributed to the ready acceptance of “teenage pregnancy” as a problem and the understanding of “teenage mothers” as a coherent category of people. These strategies not only produce our understanding of too-­young parenthood but also help to absorb the transgressive potential of researched information and stories that resist these understandings (see chapter 4). The dominant narrative obstructs the movement to represent, treat, and respect women as the experts of their bodies and lives. In this book, I have argued that while the stigmatization of teenage pregnancy and motherhood does dehumanize “teenage mothers”—­who face hostility from family, peers, strangers, and authorities—­it is at the same time a means for some young pregnant and mothering women to gain an audience for their own messages. Since young pregnant and mothering women already receive public attention as embodied exigencies, they have opportunities to seize moments of constrained agency and interrupt dominant discourses. To support this argument, I have paid close attention to the often-­unheeded stories of everyday young pregnant and mothering women who creatively and critically resist the idea that they are problems. In doing so, I have discovered important things about feminist rhetorical interventions and the tactics marginalized subjects may use to interrupt the discourses and practices that position them as problems to prevent. In this conclusion, I reflect on what I have learned from studying young mothers’ counter-­ narratives, social media counter-­campaigns, and stories of everyday confrontations with strangers in public.

Frameworks for Stories Matter The fact that the dominant narrative relies on images, statistics, and stories of young mothers lends itself to ready resistance by women who can tell their stories differently. When young mothers rewrite the story of young motherhood,

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they take advantage of the creative elements of storytelling. They zoom in on new scenes, put together new plotlines, and feature new characters to demonstrate who matters most in their lives. Yet a recurring challenge is finding public outlets for these counter-­ narratives that provide young mothers the opportunity to speak or write with authority about their lived experiences beyond the preventative framework and to be considered subjects with valuable knowledge, not objects of expert inquiry or public scorn. Counter-­narrative collections, websites created by and for young mothers, blogs, and social media platforms have provided some women the means to present new understandings of their lives and what the public should learn from their lived experiences. A significant factor of all these outlets is that each allows writers relative freedom to stop and start their narratives where they see fit. Social media also provide a means for writers to circulate their narratives at strategic moments and in ways that feel right to them. Moreover, the creators of these outlets take measures to frame personal stories as means of resistance. The editors of the collections I examined in chapter 3 used visual representations, introductions, and mission statements to orient readers to the oppositional agenda of the narratives. Similarly, blogs posts, comment section replies, and tweets bearing the #NoTeenShame hashtag signal to social media users that the message adhered to the hashtag defies a preventative framework that positions young mothers as preventative subjects (see chapter 4). In addition, young women’s rhetorical tactics during everyday confrontations with strangers suggest that, sometimes, old frameworks can be revised in the moment to become new frameworks for challenging the status quo. When a stranger approaches a young mother to speak to her as an embodied example of the problem of teenage pregnancy, she may walk away to leave the stranger thinking, reframe the moment as a rude infraction on her personal privacy, parody the moment by lying to the stranger about the details of her life, or respond with a counter-­point that confronts the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy. Considering the importance of frameworks, we must ask ourselves a series of critical questions every time we hear the story of the teen mother: Who is telling this story? Who is framing this story? Who holds the explanatory power in this moment? (That is, who gets to tell us what this story means?) Who is served by telling the story in this way? Who benefits from this story’s call to action? What changes? What stays the same? I urge activists and others working on the ground with women who have experienced pregnancy and/or motherhood during their teenage years to think carefully about when, where, and why they ask young women to speak. Just offering a young woman a public platform does not mean that her story will interrupt dominant understandings of young parents, particularly if it is framed by outsider adults as a sex education lesson or a “success story” demonstrating the importance of a nonprofit organization or educational program.

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Her story may be understood as evidence of the continued need for the organization or program but will likely not intervene in the underlying ideologies and ongoing pathologization of pregnant and parenting teens who are grouped together as abnormal, unhealthy, or disgraceful problems to prevent. Attention to frameworks—­particularly expert frameworks for women’s testimonies of hardships and injustice—­should also shape the way that scholars write about acts of resistance by those who (are made to) embody problems. As part of my feminist poststructuralist rhetorical framework, I thought carefully about how to frame my analysis. I foregrounded how my memories of lived experiences shaped the questions I asked and the means of resistance I chose to focus on. Although I cannot step outside the discourses and ideologies that shape my consciousness to tell you exactly what partial vision I am offering by writing this book, I tried to make transparent the embodied position from which I write and the methods I used in each chapter. I made sure to turn to the activists and writers I studied not just as sites for expert analysis but also as sources of expertise. I questioned my own claims, pointing out where #NoTeenShame activists and participants in the focus groups disagreed with me. Moreover, I primarily chose texts for analysis that are publicly available in an effort to refuse (or at least trouble) the ongoing practice of exposing the details of young mothers’ lives for expert interpretation or critique. In other words, I tried to work with the rhetorical acts that young mothers made public—­of their own accord—­and interviewed them only to learn more about how and why they made the rhetorical choices they did. You, the reader, can turn to many of these texts and question my claims as well.

Reproduction as Opportunity for Interruption In their 2013 petition to the Candie’s Foundation, the seven activists leading #NoTeenShame called for the foundation to see “early parenthood as young parents themselves see it, a critical opportunity to overcome obstacles for the future of their families” (Vianna “Candie’s Foundation”). Reproduction, in this sense, is not necessarily a problem but an opportunity to act. From a feminist rhetorical perspective, #NoTeenShame’s call speaks to the importance of kairos, the idea that there is an opportune moment to speak, write, or circulate information that interrupts dominant (mis)understandings and leads to social change. Indeed, the moment that the dominant narrative is reproduced in a public campaign, news article, or everyday comment is a moment with potential for resistance on the part of the mother who may tap into the energy and focus put on teenage pregnancy by embracing the visibility she gains as someone who has experienced these issues. With this attention, she may refocus the public on something other than her “deviant” behavior and “burden” on taxpayers. Contributors to the collections I analyzed in chapter 3 seized the attention given to “teenage mothers” in the aftermath of welfare reform to write new narratives about what it means to

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be a young mother. #NoTeenShame formed in response to two public campaigns arguing for renewed attention to teenage pregnancy as a problem, effectively destabilizing these campaigns and generating new understandings of young mothers’ roles as experts in their communities and in the movement toward reproductive justice. Considering the rhetorical potential of this visibility, I theorized, in chapter 5, the possibility that women who are approached as “teen mothers” in public can potentially talk back to hostility or expressions of concern by offering counter-­points that debunk the myths and misperceptions fueling such comments.

Collaboration: Feminist Rhetorical Interventions Take a Village Young mothers’ rhetorical acts of resistance often happen in collaboration with other young pregnant and mothering women and/or with feminist allies. Coalitional action among the differently positioned young mothers who co-­founded #NoTeenShame helped the group illustrate that young parents across lines of difference experience shame. Collaboration also led to new critical awareness of the intersections of race, ethnicity, and young parenthood among #NoTeenShame members. For instance, Marylouise reflected that as “the only white girl” in the group, “it is hard for me to understand racial and ethnic impacts that the other women have experienced. And I love to hear about it and I love to learn more about that. . . . It is nice for me to able to step back and just listen and work from their experiences and not pretend to be like ‘Oh, I totally get that’ because I have no idea” (Kuti). Not only did Marylouise learn about how women of color experience intersectional hostility shaped by racism, sexism, and ageism, she was also prompted to reflect on how understandings of whiteness shaped her own experience of young motherhood. She explained as a white young woman raised in a working-­class military family “there was an assumption that you’re not going to get pregnant.” This assumption influenced her experience of shame when she discovered that she was pregnant at sixteen—­a pregnancy she hid until she gave birth to her son (“About the Cofounders”). Collaboration with allies is also crucial to the publication and circulation of young mothers’ counter-­narratives. As Deirdre M. Kelly points out, “ultimately, the successful telling of de-­stigmatizing counter stories will depend on others taking up [the young mother’s] way of speaking, too” (“Young Mothers” 12, emphasis original). In some cases, allies gather an audience for young mothers’ stories and provide a framework that makes it difficult to dismiss individual young mothers as “exceptional” or attack them as “glorifying” teenage pregnancy. The editors of Girl-­ Mom and You Look Too Young to Be a Mom encouraged women to submit personal narratives and provided a discursive framework that facilitates the oppositional or transgressive potential of the young mother story. #NoTeenShame’s counter-­ campaign benefitted from allied organizations such as the National Latina Institute for Reproductive Health and the other nonprofit organizations that comprise

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the Strong Families network. These organizations provided public statements of support, circulated links to the petition, encouraged media outlets to cover the activists’ efforts, and ultimately rewarded the young women for the labor and skill that went into the #NoTeenShame movement. Allies with privileged access to researched information may also help to bust myths about the so-­called consequences of teenage pregnancy. For example, when the Candie’s Foundation responded to #NoTeenShame’s critiques by emphasizing the “facts” of teenage pregnancy, sociologist Gretchen Sisson stepped in to quickly create and disseminate an infographic that included information from academic journals and books that refuted each “fact” the Candie’s Foundation claimed. Activist organizations and action-­research collectives are similarly beginning to compile and circulate research that challenges dominant perspectives on teenage pregnancy (e.g., Cadena et al. and National Latina Institute “What’s the Real Problem?”; see also Appendix C). Those working with young pregnant and parenting people could introduce these findings as a way to prepare them for the everyday public encounters they will likely experience. This way, young women (and men) may be better prepared with information and practice in how to address the myths and misperceptions that underlie the depiction and treatment of young parents as problems.

Creating Connections That Trouble Binaries Young mothers’ rhetorical acts of resistance also demonstrate the transgressive potential of disobedient articulations, or the bringing together of things that are often defined in opposition to each other. Adela C. Licona explains that making connections between previously unconnected experiences can prove “discursively disobedient” in a way that makes clear that “our lived experiences [are] partial, real, and imagined, and always in the process of becoming” (“(B)orderlands’ Rhetorics” 106). Breeder brings together the stories of mothers of different ages, professions, and sexual orientations. By including young mothers in this lineup of stories, the book encourages the reader to see connections among the structures and social practices women must negotiate when they conceive, bear, and raise children. Age is, thus, destabilized as a hard boundary placed between women. You Look Too Young to Be a Mom provides narratives that demonstrate the heterogeneity of young mothers’ experiences, countering a monolithic vision of young motherhood. #NoTeenShame brought together women from different regions, ethnicities, races, and relationship statuses in order to refuse the common assumption that those young mothers who speak out against the idea that motherhood means failure are just exceptional. Disobedient articulations are important because in drawing lines of connection among differently positioned women, activists and writers unearth possibilities for coalitional resistance against social practices and systemic

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oppressions. Young people who see young mothers presented in teenage pregnancy prevention campaigns are prompted to define themselves against these women’s experiences and discipline their own bodies to avoid the teen parent fate. This obscures opportunities for coalition among young people, for example, along the lines of reforming school systems to be more inclusive and less punitive—­particularly for sexually and racially minoritized youth. In addition, women who postpone childbearing until after their teenage years are prompted to define their “good” mother status against “bad” moms like teenage mothers. This conceals vibrant lines of connection that may become lines of alliance for changing educational, workplace, childcare, and medical practices to better support childbearing women. Catriona Macleod argues that adolescence posits an “imaginary wall between teen-­aged people and adults” that prevents adults from seeing how the conditions and experiences of the young people in their community relate to their own (6). If we bring down the wall (or perhaps just peek over it), what might we see? Might there be a connection between my experience of awkwardly pumping milk from my breasts in small, smelly bathroom stalls between classes as a senior in high school, on my fifteen-­minute break as a part-­ time employee of a major hardware store chain, and between classes as a graduate student? Preventing pregnancy as a teen would not have solved the problem of a lack of lactation space in the places I had to navigate to get degrees and earn money. Or, as another more critical example, activist Consuela Greene points out, “I’m raising black boys. Whether I had them when I was thirty or I had them when I was fifteen and nineteen, the things I face parenting black boys are still the things I face. Don’t tell me it’s because I was young when I had them. Don’t tell me that’s why they’re having difficulties because that’s not why they’re having difficulties.” Preventing pregnancy as a teen would not have solved the structural racism and ongoing violence against black bodies that Greene and her sons face. As long as we continue to mark out “teenage pregnancy” as something different, we may miss the opportunities for strategic alliances to work against the systematic structures we must change in order to support (and value) a diversity of lived experiences.

So . . . What Do We Do Now? A common response to information that challenges the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy is fear. For instance, there is a real fear that increasing public awareness of the (ongoing) decline in teenage pregnancy and birth rates will lead to the end of funding for existing programs that provide low-­or no-­cost contraceptives, foster youth development, support young parents, or educate youth about sexual health.2 Yet, there are many ways to argue for the continued investment in youth programming, accessible contraceptives, and women’s rights to safe, affordable, and legal abortion procedures. We do not need to pathologize a group of people (i.e., teens), especially when we know the material effects of this

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pathologization for teen parents and how such discourses relate to the terrible history of coercing/forcing women of color and women living in poverty into reproductive decisions that they did not want to make. Drawing from young mothers’ rhetorical acts of resistance, I encourage continued collaboration on the part of young parents, activists, and scholars to bring together previously unconnected experiences and to forward shame-­free discursive frameworks to call for the structural and social changes needed to support the lives and liberties of a broader network of people. Frameworks that draw such connections are particularly important in a political moment when many bodies are being marked as urgent problems to prevent (e.g., immigrant bodies, trans bodies, and Muslim bodies). One of these frameworks is reproductive justice, which “claims that a woman has the right to be recognized as a legitimate reproducer regardless of race, religion, sexual orientation, economic status, age, immigration status, citizenship status, disability status, and status as an incarcerated woman” (Solinger Reproductive Politics 160). Reproductive justice advocates maintain that “women have the right to manage their reproductive capacity,” “the right to adequate information, resources, services and personal safety while pregnant,” and “the right to be the parent of [their] child[ren]” (161). This framework has much potential for ensuring that we still work to gather funding for health resources and education without stigmatizing women’s bodies as a source of (or means of solution to) systemic social and political problems. The story of the young mother is, and will likely remain, powerful. It can be a rallying cry for a battle against the bodies of women—­bodies that are sexual, reproductive, and agentive—­or it can be an invitation to better understand, value, and support the women (and men) who are doing the difficult task of raising the next generation.

Acknowledgments There are so many people to acknowledge for their roles in inspiring, supporting, and challenging the ideas expressed in this book. First and foremost, thank you to the young pregnant and mothering women who have published counter-­narratives, launched social movements, and shared their stories in personal conversations with me. Without your bravery and creativity, this book would not exist. I am grateful to the strong network of women who had a hand (or two) in raising me: my mother, my aunts, and my grandmother. My gram, Mary Lou Ehlers, taught me by example what it means to be an educator, single mother, community leader, and matriarch holding all the disparate parts of our family together. My sisters Jessica and Jennifer shaped my understanding of the struggles, joys, and alternative knowledges gained by embracing one’s position as a sexy single mother doing it all kinds of “wrong.” In writing this book, I was moved by memories of the fellow young mamas I attended high school and college with: Josie Urenda, Melanie Delahanty, Crystal Rose, and Aja Martinez. Each of you taught me by example that it is not “exceptional” that teenage mothers desire to achieve great things for themselves, their children, and their communities. Critical conversations with the inspirational Laura Pederson helped me to better understand the rhetorical tactics feminist allies must use to secure funding for organizations that support young parents. Laura is an experienced nurse and the director of Teen Outreach Pregnancy Services, a nonprofit organization committed to serving pregnant and parenting teens without judgment. A trifecta of passionate, brilliant professors mentored me during my undergraduate years at the University of Arizona, where I began writing about these issues: Alison Deming, Carlos Gallego, and Roxanne Mountford. Thank you all for encouraging me to pursue my graduate degree. Thank you, also, to my 179

180  •  Acknowledgments

mentors in the Rhetoric, Composition, and Teaching of English program at the University of Arizona: Roxanne Mountford (again!), Amy Kimme Hea, and Anne-­Marie Hall. I am especially grateful to my dissertation chair, fellow FARRista, mentor, and all-­around amazing human being Adela C. Licona. My gratitude, as well, to my professors in the Women’s and Gender Studies program at the University of Arizona, particularly Carol Flynn and Sandra Soto. An extra special thanks to my collaborator in research, writing, and Saturday aerobics: Sally Stevens. The research Sally and I ultimately completed would not have been possible without the generous support of the Southwest Institute for Research on Women and the Crossroads Collaborative. I am grateful for the critical knowledge I gained during my time as a Crossroads Collaborative scholar. Stephen Russell and Adela C. Licona, thank you for inviting me to be a part of this think-­and-­do tank. I am much obliged to James Stanfill for helping me transcribe the interviews with #NoTeenShame activists. My dear friend Rebecca S. Richards patiently commented on the manuscript and stood by me each step of the way. This book truly would not have been possible without you. I am additionally grateful to my ambitious and awe-­inspiring friends Ashley J. Holmes and Faith Kurtyka for their feedback on this project. My fellow research associates (and June!) at the University of Massachusetts Lowell’s Center for Women and Work generously supported and workshopped portions of this book as well. The marvelous Marlowe Miller’s warm hugs, constructive criticism, and general enthusiasm for my writing lifted me up when I needed it most. To my writing buddy and amazing activist scholar Urmitapa Dutta: thank you for deepening my understanding of the possibilities and practices of cultural resistance. I must also thank my wonderful colleagues at the University of Massachusetts Lowell. The final writing stages of this book were possible due to a leave from teaching that gifted me with time to think, revise, and write again. A very special thanks to the English Department Chair, Anthony Szczesiul, for offering sound advice as I drafted this book and learned to manage my workload as a junior professor. Thanks, as well, to Diana Archibald, Shelley Barish, Mary Gormley, Paula Haines, Sue Kim, Bridget Marshall, Keith Mitchell, Melissa Pennell, and Jonathan Silverman for not only checking in on my progress with this project but also helping me (and my family) adjust to life three thousand miles away from the desert I have always known as home. A big thank you to the team at Rutgers University Press, particularly executive editor Kim Guinta, for believing in this book, Anne Hegeman for working with me on the visual content, and Joseph Dahm for his impressive copyediting skills. I am also appreciative of the critical insights offered by two anonymous reviewers of the manuscript. Last but certainly not least, I am thankful for the everyday love and support of my family at home. I am not sure how the writing would have been

Acknowledgments  •  181

completed without the reassuring snores of my furry pit bull pups, Zeppelin and Adora, sleeping at my feet. My loving partner, Robby, provided much needed back rubs, delicious meals, and powerful pep talks that kept me going in times of stress. My sweet son, Haven, made me giggle, snuggle, and take breaks to play when I hunched at the computer for too long. My daring daughter, Marijayne, inspired me to think differently about the world and our place in it. Marijayne: I hope that you never feel disadvantaged by the timing of your entry into this world.

Appendix A #NoTeenShame Interview Questions

184  •  Appendix A

Opening Question: It is very important to me that I represent you on your terms. As I write-­up the results of this study, how would you like to be represented? How do you identify?

Prompts: • Do you identify as a “teen mother” or another term? • Age? • Gender? • Ethnicity? Race? • Class background? • Pregnancy/parenting status? • Educational background? • Professional title?

Background on the #NoTeenShame Campaign Question 1: Can you tell me the story of the #NoTeenShame Campaign?

Prompts: • How did it start? • How does it work? • What is your ultimate goal or intended outcome? • Why was this campaign important to do? • Why do you think #NoTeenShame happened now? • What is next on the agenda for the #NoTeenShame campaign? Why? Question 2: Can you tell me about your personal role in the collaboration?

Prompts: • How did you come to be involved in the campaign? Why did you get involved? • What did you write? • Did you call organizations? Which ones? • How did you respond to public’s questions? • What other interviews or writing opportunities came from your participation in the campaign? Question 3: Can you tell me about how you 7 worked together?

Prompts: • What were your methods for sustaining a productive collaborative relationship? • What challenges did you face?

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Perceptions of the #NoTeenShame Campaign Question 1: What did your friends and family think about the campaign? Question 2: In what ways do you think the campaign was/is effective?

Prompt: • The recent update on Change​.org mentions that you feel that the campaign achieved particular successes. Can you be a bit more specific about the results? Question 3: In what ways do you think the campaign was ineffective? What (if anything) did you wish you had done differently?

Stories of Being in Public as a Young Mother Question 1: Can you tell me about a time when you have spoken or written to a public audience about your personal experiences as a pregnant teen and/or mother?

Prompt: • When? Where? Why? • What went well? • Were you able to get across what you wanted to? • How did the audience respond? • Other times you want to share with me? Positive experiences? Negative experiences? • How many times do you think you have you spoken or written to public audiences about your experiences? • What do you think is important for young women who are asked to speak as “teen moms” or “pregnant teens” to know or do? Question 2: Can you tell me about a time when you were out in public and a stranger commented on your pregnancy or on the fact that you are a mother?

Prompts: • How did you respond? • Were you able to express what you felt at the time? • Can you tell me about your worst experience? • Can you tell me about your funniest experience? Question 3: What do you think pregnant or parenting teens should do when they are confronted in public?

186  •  Appendix A

Prompts: • What is the best way to respond? • What is the worst way to respond? • Would you be willing to collaborate on a practical guide for teens who are confronted in public?

Future Directions Question: I am working on a book that will highlight the creative things young mothers do to persuade people to think differently about “teen moms” and “teenage motherhood.” What do you think is the most important thing to know about young mothers?

Appendix B Background Information on #NoTeenShame Activists at Time of Interview

NY

CA

MD

NM

MA

Gloria Malone

Christina Martinez

Lisette Orellana Engel

Marylouise Kuti

Jasmin Colon*

21

32

28

35

25

38

27

Age

19

30

26

33

23

36

25

Cis-­gender, white, single, divorced

Latina; born in the states but lived in El Salvador from 2 to 9 years old; “former teen mother”

Mexican American; writer, reader, runner; “former teen mom”

Black Latina; Dominican American; “former teen mom” (conflicted about label)

Young Parent Policy Fellow at MA Alliance on Teen Pregnancy; bio says she “juggles 3 jobs”

Administrator of NM Grads Program; working on an MA in public health from UNM

Graduate student at University of Baltimore pursuing a degree in public administration; full-­time program coordinator

Early childhood education teacher (teaches Head Start and preschool class)

Writer, consultant, political advocate, speaker, and home schooling daughter

1 son; pregnant at 16

2 children; had first when she was 16 and second when she was 20

2 children; 15 when daughter was born and 17 when son was born

3 boys and 1 girl; had first child at 17

1 daughter; had her at 15

2 sons ages 23 and 18; had the first at 15 and the second at 20

Director of Technical Assistance at Youth Build and CEO of Synergy and Solutions; minister in training

African American; Cape-­Verdean American; single mother in intergenerational household; thrill-­seeker; “young mom”

Children

1 daughter; had her at 17

Occupation

Manager of Digital Communications at MA Alliance

Chosen identity markers

Queer Latina; Brazilian American; “young mom”

*Not interviewed. Information retrieved from MA Alliance on Teen Pregnancy’s The Pushback blog entries and bio.

MA

Consuela Greene

State

MA

Name

Natasha Vianna

Age when #NoTeenShame started

Appendix C Handout for Young Parent Workshop on Using Counter-points in Everyday Confrontations with Strangers

190  •  Appendix C

Counter-points for Young Parents  •  191

192  •  Appendix C

Counter-points for Young Parents  •  193

Notes Preface 1 Names have been changed to protect the identities of my peers.

Chapter 1  The Role of the Teen Mother in Narratives of Teenage Pregnancy 1 Since statistics such as these are continually used to justify stigmatization of young

mothers, a rhetorical pattern I discuss later in the chapter, it is important to question and critique these numbers each and every time we see them. Much like the Bloomberg campaign’s patronizing comment about the likelihood that the father “is not going to stay,” the ad that asserts that the children of teenage mothers are twice as likely not to graduate from high school is misleading. According to the NYC Office of Communications and Marketing “OER Notes” page (that has since been taken down from the website), this claim comes from a study that suggested “43% of children of a teen mom (age 17 or under) fail to graduate high school by age 19 compared to 20% who fail if their mother was over age 22 when she gave birth.” Most teens who become mothers are eighteen or nineteen years old, so it is suspicious that the campaign would choose to highlight a statistical correlation with women aged seventeen and under. Moreover, the Bloomberg campaign chose to emphasize the finding from this study’s bivariate analysis, not the finding generated from multivariate analysis. As the authors of the study explain, bivariate comparisons “do not control for any background characteristics of the child or his or her mother” while multivariate comparisons—­at least in this analysis—­control for other differences between the comparison groups such as “the child’s age, gender, and race/ethnicity . . . the mother’s educational attainment, marital status at birth, language spoken in the home,” and whether the mother “grew up in a city, suburb or town” (Manlove et al. 168). The multivariate analysis suggests that 32 percent of the children of mothers who were aged seventeen or younger did not receive a high school diploma by age nineteen, while 22 percent of the children born to women aged twenty-­two to twenty-­four didn’t (173). This obviously is not “twice as likely.” The authors of this study end their chapter by explaining, “When social, economic, and demographic factors are controlled, many [negative] findings diminish or 195

196  •  Notes to Pages 4–5

go away” (196). Another ad from the Bloomberg campaign claims it costs “more than $10,000 to raise a child.” This is an estimate, not a fact, based loosely on the US Bureau of Labor Statistics’ “Consumer Expenditure Survey” administered to 11,800 “husband-­wife” households and 3,350 “single-­parent households” (Lino iii). The costs of child rearing varied considerably “based on geography, family income, family structure, and age of children” (Office of Communications and Marketing). For example, those with higher household incomes spend more on raising their children than those with lower incomes. The average costs for households earning less than $59,410 range, according to this report, between $8,760 and $9,970, with a major portion of the cost (approximately 30 percent or more) going toward housing (Lino iv)—­something people need regardless of their parental status. Finally, the ad that boldly claims “If you finish high school, get a job, and get married before having children, you have a 98% change of not being in poverty” reflects an argument made by Brookings Institution scholars Ron Haskins and Isabel Sawhill in their 2009 publication Creating an Opportunity Society. Interestingly, this claim is made in a chapter in which Haskins and Sawhill temper the optimistic vision of America as “a land of opportunity” by bringing attention to the fact that there has been a decline in upward mobility since the 1960s (8). The actual claim in the early pages of their book is that “those who finish high school, work full time, and marry before having children are virtually guaranteed a place in the middle class. Only about 2% of this group ends up in poverty” (9). Later on, the authors clarify, “Individuals in families headed by an able-­bodied adult between the ages of twenty-­five and sixty-­ four have a 98 percent chance of escaping poverty if the family adheres to all three social norms. By contrast, 76 percent of those living in families that do not adhere to any of these norms are poor” (70, emphasis added). This is a significant shift in meaning and complicates the idea that marrying, working full-­time, and finishing school ensure any young person (no matter her gender, race, or socioeconomic status) an escape from poverty. This argument reflects a neoliberal worldview that positions economic hardship as the result of individual behaviors instead of the employment opportunities and income distribution of a capitalist economy that continues to limit social safety nets for the poor. Lauren Ann Rankin suggests that in featuring this claim about poverty in their teenage pregnancy prevention campaign, the Bloomberg administration “absolves” itself from responsibility for the then-­increasing poverty rates in New York City (55). 2 I label this dominant narrative “teenage pregnancy” to reflect mainstream public discourse. Although labeled as such, the narrative—­and focus of public condemnation—­is almost always about teenage mothers. Most prevention campaigns encourage the public to overlook the period between conception and child rearing. Using statistics that quantify the lives of women who give birth and raise the child(ren) during their teens, campaigns avoid hot-­button issues like abortion and adoption (Nathanson 50). 3 By focusing only on the US context, I most certainly miss transnational implications of US/British/Canadian discourses of teenage pregnancy as well as other ways of representing young motherhood in different nations. For example, medical anthropologist Pamela J. Downe draws on thirty interviews with twenty-­two women in the urban-­poor context of Bridgetown, Barbados, to explain “Unlike the globalizing discourse of teen mothering—­emanating primarily from the United States, Canada, and Britain—­that demonizes young mothers and attributes negative community change largely to them, the women participating in this research saw

Notes to Pages 5–8  •  197

young motherhood as a historically generated site of strength and community well-­being” (139). Downe found that memories of slave mothers and references to the strength women derive from young motherhood came up again and again during her interviews about community well-­being. However, Downe highlights that recent editorials and community commentary in Barbados suggest that US/British/ Canadian discourse about “teenage pregnancy” is making an impact in Barbados, challenging the more positive, matrifocal constructions of young motherhood (146). 4 The recent Bloomberg campaign is a good case study in this regard. Soon after its release, Bloomberg’s campaign was publicly criticized by reproductive justice advocates, State Senator Liz Krueger, Bronx councilwoman (and former teenage mother) Annabel Palma, and young mother activists such as Malone. Critics called out the campaign for its inaccurate claims about poverty (i.e., that teen pregnancy causes poverty), its ineffective approach to educating the public on how to prevent pregnancies, and its hostile representation of teenage parents that seemed to encourage everyday harassment of young families. Some defended the campaign as based on factual information and a commendable plan to use shame as a teaching tool (Reeves). Although I have not found an official statement by the NYC Human Resources Administration about ending the campaign, the web page featuring the campaign ads disappeared in the summer of 2013, and by the time I visited New York City in the spring of 2014, it appeared as if the campaign ads had been taken down. For further analysis of this campaign, see note 1 and chapter 4. 5 In her influential book Unbearable Weight: Feminism, Western Culture, and the Body, feminist philosopher Susan Bordo critiques the tendency to trace critical scholarship on the body to Michel Foucault. She maintains that feminism (not poststructuralism or Foucault) initiated a focus on “body politics” by raising consciousness about how the body is constrained in personal/political ways that oppress women. She explains that Foucault’s concepts of biopower, docile bodies and the non-­hierarchical, diffuse mechanisms of power, are useful for feminist cultural critique, but are also limited. Bordo contends that Foucault does not take into account diverse subjectivities (gendered, racialized) and the ways in which women are violently subjugated in financial and personal relationships. Poststructuralism has been used to help feminists better account for the multiplicity of meaning/ resistance as well as explain how or why women perpetuate (and may find pleasure in) the body politics that contribute to unjust relations of power (see 16–­29). 6 Writing as a radical feminist, Rich critiqued motherhood as a male-­created institution—­that is, an arbitrary but powerful construction of ideas, images, and expectations (39) as well as laws, penalties, and “expert” medical procedures (275)—­ that supports patriarchy and shapes women’s experiences of pregnancy and motherhood. Defining motherhood as both an institution and “the potential relationship of any woman to her powers of reproduction and to children” (13), Rich called for women to reclaim their bodies and imagine new possibilities for this relationship. Although Rich’s sense of “institution” sounds a lot like poststructuralist theories of “discourse” in its description of practices, ideas, and expert knowledges that produce everyday “realities” for women, her critiques reflect an understanding of power as wielded over women, not accounting for a diversity of women’s experiences and women’s complicity in these power relations. In her 1986 introduction/update, Rich calls for us to avoid viewing “patriarchy as a pure product, unrelated to economic or racial oppression” (xxiv).

198  •  Notes to Pages 8–12

7 In 2012 journalist Ada Calhoun reported on “The Criminalization of Bad Mothers,”

8

9

10

11

including the state laws that prosecute and imprison mothers who give birth to infants who have any trace of illegal drugs in their system. Calhoun explored the arguments of the movements for personhood (that is, to define the embryo/fetus as a person deserving of rights and protection from the law) and the arguments of Planned Parenthood, the ACLU, the American Congress of Obstetricians and Gynecologists, and the National Advocates for Pregnant Women who see such laws and persecution as denying the constitutional rights (and personhood) of pregnant women. The dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy reflects several intersecting social movements, national anxieties, religious perspectives, and political agendas forwarded by specific politicians, organizations, and lobbyists. Readers interested in a more in-­depth discussion of the history and politics of teenage pregnancy should consult Constance Nathanson’s Dangerous Passage: The Social Control of Sexuality in Women’s Adolescence, Kristin Luker’s Dubious Conceptions: The Politics of Teenage Pregnancy, and Wanda Pillow’s Unfit Subjects: Educational Policy and the Teen Mother. My goal here is to situate when the narrative emerged and tease out its primary narrative/persuasive elements so that we can better understand what young pregnant and mothering women who wish to narrate their lives differently are up against. Historian Rickie Solinger illustrates the very different reproductive experiences of women across time and lines of difference, emphasizing that representations of good and bad motherhood are rarely about the needs or well-­being of mothers and children. Instead, reproductive politics—­what she defines as “who has powers over matters of pregnancy and their consequences”—­reflect the specific political needs of the moment (Pregnancy and Power 3). There are many excellent books that analyze the ways in which motherhood is made visible in order to support particular national agendas. Readers can consult the works of Solinger, Adrienne Rich’s Of Woman Born, Susan E. Chase and Mary F. Rogers’s Mothers and Children: Feminist Analyses and Personal Narratives, and Dorothy Roberts’s Killing the Black Body: Race, Reproduction, and the Meaning of Liberty for analyses of politicized images of motherhood. Nixon similarly expressed concern for the potential weakening of the family and family authority over children as he vetoed the Comprehensive Child Development Act of 1971 that was designed to ensure that all families had access to affordable childcare and had passed through both houses of Congress (Nixon; Michel 250). “5 Million Poor” made reference to demographer Arthur A. Campbell’s finding that 5 million women in poverty needed assistance in accessing family planning resources (Luker 57). Nathanson suggests that Planned Parenthood and the Alan Guttmacher Institute could no longer use the “5 Million Poor” “poverty-­family planning” tactic to secure federal funding for their contraceptive services because of the political and cultural climate, including (1) a new political administration that seemed to care little about the plight of the poor or racial minorities, (2) evidence of declining in birthrates in the United States, (3) evidence of older women’s preference for sterilization over oral contraception, and (4) the political liability of promoting contraception for poor women and women of color in light of evidence of involuntary sterilizations (54–­56). In order to secure continued funding for their research and resources, these organizations needed a new “problem” to solve that would similarly appeal to politicians’ concerns about women’s fertility and strains on the economy (55–­56).

Notes to Pages 14–24  •  199 12 Feminist medical social scientists Monica J. Casper and Lisa Jean Moore provide

13

14

15

16

17

18

a Foucauldian analysis of demography as a discipline that classifies, normalizes, and regulates bodies. Contesting the assumption that demography is an objective science, Casper and Moore write, “[D]emographers constitute the truth about populations at the same time that they are measuring them. That is, embedded within the science are a whole set of assumptions about the world and its inhabitants that shape the sorts of questions asked and knowledge produced in the first place” (64, emphasis original). Although the focus was on the outcomes of young women, the policies and funded contraceptive services that the AGI advocated for would have benefitted female and male adolescents. For more about the connections between President Obama’s discourse and the stigmatization of and lack of support for young mothers, see Miriam Zoila Pérez’s article “Teen Moms Look for Support, but Find Only Shame.” For critical analysis of the troubling cultural norms, values, and beliefs (re)produced by these reality television series, readers should consult Letizia Guglielmo’s edited collection MTV and Teen Pregnancy: Critical Essays on 16 and Pregnant and Teen Mom. At this time, there is an ongoing debate over whether these shows—­and any media that represent a pregnant or mothering teen character—­“glamorize” teenage pregnancy and lead young viewers to think raising a child as a teenager is an acceptable life choice. Economists Melissa S. Kearney and Phillip B. Levine recently confronted this claim and made national news for arguing that the MTV series contributed to the (preexisting and consistent) decline in teen birth rates and increased young viewers’ interest in researching birth control and abortion online (“Media Influences”). For example, during the 1920s when the idea of the “unadjusted girl” surfaced in the United States, these “at-­risk” women were placed in “preventative detention” in order to circumscribe any sexual deviance (Luker 36). In addition, Luker points out, “As the category of ‘unfitness’ became a staple of public discourse, there was considerable confusion about whether people in this category were inherently incapable of making the right choice when it came to having children, or were merely unwilling to do so” (33), which led to the forced sterilization of many “unfit” women. These are examples of explicit physical means of preventing or dealing with the problem of maternal/sexual deviance. Although I build on Bordo and Foucault to suggest the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy is evidence of the evolution from physical constraint and coercion to the disciplinary mechanism of the gaze, I do acknowledge that physical constraint and coercion are still very much disciplinary mechanisms in the lives of some teenagers, particularly female teenagers. The organization began in 1996 as the National Campaign to Prevent Teen Pregnancy, but changed its name in 2007 to include “Unplanned Pregnancy” as well. At the time of the “Sex Has Consequences” series, the National Campaign was focused solely on the reproduction rates of teenagers. Although it now seeks to prevent “unplanned” pregnancies (in addition to all teenaged ones), the organization focuses more on the reproductive rates of unmarried “young adults in their twenties,” still supporting the assumption that younger childbearing is irresponsible (“Unplanned Pregnancy”). Readers interested in more examples of teenage pregnancy public service announcements that perpetuate the dominant narrative and cast the young mother as the

200  •  Notes to Pages 24–27

19

20

21

22

23

preventative subject can consult sociologist Gretchen Sisson’s Tumblr blog titled “Shaming Teen Pregnancy”: http://​teenpregnancypsas​.tumblr​.com. This image can be found along with the other images of women in this series in Wanda S. Pillow’s compelling book Unfit Subjects: Educational Policy and the Teen Mother as she draws on these ads to analyze how they reflect the discourses on abstinence in 2001–­2002 (187–­190). Five of the ads may also be viewed on the following website: http://​thesocietypages​.org/​socimages/​2013/​04/​12/​teens​-­­­­as​-­­­­objects​ -­­­­of​-­­­­control/. For further analysis of the controversial “Sex Has Consequences” campaign and the neoliberal politics of the National Campaign to Prevent Teen and Unplanned Pregnancy, see Clare Daniel’s “‘Taming the Media Monster’: Teen Pregnancy and the Neoliberal Safety (Inter)Net.” As an example of the persistent reporting on racial and ethnic differences in pregnancy and birth rates, see “Trends in Teen Pregnancy and Childbearing.” The Office of Adolescent Health recently drew from 2013 data to report that “Hispanic adolescent females ages 15–­19 had the highest birth rate (41.7 births per 1,000 adolescent females), followed by black adolescent females (39.0 births per 1,000 adolescent females) and white adolescent females (18.6 births per 1,000 adolescent females).” The ambiguity of the “cheap” subject’s race and ethnicity leads me to label her a Latina, but the US Census Bureau tracks pregnancy and birthrates under the category of “Hispanics,” a contested term devised by the Bureau. In her analysis of California’s 1996 “Partnership for Responsible Parenting” teenage pregnancy prevention campaign that similarly featured images of young parents, media studies scholar Ruby C. Tapia demonstrates how such representations “intersected—­not only temporally, but also politically and ideologically—­with a number of anti-­immigrant and anti-­welfare legislative measures proposed and enacted at both national and local level” (8). Specifically, she draws attention to the confluence between the Personal Responsibility and Work Opportunity Reconciliation Act, the Illegal Immigration Reform and Immigrant Responsibility Act, Port of Entry Fraud Detection programs in California, and state-­level campaigning for Proposition 187 that all brought attention to the bodies of women of color as burdens on the state and nation (16). For more about the troubling racial stereotypes and histories shaping Asian American women’s experiences in the United States, see journalist Rachel Kuo’s article “5 Ways ‘Asian Woman Fetishes’ Put Asian Women in Serious Danger” and scholar Yen Le Espiritu’s Asian American Women and Men (esp. 22, 105–­106). The isolation felt by many mothers is produced by their cultural context. Rich explains how white mothers’ isolation in the home stemmed from profound changes in family life brought on by the Industrial Revolution. Rich maintains that motherhood has always been hard (often oppressive) work for women, who have almost always had to labor in other capacities along with the undervalued and often monotonous work of raising children. Rich historicizes motherhood from the time of the North American colonies to the present, showing how the “home” transitioned from a workplace in which women, men, and children performed all sorts of tasks to sustain the home—­child rearing, nursing, and producing were communal work (47). The Industrial Revolution of the nineteenth century changed the dynamic of “the family.” Initially, women were more readily employed in the factories and often more exploited—­still coming home to do domestic chores. Men’s exclusion from the factory and children’s sordid conditions without their

Notes to Pages 28–35  •  201

24 25

26

27

28

29

mothers incited a social reform that led some white mothers into the home, where it was idealized that they had a “sacred calling” to care for children, absorb the anger of the man, and be happy (49). Women did not become powerless in the move from the factory (where they were also exploited) to the home, but instead isolated. At the same time, enslaved black women were not thought of as “mothers” by white people. Instead, black women were constructed as breeders who were forced to carry fetuses to term and care for children (sometimes the ones they bore, other times those of white masters) in terrible material conditions (Roberts 10). See chapter 2 for further discussion of the visual rhetorical function of whiteness and chapter 4 for further discussion of the Candie’s Foundation. Challenges to the dominant narrative can also be read as threats to the means of securing funding for lobbying organizations, research, contraception, services for young parents, as well as women’s access to abortion. In their 2014 booklet “Talking the Talk,” the National Campaign tells fellow nonprofits how the use of strategic stories reflecting a “significant saga (i.e. teen pregnancy)” can “achieve your fundraising goal” or the money needed to ensure the “financial stability” of the organization (Sheets Pika et al. 35). The discussion guide for the made-­for-­T V Lifetime movie The Pregnancy Project reinforces these beliefs, claiming, “In the US, 52 percent of Latinas will get pregnant at least once as teenagers. Latinas have the highest teen pregnancy and birth rates of any group in the US” and “Children of teen mothers are more likely to become teen parents themselves” (Lifetime). Audiences are encouraged to see the fact that Latinas have a higher rate of pregnancies and births as teens as in and of itself a problem. However, the problems pregnant and mothering Latinas face, particularly those living in low-­income areas such as Toppenish, are better explained by the larger social and structural problems impacting their communities. See the important book of sociologists Mary Patrice Erdmans and Timothy Black, On Becoming a Teen Mom: Life Before Pregnancy, which calls for us to address the problems these young mothering women face before pregnancy (e.g., racism, economic inequality, gendered oppression) instead of being “distracted” by the repeated representation of pregnant and mothering women as problems. In her memoir, Rodriguez tells readers that Senator Jim Honeyford sent her a letter expressing his admiration for her project: “In witnessing your supposed unwed pregnant state and the complications surrounding your efforts to continue your education, other students may have seriously contemplated the consequences as well as made some wise decisions which could ultimately lead to fewer teen pregnancies” (189). In Mothers and Children: Feminist Analyses and Personal Narratives, Susan E. Chase writes, “It is rarely said out loud that the good mother is a white, able-­bodied, middle, upper-­middle, or upper class, married heterosexual, but that is what the ideal conveys” (31). News of this long-­standing practice at the school broke in early August 2012 when the ACLU sent a letter to the school demanding that they revise the policy, which violates Title IX and other constitutional rights (ACLU). Young mother activist Natasha Vianna also created a Change​.org petition calling for the charter school’s administration to abolish the policy (Orenstein). Administrators at the school quickly changed the policy, explaining that they did not know this was illegal or unethical. In other words, it seemed common sense for them to surveil the bodies

202  •  Notes to Pages 42–47

of their female students and punish those who behaved badly by getting pregnant before they graduate. Again, we must consider the material impact of the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy.

Chapter 2  Seeing Is Believing 1 A version of this chapter first appeared in Feminist Formations 24, no. 2 (Summer

2012): 140–­162. Printed with permission. Copyright © 2012 Feminist Formations.

2 According to US Department of Health and Human Services reports on final birth

3

4

5

6

7

data, there was only a 3 percent increase in the birthrate for teenagers aged fifteen to nineteen in 2006 and a 1 percent increase in 2007. It is important to put these numbers in context: the reports document that the birthrate rose for women in all age groups except women younger than fifteen and those between the ages of forty-­ five and forty-­nine (Martin et al. 2). Bristol Palin’s role as ambassador was fodder for much public discussion and debate. Some criticized the Candie’s Foundation for communicating mixed messages by appointing a teen mother as the spokesperson for an organization to prevent teenage pregnancy and motherhood. (That same year the foundation also promoted the rather confusing message “I’m sexy enough to keep you waiting.”) In 2011, a Candie’s Foundation tax report surfaced showing Palin’s generous ambassador salary ($262,500) and the seemingly less generous charitable giving ($35,000) by the foundation (Doucette). Media coverage of the tax report sparked debate about the Candie’s Foundation’s role in actually helping young people access the resources and information needed to prevent pregnancies. Palin’s public role as a teen mother and daughter of a well-­known politician continued to generate opportunities for her—­in 2012 she appeared on the US television series Dancing with the Stars. See chapters 1 and 4 for further discussion of the Candie’s Foundation. However, Pillow also emphasizes that racialized representations impacted the schooling conditions for young mothers after Title IX. She points to the findings of sociologists Dawn Upchurch and James McCarthy on high school completion to suggest that this “our girl”/“other girl” ideology had negative effects: “After the passage of Title IX, immediate access to schooling for school-­age mothers increased dramatically between 1975 and 1986 for white teen mothers, while decreasing for black teen mothers” (32, emphasis original). Here, I draw on feminist media scholar Ruby C. Tapia’s theory that an image of a pregnant or parenting teenager can serve as “ocular proof ” of deviance and help to forward a racialized ideology or political agenda (16). Specifically, she argues that images used in a teenage-­pregnancy-­prevention campaign fueled sentiments against immigration during California campaigns for Propositions 187 and 200. Although clothes, expressions, and settings are fairly easy to identify, the social and economic constructs of class and racial identity are not. In trying to determine a subject’s racial identity, I acknowledge that I make potentially flawed assessments based on skin pigmentation (which is difficult to read in black-­and-­white photographs) and/or the labels provided by the journalists in the articles and captions (e.g., “black young mother Angela Mark”). I chose these publications because they are widely read in the United States and collectively archived in online-­library databases. I used the ProQuest Historical Newspapers and LexisNexis Major World Publications search engines, using the search terms “teen*” and “pregnancy.” I looked selectively at articles published

Notes to Pages 47–53  •  203

8

9

10

11

12

during the years 1970 to 1989. To expand my research, I used terms like “school-­age mother*” and “adolescent pregnancy.” Then I examined the results for images (or, in the case of LexisNexis, descriptions for any “Graphic”) included in the articles. For any articles that indicated a “graphic” that was not visible online, I scanned the article from the print edition to code the image. In order to gain a better understanding of cover-­page images, I looked at issues of Ebony, Life, USA Today, and Time. For the purposes of this chapter, I focus on photographs of women’s bodies, although images of babies, doctors, nurses, and administrators appear in articles about the so-­called problem of teenage pregnancies. Perry and Watson claimed that their exclusion from school was a form of racial discrimination. The court dismissed this claim when the school board insisted that the policy of refusing admission for unwed pregnant and mothering students applied to all girls, regardless of race. Nevertheless, the court heard the case as a violation of the Due Process and Equal Protection clauses of Fourteenth Amendment. The court determined that the school could not deny admission to unmarried pregnant or mothering students because this in and of itself was not enough evidence of lack of moral character. While the court ultimately ruled that Perry and Watson should be able to apply for admission, it made “manifestly clear that lack of moral character is certainly a reason for excluding a child.” The court explained that if, after a “fair hearing,” “the board is convinced that a girl’s presence will taint the education of the other students, then exclusion is justified” (Perry v. Grenada). For example, Life could have featured Lupe Enriquez, another pregnant student at the school, on the cover. Of the thirteen photographs included in Life’s cover story, two centered on Enriquez (seen in Figure 2.1; the first student on the left seated and watching Fay), a light-­skinned woman who, judging by her name, may represent an ethnic minority group. Further evidence of the usefulness of representations of white middle-­class women in establishing the category of young mothers is the fact that, in 1976, Planned Parenthood and the Alan Guttmacher Institute chose to reprint photographs of Fay from this photo shoot in their pamphlet 11 Million Teenagers (see discussion in chapter 1). In 2013, Time posted online an article and image gallery about this Life cover story. Article author Ben Cosgrove explains that, judging from the letters to the editor that came in after the article was published, these representations actually prompted several negative responses from the public who critiqued the magazine for “poor taste.” Judy Fay, from Life’s article, also decided not to marry, but this was described as one of three “crucial decisions” she made when finding out she was pregnant at sixteen, along with keeping the baby and continuing to go to school (Woodbury 40). The article then discusses her parents’ fear of rejection from their conservative community and their relief when neighbors admired them for “the way we faced up to the problem” (Lulla Fay qtd. in Woodbury 40). It is important to note that the race of pregnant and mothering students featured in the newspaper photographs stems, in part, from the demographics of the regions these publications cover. However, in her study of the photojournalism of Life from 1945 to 1960, Wendy Kozol finds that the magazine often depicted white middle-­ class families as the norm, therein idealizing the nuclear family and all the classed, raced, and gendered messages naturalized by this contested and often unrealized type of family formation. The magazine represented other races and ethnicities only when discussing social problems. Kozol’s analysis demonstrates how seemingly

204  •  Notes to Pages 54–66

“realistic” photojournalism is always shaped by choices made about whom to represent and how to represent them. 13 The War on Poverty included legislation and programs enacted by the federal government’s Office of Economic Opportunity beginning in 1964 (Luker 57–­58). Family planning advocates secured funding by arguing that providing contraceptive services for the nation’s poor would decrease both the number of single unwed mothers having to take advantage of Aid to Families with Dependent Children and the number of low-­income children without medical care (59). Historian Laura Briggs writes, “the War on Poverty (decried by its opponents as the War against the Poor) provided federal funding for sterilization through the Department of Health, Education, and Welfare (HEW) and the Office of Economic Opportunity (OEO). Between 1970 and 1979, HEW provided funding for sterilization operations for between 192,000 and 548,000 women a year who received public housing, welfare, food stamps, and/or Medicaid assistance—­which represented a one-­hundred fold increase over even the busiest years of eugenic sterilization” (40). 14 As both Pillow and Luker explain in their respective histories of the politics of teenage pregnancy, in the seventies and eighties, white middle-­class women benefitted from increasing access to educational and career opportunities as well as sexual health information and resources to prevent unwanted pregnancies. Thus, more white middle-­class women postponed or avoided marriage and child rearing than in previous years. Due to structural racism and the effects of economic disparities, women of color did not experience this increased access to resources and educational/career opportunities (Pillow 36–­37). Attention to changing national demographics brought on by immigration was fueled, in part, by the 1965 Immigration and Naturalization Act that eliminated the United States’ long-­standing quota system used to restrict the number and origin of immigrants. The act allowed immigrants from any country to apply for entry, giving preference to those with needed skills or with family members already in the United States. 15 Catriona Macleod argues that popular understandings of teenage pregnancy and abortion reflect a belief that if things go wrong, the degeneration of the individual (and the nation) could result. Macleod traces this socially constructed idea to colonialists’ construction of the developmental stage of “adolescence,” a construction that hinged on the “threat of degeneration” (5). Explicitly racialized subjects (like black young women) help to convey this threat, because they are often constructed as already degenerate, while white young women are made to reflect the potential of progressing as an individual (31). The chronology of Time’s cover-­story images could suggest that teenage pregnancy leads to (racialized) degeneration: beginning with images of childlike pregnant white women, the article moved on to images of poor black and Native American women with multiple children.

Chapter 3  Challenging Experts, Commonplaces, and Statistics 1 During the course of my research, I found evidence of many forms of young

women’s resistance to negative constructions of young pregnancy and the policies and attitudes that relate to these discourses. For example, as mentioned in chapter 2, in 1969 Clydie Marie Perry and Emma Jean Watson brought legal action against a school that expelled them because of their supposed lack of morals as unwed mothers. Fay Ordway, a pregnant honors student, also sued for her right to stay in school in 1971. Ordway explicitly resisted the social pressure to go to a maternity home

Notes to Pages 67–71  •  205

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and/or have an assigned social worker—­actions that were covered by at least one media outlet (Kiester E1). In the end, Ordway won her right to stay in school, but she was denied her honors position and college scholarship (Luker 98). As another example, Kelly brings attention to young mother Amanda Lemon’s fight against her high school’s decision to deny her a position in the National Honor Society because her “character” was compromised by the fact that she had a child (Pregnant 1). In 1993, a New York Times article brought attention to pregnant cheerleaders’ successful efforts to repeal their school’s decision to kick them off the squad (Verhovek). In 1992, Yvonne Chavez, an eighteen-­year-­old mother of a two-­year-­old, wrote a compelling letter to the editor of the Los Angeles Times critiquing Governor Pete Wilson’s plan to cut welfare benefits to discourage teenage motherhood (B6). While I focus on counter-­narratives in this chapter, there are a variety of ways that women positioned as “teenage mothers” deconstruct and resist the implications of that label. It is important to note that resistance to negative perspectives on young single motherhood is also an agenda of antiabortion advocates who see the dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy as potentially persuading young women to terminate unplanned pregnancies. In this chapter, I look selectively at the rhetoric(s) of writers who resist the pathologization of young parenthood and, often, advocate for other feminist perspectives as well. Future work could consider the intersecting rhetorical objectives of scholars, activists, and mothering women who contest the dominant narrative from different positions on the political spectrum. These series are produced in collaboration with the National Campaign to Prevent Teen and Unplanned Pregnancy and are packaged as part of an effort to prevent teenage pregnancy even though there is no sustained discussion of contraceptive options on these shows (Guglielmo and Stewart 20–­21). The National Campaign to Prevent Teen and Unplanned Pregnancy and Candie’s Foundation have both used teen mothers’ testimony to forward the agenda of teen pregnancy prevention. For a critique of using teen mothers’ experiences in sex education contexts, see Cathy Chabot and coauthors’ “Morally Problematic: Young Mothers’ Lives as Parables about the Dangers of Sex.” I am not an active member of Girl-­Mom. I do not focus my analysis on the conversations exchanged in the discussion forums because I feel that these forums are designed for communication between members and their allies. This chapter does not focus on those communicative patterns. I feel comfortable highlighting the strategies the authors use in the feature articles because they are posted on the publicly accessible section of the site. These narratives support Girl-­Mom’s rhetorical purpose of changing “the face of ‘teen parenthood.’” In response to the National Day to Prevent Teenage Pregnancy, young mother activist Allison Crews initiated the National Coalition to Empower Teen Parents. The coalition worked to establish a National Day to Empower Teen Parents: October 11, in 2003 (Carpenter). In her introduction to the collection, Deborah Davis, the editor of You Look Too Young to Be a Mom, explicitly discusses her commitment to collect diverse stories to challenge the monolithic vision of young mothers. Beginning in 2000, she posted the call “on the Internet [including on Hip Mama], mailing queries to high schools, colleges, and social service organizations, and placing magazine print ads” (4) and ultimately sifted through the two hundred submissions to select thirty-­ five stories from writers with “a range of ethnic, socioeconomic, religious, and

206  •  Notes to Pages 73–93

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political backgrounds” (5). She explains that she called for “stories that showed the positive side of becoming a mother at a young age: What has worked for you? Who and what had helped you in your mothering journey? How do you cope with the prejudices you encounter, in yourself and in others?” (4). Thus, those who responded with personal stories likely framed them in response to the call. Davis explains that she spent time working with the writers on revising their submissions (“I asked for details, details, and more details”), not surprising as she is a writing teacher. She points out “I had to remind some writers to tell their own story, not their boyfriend’s, not their mother’s”—­a request for narratives focused on the individual writer that may have limited the counter-­narrative tactics that the writers felt they could deploy (5). The editors of Breeder do not explicitly discuss how they selected stories for their collection, though I imagine that as publishers/editors of Hip Mama they posted the call on that website or asked to reproduce narratives that had been posted there (for example, Allison Crews’s essay in this collection was originally posted on Girl-­Mom). Girl-­Mom allowed for young mothers to submit stories for consideration by the website editors at any time (although there does not seem to be a way to submit features now, and the last activity in the discussion forums was in 2013). Later, Savage explains that he “went and bred. Sort of ” when he and his boyfriend adopted; yet, he still recognizes that Breeder is focused on the different ways women enact motherhood (ix). Richard Delgado points to slave narratives, Native American stories, and Mexican ballads as examples of the long-­standing use of narrative as a means of communication among (and beyond) marginalized communities. Feminisms’s use of the personal as political in critical consciousness groups in the 1970s is another example of personal/community experiences challenging mainstream knowledge. Rhetors often use commonplaces as stated or unstated premises of enthymematic reasoning or to simplify a complicated situation. For example, the idea that teenage motherhood causes poverty and increases the likelihood of males to be imprisoned simplifies structural mechanisms perpetuating an unequal distribution of wealth and the practices and power relations that determine who goes to prison (see Duggan for a discussion of these power relations). I do not mean to suggest that Crews’s narrative does not illustrate struggles with education, finances, or her partner. All three are present as aspects of her story, but they are not the central conflict of the plot. Tavis later illustrates that she uses public assistance programs to support herself and her child; throughout the narrative she reflects on the shame she feels about this and her consistent awareness that she bears the mark of “failure.” She is embarrassed when strangers offer to help her because she can sense their judgments of her poverty. Thus, her story is a more complicated view of the ideological construction of “welfare” as a handout for people who cannot succeed on their own. See also Rita Naranjo’s narrative “From Hopelessness to Inspiration” for another example of explicit references to the devastation and shame young women feel in having to apply for welfare assistance. Such constructions also mask the history of inequitable access to welfare benefits for women of color. In her book Killing the Black Body, Dorothy Roberts writes, “Although Americans now view welfare dependency as a Black cultural trait, the welfare system systematically excluded Black people for most of its history” (203). It was only during the 1960s civil rights movement that black activists successfully

Notes to Pages 98–118  •  207

advocated for their rights to benefits equal to those received by white people. Roberts explains, “Black mothers’ inclusion in welfare programs once reserved for white women soon became stigmatized as dependency and proof of Black people’s lack of work ethic and social depravity” (207). 14 See also Jennifer Lind’s “The Letter.” Lind writes, “My school counselor had told me just to forget about college because I wouldn’t get admitted” (182).

Chapter 4  Resisting Stigmatizing Pregnancy Prevention Initiatives 1 In 2016 the Candie’s Foundation changed its name to TheNext​.org. For the pur-

poses of this chapter, I refer to the organization as the Candie’s Foundation.

2 Although the Candie’s Foundation does not provide a source for its estimate that

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“[n]early 750,000 teenage girls will become pregnant this year [in 2013],” it is likely that the organization pulled the number from 2008 data on teenage pregnancies and birthrates, the most recent statistics at the time. The Guttmacher Institute reported that in 2008, “nearly 750,000 women [actually 746,530] younger than 20 became pregnant” (Kost and Henshaw 2). Of these, 733,010 pregnancies occurred to fifteen-­to nineteen-­year-­olds (the majority, or 496,780, of whom were eighteen or nineteen) and 13,520 pregnancies occurred to girls fourteen or younger (Kost and Henshaw 8, 9). While these numbers can be startling to some as bulk quantities, it is important to keep in mind the total population of adolescents. Only 7 percent of teenage girls aged fifteen to nineteen became pregnant in 2008 (Kost and Henshaw 2). Moreover, not all pregnancies lead to childbirth and child rearing (i.e., “changing diapers”). In 2008, about 59 percent of girls younger than twenty who were pregnant gave birth (Kost and Henshaw 11). In 2011, the most recent data available as I write this chapter, only 5 percent of teenage women, or 553,000, became pregnant (Kost and Maddow-­Zimet 2). For further discussion of interruption as a feminist rhetorical strategy, consult Kathleen J. Ryan, Nancy Myers, and Rebecca Jones’s new collection Rethinking Ethos: A Feminist Ecological Approach to Rhetoric. Ryan et al. draw attention to “women rhetors’ efforts to use rhetorical maneuvers to interrupt historical and contemporary normative discourses about women’s bodies and minds and change discursive habits” (ix). I was unable to meet with Jasmin Colon. This research project received approval from the University of Massachusetts Lowell’s Institutional Review Board. In these outlets, Gloria and Natasha did not control the discursive framework in which they spoke. Their disappointment with the ultimate result illustrates, again, Alcoff and Gray’s call to be wary of the contexts in which we are being asked to share our personal testimonies (see chapter 3). In her book Mommyblogs and the Changing Face of Motherhood, May Friedman grants that “most of the world’s mothers do not exist online” but draws attention to the fact that “[m]others with disabilities, queer mothers, mothers experiencing poverty, mothers from diverse ethnic, racial, and religious locations and myriad other ‘Other’ mothers are writing in the mamasphere, exposing experiences that are not available in traditional motherhood stories found in magazines and books or on television” (47). The #NoTeenShame hashtag was initiated on May 24, 2013, by the Illinois Caucus on Adolescent Health—­a nonprofit organization that is part of the Strong Families Coalition—­as the caucus tweeted a link to journalist Tara Culp-­Ressler’s article

208  •  Notes to Pages 122–140

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“Too Often, Teen Mothers Receive Shame Instead of Support.” A few days later, the hashtag was used by the #NoTeenShame advocates in their Change​.org petition, and as they tweeted links to the petition other organizations used the hashtag. Earlier in the month, the Candie’s Foundation was fervently critiqued by feminist activist Veronica Bayetti Flores on Feministing, Tara Culp-­Ressler on Think Progress, and Jasmin Colon on The PushBack. Each piece focused on critiquing the campaign, not working with the Candie’s Foundation. See note 1 in chapter 1 for a breakdown of the numbers used in the Bloomberg campaign. In her article for Time, journalist Maia Szalavitz contributed to the media discussion by synthesizing research on shame: “Research on other attempts to use shame to address obesity, smoking and drug addictions suggests that the results are not good. With addictions, for example, research shows that shame is ineffective and often backfires.” In the months following the exchange with the Candie’s Foundation, Marylouise (then thirty) and Consuela (then thirty-­six), who had not published individual narratives prior to their involvement in #NoTeenShame, each posted counter-­narratives on The Pushback in solidarity with #NoTeenShame. Because of the long-­standing practice of appropriating teen mothers’ experiences and stories to serve another’s intended purpose, the activists are very wary of associating themselves with a nonprofit organization or other entity. They want to retain control of their voices and discursive frameworks. At the same time, they would appreciate recognition and compensation for all the labor they put into their activist efforts as mostly women of color and single moms. Natasha explained that she logged the hours they spent on campaigning one year, tallying two thousand hours. Yet, nonprofit organizations that call for their expertise are often hesitant to offer compensation for their consulting services, instead acting surprised that young women who are so passionate about this cause would not consult with them for free.

Chapter 5  Confronting the Stranger on the Street 1 The 2013 “Winnable Battles” progress report situates the birth rates of young

women aged fifteen to nineteen a “federal priority” for public health alongside six other winnable battles such as HIV, tobacco use, and healthcare-­associated infections (Centers for Disease Control and Prevention 3, 16). 2 This project was supported by the Ford Foundation’s Crossroads Collaborative Grant and received approval by the University of Arizona’s Institutional Review Board. See my article with Sally Stevens in Sexuality Research and Social Policy, “Preventing Pregnancy OR Supporting Students? Learning from the Stories of Young Mothers,” for a detailed description of our methodology. 3 The My Pregnancy Story Project culminated in a community report distributed to all of the research sites in the aim of improving understanding of and services for young pregnant and parenting women at that location. Thus, the participants needed to remain anonymous. We had planned to assign each participant a letter and ask the participants to refer to each other as such. However, all the participants preferred to use their first names. So as we transcribed the discussions we deleted their names, replacing them with a letter/number combination, to ensure absolute anonymity during the research process and report circulation. For the purposes of

Notes to Pages 142–149  •  209

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this chapter, I have chosen to use pseudonyms to represent the women’s identities and avoid the disembodied feel of characterizing them as letters and numbers. Ideally, the participants themselves would have chosen these pseudonyms, but in this case, now months removed from the conversations, I have chosen them. In representing all the participants’ statements, I have tried to accurately represent how they spoke the words using italics to illustrate when they emphasized a particular word. I did not make major changes to grammar or style, although I did insert words at times to help readers understand the meaning of the sentence. Any additions to the participants’ statements are bracketed. Ellipses indicate a pause, a trailing off, or an interruption by another participant. Finally, I also marked, in brackets, any place where laughter occurred. Although I claim that these moments reflect a gendered bias that renders pregnant and mothering women more susceptible to public judgment than men or others who are less visible reproductive bodies/parents, it is important to note that I have not conducted qualitative research on fathers of teen pregnancies. Perhaps youthful-­ looking fathers also receive comments fueled by the rhetorical efforts of prevention campaigns that often represent them as negligent or always and only just financially burdened by children. For the purposes of this chapter, I focus on young women, guided by feminist research that has documented the ways in which women’s bodies are more readily approached in public spaces and disciplined for their reproductive capacities. Airforces are fashionable high-­top sneakers made by Nike. Young mothers from middle-­to upper-­class families also have access to counter-­ claims that reject stigma while reaffirming neoliberal cultural values: “I am paying for this food myself ”; “I live on my own”; “I am putting myself through school before marrying.” In theorizing these everyday situations as rhetorical situations, I depart a bit from Bitzer’s original understanding of a rhetorical situation. He writes, “A situation is rhetorical insofar as it needs and invites discourse capable of participating with situation and thereby altering its reality . . . discourse is rhetorical insofar as it functions (or seeks to function) as a fitting response to a situation which needs and invites it” (6). In an everyday situation between a young pregnant or mothering woman and a stranger, it is difficult to determine what alters “reality” and what is a “fitting response.” The comments made by strangers do not really seem “rhetorical” in the sense of participating in a situation that they (as strangers) can alter—­in fact, the responses appear to typically be one-­or two-­line comments. However, I agree with Biesecker, Miller, Bawarshi, and other rhetoricians influenced by the theories of poststructuralism that situations that (re)produce social identities, relations, or beliefs are always already rhetorical. So in considering moments between strangers and young mothers when the strangers position/respond to young women as “young mothers,” I see these exchanges as rhetorical situations. For in-­depth analysis of coping tactics, see the works of Luttrell, Rowley, Kaplan, Fessler, and Yardley. The same could be said for any stigmatized subject. For instance, in her book Staring: How We Look, feminist disability scholar Rosemarie Garland-­Thomson discusses how people with disabilities or so-­called deformed bodies function as experienced “starees”—­people who are often stared at. She writes, “Stareable people have a good deal of work to do to assert their own dignity or avoid an uncomfortable scene. People with unusual looks come to understand this and develop relational strategies to ameliorate the damage staring can inflict.

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Rather than passively wilting under intrusive and discomforting stares, a staree can take charge of a staring situation, using charm, friendliness, humor, formidability, or perspicacity to reduce interpersonal tension and enact a positive self-­representation” (84). Fessler uses this observation to challenge the idea that young mothers passively drop out of school or just ignore the importance of healthcare (113–­114). For other critiques of flat claims that young mothers are “less likely” to finish school or seek healthcare, see the work of Pillow, Luker, and Roberts. The disciplining mechanisms built into services for young (and I would add low-­income) mothers are startling and would benefit from solid feminist critique. Some examples from one student agreement at a school with a program for young parents are (1) mandates that students walk their children directly to the childcare center, never pausing on any other part of the campus; (2) demands that students spend their lunch hours in the daycare center with their children and agree “to meet my child’s nutritional needs before my own”; and (3) as previously mentioned, requirements that students “not participate in physical violence of any kind with another person.” There is not a requirement about avoiding confrontations or harsh exchanges with other students in this student contract, but it is clear that the participants believed that by responding to rude or insensitive peers’ comments they might get in trouble with the center. Student agreements, which ensure them access to free childcare services on high school campuses, seize the opportunity to contain the children (who are the evidence of deviance from norms) in designated areas of the campus and to discipline mothers’ bodies into somewhat self-­sacrificing, child-­centered, docile women. For further analysis of the curricula and teacher/staff responses to pregnant and mothering students, see separate works of Wanda Pillow and Deirdre Kelly. Mia’s claim that older people making the same amount of money as teens raise their kids “completely fine” unearths and confronts a powerful premise underlying the public and political scorn of both teen mothers and welfare mothers: that women without money should not have children. As historian Rickie Solinger argues in Beggars and Choosers: How the Politics of Choice Shapes Adoption, Abortion, and Welfare in the United States, “Today many Americans are convinced the poor women as dependents do not and cannot make good choices” (221). Reproductive justice scholars like Solinger and Laura Briggs have shown that throughout US history politicians and social workers have seen poverty as a legitimate reason to take children away from their biological mothers (see, for example, Briggs 71, 81). While writing this chapter I have been thinking a lot about the fight against obesity as, perhaps, another example of rendering particular bodies representative of an exigence—­an objectified social need to address through preventative measures and everyday comments.

Conclusion 1 In 2010, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention proclaimed teenage

pregnancy a “winnable battle” (3). The 2013 “Winnable Battles” progress report situates the birth rates of young women aged fifteen to nineteen a “federal priority” for public health alongside six other winnable battles such as HIV, tobacco use, and healthcare-­associated infections (3, 16).

Note to Pages 177–177  •  211 2 In response to the news that teenage pregnancy and birthrates are at all-­time lows,

some representatives from organizations that deploy the teenage pregnancy prevention frame caution against “complacency.” For example, Tamara Kreinin, former president of the Sexuality Information and Education Council of the United States, says, “That’s my greatest concern—­that we’ll become complacent” about teenage pregnancy (Kreinin qtd. in Pardini). As another example, in “Counting It Up: How to Use Cost Data in Your Community,” the National Campaign urges readers to not become complacent and “drop an existing issue for something new and fresh” (1). Instead, the nonprofit organization encourages readers to become “intense and creative” in arguing for politicians’ attention to (and approval of funding for) teenage pregnancy prevention efforts (1). Specifically, the National Campaign doubles down on the rhetorical strategy of blaming pregnant and parenting teens for tax spending.

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Index abortion: access to, 9, 21, 47, 53, 60, 177, 201n25; and degeneration, 204n15; and dominant narrative, x, 205n2 access: to childcare, 92, 161, 198n10; differential, 115–­116, 129–­130; to education, 92, 97–­98, 204n14; to family planning resources, 11–­12, 21–­22, 128, 198n11; to sex education, 54, 60; to welfare, 9, 206n13. See also abortion; contraceptives activism, 103–­104, 114, 116–­117, 120. See also individual activists Act Your Age! A Cultural Construction of Adolescence (Lesko), 57, 152 Adair, Vivyan, 35 adolescence, xiv, 57–­58, 152, 177, 204n15 Adolescent Health Services and Pregnancy Prevention Act, 17 adoption, 45, 78, 86 African American women: and racism, 9, 73, 122, 157, 177, 206n13; and reproductive politics, 45, 55–­57, 145, 201; and visual representations of, 27, 50–­54, 59, 60–­63, 202n6; as young mothers, 19, 47, 138, 202n4. See also race; women of color age, attention to, 47–­55, 57–­58 agency: defined, 117; and interruption, 104, 110, 115–­117; and kairos, 107, 137; overview, 105. See also constrained agency Alan Guttmacher Institute (AGI), 11–­12, 198n11, 199n13, 207n2. See also 11 Million Teenagers

Alcoff, Linda, 37, 68, 70–­71, 100 Allain, Rosie, 89–­91 Althusser, Louis, 148 Angel, Rebecca, 88–­89 anger, 108–­112, 122, 131 antagonistic responses, 138, 141, 147 antiabortion advocates, 205n2. See also abortion Anzaldúa, Gloria, 26 appropriation of experiences, 127, 132, 208n12 Aristotle, 119 Arnoldi, Katherine, 91, 97–­98 Asian American women, 24, 27 authority, 105–­106, 115, 119, 131, 153–­154 avoidance tactic, 141–­142, 149–­150 Banks, Adam, 115–­116 Bawarshi, Anis, 144, 147 Beggars and Choosers (Solinger), 210n11 Beresford, Pat, 93 Berman, Rachel C., 150–­151 Biesecker, Barbara, 142–­143, 147 birth control, 52–­53. See also contraceptives birthrates: and family planning, 11; of Latinas, 24, 201n26; and public health, 208n1, 210n1; and race, 56, 200n20; as social progress, 16; statistics, xiii, 43, 69, 125, 167–­168; and welfare, 53, 62 Bitzer, Lloyd, 37, 103, 142–­143, 147, 209n7 Bizzell, Patricia, 9 227

228  •  Index

Black, Timothy, 18–­19, 160 black women. See African American women Bloomberg campaign: and counter-­ narratives, 38; critique of statistics, 195–­196n1; and #NoTeenShame, 109–­113; overview, 1–­4; responses to, 3–­4, 124–­125, 127–­128, 131, 197n4 bodies: and demography, 199n12; and disability, 209–­210n8; and discipline, 7, 22–­23, 32, 177; and dominant narrative, 5, 12, 34–­37, 172; and exigence, 146–­147; and the gaze, 24, 83; maternal, 7–­9, 16, 164; and politics, xi–­xii, 146–­148, 178; pregnant as public domain, 8–­9, 144–­145, 154, 158; and rhetoric, 146–­148; as rhetorical appeals, 26–­29, 37, 49, 57; and statistics, 14–­17. See also confrontation; embodied exigence; problem, bodies as; visual representations Bonilla-­Silva, Eduardo, 61 (b)orderlands rhetorics, 75, 78 Bordo, Susan, 8, 22, 30, 38, 197n5 Boyd, Latisha, 76–­77 Braidotti, Rosi, 146 Branded Bodies, Rhetoric, and the Neoliberal Nation-­State (Wingard), 146 “Bread and Roses” (Lavender), 69 Breeder: Real-­Life Stories (Gore and Lavender), 69–­79, 91, 94, 96 Briggs, Gemma, 20–­21 Brodt, Bonita, 61 Brody, Jane E., 53 Brown, Sarah, 109, 124 Brownell, Marni, 20–­21 Buchanan, Lindal, 164 Butler, Judith, xiv, 66, 146, 149 Cadogan, Marjorie, 109, 124 Calhoun, Ada, 198n7 Callahan, Daniel, 21 Campbell, Arthur A., 14, 198n11 Candie’s Foundation: and Bristol Palin, 43, 202n3; and Change.org petition, 118–­123, 174; conclusions, 131–­135; critique of, 208n8; and dominant narrative, 34; gendered message of, 30; interruption of, 129–­131; overview, 23, 102–­104; and PSAs, 28–­29, 102–­103; research of, 106–­107; responses, 123–­129, 176; and

social media, 116–­118; statistics, 207n2. See also #NoTeenShame campaign Casper, Monica J., 15, 88, 199n12 Center for Continued Education, 50–­53 Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC), 138, 210n1 Certeau, Michel de, 148 Change.org petition, 118–­123 Chicago Tribune, 61–­62 childcare: funding for, 161, 198n10; need for, 9, 35, 90, 153; struggles with, 76, 210n10 “Children Having Children” (Wallis), 56–­57 Child Trends Fact Sheet, 2–­3 circulation of messages, 106–­107, 115–­123, 133, 173 class, 146, 202n6. See also poverty coalitional action, 108–­112, 117 Coats, J. Anderson, 94–­95 Cole, Neil: and access, 116, 130, 132; and Change.org petition, 118, 120, 122–­123; introduced, 23; responses from, 103, 126–­129 collaboration, 111, 175–­177 collective action, 105, 107–­108, 112–­114 Collins, Patricia Hill, 55 Colon, Jasmin, 103, 108, 113, 188 color-­blind ideology, 44, 55, 61 Commission on Population Growth and the American Future, 11 commonplaces: challenging, 73–­74; and counter-­narratives, 82–­87, 97–­101; and counter-­points, 162–­163; defined, 9; and exceptionalism, 113; and humor, 159; rhetorical use of, 37, 206n10 community: building, 69, 80, 115; context of pregnancy and motherhood, 18–­19, 59, 61, 77, 92, 121, 139, 177; and ethos, 119; networks of support, 34, 161 confrontation: cultural context of, 137; and embodied exigence, 169–­170; frameworks, 173; preparing women for, 163–­169; research of, 139–­142; rhetorical responses to, 150–­163, 190–­193 constrained agency, 104–­107, 137, 148–­149, 164–­165, 172. See also embodied exigence contraceptives: access to, 21, 47, 60; and decisions of men, 30; future of, 177; knowledge about, 34; politics of, 11–­12, 54–­55, 198n11, 199n13; and statistics, 15

Index  •  229

coping tactics, 149–­159 counter-­narratives, 65–­101; analysis of, 79–­81; antagonists in, 85–­87; and commonplaces, 82–­84; and editorial practices, 70–­79; and exceptionalism, 112; expert frameworks, 67–­68, 173; oppositional frameworks, 71–­75; overview, 5, 36–­39, 65–­67; research of, 68–­70; rhetorical strategies in, 81–­99; speaking to structures, 96–­99; and statistics, 87–­91; and success stories, 91–­96 counter-­points tactic, 159–­170, 190–­193 cover stories, 42–­44, 48–­50, 56–­62, 203nn9–­10 Creating an Opportunity Society (Haskins and Sawhill), 2 credibility, 4, 74, 87 Crews, Allison, xi, 69, 75–­79, 84–­86, 94 Crowley, Sharon, 82, 146 “culture of mystification,” 30 Cushing, Julie, 69 Cushman, Ellen, 164 Cutright, Phillips, 53 “Cycle of Poverty, Despair Born Again in Delivery Room” (Brodt and Thomton), 61–­62 Dangerous Passage (Nathanson), 66 Daniell, Beth, 133 Davis, Angela, 73–­79 Davis, Deborah, 69, 205–­206n7 degeneration, 59, 157, 204n15 dehumanization, 29, 34, 88, 104, 139, 144, 151 Delgado, Richard, 80–­81, 85, 206n9 demography, 14–­17, 55–­56, 88, 100, 199n12, 203–­204n12. See also statistics Derrida, Jacques, 143 “Diary of a Teen Mom” web page, 30, 127 Dickson, Barbara, 28 differential access, 115–­116, 129–­130 digital rhetoric. See social media discipline, 6–­8, 22, 28, 32, 210n10 discourses: conflicting, 37, 107, 149; defined, 6–­7; expert, xv, 7, 15, 115; prevention, 6, 33, 109, 129, 139; survivor, 68; transnational, 196–­197n3. See also dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy discursive frameworks: and collaboration, 175, 178; constructed by activists, 129;

control of, 207n5, 208n12; and dominant narrative, 6; and social media, 132; and survivor discourses, 68. See also counter-­narratives disobedient articulations, 75, 176–­177 dominant narrative of teenage pregnancy: and abortion, 196n2, 205n2; absence of men in, 29–­30; circulation of, 21–­29; and confrontation, 141, 143–­144, 150–­151, 153; and constrained agency, 105, 137, 165–­168; and counter-­narratives, 36–­39, 65–­70, 78, 81–­99; editorial practices, 70–­71, 74; and exceptionalism, 113; and experts, 7, 17–­20, 103–­104; and fear, 177, 201n25; focus of, 13–­14; frameworks for, 172–­174; implications of, 31–­36; origin of, 10–­13; overview, 4–­6, 16; power relations in, 129; reaffirmation of, 20–­21; and shame, 3, 36, 92, 129, 132; and social media, 115–­117, 131; and statistics, 14–­17; and visual representations, 42–­43, 63–­64 Downe, Pamela J., 196–­197n3 dropout rates, 19, 35, 95–­98, 210n9 Dryfoos, Joy, 60 Dubious Conceptions (Luker), 26 economic inequalities, 18–­19, 22, 92 editorial practices, 70–­79, 205–­206n7 education: access to, 92, 97–­98, 204n14; in counter-­narratives, 76–­78, 96–­100; cultural context, 70; expulsion, 35, 45–­50; outcomes, 19–­20, 34–­36, 63; and race, 202n4, 203n8; and success stories, 173; Title IX, 11, 45, 110; visual representations, 47–­55. See also counter-­points tactic; sex education 11 Million Teenagers (booklet), 12–­13, 16, 21–­22 embodied exigence, 136–­170; and commonplaces, 63, 99, 140, 144–­146; and confrontation, 150–­163; defined, 147–­148, 169–­170; and interruption, 104, 172; and moments of possibility, 163–­167; overview, 5, 40, 137–­138. See also constrained agency; exigence embodiment (embodied): defined, 147; embodied experience, 36, 111; embodied writing, ix–­x, 39, 174; and ethos, 119; and race, 144–­146

230  •  Index

emotion, 11, 36; and collaboration, 111; and gender, 29, 121–­122, 130, 156; and race, 122; as rhetorical response, 4, 49, 81, 164. See also happiness; shame Enoch, Jessica, 113 epidemic of teenage pregnancy, 12, 17, 44, 56–­57, 71–­72 Erdmans, Mary Patrice, 18–­19, 160, 201n26 ethos: collective ethos, 113, 119–­121, 123, 133; as counter-­narrative, 3, 72, 77; of expertise, 16, 74, 118–­123, 128, 131–­132 eugenics. See sterilization exceptionalism, 4, 68, 94, 112–­114, 131, 175–­176 exigence, 13–­14, 37, 142–­143. See also embodied exigence expert discourse, xv, 7, 15, 115 experts: and activists, 103–­104, 121–­122, 127, 133; challenging, 64–­67; and counter-­ narratives, 3, 86–­87, 99–­100; disagreements among, 17–­20; and dominant narrative, 4, 7–­8, 12, 172; and 11 Million Teenagers booklet, 13–­14; and embodied exigence, ix, 8–­10; ethos of expertise, 16, 74, 118–­123, 128, 131–­132; and frameworks, 67–­68, 174; and function of editors, 70–­71; on social media, 115; and statistics, 14–­17; and young mothers, 63–­64, 74, 175 expulsion, 35, 45–­50. See also education fact responses, 123–­124, 132 family planning, 11–­12, 21–­22, 47, 53, 198n11 fathers: vs. mothers, 97; mothers’ struggles with, 35, 90, 168; questions about, 136, 149, 151, 153, 159 Fay, Judy, 48–­50, 203n11 feminism, 7–­9, 34–­39, 121, 197n5 feminist interruptions, 129–­131 Fertile Matters (Gutierrez), xii Fessler, Kathryn Bondy, 149–­150, 210n9 Fide, Yvonne, 91 Finnegan, Cara, 46 “5 Million Poor” campaign, 12, 198n11 Foucault, Michel, 6–­7, 22, 37, 149, 197n5 Friedman, May, 115, 207n6 Furstenberg, Frank, 62–­63 Garland-­Thomson, Rosemarie, 154, 166, 209–­210n8

gaze: critical, xv, 63; and dominant narrative, 32, 34; Foucauldian concept of, 22; normative, 94; and reverso, 83; and “Sex Has Consequences” campaign, 24–­28 gender: changing roles, 47; demography, 13, 15–­16, 167; dynamics, 29–­30, 34–­35, 53, 92, 130, 171; and feminism, 7, 35; in PSAs, 23–­30. See also men Geronimus, Arline T., 18–­20, 160 Gilman, Sander L., 45 Girl-­Mom (website): editorial practices, 79; and experts, 100; as oppositional framework, 71–­72, 94–­96; overview, 69; rhetorical strategies, 86–­87, 91 Glenn, Cheryl, 151–­152 Goffman, Erving, 150 González-­Rojas, Jessica, 123 Goodling, Lauri, 117 Gore, Ariel, 69, 72–­73, 83–­84, 88, 93–­94, 158–­159 “Grace and Mama in the World” (Tavis), 76 graphics, 123–­126. See also Candie’s Foundation; #NoTeenShame campaign Gray, Laura, 68, 70–­71, 100 Greene, Consuela: advice from, 165; counter-­narratives of, 208n11; introduced, 103, 188; previous advocacy of, 108–­113; prior connections network, 114; on race, 177; on social media, 116–­117 Grosz, Elizabeth, 145–­146 “Growing Up Too Fast” (Boyd), 76 Guglielmo, Letizia, 133 Gutierrez, Elena, xii, 16 Halloran, Michael, 119 happiness: in dominant narrative, 26, 29, 42–­43, 61, 92; as resistance, 77, 135, 155–­156, 163, 166 harassment, 152–­153, 156 Haskins, Ron, 2 Hawhee, Debra, 82 Healthy Teen Network, 133 Herndl, Carl G., 104–­107, 117, 131, 137, 148 Herzberg, Bruce, 9 HEW (Department of Health, Education, and Welfare), 14, 16 Hewitt, Bill, 43 “High School Pregnancy” (Life cover story), 48–­50

Index  •  231

Hill, Marc Lamont, 128–­129 Hip Mama (zine), 71–­72 The Hip Mama Survival Guide (Gore), 158–­159 Hirsch, Aubrey, 145 Hoffman, Saul D., 20 Honeyford, Jim, 201n27 hooks, bell, 63, 80, 96, 99 “How to Get to Law School” (Lanni), 76 Huber, Katie, 91 Huffington Post, 126, 128, 129–­130 Huffington Post Live, 109–­110, 128–­129 humor tactic, 78, 156–­159, 166 ideology, 7, 32, 34–­35, 61, 105, 148–­149, 202n5 “Ideology and Ideological State Apparatuses” (Althusser), 148 “Illegitimacy: Teenagers Largely Account for Startling Increase” (Brody), 53–­54 images. See visual representations; visual rhetorical analysis immigration, 11, 26, 202n5, 204n14 individualism, 22, 61, 67, 100 inequality: and dominant narrative, 34, 134; economic, 22, 92; educational, 47; socioeconomic, 18–­20, 110, 160; structural, 20, 132, 160; and welfare, 206–­207n13 infant mortality rates, 15, 18 interpellation, 148–­149 “Interrupting Our Way to Agency” (Reynolds), 104 interruption: of Bloomberg campaign, 3–­5, 38; of Candie’s campaign, 103–­110, 134–­135; and Change.org petition, 118–­123; and collective ethos, 113; and constrained agency, 164–­167, 172; as feminist rhetorical tactic, 129–­131, 149–­159, 207n3; and reproduction as opportunity, 38, 174–­175; and social media, 115–­118, 132; tactics of, 151; using counter-­points, 159–­163 isolation, 27, 115, 121, 127, 200–­201n23 “I Was a Teenage Mother” (Malone), 3–­4, 109 “I Was a Teen Mom Success Story” (Crews), 94 Jepsen, Carly Rae, 102–­103 Jet (magazine), 95

Journal of the Association for Research on Mothering, 20–­21 kairos, 105, 107, 131, 137, 174 Kaplan, Elaine Bell, 138–­139 Kelly, Deidre M., 49, 67, 95, 168–­169, 175 Kennedy, Ted, 12 “Kids and Contraceptives” (Newsweek cover), 57 Killing the Black Body (Roberts), 9, 206–­207n13 Kim, Sue J., 122 Klemesrud, Judy, 50–­51 Kukla, Rebecca, 8 Kuti, Marylouise: on the Bloomberg campaign, 111; and collaboration, 175; and confrontation, 152; counter-­narratives of, 208n11; introduced, 103, 188; previous advocacy, 108–­113; prior connections network, 114 Landrum, Karen, 97 language practices, 6, 47 Lanni, Jackie, 69, 76, 91–­93 Latinas: birthrates of, 201n26; Change.org petition, 123; counter-­narratives of, 80; critical consciousness, 109; and prevention discourse, 25–­26, 32; stereotypes, xii, 24, 30, 56, 146. See also women of color Lauretis, Teresa de, xiv, 37, 101 Lavarnway, Jessica Allan, 83–­85 Lavender, Bee, 69, 71–­73, 75–­76 “A Leap of Faith” (Landrum), 97 “Learning to Surf ” (Savage), 69 Lesko, Nancy, 56–­57, 152 Licona, Adela C.: on agency, 117, 137; and (b)orderlands rhetorics, 75, 78; constrained agency theory, 104–­107, 131, 137, 148–­149, 164–­165, 172; on feelings, 111; kairos, 107; on making connections, 176; reverso tactic, 83 “Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Education” (Arnoldi), 97–­98 Life (magazine), 48–­50, 203–­204nn9–­12 Lorde, Audre, 104–­105, 109 Los Angeles Times, 36 Luker, Kristin, 11–­12, 22, 26, 47, 55–­56, 161 Luttrell, Wendy, 138

232  •  Index

Macleod, Catriona, 177, 204n15 male gaze, 28. See also gaze Males, Mike, 167 Malone, Gloria: on the Bloomberg campaign, 3–­4, 109–­110; on confrontation, 140, 152, 157–­158, 164; and discursive frameworks, 207n5; ethos of expertise, 128; introduced, 103, 188; previous advocacy, 108–­113; prior connections network, 114; and social media, 117 Manns, Sara, 78–­79 Martinez, Christina, 103, 108–­113, 114, 144, 161–­162, 188 Massachusetts Alliance on Teenage Pregnancy, 108, 112 maternal body, 7–­9, 16, 164. See also bodies maternity homes, 45, 97, 145, 204n1 McCarthy, James, 19, 202n4 media, 23, 36, 38. See also social media men: absence of in dominant narrative, 13, 29–­30, 50, 53, 56, 103, 167; accountability of, 32; attention drawn to, 121; author’s portrayal of, xiv, 209n4; family dynamics, 200–­201n23; and statistics, 2–­3, 13, 15, 167. See also fathers; gender microaggressions, xi, 129, 132 Miller, Carolyn R., 143, 147 minorities. See African American women; Latinas; women of color Minydzak, Shannon, 93 mommyblogs, 115–­116 Mommyblogs and the Changing Face of Motherhood (Friedman), 207n6 Moore, Lisa Jean, 15, 88, 199n12 Moses, Judy, 76, 96 motherhood: “bad” mothers, 10, 59, 78, 163, 198n7, 198n9, 210n11; and education, 19; and feminism, 7–­9; “good” mothers, 35, 39, 52, 75–­79, 93–­94, 101, 163, 177, 201n28; homogenization of, 27; idealization of, 26, 31, 74; inequality of, 34–­35; racialization of, 44, 73; rhetorical potential of, 164; shifting norms of, 161; as tragic downfall, 4; and working, 27, 76 mothers of color. See women of color Mountford, Roxanne, 146–­147 “My Independent Study Abroad” (Moses), 76

My Pregnancy Story Project (MPSP), 139, 163, 208–­209n3 Naples, Nancy, xv, 71, 100 “The Narrative Perspective” (Rowland), 84 Nathanson, Constance, 11, 54, 66, 161, 198n11 National Campaign to Prevent Teen and Unplanned Pregnancy, 23, 24–­30, 70, 87, 199n17, 205nn3–­4 National Coalition to Empower Teen Parents, 171, 205n6 National Day to Prevent Teenage Pregnancy, 70, 205n6 National Latina Institute for Reproductive Health (NLIRH), 123 National Public Radio (NPR), 109, 113 National School-­Age Mother and Child Health Act, 11–­12, 17, 21 National Teenage Pregnancy Prevention Month, 38, 102 National Women’s Law Center (NWLC), 92, 108 “Navy Mama” (Minydzak), 93 neoliberalism, 22, 67, 125, 129, 146, 196n1, 200n19, 209n6 Newsweek (magazine), 57, 62 New York City Human Resources Administration, 1–­4, 6, 109, 197n4 New York Coalition for Reproductive Justice, 110 New York Times: and campaigns, 3–­4, 38, 109; index, 17; and shame, 124, 128; visual rhetorical analysis, 50–­55 Nixon, Richard, 11, 198n10 NLIRH (National Latina Institute for Reproductive Health), 123 normative gaze, 94 norms: and birth experiences, 115; and the body, 7–­8; and counter-­narratives, 72, 75, 77–­78; ethos, 118–­119; exceptionalism, 112–­113; gender, 24; and race, 57; and recognition, 148–­149; reproductive, 10, 90, 157; and sexual behavior, 23; social, 105, 148, 159, 163, 167; and visibility, 22, 55 Not Another Teen Mommy (blog), 108 #NoTeenPreg hashtag, 102, 118, 132, 134–­135. See also Candie’s Foundation #NoTeenShame campaign, 102–­135; activist

Index  •  233

introductions, 102–­104; activists’ advice, 164–­165; analysis, 131–­135; circulation of message, 117–­123, 174–­176; as collective action, 112–­114; as feminist interruption, 129–­131; formation of, 108–­112; research of, 106–­107; responses, 123–­129; and social media, 115–­117, 173. See also Candie’s Foundation; shame NPR (National Public Radio), 109, 113 NWLC (National Women’s Law Center), 92, 108 Obama, Barack, 21 Of Woman Born (Rich), 7–­8 Omi, Michael, 55 On Anger (Kim), 122 On Becoming a Teen Mom (Erdmans and Black), 18–­19, 50–­53 “On Bulletin Board, Pictures of Pupils’ Babies” (Klemesrud), 50–­53 “100 Things You Should Never Say to a Teen Mom” (Vianna), 138 “On Pregnancy and Privacy and Fear” (Hirsch), 145 oppositional frameworks, 71–­75, 79, 100 “The Oppositional Gaze” (hooks), 63 O’Reilly, Bill, 109 Orellana Engel, Lisette, 103, 108–­111, 114, 120, 122, 188 overpopulation, 11 Packebush, Nina, 86–­87 Palin, Bristol, 42–­43, 202n3 patriarchy, 25–­26, 161, 197n6 People (magazine), 42–­43, 95 personal responsibility, 2, 22, 67, 129 Personal Responsibility and Work Opportunity Reconciliation Act, 35, 70 Pillow, Wanda S., 45, 54, 137, 202n4 Pittman, Coretta, 119 Planned Parenthood, 11–­12, 110, 198n11 politics of teenage pregnancy: and the body, xi–­xii, 146–­148, 178; and common ground, 20–­23; and confrontation, 154; and counter-­narratives, 70–­73, 81; and counter-­ points, 167–­168; and critical consciousness, 108; and family planning, 11–­12, 47, 198n11; and feminism, 7–­8, 121; Luker on, 11–­12, 26–­27; and race, 55–­56, 204n14;

reproductive, 54, 198n9; and visual representations, 62–­64; and welfare, 35, 69–­70 poststructuralism: and rhetorical situations, 143, 209n7; and subjectivity, 66, 105, 149; theory of, 6–­8, 81, 174, 197nn5–­6 poverty: and the Bloomberg campaign, 197n4; and disability, 92; and dominant narrative, 2, 57–­63, 92, 139, 196n1; generalizations of, 2, 76–­77; and teenage pregnancy, 11, 18, 160–­161, 210n11 power relations, 68, 149, 156, 197nn5–­6 The Practice of Everyday Life (Certeau), 148 The Pregnancy Project (Rodriguez), 32, 36, 201n26 Prentiss, Lydia, 89–­90 preventative subjects, 22, 24, 173 prevention: and disobedient articulations, 176–­177; frameworks of, 6, 133, 167, 172–­174, 178; promotion binary, 31–­34, 72; rhetorical practices of, 15–­17, 22–­23, 143–­146, 196n2. See also individual campaigns by name privacy, 146, 149, 154–­156 problem, bodies as, 3, 20–­21, 30, 137–­139, 147, 178. See also young mothers promotion, of motherhood, 31–­34, 72 public assistance. See welfare public health, 6, 208n1, 210n1 public service announcements (PSAs): Bloomberg campaign, 1–­4, 6, 111, 127; Candie’s campaign, 102–­103, 126; implications of, 36; Jenny McCarthy broadcast, 28–­30; “Sex Has Consequences” campaign, 24–­25; and television shows, 22 The PushBack (blog), 108, 138, 208n11 race: and the body, 145–­146; and campaigns, 23–­30, 109–­111; and collaboration, 175–­177; and confrontation, 157; and counter-­narratives, 80, 100; demography, 16, 200n20; and dominant narrative, xii, 6, 27, 34–­35, 129; and experts, 17–­20; and feminism, 7, 9; politics of, xii; and reproductive justice, 178; social constructions of, 14; and social media, 115–­116; and the term breeder, 73; visibility, 8, 104; and visual representations, 55–­64, 202nn4–­6, 203–­204n12; and visual rhetorical analysis, 43–­55. See also women of color

234  •  Index

Racial Formation in the United States (Omi and Winant), 55 Ratcliffe, Krista, 144 Reagan administration, 55 reality television, 22, 67, 205n3 “Real Moms” (Manns), 78–­79 recognition, 4, 22, 28, 147–­149, 165 Reeves, Richard, 124, 128–­129 reproduction rates. See birthrates reproductive decisions: and the body, 172; and dominant narrative, 36, 129; and injustice, 54; and norms, 6, 49; outcomes, 14, 21, 60–­61; pathologizing, 178; and race, 57; and shame, 10; and women’s value, 25 reproductive justice, 5, 9, 69, 175, 178 reproductive politics, 54, 198n9 resistance, 38, 104–­106, 112–­117, 131. See also rhetorical strategies “Resistance Is Not Futile” (Lisa), 95 Rethinking Ethos (Ryan, Myers, and Jones), 119 “Revelation” (Beresford), 93 reverso tactic, 83, 95 Reynolds, Nedra, 104, 116, 119, 129, 152 rhetoric, 6, 9 Rhetorical Bodies (Selzer and Crowley), 146 “The Rhetorical Situation” (Bitzer), 142 rhetorical situations, 142–­151, 156–­159, 163–­169, 209n7 rhetorical strategies: and counter-­narratives, 81–­99; counter-­points, 159–­163; humor, 156–­159; #NoTeenShame’s, 118–­122; overview, 150–­151; silence, 151–­154; staring back, 154–­155; talking back, 155–­156; theories of, 6, 9, 148–­149; walking away, 151–­154. See also ethos; interruption Rhetorics of Motherhood (Buchanan), 164 rhetors, 37, 105, 163–­169 Rich, Adrienne, ix–­x, 7–­9, 197n6, 200n23 Roberts, Dorothy, 9, 206–­207n13 Robins, Katherine, 85 Roddick, Clea, 89 Rodriguez, Gaby, 32–­33, 36, 201n27 Roos, Noralou, 20–­21 Rosoff, Jeannie, 60 Rothstein, Ruth, 62 Rowland, Robert, 84 Rowley, Chishamiso T., 139 Royster, Jacqueline Jones, xv, 119

safety protocols, 152–­153 Sandoval, Chela, 105 Savage, Dan, 37–­38, 72, 206n8 Savage, Jennifer, 69 Sawhill, Isabel, 2 “Scaling the Ivory Tower with a Baby on My Back” (Trotzky-­Sirr), 88–­89 self-­discipline, 37. See also discipline self-­surveillance, 6, 22, 28 Selzer, Jack, 146 sex education: and abstinence, 21, 70; in counter-­narratives, 84; and expert frameworks, 67; initiatives, 21, 122; need for, 12; research on, 53; and young mothers, 3, 140, 173, 205n4. See also education “Sex Has Consequences” campaign, 24–­25, 29, 70 sexual behavior: influence of, 13, 17; of men, 29–­30, 50, 53; norms of, 11, 23, 25, 28–­29, 149; politics of, 21; of poor women, 60; of women of color, 44, 53, 55–­56, 157–­158 shame: and the Bloomberg campaign, 3; and Candie’s campaign, 118–­129; and critical awareness, 175; critiqued, 124, 128; defined, 125; and dominant narrative, 36, 89, 93, 132, 175; in everyday life, 152, 156–­159; and reproductive decisions, 10; resistance to, 103–­104, 113; and welfare, 206n12. See also #NoTeenShame campaign “Shame on Who?” (Cole), 126–­129 “Shifting Agency” (Herndl and Licona), 105 Siegel, Marika, 8 silence tactic, 151–­154 Silver, Susan, 150–­151 single mothers: as heroes, 98; stigma of, 201n27, 203n8; struggles of, 35, 93; as undesirable, 27–­30, 83, 157; as unwed, 10, 53, 57, 83, 145. See also motherhood Sisson, Gretchen, 125–­126, 176 SisterSong, 9 16 and Pregnant (TV Show), 22 SmithBattle, Lee, 18 social and subjective relations, 105, 106–­107, 108–­112, 114, 135, 164 social change: and allies, 71, 178; and the body, 143, 146; and constrained agency, 105–­106; and counter-­narratives, xii, 71, 178; and kairos, 174; possibilities for, 81, 87, 164–­165; and social media, 116

Index  •  235

social constructions: and constrained agency, 105; and counter-­points, 161; and embodied exigence, 143, 169; and opportunity, 66; and rhetoric, 6, 44; and statistics, 14, 16. See also socioeconomics social media, 103–­104, 114–­118, 129–­134, 172–­173. See also media social movements, 165, 168, 198n8 social structures: and counter-­narratives, 82, 90, 96–­97; and dominant narrative, 6; and editorial practices, 76; educational, 97–­101; and embodied exigence, 169; and interruption, 130 social supports, 12, 22, 34, 161, 166–­167 socioeconomics: vs. age, 47; context, 19, 43, 160; and outcomes of pregnancy, 18–­19, 125; and poverty, 62; and race, 60–­63; and statistics, 16, 91 Solinger, Rickie, 44–­45, 59, 161, 198n9, 210n11 Solórzano, Daniel G., 80 Sontag, Susan, 54–­55 Staring: How We Look (Garland-­Thomson), 154, 209–­210n8 staring tactic, 154–­155 statistics: in the AGI booklet, 12–­18; as antagonist in counter-­narratives, 87–­91, 99–­100; and the Bloomberg campaign, 2–­3, 195–­196n1; data on teenage pregnancy, 207n2; as discouraging, 32, 84; and dominant narrative, 13, 16–­18, 172; as resistance, 111, 123–­126; rhetorics of, 14–­15. See also demography Stefancic, Jean, 80 sterilization: as discipline, 7, 10; and exceptionalism, 113; involuntary, 10, 54, 113, 145, 198n11, 199n16; and poverty, 204n13; and race, 54, 59 Stevens, Sally, 139 stigma: and campaigns, 109, 112, 116, 124; challenging, 33, 68, 171–­172; and confrontation, 150, 152; and constrained agency, 104; and counter-­narratives, 91, 175; effect of dominant narrative, 22, 36; and exceptionalism, 113; as opportunity, 148; and poverty, 92–­93; prevention vs. promotion, 31; and reproductive justice, 178; responses, 132–­133; statistics, 88–­89, 195n1; and success stories, 95; visibility,

50, 169; and visual representations, 63; and welfare, 92 stories. See counter-­narratives “The Story Behind the Story” (Coats), 94–­95 “Storytelling for Oppositionists and Others” (Delgado), 85 Strong Families Coalition, 112 structure. See social structures subjectivity, 22, 36–­37, 88, 101, 150–­151 success stories, 91–­96 support groups, 166–­167 surveillance, 6–­8, 22, 24, 104, 201–­202n29 “Survivor Discourse” (Alcoff and Gray), 68 Szalavitz, Maia, 208n10 Talking Back (hooks), 99 talking back tactic, 154–­156 Tapia, Ruby C., 200n21, 202n5 Tavis, Sarah, 76–­77, 91–­92, 206n12 teenage mothers. See young mothers Teen Mom (TV show), 22, 67 Teen Mom NYC (blog), 108 TheNext.org. See Candie’s Foundation Thompson, Mary, 73 Thomton, Jerry, 61 Time (magazine), 56–­59 Title IX, 11, 45, 110, 202n4 transnational discourse, 196–­197n3 Trotzky-­Sirr, Rebecca, 88–­89, 98 Tucker, Judith Stadtman, 116 Unbearable Weight (Bordo), 22, 197n5 “unwed” mothers. See single mothers Upchurch, Dawn M., 19, 202n4 US Department of Health, Education, and Welfare, 14, 16 US Department of Health and Human Services, 23, 202n2 Vatz, Richard, 142 Vianna, Natasha: on antagonistic responses, 138, 164–­165; and avoiding confrontation, 141–­142; Change.org petition, 120–­123, 127; and discursive frameworks, 207n5; “5 Ways” graphic, 134; introduced, 103, 188; previous advocacy of, 108–­114; and race, 145–­146; and shame, 125; and social media, 116; and talking back tactic, 155; “Victory” response, 130–­131

236  •  Index

Vinovskis, Maris, 17–­18 visibility: and norms, 22, 131; and race, 8, 104; rhetorical potential of, 38, 104–­105, 109–­110, 118; of statistics, 111 visual representations, 42–­64; and dominant narrative, 13–­14, 42–­46, 63–­64; and education, 45–­54; and exigence, 13; and the gaze, 63–­64; and politics, 62–­64; and race, 55–­64; “Sex Has Consequences” campaign, 23–­29; and welfare, 58, 61–­63 visual rhetorical analysis, 46–­47 walking away tactic, 151–­154 Wallis, Claudia, 56–­61 War on Poverty, 54, 204n13 Web 2.0 technologies, 115–­116, 133. See also social media “We Don’t Play the Shame Game” graphic, 124 Weedon, Chris, 36, 38, 66, 149 welfare: access to, 9, 206–­207n13; and birth rates, 53, 62; and commonplaces, 83; and counter-­narratives, 77, 95, 174–­175; and differing success stories, 95; and poverty, 54; and shame, 206n12; and statistics, 88; stigma of, 92; system reform, 35, 69–­70; and visual representations, 58, 61–­63 “When I Was Garbage” (Crews), 69, 75–­79, 84, 86, 94 whiteness: experiences of, xiii, 175; and reproductive politics, 145–­146, 200–­201n23, 204n14; theories of, 57–­58; visual representations of young mothers, 12, 27–­28, 43–­45, 49–­50, 54–­57, 203n9 Why It Matters report, 87 Wilson, Sue, 150–­151 Winant, Howard, 55

Wingard, Jennifer, 146 women of color: Asian American women, 24, 27; and the body, xiv, 8, 138, 145; collective ethos, 119–­120; and confrontation, 152; and demographics, 16, 56; and dominant narrative, 27, 65; economic inequality, 92, 204n14; and education, 202n4; and #NoTeenShame, 122, 175; pathologizing, 56, 178; and reproductive politics, 45, 55–­57, 145; and visual representations, 57–­63; visual rhetorical analysis, 47–­55; and welfare, 9, 206–­207n13. See also African American women; Latinas Woodbury, Richard, 49 Writing Childbirth (Owens), 115 Yosso, Tara J., 80 You Look Too Young to Be a Mom (Davis): and commonplaces, 83; counter-­narrative example, 89, 91; and editorial practices, 79, 205–­206n7; and experiential authority, 100; overview, 69; and success stories, 94; visual-­verbal rhetoric, 73 young mothers: and confrontation, 163–­170; and dominant narrative, 4–­5, 21–­23, 103; as experts, 119–­123; as failures, 4, 34–­36; homogenization, 27, 76, 113; preparing for rhetorical situations, 163–­169; as preventative subject, 22–­24; as problems, 142–­145, 166, 169; terminology of, xiv; treatment of, 33–­36 “Young Mothers, Agency, and Collective Action” (Kelly), 168–­169 Young Women United, 114 Zero-­Growth family planning campaign, 16

About the Author JENNA VINSON is Assistant Professor of English at the University of Massachusetts Lowell. She received her PhD in Rhetoric, Composition, and the Teaching of English, with a minor in Gender and Women’s Studies, from the University of Arizona. Her articles have appeared in journals such as Feminist Formations, Kairos: A Journal of Rhetoric, Technology, and Pedagogy, Sex Education: Sexuality, Society, and Learning, and, most recently, Sexuality Research and Social Policy. She has written chapters for edited collections including Motherhood Online, The 21st Century Motherhood Movement, and The Mother-­ Blame Game.