Motherhood in Contemporary International Perspective: Continuity and Change 0367188430, 9780367188436

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Motherhood in Contemporary International Perspective

Divided into 15 chapters, this book provides the reader with an insight into certain representations of mothers and motherhood in history and today’s societies in some areas of the world, notably in Britain and Asia. Key facts about the history of motherhood are presented, together with the use of very recent notions and phrases portraying ‘good’ and ‘bad’ mothers. An analysis of the concepts of naming and blaming, along with regret with respect to mothers in 21st century societies, provides food for thought. Other issues addressed are varied and numerous: The politics of early ­intervention, feminist critique, mothers with disabilities and mothers of ­disabled children, incarcerated mothers, surrogate mothers, teenage mothers, lesbian mothers, and mothering in Eastern Asia, namely in China, ­Japan, and Korea. Interestingly, both visual arts and literature play a ­crucial role in this analysis. The publication will appeal to students, academics, researchers, and the general public interested in and seeking to comprehend the shifts that have occurred over time in connection with the vast and inexhaustible subject of motherhood and mothers – a private and public matter. Readers are also provided with a rich reference section dealing with the latest publications on the issues tackled by prominent academics and researchers in human ­geography, women’s studies, sociology, gender studies, contemporary ­h istory, and the arts. Fabienne Portier-Le Cocq is Professor of Contemporary British Studies at the University of Tours in France, and has done comparative research for the European Commission on families. Her research interests also span young, lone parenthood, domestic violence in Britain and France, in addition to qualitative studies. Her latest publication (2017) is Fertility, Health and Lone Parenting: European Contexts, Routledge.

Routledge Research in Gender and Society

7 7 Trauma, Women’s Mental Health, and Social Justice Pitfalls and Possibilities Emma Tseris 7 8 Wellness in Whiteness Biomedicalisation and the Promotion of Whiteness and Youth among Women Amina Mire 7 9 Contemporary Muslim Girlhoods in India A Study of Social Justice, Identity and Agency in Assam Saba Hussain 8 0 White Masculinity in Contemporary Australia The Good Ol’ Aussie Bloke Andrea Waling 81 Motherhood in Contemporary International Perspective Continuity and Change Edited by Fabienne Portier-Le Cocq 8 2 Gender Violence in Ecofeminist Perspective Intersections of Animal Oppression, Patriarchy and Domination of the Earth Gwen Hunnicutt

For more information about this series, please visit: https://www.routledge. com/sociology/series/SE0271

Motherhood in Contemporary International Perspective Continuity and Change

Edited by Fabienne Portier-Le Cocq

First published 2020 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2020 selection and editorial matter, Fabienne Portier-Le Cocq; individual chapters, the contributors The right of Fabienne Portier-Le Cocq to be identified as the author of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in- Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in- Publication Data A catalog record has been requested for this book ISBN: 978 - 0 -367-18843- 6 (hbk) ISBN: 978 - 0 - 429-19870 - 0 (ebk) Typeset in Times New Roman by codeMantra

Contents

List of contributors Acknowledgements

ix xv

1 Theorising motherhood 1 PROF E S S OR FA BI E N N E P ORT I E R- L E C O C Q , U N I V E R SI T Y OF T OU R S , F R A NC E

2 (M)othering and the politics of early intervention: biologisation and the reproduction of gendered, classed and raced inequalities 18 PROF E S S OR RO SA L I N D E DWA R D S , U N I V E R SI T Y OF S OU T H A M P T ON , U K PROF E S S OR VA L GI L L I E S , U N I V E R SI T Y OF W E S T M I N S T E R , U K

3 A mother’s place is in the home: deconstructing self-interest and altruism in feminist economics 32 DR C OR A L I E R A F F E N N E , U N I V E R SI T É P SL - PA R I S DAU PH I N E , F R A NC E

PART 1

Difficult times for mothers

47

4 Mother figures behind bars: pregnant women and mothers in prison in England and Wales 49 DR K AT H E R I N E A L BE RT S ON , SH E F F I E L D H A L L A M U N I V E R SI T Y PROF E S S OR M A RY J R E N F R E W, U N I V E R SI T Y OF DU N DE E , GE ORGI NA L E S SI NG -T U R N E R , U N I V E R SI T Y OF YOR K CAT H E R I N E BU R K E , SH E F F I E L D H A L L A M U N I V E R SI T Y

vi Contents

5 Martyr, miscreant, or a modern mama? Exploring the archetypal and realistic images of mothers of children with disabilities 64 K AT H E R I N E E SM I T H , I N DE PE N DE N T S C HOL A R

6 South Asian mothering in white spaces 77 DR SA NA R I Z V I , DE MON T FORT U N I V E R SI T Y, L E IC E S T E R

PART 2

Unorthodox mothers

91

7 Motherhood and mothering in contemporary “IP memoirs” 93 DR E VA- SA BI N E Z E H E L E I N , G OE T H E U N I V E R SI T Y F R A N K F U RT, GE R M A N Y

8 Teenage mothers in England: resisting or silenced by the regulatory framework? 105 DR SA R A H BE K A E RT, OX FOR D BRO OK E S U N I V E R SI T Y

PART 3

Asian mothering/mothers

119

9 Motherhood experiences of East Asian women in Britain 121 DR H Y U N - JO O L I M , B OU R N E MOU T H U N I V E R SI T Y

10 Chinese motherhood in the UK 134 DR CA R M E N L AU C L AY T ON , L E E D S T R I N I T Y U N I V E R SI T Y

PART 4

Lesbian mothers/mothering

149

11 Lesbian mothers and citizens: The morality test at the United States Supreme Court 151 DR A N T HON Y CA S T E T, U N I V E R SI T Y OF T OU R S , F R A NC E

12 Lesbian motherhood: from the social recognition of female homosexuality to the ‘lesby-boom’: a comparison between Britain and France 165 PROF E S S OR F L OR E NC E BI NA R D, U N I V E R SI T É DE PA R I S , F R A NC E

Contents vii PART 5

Representations of mothers in art

175

13 Maternal fantasies in an era of crisis – single mothers, selfsacrifice, and sexuality in Japanese television drama 177 FORU M M I T H A N I , S OA S , U N I V E R SI T Y OF L ON D ON

14 Countering allegorical motherhood in Irish and Northern Irish contemporary art: the female body as a tool for resistance 191 DR VA L É R I E MOR I S S ON , U N I V E R SI T Y OF B OU RG O GN E F R A NC H E - C OM T É , F R A NC E

15 Female “transformational energy” in Louise Erdrich’s works 205 PROF E S S OR É L I SA BE T H B OU Z ON V I L L E R , U N I V E R SI T É J E A N MON N E T, SA I N T É T I E N N E , F R A NC E

Index

219

Contributors

Katherine Albertson  is a Senior Lecturer in Criminology at the Department of Law and Criminology at Sheffield Hallam University in the UK. ­Katherine has 15 years’ experience of conducting a wide variety of research and evaluation across the UK criminal justice sector. Katherine conducted consultation work with stakeholders involved in the provision of Mother and Baby Units in the UK prison sector. This work was funded by the National Institute for Health Research (NHIR), Collaboration for Leadership in Applied Health Research and Care (CLAHRC) conducted in partnership with the Mother and Infant Research Centre at the University of York. Sarah Bekaert is a Senior Lecturer at Oxford Brookes University, UK. Her current research and publications focus on teenaged pregnancy and parenthood, and issues pertaining to the teenage years such as intimate partner violence. She has many years’ experience working in sexual health, in schools, with young offenders, and with children in care. Sarah was cofounder of CHYPS Plus, a teenage health demonstration site in London (UK), commissioned by the Department of Health to provide creative and innovative health care for vulnerable young people. Florence Binard is Professor in Modern British History and Gender Studies in the Department of Intercultural Studies and Applied Languages at Université de Paris (France). She is a member of ICT (Identities, Cultures, Territories), and she is the President of the Société Anglophone sur le Genre et les Femmes (SAGEF), She is co-editor of Féminismes du XXIè siècle: une troisième vague? (2017), Femmes, sexe, genre dans l’aire anglophone: invisibilisation, stigmatisation et combats (2017); Revisiting the Great War (RFCB Spring 2015). She is the author of Les Mères de la nation: féminisme et eugénisme en Grande-Bretagne (2016). Élisabeth Bouzonviller is Professor of American literature at Jean Monnet University in St Etienne, France, where she teaches American literature and culture. Besides various articles on canonical and Native American literature, she is the author of Francis Scott Fitzgerald ou la plénitude

x Contributors

du silence (Presses Universitaires du Septentrion, 2000), Francis Scott Fitzgerald, écrivain du déséquilibre (Belin, 2000), and Louise Erdrich. Métissage et écriture, histoires d’Amérique (Presses Universitaires de St Etienne, 2014). She is a member of the F. Scott Fitzgerald Society, and has contributed not only to its Review and Newsletter, but also to A Distant Drummer: Foreign Perspectives on F. Scott Fitzgerald (Peter Lang, 2007) and Fitzgerald in Context (Cambridge University Press, 2013). Catherine Burke is a Senior Lecturer in Midwifery and Postgraduate lead. She manages a module in the pre-registration BSc Midwifery, is course leader for the MSc Perinatal Mental Health, is part of the Inter-­Professional Education team at level 6, and has extensive experience in developing and delivering training materials for health professionals. Catherine has also worked regionally and as a Practice facilitator in a large maternity unit ­ atherine has been part implementing change at scale. More recently, C of a Sheffield Hallam University team working on a European incentive to support pregnant refugee and migrant women. As a SureStart Midwife, she developed and led a team of breastfeeding support workers and family support workers, working with a co-located team of midwives to work in innovative ways to enhance midwifery services for a vulnerable community. Anthony Castet is an Associate Professor of American studies at Tours University, where he specializes in LGBTQ issues in the fields of history, ­politics, and civil rights. His research focuses on contemporary culture wars and their impact on American democracy and on the legal treatment of lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer Americans as well as same-sex parenting, the intersections of politics, religion, and civil rights, especially with respect to LGBTQ Americans. His research lies primarily in the areas of discrimination based on sex and sexual orientation, marriage/family law, and religious liberty. He serves on the steering committee of the EAAS LGBTQ+ Studies Network (European Association for American Studies). Rosalind Edwards is Professor of Sociology and a co-director of the ESRC National Centre for Research Methods at the University of Southampton, UK, and an elected Fellow of the Academy of Social Sciences. She is a founding and co-editor of the International Journal of Social Research Methodology. Rosalind has published widely on families and on research methods, including co-authoring Challenging the Politics of Early Intervention (2017, Policy Press), and co-editing Working with Paradata, ­Marginalia and Fieldnotes (2017, Edward Elgar) and Understanding Families over Time (2014, Palgrave Macmillan). Carmen Lau Clayton is a Reader in Family and Cultural Dynamics at Leeds Trinity University. Carmen’s research revolves around young people,

Contributors xi

families, and childhood, with specific interest concerning young fatherhood, migration, ethnicity, and culture. Val Gillies  is Professor of Social Policy and Criminology and Deputy ­Director of the Centre for the Study of Democracy at the University of Westminster in the United Kingdom. She has researched and published in the area of family, social class, and marginalised children and young people, producing a wide range journal articles and books and chapters on family policy, parenting, early years intervention, and internal school exclusion. Her most recent books include “Pushed to the Edge: Inclusion and Behaviour Management in Schools” and “Challenging the Politics of Early intervention: Who’s Saving Children and Why?” both published by Policy Press. Georgina Lessing-Turner has had a long career in health care as a midwife and nurse, in practice, management, education, organisational development, project management, and global health. Her passion for improving outcomes for people on the receiving end of care has driven her to practise in a variety of settings in the United Kingdom and overseas. She retired from her midwifery career at the end of 2018, and now works as a Marriage Registrar/Celebrant. Georgina has found that her deep understanding of legal processes and her well-developed communication skills have been essential in gaining expertise in her current role, which she thoroughly enjoys. She feels privileged to have played a small part in healthcare innovation and improvement. Hyun-Joo Lim is a senior lecturer at Bournemouth University, UK. Her research interests include gender, identity, transnational families, refugees, and human rights activism. Her book, East Asian Mothers in the UK: An Intersectional Exploration of Motherhood and Employment, was published in 2018 by Palgrave Macmillan. Currently, she is working on projects focusing on human rights activism and gendered experiences of North Korean defectors in the UK. Her forthcoming paper published in The Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies, ‘Effects of Defection: Familial Challenges for Escaped North Koreans’, examines the transnational familial challenges of forced migrants, using a new concept, ‘traversing’. Forum Mithani received her PhD in Japanese Studies from SOAS, University of London in 2019. Her research focuses on the representation of gender and class in Japanese media and popular culture, with a specific interest in single motherhood. She is currently working on a monograph based on her doctoral research, as well as coediting a Handbook of ­Japanese Media. Valérie Morisson  is a lecturer in English at the University of Burgundy, Dijon, France. Her research is on Irish contemporary art and its relation with post-nationalist culture. She investigates how political, social, and

xii Contributors

cultural evolutions in the Republic of Ireland and Northern Ireland are reflected in visual culture (painting, sculpture, installation, performance, video, photography). Her articles focus on a wide range of subjects from ­feminist art, the issue of memory, and the commemoration of history, to post-­nationalist revisionism and the Northern-Irish situation as reflected in art. Several of her articles tackle photography and performance art in both an Irish and a European perspective. Her recent research addresses wider artistic issues in both the Irish and the English domains such as the role of archives and fieldwork in the creation process or the use of discarded materials and the re-emergence of materiality in contemporary art. Fabienne Portier-Le Cocq is Professor of Contemporary British Studies at the University of Tours, France, and conducted research for the ­European Commission (Daphne II programme) for five years. She authored Sexualités et maternités des adolescentes: voix anglaises et écossaises, Presses universitaires de Rennes, 2009), co-authored Les Politiques de jeunesse au Royaume-Uni et en France (Presses Sorbonne Nouvelle, 2012), and has recently edited Fertility, Health and Lone Parenting: European Contexts (Routledge, 2017). She is currently preparing a book on abortion in the global context. Coralie Raffenne holds a PhD in law from the University of Warwick. She is currently senior lecturer at the Université PSL-Paris Dauphine where she teaches and carries out her research on the topics of Corporate Social Responsibility, tax havens, tax justice, and gender equality. Mary J Renfrew graduated in nursing from the University of Edinburgh in 1975, and in midwifery in 1978. She obtained a PhD on breastfeeding in 1982, while at the Medical Research Council’s reproductive biology unit in Edinburgh. Mary was at the national perinatal epidemiology unit of the University of Oxford from 1988 to 1994, where she set up National Midwifery Research Initiative. Mary has served as chair of the World Health Organization’s maternal and newborn health strategic committee and in 2014 was elected as a Fellow of the Royal Society of Edinburgh (FRSE) – the first midwife or nurse to receive that honour. Mary has held a variety of positions, as Professor of Midwifery at the University of Leeds, then Professor of mother and infant health at the University of York, and since 2017, Mary has been Professor of mother and infant health and an associate Dean of Research, at University of Dundee. Sana Rizvi is a Lecturer in Education Studies at De Montfort University. Her research interests encompass developing ethical and emancipatory qualitative research methodologies to work with marginalised populations and examining the educational and social experiences of minority communities living in the UK. She is currently working with Palgrave Macmillan on a book exploring special educational needs and minority mothering in white spaces.

Contributors xiii

Katherine E Smith  holds an MA in English. Smith is currently working ­toward another MA in Disability Studies. Smith currently works in the field of Disability Services in Higher Education, but has held many ­positions in the academy, including teaching, tutoring, advising, and ­academic coaching. Smith’s research interests include popular culture, self-­advocacy, young adult literature, and literary analysis. Smith’s ­chapter has been an act of gratitude, done in acknowledgement of the mothers interviewed in the article. Eva-Sabine Zehelein  is currently Adjunct Professor of American Studies at Goethe University Frankfurt and Visiting Scholar at the Brandeis ­Women’s Studies Research Center (supported by the Fritz Thyssen Stiftung). She specializes in 20th and 21st century North American literatures and (popular) cultures, and leads an international and interdisciplinary research group on “Family Matters”.

Acknowledgements

First and foremost, I would like to thank the publisher, Routledge, for their kind support and flexibility. My hearty thanks go to Ms Elena Chiu, S ­ enior Editorial Assistant for Sociology for her professionalism, availability, and kindness, and Ms Emily Briggs, editor for Sociology, for her invaluable assistance. I am warmly grateful to Emeritus Professor Marie-Thérèse Letablier, ­Sociologist at University Paris 1 Panthéon-Sorbonne, and Professor ­Chantal Zabus, Comparative Postcolonial Literature and Gender Studies at University Paris 13 Sorbonne Paris Cité. I am also grateful to the international peer reviewers and contributors, without whom this book would not enlighten the readership on the representations of contemporary mothers and motherhood in certain parts of the world.

Chapter 1

Theorising motherhood Fabienne Portier-Le Cocq

Making sense of motherhood The history of motherhood is marked by both continuity and changes. A. Oakley explains the shift in terms of patriarchy, male dominance, and ­control over women’s bodies (1979). According to Simone de Beauvoir, ­motherhood wears many different faces and uses worldwide, and as of 1949, she ­denounced the mythology of motherhood (de Beauvoir, 1986). ­“Motherhood concerns personal privacy, but it is also a social function of the utmost importance since it ensures the renewal of generations […] Every mother imposes life upon her child, since she could have avoided to give birth”, wrote the f­ amous French historian of motherhood, Yvonne ­K nibiehler, in one of her seminal publications (2000, 121).1 “Preventing motherhood was preached by men, Anglo-Saxon males for the most part, such as Thomas Malthus, Francis Place, Richard Carlyle, and Charles Knowlton” (Ibid., 81). The pioneer of the history of motherhood and ­mothers argues that the maternal function is a social construct, defined and ­organised ­according to norms and the need for a given population at a given period of its history ­ ynthia Stavrianos shares the same view, adding that (Knibiehler, 2001). C the construct has evolved over time (2015, 10). Women have acquired the negative historic legitimacy not to exist as mothers, but as having gained the freedom not to become ­mothers due to the legislation on abortion and ­contraception (Knibiehler and ­Fouquet, 1977, 7). “In ­contraception ­society, being ­pregnant, giving birth have been the expression of freedom”2 (Ibid., 340). The first ever entry of the term ‘motherhood’ in the Oxford ­English Dictionary dates back to 1597 and was defined as the act and not the ­ideology. It was not until the Victorian era that the concept appeared; then, in the decades following the Second World War, the word became associated with sex, c­ ohabitation, and consumption (Dally, 1983, 17). In the early 20th century, the British government worried about the decline in the birth rate, particularly among the middle class, and women became targeted as potential mothers. Their rights to control their own f­ ertility, paid employment, and independence were curtailed in the name of the ‘family’. Moreover,

2  Fabienne Portier-Le Cocq

middle-class women were identified as models of good mothering, while some claimed that the working-class ­families should be encouraged to limit the number of children (Davin, 1978, 14). Mothers were responsible for the health and the survival of their ­children; it was their fault if they passed away (Ibid., 12). During the second half of the 20th c­ entury, being a mother meant taking on a role fraught with contradictions and ambiguities. “In the next 30 years, housewives as ­mothers have vital work to do in ensuring the adequate continuance of the British race and ideals ‘in the world’” (Beveridge, 1942, 52). Motherhood has thus been a contentious and inexhaustible issue, and since the 1940s, mothers have either been celebrated, examined, or placed under surveillance, which is increasingly the case in terms of health. During the Second World War, women who became pregnant by the ­enemy went through a very difficult ordeal: being pregnant by a prisoner was a ­criminal offence in Germany but not illegal in France. The ­promotion and advertising of condoms was banned in pronatal France of the ­interwar years, whereas in Germany condoms were widely used (Virgili, 2014, 110). Women who gave birth to an adulterous or illegitimate child in both ­countries, known as the child of the enemy (131), could resort to abortion (119–130) or ­infanticide (141). In France, by law, pregnant women could deliver these children ­anonymously (153–155). Concealing these pregnancies, putting the children up for adoption, or abandoning them were other options. Mothers who had ‘erred’ could be rejected by their families and end up in facilities for abandoned mothers.3 Another facility for unmarried pregnant women who had had sexual intercourse with a Schutzstaffel (SS) member4 was L ­ ebensborn – the ‘fountain of life’ in old German (Thiolay, 2012, 1) – geared at strengthening the Aryan race. There, pregnant women would be cared for, if they agreed to entrust their newborn children to the care of the SS paramilitary organisation, whose primary and intended purpose was elitist and racist. One Lebensborn scheme could be found in France, with others in Germany, Austria, Denmark, Norway, the Netherlands, Poland, and Belgium (Virgili, op. cit., 193–194). Women who became mothers just after the Second World War were aware of the reforms of social protection, the fall of infant and maternal mortality, the baby boom, and the increase in the number of working women. At the end of the 1960s, the significant social, cultural, and demographic changes, together with the rise in feminism, encouraged a reappraisal of the role of women in families and society. Mothers in the 1960s in Australia who had an occupation were viewed as neglecting their children and families, and were not allowed to work in the public service once they were married. Their wages were lower than men’s wages if they carried out any work similar to a man’s occupation (Porter and Kelso, 2008, xii). Eve was the first woman, wife, and mother mentioned in the Bible: “the man called his wife’s name Eve, because she was the mother of all ­l iving” (Genesis 3:20). There was intergenerational female transmission of teaching how to be a good loving mother: “Older women […] are to

Theorising motherhood  3

teach what is good, and so train the young women to love their husbands and ­children” (Titus 2:4), which could be construed as the biblical version of the good mother. There were also several other significant mothers in the Bible. The teenager, Mary of Nazareth, became pregnant when the angel ­Gabriel appeared to her, then gave birth to Jesus Christ. Childless ­Elizabeth, Mary’s cousin, was unable to conceive (Luke 1:5–7, NIV) but gave birth to the prophet John the Baptist, after having remained in ­s eclusion for five months, since the angel of the Lord had appeared to her husband Zecharia and assured him that he would answer their prayers. ­ ecame the first mother in the Bible to Rebekah, after years of infertility b give birth to twin boys (Genesis 25:21, NIV). ­Sarah, Abraham’s barren wife, resorted to contemporary surrogacy by offering her servant, Hanar, to her ­husband; Hanar gave birth to ­Ishmael (Genesis 16:15, NIV). Rachel was desperate to conceive and eventually bore two sons: “Give me ­children, or I shall die!” (Genesis 30:1). Jochebed, M ­ oses’s birth mother, the precursor to adoption (Exodus 2:10), hid her baby son for three months to keep him safe (Exodus 2:2) – since Pharaoh’s edict that “every boy that is born, drown him in the Nile” (Exodus 1:22 The ­Message) – then put him in a waterproof basket which she set afloat on the river Nile (Exodus 2:5). These instances ­i llustrate the good mother, teenage pregnancy, sterility, twin zygosity, surrogacy, adoption, and infanticide, and provide a contemporary reading of the Bible. Mythology also has famous stories and tales about mothers. In Norse mythology,5 goddess Frigg or Frigga, which means beloved, is the Mother of Earth and is associated with fertility and motherhood.6 She was considered the mother of all and protector of children, and she could have been a paradigm of motherhood. The story has it that, in Norse, the longest night of the year is ‘Mother night’, the night when the goddess produced her son, Baldur. Freya is deemed the goddess of love, beauty, and fertility. In Greek mythology, Gaia is referred to as the ‘Mother Goddess’, the mother of all, and Demeter then had the same attributes as Gaia. In Roman mythology, Ceres was the goddess of fertility, while in Celtic mythology, Danu was the mother goddess. In Aztec mythology, a stone carving represents the controversial goddess Tlazolteotl in labour and giving birth in excruciating pain.7 Since the 19th century in children’s literature, the representation of ­mothers and motherhood is revealing and enlightening: ‘Mother’ is the most ­frequent term used to refer to female characters. But despite this, mothers are rarely the heroes or protagonists in children’s fiction – often, they don’t even have a name. They are part of the supporting cast – and sometimes they are even dead or otherwise absent. When it comes to what their children are reading, mums are usually barely visible. (Mahlberg and Cermakova, 2019)

4  Fabienne Portier-Le Cocq

This testifies to gender-related roles. In children’s literature, mothers are primarily the ones who care for and support their children, and the people in whom their children confide (Ibid.). Beyond tales, stories, and artefacts, mothers, motherhood, and its ­corollaries are characterised and represented by terms or phrases varying according to countries and cultures.

Scapegoating and labelling mothers and motherhood Mothers have always been categorised and labelled because they are ­supposed to abide by an ideal model, the canon of the caring, loving, ­invested, ­sacrificial mother. The received wisdom has it that mothers must sacrifice themselves for their children, but must they? According to S. Hayes, ­mothering is “extensive, wholly child-centered, emotionally involving, and time-­consuming” (1996, 108 cited in Perrier, 2012, 658). Consequently, ­mothers are self-sacrificing, but pushy and over-ambitious mothers may ­sacrifice their children because they “institutionalise children’s leisure time”: “children are exhausted, have no time to get bored because of the harriedness of educational activities” (Perrier, Ibid., 664). Sacrificing themselves for their children’s well-being often means working part-time in the best cases or staying at home, which both have long-term outcomes as mothers age. Females experience the ‘motherhood penalty’ due to the repercussions that part-time employment has on women’s careers, wages, and pensions. Motherhood influences women’s wages and job aspirations throughout their lives (Holland and Edwards, 2014, 200). In her latest book, the French historian of motherhood addressed the issue of how to best articulate the production task, namely the professional work of parents and the task of reproduction (care and services) (Knibiehler, 2019). Part-time work is a form of unpaid generalised maternity leave which concerns six times as many women as men. The traditional pattern in France is that after the birth, mothers care for their children during the maternity leave; then, the child attends childcare facilities. Public policy should accompany the arrival of women on the labour market while externalising tasks – in particular, childcare, which is traditionally undertaken by women. If we interpret surrogacy as a commercial means for women to earn a ­living, then India tops the world in terms of surrogacy services, surpassing the United States of America (Rudrappa, 2015, 161). By law in India, only women who have had children can become surrogate mothers and sell their reproductive facilities, and surrogate mothers in India have no rights over the babies they bore (Ibid., 128). In this sense, they are disempowered. Sixty Bangalore mothers, who, after thoughtful consideration, did this on purpose in the hope of accessing the social mobility ladder, were interviewed. Yet, at the end of the day, selling their pregnancies (Ibid., 164) did not change their life course

Theorising motherhood  5

significantly. Most of the time, Caesarean sections are performed in order to schedule the date of the birth and organise the workday and avail­ability of beds in dormitories. The “Intended Parents saw advantages to r­ eceiving the babies on schedule” (Ibid., 169). Mothers and babies have become mere commodities, but both the ‘Intended Parents’ and surrogate mothers gain: the former since they have a child who genetically descends from them, and the latter because they say that they are driven by two i­ ncentives: maximising profit and doing good to people in the world (149). Since mid-2013, the German government has been awarding a benefit dubbed the ‘oven benefit’, namely €100 a month per child to stay-at-home mothers having children under three years of age, for their role as ­mothers. This has been a divisive issue among the German population, with 60% ­rejecting the measure; the German Family Minister, Kristina Schröder,8 ­argued that it was a way for the government to show their gratitude to and appreciation of women who choose to prioritise motherhood over paid work. The fertility rate in Germany has been one of the lowest in Europe, and the country has faced labour shortages. Consequently, a traditional pattern ­remains, with mothers working less than in any other European country and part-time work being more developed (Calla, 2012). Social class is integral to the labelling of mothers. In many societies, lone mothers are viewed by both the left and the right as a subset of mothers and often as a problem to be fixed (Bortolaia Silva, 1996; OECD, 2011, 3). Interestingly, lone motherhood is insignificant for most Russians or a symptom of “other entrenched social problems” (Utrata, 2015, 2), namely the lack of reliable male partners, or the weak and unsupportive state. In Australia, the ‘Yummy Mummy’ is at odds with the ‘Slummy Mummy’. Respectively, these archetypes refer to “a glamourous mother, perfectly groomed and dressed, […] in control of her sexiness” throughout pregnancy and after the birth, and a mother of young children who no longer takes care of her appearance (Goodwin and Huppatz, 2010, 70–80), where […] being poor equates with failed femininity (McRobbie, 2006). For Angela McRobbie, the teenage mother was viewed as “a social category, a certain type of girl whose bodily features and disposition betray her lowly status”, and she states that “A new virulent form of class antagonism finds expression through the public denigration of the bodily failings of the girl who at a too young age embraces motherhood” (2008, 133). Teenage mothers in Britain have been featured and portrayed in abusive language as ‘chav mums/chav scum’9 – young white girls from the poor working class – a stance reminiscent of Charles Murray’s underclass in his ideological debate about lone motherhood (1990, 1994). ‘Chav’ is a term similar to American’s ‘white trash’ and Australian’s ‘the Bogan’ (Tyler, 2006). ‘Pramface’ refers to “the overly fertile young working class mum, currently castigated in the term” (Tyler, 2010), and the teenage mother from a council estate (McRobbie, 2004). ‘Pramface’ and ‘Chav Mums’ have become vessels for hatred in

6  Fabienne Portier-Le Cocq

social media. K. Allen and J. Osgood analysed another representation of mothers: The ‘Yummy Mummy’ described as affluent older mothers, who have established a successful career before embarking on a family […] influenced by the celebrity mother culture [and] willing to spend significant money on themselves, as well as insisting on the highest quality goods for their family. (McRobbie, 2008 cited in Allen and Osgood, 2009, 1, 5; TGI Market Research, 2009) Forget the frump. Wave goodbye to those leggings there’s a new breed of mothers on the baby block. Yummy Mummies don’t leave their sense of style in the maternity ward – the loving hands that rock today’s cradles are manicured and moisturised […] Because becoming a mother doesn’t mean you stop wanting to look and feel fabulous – it just becomes a little trickier! (Johnson, 2008, in Ibid., 6) The ‘Yummy Mummy’ embodies the savvy “white, middle-class woman to the exclusion of other maternal identities (e.g. working-class, lesbian, black, ­ ersonifies non-western)” (Allen and Osgood, op. cit., 7). The ‘Chav Mum’ p mothers depending on welfare benefits, whereas the ‘Yummy Mummy’ ­presents a role model of responsibility and morality: they are diametrically opposed. In Australia, the ‘Yummy Mummy’ is not necessarily viewed as a good mother because she is “sexualised, self-interested, and in many ways she disrupts traditional assumptions of who a good mother is” (Goodwin and Huppatz, 2010, 84). Certain mothers ‘self affix’ a label: The American politician Sarah Palin, for instance, described herself as the ‘average hockeymom’10 (Stavrianos, 2015, 22, 117), and later she endorsed the moniker ‘the mamma grizzly’ – a mother who would do whatever is necessary to protect her children from harm (Ibid., 37). As for Michelle Obama, she dubbed herself ‘mom-in-chief’ in her appeal to end children’s obesity (117). Another denomination to define American suburban white women is ‘soccer moms’. Other terms to represent mothers have been used by authors and researchers: E. Badinter used the phrase ‘pelican mother’ to characterise mothers on low income in 19th and 20th centuries who, to feed their offspring, went without food (1980, 26), a common fate shared, among others, by lone disadvantaged French-­Canadian mothers who self-deprived themselves of food to put their ­children’s needs first in 1990s Canada (McIntyre et al., 2003) and endorsed by some American poor lone mothers (Edin and Kefalas, 2007, 147). Yale Law Professor Amy Chua is critical of the upbringing and education of other systems than hers. In one of her contentious and thought-provoking books, Chinese education is extolled (2011), and American mothers among others are not taken seriously in matters pertaining to raising their children,

Theorising motherhood  7

imposing limits and rules, and how to handle a child’s learning process. She counters and debunks the myth of Asian women portrayed as “scheming, callous, overdriven people indifferent to their kids’ true interests”, which contends that Western mothers are less inclined to sacrifice themselves for their children. She purports that it is a cultural issue (Chua, 2011, 62–63). Prime Minister David Cameron (2016) praised the Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother, which is “all about: work, try hard, believe you can succeed, get up and try again”. The term ‘helicopter parents’ applies to those who ‘hover’ over their children and rescue them, mothering so intensively that they become over-­ involved, and whose way of acting towards their children is overbearing and detrimental to the latter (Bristow, 2019). In Germany, the derogatory term Rabenmutter, namely a bad mother, ­defines the mother who goes back to work soon after the birth of her ­children or abandons them anonymously in a Babyklappe,11 while ­Canadian ­A merican S. Pinker calls them ‘dustbin mothers’ (2012). Working-class women and girls must be regulated, corrected, or left behind (Walkerdine et al., 2001), while teenage mothers are viewed as morally and socially deviant (Bullen et al., 2000, cited in Allen and Osgood, 2009). Transnational mothers have to cope with prejudice, gossip, stigma, and guilt; they are sometimes dubbed ‘cyborg mothers’ since they are in the conflicting position of providing for their children’s basic needs and love. They resort to modern technology to fulfil their roles of mothers (Oliveira, 2018, 45). They differ from average working mothers in that they have to migrate to sustain their family, but they are also expected to take on and juggle their children’s upbringing and education together with their o ­ ccupation. For many migrant Mexican mothers working in New York, “the very act of leaving and migrating […] is justified by the very reason of trying to be a good mother and care for one’s children” (Ibid., 58). Good mothering encompassed care, emotional and financial support; having more time to spend with their children was synonymous with good mothering (Ibid., 55). The ‘care constellation’ encapsulates immigrant mothers in New York City and Mexico, and their relationships with their children and caregivers (Oliveira, Ibid., 10, 58). The transnational ‘care constellation’ is always composed of the biological mother, the children in both countries, and the caregivers in Mexico, that is to say the grandmothers. Interestingly enough, the grandmothers claimed that being the primary caregivers to their grandchildren was a way to “redeem themselves” and be “good mothers” (Ibid., 55).

Naming and shaming: Good mothers, bad mothers In the wake of John Bowlby’s influential work on the maternal d ­ eprivation thesis (1953) and the theory of attachment (1958), mothers have been ­expected to bring up children and provide a safe, secure, trusting, and ­bonding environment for their offspring, while fathers remained hidden in

8  Fabienne Portier-Le Cocq

the background (Chodorow, 1978). A child who would be separated from his or her mother or a mother-figure was at risk of suffering from anxiety and other adverse ills. Over the decades, mothers have been increasingly working outside the home and have had fewer children. Consequently, they are often blamed for not being the best mothers they should be (­ Pocock, 2003, 7). In the 1950s, women labelled as bad mothers belonged to the non-white working class who deprived their children of attention and love because they were economically active. In subsequent decades, other mothers were ascribed this label and among them unmarried mothers, lone mothers, and teenage mothers who are assumed to be responsible for social problems. The discourse of good and responsible mothering is the arena of middle-class mothers. Nowadays, good mothers are expected to attend antenatal classes, wear appropriate clothing, and change their socialising patterns and ­behaviour (Miller, 2005, 59). The history of motherhood has shown that it was not until the 18th c­ entury and the advent of the Enlightenment that the figure of the good mother ­ aternal was valued and maternal love was glorified (Badinter, 1980). M love would thus be a modern invention that appeared at the same time as the nuclear family and the private and public spheres (Donath, 2017, 112), ­intricately ­related to the decline in infant mortality rate (Badinter, op. cit.). Maternal love – the total consecration of the mother to her child – became a value of civilisation and a code of good conduct throughout the 19th c­ entury ­(Coenen, 2002). Mothers are categorised as ‘good’, ‘bad’, or ‘impaired’ when they cannot or refuse to ascribe to a model. Bad mothers are uncaring ­insofar as they go back to work soon after the birth, or too late, or never; they do not breastfeed, or they do it for too long or in public; they prac­ utside the tise home schooling, or they work unsocial hours or long hours o home. The label also applies when mothers are immigrant mothers, mothers on benefits, or lesbian mothers (Donath, op. cit., 39). A large-scale American study conducted at the turn of the 21st century among low-­income single mothers who all had a child out of marriage revealed that they “believe the central tenet of good mothering [could] be summed up in two words ‘being there’”, and that keeping their children with them rather than entrusting the children to the care of others made mothers benefit from the reputation of being good (Edin and Kefalas, 2007, 10–13). This stance excludes fathers deemed as absent and uninvolved (Ibid., 41). It remains to be established whether ‘being there’ equates with ‘quality time’. The mothers believed that mothering was the most important role they could play as poor parents and wanted to play it well, and there was no more important job and no greater accomplishment (Ibid., 165–167). In contrast, disreputable mothers lost their children to the state, were addicts, or failed to protect their children from abusive partners (Ibid., 162). Essentially, mothers are ‘bad’ due to what they do or do not do, who they are, and their life circumstances. In contemporary Japanese society, pregnant working women are talked into aborting

Theorising motherhood  9

or are harangued into resigning. Social class plays an important role in how ­mothers measure success. Annette Lareau contends that there are two ­models of parenting and uses the metaphorical imagery: ‘concerted culturation’ in the middle classes, and ‘natural growth’ in the working classes. The working-class ­children develop in a natural setting where his or her basic needs are met without props. Conversely, the ­m iddle-class child chills in a hothouse where the soil is fertilised by various activities (2011). Social class and ethnic background are correlated with the ‘bad’ mother depiction. “Class is something beneath your clothes, under your skin, in your reflexes, in your psyche, at the very core of your being” (Kuhn, 1995, 98) and power is “exercised up on the dominant as well as on the dominated” (Dreyfus and Rabinow, 1983, 186). Mothers cannot win; motherhood is thus a source of inequality, above all professional inequality, between men and women, but also between women (Knibiehler, 2014). In wealthy Western Australia, good mothers are devoted to their f­ amilies; they raise and nurture their children, who are prioritised. The child’s well-­ being is crucial, and motherhood is a site of intense governmental control (Goodwin and Huppatz, 2010, 5–7). An empirical study based on the affluent West Australian context revisited the concept of the good mother (Ibid., 69–88). There, mothers are pressured into conforming to the norm by ­acting responsibly, by remaining culturally desirable and socially acceptable, and are the subject of close social regulation (Smart, 1992; Garwood, 2014). They are typed according to social class, ethnicity, sexuality, and economic status (Ibid., 5). Indigenous mothers are each other’s mothers, and Aboriginal children have multiple mothers and fathers, biological and social ones (Ibid., 19). The good mother “is juxtaposed with the working-class ‘other’ mother who has let herself go, who is excessive, slothful and unfeminine” (Ibid., 85). The ‘Tummy Mummy’ in Australia qualifies the child bearer in lesbian parents (Ibid., 210). In contrast, whether knowledgeable mothers can be good mothers is an uncomfortable debate (Tsouroufli, 2018). A good number of mothers have become professionals or have successful careers – they are GPs, biologists, psychologists, and qualified in the social sciences or law – yet, as qualitative studies showed, few are prepared for the complicated work that they do in their mothering (Porter and Kelso, 2008, xii). They live and contemplate their motherhood in a way that differs from that of their grandmothers. As far as the outcome of the shift on the mother-and-child relationship is ­concerned, ultimately, midwives or paediatricians blame mothers for ­thinking too much (Knibiehler, 2014, 123).

The culture of blame Mothers are increasingly the subject of social regulation and the focus of attention, “the subjects of surveillance gaze” (Walkerdine et al., 2001, 210)

10  Fabienne Portier-Le Cocq

notably in matters related to health and well-being. Pregnant women’s lifestyle is being blamed for exerting “a strong causal effect on offspring health” (Sharp et al., 2018, 25), while the father’s lifestyle, the environment, or ­social inequalities are not given enough consideration as being ­potentially ­influential on the ill-health or ill-being of children. The media also plays a key role in warning pregnant mothers of the risk incurred on their child when drinking, for instance. By distorting reality and omitting scientific facts (Lee et al., 2016, 33), the media contributes to the blaming and ­labelling of mothers. Mothering impacts on women in every area of their lives, as once a woman has a child she is a mother until her dying days, and mothering will affect her emotionally, physically, intellectually, and socially (Porter and Kelso, op. cit., xi). “Single mothers are seen as feckless or are accused in the press and in other moralistic discourses of depriving a child” (McRobbie, 2007, 731–732), and the age at which women become mothers is a marker of social ­polarisation. In the United Kingdom, the age of first-time mothers continues to rise and has been steadily increasing for over 40 years: 29 in 2016 compared with 27 ­ abour in 1997 (ONS, 2019). The ten-year action plan implemented by the L Government under Tony Blair sought to halve the under-18 ­conception rate in England by 2010 by introducing better sex education and improving ­access to contraception and sexual health services. It has proven successful and has reduced teenage pregnancies (Hadley and Ingham, 2017; Portier-Le Cocq, 2018, 78–80). In early twentieth century, maternity for certain teenage mothers was a mark of status, whereas now it is “uncool” (Wellings et al., 2016). The major hurdles to motherhood, which can generate regret, are juggling motherhood and paid work; juggling motherhood and financial hardship when there is lack of support from the partner, whether it be practical or financial support; and a lack of support from the government, as childminding fees can prove extortionate. In Western societies, childcare is almost always the mothers’ responsibility, hence the iconic status of mothers. Isolation and loneliness of motherhood when mothers are faced with the death of their partners or their illness, accident, or in case of family break-up leading to an absent partner are further reasons to regret motherhood.

Mothers who regret In her innovative research of 2007 on Israeli-Jewish women who wanted to remain childless, O. Donath categorised women-mothers and quoted that When regret is talked about, the conversation quickly shifts to “a debate about the maternal ambivalence” […] there are mothers who experience

Theorising motherhood  11

ambivalent feeling but do not regret becoming mothers, and there are mothers who regret becoming mothers and are not ambivalent about motherhood. (2017, xviii–xix) The role of women is largely confined to being the cradle of transmission and the continuity of lineage; the author questions whether women and mothers can express regret overtly, especially as they might think that they are alone in feeling this way. Therefore, it is still a “deeply-seated taboo” (Ibid., xvii). At the time, the overall fertility rate in Israel was the highest of all developed countries, which was in part due to reproduction technologies (Ibid., 2). Since Israel is a pronatal country, being a mother is not enough; women also have to conform to strict rules “dictating how they should mother” (Ibid., 31). Women who do not wish to become mothers are qualified as “selfish, hedonistic, childish, disreputable, impaired, dangerous, and of questionable sanity” (Ibid., 6). Childless women are thus depicted as either wanting to live life to the fullest or suffering from a mental health condition. Women give birth to better their lives, to “save themselves from adverse life circumstances”, and teenagers get married and become young mothers in order to attain a sense of freedom not found in the parental homes (Ibid., 17). Along the same lines, few teenage mothers of a study conducted in England and Scotland expressed regret once they had made a decision in terms of the continuation of their pregnancy and the irreversible nature of the decision. In the fieldwork questionnaire, no questions were asked about regret, but it was cited spontaneously by the mothers who regretted having had ­sexual intercourse with the “wrong person” or at the “wrong time” (Portier-Le Cocq, 2009, 218–221; Wellings et al., 2016, 594). M. Perrier sustains that for middle-class women, there would be a right age at which it is permissible to become a mother, namely when you have a permanent job and are married (2013, 77). Regret was often linked to a sentiment of failure, and regret was never expressed in terms of the birth of their child (Portier-Le Cocq, op. cit.). With respect to this segment of the population, the expression of ­regret concerns the age at which they become sexually active (Lee et al., 2004, ­18–19). The pregnancy in itself can also be a source of regret for a 16-yearold woman of another study (Portier-le Cocq, 2007, 326): I wanted a baby, but, being pregnant, like the way I feel and everything is horrible. Regret was only perceptible and tangible when leisure and social life were at stake, and the mothers were isolated and did not have the support and help of their kin or friends (Portier-Le Cocq, 2009, 296–297, 2018, 8). With the ­benefit of hindsight, a quarter of the young mothers interviewed reported

12  Fabienne Portier-Le Cocq

that they would have preferred to have waited a few more years and if they could turn the clock back would not have become mothers. The reason ­mentioned was the circumstances of childbirth, sometimes experienced as traumatic given the lack of information or preparation (Ibid., 2009, 309–312). Yet, as Sheila Henderson and her colleagues mentioned, young mothers gain status in motherhood and authority, which is highly regarded (2007, 138). But the teenage mothers embraced a positive narrative (Portier-Le Cocq, 2018, 88) and valued themselves as good mothers despite the negative judgement and the possible lack of respect and consideration towards them, ­especially from health professionals and other staff (Portier-Le Cocq, 2009; Hunter, 2014, 37–38).

Conclusion Adrienne Rich wrote that we are all “of woman born”, but we can no longer agree with the fact that “we know more about the air we breathe, the seas we travel, than about the nature and meaning of motherhood” (1976, 11). Mater semper certa is no longer, as motherhood is no longer the preserve of women as the following story testifies. An American born as a girl in 1974, Thomas Beatie became a man while keeping his female internal and external ­genitals. He was pregnant three times through sperm donor ­inseminations and gave birth during natural delivery in 2008, 2009, and 2010. Gender studies have boosted and renewed women’s studies, hence studies on mothers and motherhood (Knibiehler, 2014, 15–16). Nowadays, changing gender is a daily, direct, and revolutionary means to upset and de-gender the established order and social norms of sexuality, parenthood, and reproduction12 (Andrieu, 2012, 56). Mothers are under constant gaze, and the medical gaze switches from the mother to the child after the delivery (Miller, 2005, 59), when the centre of attention “is almost entirely on the baby, or the mother relation to the baby; her independent status as a woman is discounted” (Urwin, 1985, 177). Women are no longer viewed as women per se when they become mothers. In recent decades, patterns of motherhood have changed with young and older mothers, lone and partnered mothers, working mothers and stay-­athome mothers. Fathers and fatherhood have increasingly become topics of research, while “families of choice and other ways of living have also ­being championed” (Urwin, 1985, 63). Penniless mothers and working-poor ­mothers in Britain are deemed unfit parents and are strongly talked into attending parenting classes, which have been implemented and mostly intended for mothers, as bringing up a child is still mainly a woman’s task. “[…] Life Chances Strategy will include a plan for significantly expanding parenting provision. It will examine the possibility of introducing a voucher scheme for parenting classes and recommend the best way to incentivise parents to take them up” (Cameron, 2016). In Britain, these classes have been geared towards marginalised mothers, hence “teenage mothers,

Theorising motherhood  13

immigrant, lesbian, homeless, welfare and incarcerated mothers who challenge the good mother narrative” (Garcia Coll et al., 1988, 64), which the following chapters will study. Mothers have been construed as the nation’s and the family’s moral guardians (Woodward, 1997, 257), yet our societies are now confronted with, have to cope with, and find solutions to the issue of the women who bear the children of Jihadists who grow up in a family context that could, potentially, groom them to become tomorrow’s young combatants of our contemporary enlightened and advanced societies.

Notes 1 “La maternité relève certes de la vie privée dans ce qu’elle a de plus intime mais c’est aussi une fonction sociale de première importance puisqu’elle assure le renouvellement des générations … Chacune impose la vie à son enfant, puisqu’elle aurait pu éviter de le mettre au monde”. 2 “Dans la société contraceptive, être enceinte, accoucher, c’est bien l’expression de la liberté”. 3 Ligue de protection des mères abandonnées (Virgili, 2014, 167–168). 4 SS Marriage Order of 1932; the 1936 Lebensborn ordinance prescribed that every SS member should father four children, in or out of wedlock. 5 ‘Nous les appelons les Vikings’, Château des Ducs de Bretagne, Nantes, France. Exhibition: 16 June to 18 November 2018. www.chateaunantes.fr/fr/evenement/ vikings 6 The Swedish History Museum, Narvavägen, Stockholm, Sweden. 7 www.washingtonpost.com/local/a-stone-figure-at-dumbarton-oaks-tells-an-­ intriguing-story/2014/01/13/ 8 She belongs to the Christian Democrat Party and was the first Minister to be pregnant while in office. 9 According to Imogen Tyler, the term derives from “a distortion of a Romany word for a child” or “is a derivative of the term charver, long used in the North East of England to describe the disenfranchised white poor” (Tyler, 2006). 10 Speech at the Republican National Convention, St Paul, MN. 11 Unpublished research about the scheme. Contact F. Portier-Le Cocq at ­fabienne. [email protected]. 12 Le changement de genre est désormais un moyen quotidien, direct et r­ évolutionnaire pour déranger et dégenrer l’ordre et les normes sociales de la sexuation, de la ­sexualité, de la parentalité et de la reproduction (Andrieu, 2012).

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14  Fabienne Portier-Le Cocq ­ erspectives Bortolaia Silva, Elizabeth (ed.) (1996). Good Enough Mothering? Feminist P on Lone Motherhood. London, Routledge. Bowlby, John (1953). Child Care and the Growth of Love. Baltimore, Penguin Books. Bowlby, John (1958). The Nature of the Child’s Ties to His Mother. International Journal of Psycho-Analysis, XXXIX, 1–23. Bristow, Jennie (2019). In F. Chave and F. Portier-Le Cocq (eds.), Maternités. Paris, Revue des politiques sociales et familiales, in preparation. Calla, Cécile (2012). Madame oder Mütterchen?. Der Spiegel, 9 May 2012. www. spiegel.de/kultur/gesellschaft/betreuungsgeld-so-ein-unsinn-fiele-in-­frankreichkeinem-ein-a-829917.html, date accessed 3 April 2019. Cameron, David (2016). Prime Minister’s Speech on Life Chances. 11 January 2016. www.gov.uk/government/speeches/prime-ministers-speech-on-life-chances, date accessed 20 January 2016. Chodorow, Nancy (1978). The Reproduction of Mothering: Psychoanalysis and the Sociology of Gender. Berkeley, University of California Press. Chua, Amy (2011). Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother. London, Bloomsbury. Coenen, Marie-Thérèse (ed.) (2002). Corps de femmes, Sexualité et contrôle social. Bruxelles, De Boek Supérieur. Dally, Anna (1983). Inventing Motherhood: The Consequences of an Ideal. New York, Schocken. Davin, Anna (1978). Imperialism and Motherhood. History Workshop, 5 (Spring), 9–65. de Beauvoir, Simone (1986). Le deuxième sexe. Paris, Folio. Donath, Orna (2017). Regretting Motherhood: A Study. Berkeley, North Atlantic Books. ­ tructuralism Dreyfus, Hubert L., and Rabinow, Paul (1983). Michel Foucault: Beyond S and Hermeneutics. Chicago, Chicago University Press. Edin, Kathryn, and Kefalas, Maria (2007). Promises I Can Keep: Why Poor Women Put Motherhood before Marriage. Oakland, University of California Press. Garcia Coll, Cynthia, Surrey, Janet L., and Weingarten, Kathy. (1988). ­Mothering against the Odds. Diverse Voices of Contemporary Mothers. New York, The ­Guilford Press. Garwood, Eliza (2014). Regulating Motherhood, A Foucauldian Analysis of the ­Social Construction of the Mother. The New Birmingham Review, 1 (1), 19–28. Goodwin, Susan, and Huppatz, Kate (eds.) (2010). The Good Mother: Contemporary Motherhoods in Australia. Sydney, Sydney University Press. Hadley, Alison, and Ingham, Richard (2017). Teenage Pregnancy and Young ­Parenthood: Effective Policy and Practice. Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon, Routledge. Hayes, Sharon (1996). The Cultural Contradictions of Motherhood. New Haven, Yale University Press. Henderson, Sheila, Holland, Janet, McGrellis, Sheena, Sharpe, Sue, and Thomson, Rachel (eds.) (2007). Inventing Adulthoods: A Biographical Approach to Youth Transitions. London, Sage Publications. Holland, Janet, and Edwards, Rosalind (eds.) (2014). Understanding Families over Time: Research and Policy. Basingstoke, Palgrave Macmillan, Studies in Family and Intimate Life. Hunter, Louise (2014). Supporting Teenage Mothers to Initiate Breastfeeding and ­Developing a Support Intervention to Increase Breastfeeding Rates in a ­Vulnerable

Theorising motherhood  15 Group – The Importance of Place. PhD, University of West London. https://­ repository.uwl.ac.uk/id/eprint/1057/ Johnson, Anna (2008). The Yummy Mummy Manifesto: Baby, Beauty, Balance, and Bliss. New York, Ballantine Books.Knibiehler, Yvonne (2000). Histoire des mères et de la maternité en Occident. Paris, PUF. Que sais-je? Knibiehler, Yvonne (ed.) (2001). Maternité: affaire privée, affaire publique. Paris, Bayard. Knibiehler, Yvonne (ed.) (2014). Questions pour les mères. Toulouse, Éditions érès. Knibiehler, Yvonne (2019). Réformer les congés parentaux: un choix décisif pour une société plus égalitaire. Paris, Presses de l’EHESP, collection Controverses. ­ oyen-Âge Knibiehler, Yvonne, and Fouquet, Catherine (1977). Histoire des mères du M à nos jours. Paris, Editions Montalba. Kuhn, Annette (1995). Family Secrets: Acts of Memory and Imagination. London, Verso. Lareau, Annette (2011). Unequal Childhoods: Class, Race and Family Life, 2nd ed. Berkeley, University of California Press. Lee, Ellie, Clements, Steve, Ingham, Roger, and Stone, Nicole (2004). A Matter of Choice? Explaining National Variation in Teenage Abortion and Motherhood. ­Joseph Rowntree Foundation. www.jfr.org.uk ­ aper Lee, Ellie, Sutton, Robbie M., and Harley, Bonny L. (2016). From Scientific P to Press Release to Media Coverage: Advocating Alcohol Abstinence and ­Democratising Risk in a Story about Alcohol and Pregnancy. Health, Risk & ­Society, 18 (5–6), 247–269. Mahlberg, Michaeal, and Cermakova, Anna (2019). Mothers Anonymous: How Children’s Books Have Written Mum out of the Story. The Conversation. http:// theconversation.com/mothers-anonymous-how-childrens-books-have-writtenmum-out-of-the-story-114519, date accessed 29 March 2019. McIntyre, Lynn, Glanville, N. Theresa, Raine, Kim D., Dayle, Jutta B., ­A nderson, Bonnie, and Battaglia, Noreen (2003). Do Low-Income Lone Mothers ­Compromise their Nutrition to Feed their Children? Canadian Medical A ­ ssociation Journal, 168 (6), 686–691. McRobbie, Angela (2004). Notes on ‘What Not To Wear’ and Post-Feminist ­Symbolic Violence. The Sociological Review, 52 (2), 99–109. McRobbie, Angela (2006). Yummy Mummies Leave a Bad Taste for Young Women. The Guardian, 2 March 2006. www.theguardian.com/world/2006/mar/02/gender. comment, date accessed 15 December 2018. McRobbie, Angela (2007). Top Girls: Young Women and the Post-Feminist Sexual Contract. Cultural Studies, 21 (4), 718–737. McRobbie, Angela (2008). Gender Culture and Social Change: In the Aftermath of Feminism. London, Sage. Miller, Tina (2005). Making Sense of Motherhood: A Narrative Approach. ­Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Murray, Charles (1990). The Ermerging British Underclass. London, IEA Health and Welfare Unit. Murray, Charles (1994). Underclass: The Crisis Deepens. London, IEA Health and Welfare Unit/Sunday Times. Oakley, Ann (1979). Becoming a Mother. Oxford, Wiley-Blackwell. OECD (2011). The Future of Families to 2030: An Overview of Projections, Policy Challenges and Policy Options. Paris, Éditions OCDE.

16  Fabienne Portier-Le Cocq Office for National Statistics (2019). Milestones: Journeying into Adulthood. www.ons.gov.uk/peoplepopulationandcommunity/populationandmigration/ populationestimates/articles/milestonesjourneyingintoadulthood/2019-02-18, date accessed 18 February 2019. ­ hildren Oliveira, Gabrielle (2018). Motherhood across Borders: Immigrants and their C in Mexico and New York. New York, New York University Press. ­ ultivation’: Perrier, Maud (2012). Middle-Class Mothers’ Moralities and ‘Concerted C Class Others, Ambivalence and Excess. Sociology, 47 (4), 655–670. Perrier, Maud (2013). No Right Time: The Significance of Reproductive Timing for Younger and Older Mothers’ Moralities. The Sociological Review, 61, 69–87. Pinker, Steven (2012). The Better Angels of Our Nature, Why Violence has Declined. New York, Viking Adult. Pocock, Barbara (2003). The Work/Life Collision. What Work Is Doing to ­Australians and What to Do about it? Annandale, Federation Press. Porter, Marie, and Kelso, Julie (eds.) (2008). Theorising and Representing Maternal Realities. Newcastle, Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Portier-Le Cocq, Fabienne (2007). Mères adolescentes en Angleterre et en Écosse: mythes et réalités, la parole des mères. PhD thesis, Université de Rennes 2. Portier-Le Cocq, Fabienne (2009). Sexualité et maternité des adolescentes: voix anglaises et écossaises. Rennes, Presses Universitaires de Rennes. Portier-Le Cocq, Fabienne (2018). Lone Young Parenthood by Choice? Life Stories in Great Britain. In Laura Bernardi and Dimitri Mortelmans (eds.), Lone Parenthood in the Life Course. Springer International Publishing, SpringerOpen, Life Course Research and Social Policies, 8. Rich, Adrienne (1976). Of Woman Born: Motherhood as Experience and Institution. London, Virago. Rudrappa, Sharmila (2015). Discounted Life, The Price of Global Surrogacy in India. New York, New York University Press. Sharp, Gemma C, Lawlor, Deborah A., and Richardson, Sarah S. (2018). It’s the Mother! How Assumptions about the Causal Primacy of Maternal effects ­Influence Research on the Developmental Origins of Health and Disease. Social Science and Medicine, 213, 20–27. Smart, Carol (ed.) (1992). Regulating Womanhood: Historical Essays on Marriage, Motherhood, and Sexuality, 1st ed. London, Routledge. Stavrianos, Cynthia (2015). The Political Uses of Motherhood in America. New York, Routledge. TGI Market Research (2009). Yummy Mummies: Who Are They? www.­clearchannel. co.uk/content.aspx?ID=446&ParentID=301&MicrositeID=0&Page=1&Al ­ternateURL=How%20to%20target%20yummy%20mummies, date accessed 10 February 2019. Thiolay, Boris (2012). Lebensborn, la Fabrique des enfants parfaits, ces enfants Français qui sont nés dans une maternité SS. Paris, Flammarion. Tsouroufli, Maria (2018). Gendered and Classed Performances of ‘Good’ Mother and Academic in Greece. European Journal of Women’s Studies. doi:10.1177/1350506818802454 Tyler, Imogen (2006). “Chav Mum, Chav Scum”: Class Disgust in Contemporary Britain. Feminist Media Studies, 8 (1), 17–34.

Theorising motherhood  17 Tyler, Imogen (2010). Troubling Mothers: Introduction. Studies in the Maternal, 2(1). www.mamsie.bbk.ac.uk/articles/10.16995/sim.171/, date accessed 13 April 2019. Urwin, Cathy (1985). Constructing Motherhood: The Persuasion of Normal ­Development. In Carolyn Steedman, Cathy Urwin, and Valerie Walkerdine (eds.), Language, Gender and Childhood. London, Routledge and Kegan Paul, 164–202. Utrata, Jennifer (2015). Women without Men, Single Mothers and Family Change in the New Russia. New York, Cornell University Press. Virgili, Fabrice (2014). Naître ennemi: Les enfants de couples franco-allemands nés pendant la Seconde Guerre Mondiale. Paris, Éditions Payot et Rivages. Walkerdine, Valerie, Lucey, Helen, and Melody, June (2001). Growing Up Girl: ­Psycho-Social Explorations of Gender and Class. London, Palgrave Macmillan. Wellings, Kaye, Palmer, Melissa J., Geary, Rebecca S., Gibson, Lorna J., Copas, Andrew, Datta, Jessica, Glasier, Anna, Scott, Rachel H., Mercer, Catherine H., Erens, Bob, Macdowall, Wendy, French, Rebecca S., Jones, Kyle, Johnson, ­ onceptions Anne M., Tanton, Clare, and Wilkinson, Paul (2016). Changes in C in Women Younger than 18 Years and the Circumstances of Young Mothers in England in 2000–12: An Observational Study. The Lancet, 388, ­586–595. www. thelancet.com/action/showPdf?pii=S0140-6736%2816%2930449-4, date accessed 20 January 2019. Woodward, Kathryn (1997). Motherhood, Identities, Meanings and Myths. In Keith Woodward (ed.), Identity and Difference. London, Sage/Open University Press, 239–298.

Chapter 2

(M)othering and the politics of early intervention Biologisation and the reproduction of gendered, classed, and raced inequalities Rosalind Edwards and Val Gillies Introduction The idea of being able to intervene in parenting so as to shape a baby’s brain development and ensure better life chances feels optimistic. All that is required in this view is for experts to explain to mothers how to bring their children up for best effect, and for mothers to listen and step up to fulfil the responsibility to take good care of their children’s brain development. But we need to pay attention to the way that the early intervention doctrine invigorates a ‘neurosexism’ (Fine 2010) that chimes with innately gendered ideas about women and their place. Traditional stereotypes of women as biological nurturers and notions of maternal responsibility lead to mothers becoming de facto sites for early intervention (Kenney and Műller 2016), holding women accountable for the nation’s wellbeing and for poverty, crime, and other social ills that may threaten this. In the version of brain science that has gained a stronghold in early years intervention discussions, social inequalities are attributed to stunted brain development, which in turn is posed as a product of dysfunctional ­parenting. As we will discuss, working-class and minority ethnic mothers are likely to find themselves, and their mothering values and practices, pathologised in the face of policy rhetoric, professional benchmarks, and practice interventions. Within the view that deficient mothering/parenting is the greatest threat to children’s wellbeing, the economic, environmental, and cultural barriers that parents face in bringing up their children become obscured (Featherstone et al. 2016). In this chapter, we show how the use of brain science in early years ­intervention ideas and practices reproduces inequalities through two ­processes: (i) it positions mothers as buffers who can mitigate against and overcome the effects of a harsh wider environment for their children; and (ii) it asserts the effacement of social divisions at the same time as it ­embeds a range of inequalities. We look at the ways that inequalities of ­gender are ­reproduced through the use of a particular version of attachment theory that keys into an ‘intensive parenting’ culture, and is coupled with brain

(M)othering & politics of early intervention  19

­ evelopment. We show how these gendered inequalities link into the d ­engraining of social class distinctions through early intervention and brain science ideas that pose deprived mothers and children as biologically and culturally different. Finally, we consider how race and ethnicity ­oppressions are carried through the imposition of Eurocentric notions of optimal ­childrearing roles and practices in early intervention initiatives. We draw on a two-year study that we undertook: the ‘Brain Science and Early Intervention’ research project (Gillies et al. 2017).1 The research investigated how biologised accounts of the impact of early experience on brain development have come to shape social policy globally, and early i­ ntervention initiatives and practice in the UK. We were concerned with how these ­versions of brain science are adopted by early-years health care providers and early years educators to understand their intervention in ways that position the parenting practices of the mothers they work with as deficient. We worried about the ­implications for marginalised mothers and their families, and for the entrenching of wider social inequalities. In our research, we conducted an analysis of key documents shaping political and policy engagement with neuroscience in relation to early years childrearing, as well as interviews with ­influential public figures who have promoted the application of neuroscience as an evidence base in child and family intervention policy and practice, and with health and early years practitioners working as Family Nurses and C ­ hildren’s Centre workers. We draw on these interviews in our discussion below.

Intensive attachment Contemporary ideas about good parenting are shaped by a powerful set of cultural features that have been termed ‘intensive mothering’. Sharon Hays (1998), who introduced the term, identifies these elements as: mothers are the best people to care for their children, mothering should centre the child’s needs (as interpreted by experts), and children should be considered emotionally fulfilling for mothers. The significance attached to mothering as shaping the next generation is achieved through the separating out of children and their parents from acknowledgement of the wider economic and community life in which they are located. Further, Ellie Lee et al. (2014) argue that this intensive parenting culture is built on a portrayal of bringing up children as being more risky than recognised previously. It presumes that there is a deficit in parental practice that requires remedying through training and regulation from experts as to the correct way to parent a child. This notion of a child-centred and labour-intensive parenting practice sits well with a specific version of attachment theory that has annexed brain science (Thornton 2011a, 2011b). Contemporary attachment theory is fixed not merely on mothers’ presence but on a certain type of attentive, attuned, responsive, and focused presence that is necessary to build babies’ brains. While Bowlby asserted that what was required was for a mother to be present and act instinctively with her

20  Rosalind Edwards and Val Gillies

infant, the current emphasis is on a deliberated form of intensive mothering. An example of the stress on a sustained attachment presence can be found on the Harvard Center for the Developing Child website, where, at the end of a page devoted to the importance of ‘adult2 caregivers’ ­responses to young children, the concocted question, ‘Will occasional lapses in ­attention from adults harm a child’s development?’ meets with the somewhat ­grudging, equivocal answer ‘Probably not’.3 Devoting time to enacting intensive maternal attunement is promoted as fundamental if babies’ brains are to develop optimally. The argument goes that if the mother does not model emotional attachment to the baby, then the relevant connections in the baby’s brain will not have developed and so they will not know how to enter into and deal with relationships in ­adulthood (Schore 2000). There is no questioning of the underlying ­system of cultural assumptions about what constitutes a ‘good’ relationship (Keller 2014; ­LeVine 2014). Rather, attachment is promoted as an ­observable ­biological process that is engraved in the architecture of babies’ brains, for which mothers bear moral responsibility. Yet the neuromyth about the brain-damaging consequences of poor maternal ‘responsiveness’ is highly speculative with little established basis in neuroscience. Nonetheless, an intoxicating combination of these unsupported ideas propels early years intervention policy, investment, and practice, with the aim of preventing damage and maximising children’s development. The ‘Five to Thrive’ campaign in the UK is a good example of the way that elements of brain science and attachment theory are woven together (Macvarish 2014). The campaign provides the ‘science behind the messages’ to make brain-based and attachment ideas accessible to parents and educate them as to what they need to do to optimise their children’s life chances. It identifies a set of five key activities as the ‘Building blocks for a healthy brain’: Respond, Cuddle, Relax, Play, Talk’. The campaign is also an example of the way that brain science ideas are mixed with intensive attachment assertions and zealously promoted by proponents who are not neuroscientists themselves (Bruer 1999). Yet, neuroscientific knowledge about the brain identifies its plasticity from childhood through into adulthood, and attachment has also been shown to be a plastic phenomenon in humans (Bruer 1999). The early intervention advocates roll over such challenges to their declarations, however.

‘Parenting’ as gendered, biologised, and learnt Early-intervention policies are often couched in the gender-neutral ­terminology of ‘parenting’, or even ‘primary caregiver’, terms that work to detach b ­ ringing up babies from the family and community relationships in which they are ­embedded. This may be driven by the intention to move away from sexist ­assumptions and be inclusive of fathers. What it does, however, is to efface ­gender at the same time as it embeds gendered inequalities and renders mothers

(M)othering & politics of early intervention  21

to blame. The link made between attachment theory and brain science has ­accompanied an explicit gender encoding of early-intervention policy. Early intervention is largely directed at mothers as the core mediators of their children’s development. Pregnant women and new mothers are ­targeted. The significance of mother-child relationships in the early years is underlined through reference to the developing brain and the child’s need for an available and responsive primary caregiver. The quality of care is claimed to be reflected in the anatomical structure of the child’s neural ­circuits with sensitive mothers producing ‘more richly networked brains’. This biological emphasis embeds and justifies the gendered focus on ­mothers as naturally attuned to their infants’ needs. The potent brew of brain science ideas, attachment theorising, and early-intervention mantras smuggles in two contradictory ideas – that mothers are biologically primed to be ­attuned to children’s needs while asserting that they need to be taught how to be responsive. In early-years intervention documents, the foundations for secure ­attachment and optimal brain development are traced to pregnancy. The ­prenatal period is identified as physiologically and psychologically vital – in terms of both the neural growth of the foetus and the establishment of a healthy attachment bond between mother and child. Maternal bodies become ­positioned as an ‘environment’ that poses a risk before and during pregnancy (Lappé 2016; Lupton 2012). There are implications for women’s control over their bodies in this portrayal of mothers as a biological and emotional risk to their babies. Pregnant women are opened up to public s­ urveillance and even punishment for the ‘crimes’ they commit against the ‘precious cargo’ of their foetus (Lupton 2012). For example, pregnant women in the USA can be tested for drug use and, however legal or casual that use, their babies may be taken into state care at birth and the mothers can be charged with assault, with black women more likely to be prosecuted than white women.4 Ideas about the risks that mothers pose to the foetus find their way into professional practice. They extend into concerns not just about the c­ hemicals that mothers may put into their bodies, but also the chemicals that they ­produce through emotional response to their environment. The ­interviews with early years practitioners in the UK for our study show a strong e­ mphasis on the significance of the mother’s brain producing too much of the stress hormone cortisol. Some had been trained to regard m ­ aternal stress as a biological risk factor: I knew physical violence was dangerous, but I hadn’t thought of stress as being dangerous prior to that training. And when I realised what ­cortisol, the mother’s cortisol levels would do to the baby, specifically the baby’s brain, made me think no actually it’s not about keeping a baby once they’re born safe, it’s how do we antenatally keep this baby safe. (Family Nurse 6)

22  Rosalind Edwards and Val Gillies

Practitioners seemed to be encouraged to conceptualise stress primarily in terms of relationships rather than pressures associated with disadvantage or lack of resources: They often have very stressful lives so there’s a lot of arguing and t­ ension, so it’s a way of talking about the relationships they already have. ­Relationships where they argue a lot with parents, boyfriends and just thinking about what’s happening to your little baby, you know, when you’re getting really stressed and ‘you’re feeling stressed, do you think maybe baby is?’. And just having those sort of conversations, not in any kind of accusatory way, just having those conversations. (Family Nurse 8) Consequently, the practitioners’ advice to mothers was to control their a­ nxiety in the context of coping with poverty and housing insecurity, and to avoid ­arguments, implicitly advocating a submissive position where young p ­ regnant women may be at risk of domestic violence (Wiggins et al. 2005). Once ­babies are born, mothers experiencing domestic abuse from their ­(usually male) ­partners become redefined as mothers posing a risk to their children by ­undergoing this harm. Rather than receiving support from what remains of a UK domestic abuse services sector decimated by austerity cuts, they are threatened with having their children taken into care because they are not protecting their children from risk and damage (Featherstone et al. 2016). The primacy and quality of mother-child relationships are posed as a ­decisive lever in building children’s brains, and are core principles ­structuring the everyday work of many early years intervention programmes. The early ­ euroscience years practitioners we interviewed were enthusiastic about n and its application to practice, feeling that it provided strong proof of ­attachment theory to policy makers, funders, and mothers themselves. In one UK early years intervention initiative: the Family Nurse Partnership programme, practitioners raise the subject of brain development in the first visit to the pregnant mother as a way of underlining the crucial significance of participation in the programme and the associated imparted advice: ‘We start very early on about your baby’s developing brain. That’s one of the first things we do’ (Family Nurse 8). Mothers are provided with a leaflet headed ‘How to build your baby’s brain’ featuring a list of activities claimed to ­enrich neural connectivity. These include reading books to their babies, singing nursery rhymes, and playing on the floor with them. ­Practitioners can draw on a variety of creative methods to convey this information. For example, one explained that she gave mothers dot-to-dot puzzles and called out ­random numbers to demonstrate the importance of correct brain ­w iring, while ­another dropped Alka-Seltzer tablets into a glass of water to illustrate how activities fire up new synapses in infant brains.

(M)othering & politics of early intervention  23

The responsibility loaded onto mothers is pronounced in relation to low-income, working-class mothers (Kenney and Műller 2016; Singh 2012) and black and minority ethnic mothers (Mansfield 2012), reflecting longstanding assumptions about good and bad mothering practices. We turn to these issues now.

Biologising, buffering, and effacing social class Maija Holmer Nadeson (2002) describes how ideas about brain science are used to legitimise interventions in the childrearing habits of working-class families with the aim of preventing infants from developing into young ­people who potentially are a risk and threat to society. She argues that brain science is used as ‘a tool of social engineering for the poor’ (2002: 424), a means of eliminating barriers to upward social mobility. The deprivation facing poor working-class families is presented as a result of a lack of intensive attachment mothering, stunting the brains of their offspring – brains that are biologically different from those of the middle classes. Again, ­mothers are positioned as buffers. The rationale of early intervention is that intensive attached mothering will protect children being brought up in ­poverty from any effects of their disadvantage, and send them up the social mobility ladder. It will also protect society from the risks posed by these children. Much early intervention and brain science material erroneously claims an evolutionary and hierarchical account of brain development, from p ­ rimitive reptilian, through emotional mammalian to the rational human (e.g. A ­ llen 2011a, 2011b; Brown and Ward 2012; Gerhardt 2004; Solihull ­Approach ­Resources Pack 2004). Inadequately parented babies are purported to rely on their primitive instinctive amygdala and mammalian emotionally ­volatile limbic system because their social and rational pre-frontal cortexes have been damaged. This is claimed to leave them unable to regulate their emotions. These biologically maimed children are the feral working class of the future: Children who experience hostility from their parents, in particular, and whose parents who, during their babyhood, do not model how to resolve conflicts or how to maintain self-control often become the offenders of tomorrow. (Gerhard 2003: 90) Such developmental separations of the social classes mean that the failure of social class mobility or the demographics of prison populations are no longer linked to marginalising structures in society, but can be explained by biological difference (Kenny and Műller 2016, online, no pp.). This explanation

24  Rosalind Edwards and Val Gillies

leads into class-based assessments of the type of problems mothers may face and their capacities for improvement. Practitioners may also pick up the class-based assessments that can infuse their training, regarding educated middle-class mothers as more able to respond rationally to good advice while uneducated working-class mothers pose more of a challenge: A while ago I went to a family who had a baby and mum just had no a­ ttachment to the baby whatsoever and we sort of dissected that a bit and ­ eople. talked about it, and I mean they were both very well-educated p But for her, the whole attachment thing, to know what a­ ctually happens to the child and why attachment is important. … It really helped her to know that something actually happens in the brain when you do all the emotional things and social things, you know. … Part of my job is to try and improve the home environment to create a more stimulating healthy home environment … [but] very often, I get parents who say, “Oh, he doesn’t like books”. Well, at the end of six sessions he likes books. He’s just never been, you know, introduced to it in an interesting way maybe. But the parent, that’s where I find my challenge really. (Children’s Centre worker 7) The stereotype of the risky, irrational, poor working class means that ­intervention programmes to promote early nurturing and prevent future dysfunctional behaviour are delivered through pre- and post-natal provision in poor, working-class communities. It is anticipated that showing mothers in these disadvantaged groups how best to bring up their babies will give children the ‘best start’ on the path to upward social mobility. Social problems can thus be predicted and headed off before they have even manifested themselves (Parton 2005). The social and structural causes of hardship and need that are being experienced by these families in the present are masked, placing mothers as hidden buffers against the effects of privation on their children. Mothering behaviour is portrayed as causal in research linking childhood poverty to decreased brain size surface area and reduced cognitive ­abilities (e.g. Reardon 2015). In this scenario, it is deficient mothering that fails to protect these children’s brains from poverty – and good mothering that can mediate between poverty and children’s brain development. One of the practitioners we interviewed explained the role of mothers as a buffer, quoting from a cognitive psychology textbook (Eysenck and Keane 2010): I’m reading, it’s not me being so clever! … It says … “This research has also shown that more nurturing maternal behaviour can buffer the young animal’s hippocampus against the effects of stress. It would ­appear that children living in a stressful environment of poverty b ­ enefit in a similar way from attentive and affectionate parenting”. So I’ve

(M)othering & politics of early intervention  25

found that the most challenging part of my job is to get parents not only to ask [their children], “What colour is this?” and you know, stuff with props, but to try and change the whole atmosphere of the relationship and the nurturing and the positive input and positive expectations and all those things that shape a child’s whole -- I’m absolutely convinced that has a huge impact on how you view the world, and yourself, and other people as an adult. (Children’s Centre worker 7) As Martha Kenny and Ruth Műller point out in relation to the positioning of mothers as the determining influence on their children’s development and outcomes, ‘in this narrative being poor becomes almost equivalent to being a bad parent’ (2016: online, no pp.). Any mother who is parenting in poverty thus is doing so because her own brain is stunted as a result of being badly parented herself. This is because good parenting is said to provide the brainpower that is the foundation for social mobility. In other words, social class does not matter. In interviews conducted for our study, a Member of the UK Parliament and a policy advisor each talked about the way that brain science overcomes old-fashioned ideas about social class as shaping life chances: [Brain science] breaks the class spell. ‘Oh well, we could have done, you know but it’s the wretched class system in our country, it’s so tightly drawn, you know, there’s not much we can do about it’. And the ­early-years studies seem to show that’s not true. (Frank Field MP) When sociologists point out that poor kids have worse life chances than rich kids, is there a danger that people on the Left adopt a kind of crude social determinism … this kind of crude sociological determinism ­excused, you know, really an abdication of responsibility for the school to do whatever it could to actually change the destiny of those young people whatever their backgrounds. (Matthew Taylor, CEO, Royal Society of Arts) In their view, and those of others of all political colours, brain science ­overcomes outmoded ideas about social class as shaping life chances. Brain science ‘breaks the class spell’ and avoids seeing social forces as ­deterministic. Social class can be overcome through early years intervention. In a view that poses parenting as determining, then, it must be good ­parenting that has provided the middle classes with their merited social and economic position. In this logic, the parental behaviour that builds the brain architecture that secures social mobility for middle-class ­children must also result in social mobility for working-class children. Deeper

26  Rosalind Edwards and Val Gillies

c­ onsideration of this logic, however, provides a clearer view. Not only is it impossible for everyone to move up the social scale (there have to be losers as well as ­w inners), but the social mobility of a few individuals in an age of ­austerity cannot dismantle the entrenched position of the most advantaged and ­compensate for large structural inequalities (Payne 2012; Reay 2013).

Neo-liberalised race and biologised brains The construction of individualised responsibility that poses mothers both as threats to their infants’ developing brain, and as buffers who are able to inculcate a neural resistance to adversity in their children, is raced as well as classed. The social division of race becomes neo-liberalised and ­biologised. The term ‘racial neo-liberalism’ has been coined to capture the way that race has been silenced as a structural inequality in assertions about the ­primacy of individualised choice and personal responsibility (Goldberg 2009; Wade 2010). Racism is made irrelevant through ‘relocating racially coded economic disadvantage and reassigning identity-based biases to the private and personal sphere’ (Davis 2007: 349), and racial disparity is rationalised away with reference to the cultural or biological flaws of those at the bottom of the racial hierarchy (Wise 2010). In the process, ethnic practices and racialised difference can become reified as biological difference rather than as socially produced (Duster 2005; Mansfield and Guthman 2015) – and it is mothers who are placed at the epicentre of its culturally created parenting cause and cure. The message about brain science in early-intervention rhetoric is that it provides an indisputable basis for practice. Practitioners saw ­neuroscience knowledge as undermining any objections on the grounds of cultural ­relativity, and some reflected on how their sensitivities to difference in the past had prevented them from intervening in a way they now know is right: I think [brain science] really gives me that umph to stick by it, rather than just give in to what society might think is okay. So we’ll stand by it and give more definite ‘this is the right thing to be doing’. … The [minority ethnic] community5 are a particular concern for us, because in [country] there’s a long tradition of girls rarely leaving the house. They certainly don’t have education, and that’s continued to fairly recent times. Therefore we deal with the issues of lots of young mums out there, who have missed schooling, don’t necessarily agree with girls going to school, and we’re basically trying to get those children into school. (Children’s Centre worker 2) Through a neo-liberalised early intervention lens, minority ethnic mothers are viewed as able to overturn collective cultural practice through

(M)othering & politics of early intervention  27

their individual choices about bringing up their children, echoing the individualisation of social mobility in relation to social class. The need to address household gender relations and the broader gendered inequalities of a patriarchal culture is left aside. The neo-liberalisation and biologisation of race and of minority ethnic cultures in early years intervention is bolstered by the intensive version of attachment. The promotion of intensive mothering engrains Eurocentric assumptions, delegitimising alternative values and ways of life. The version of attachment theory underpinning intervention models relies on a white, Western conception of ideal family life. In many communities across the world, childrearing is shared among wide social networks. Kinship care and interdependent households are the norm and exclusive parental care is rare (Ottoman and Keller 2014). But rather than a cultural and context-­ appropriate assessment of caregiving arrangements, secure attachment, and risk, a specific model and set of measures are imposed based on a middle-class Western model of interactional style with a small number of offspring (Keller 2014). Applying a scientised logic of early intervention ­positions some cultures at greater risk of genetic impairment and brain damage simply because of their childrearing practices. The implications of this reasoning range from a sanctioning of culturally insensitive ­professional practice to a potential resurgence of biologised racism. The ideas that the poor cause their own poverty through the way that they bring up their children, that mothers can act as buffers for their c­ hildren against adverse circumstances, and that early years intervention to promote brain development is required to deal with this have spread i­ nternationally (e.g. UCEF 2001). The nation’s future and how mothers bring up their ­children become hooked together. In this construction, mothers in ­developing and war-torn countries are culprits, creating their own poverty and the nation’s lack of progress through deficient childrearing practices. But with early ­intervention to rectify those practices, they will be able to protect children from the onslaught of deprivation and conflict and save the nation state. For example, a 2014 UNICEF Connect blog on how ­‘neuroscience is redefining early childhood development’ opines: … in early childhood neurons form new connections at a rate of 700 to 1,000 a second. At this point in a child’s life, nutrition and good health are most critical. But so too is caring, stimulation and good ­parenting – especially for children faced with multiple adversities of violence, ­disaster and poverty.6 The notion of countering global traumas through parenting is echoed in a 2016 US health and development blog, entitled ‘Why countries need to make sure their kids learn to play nice’. A Harvard associate professor of education explains that mothering practices to inculcate good child b ­ ehaviour will

28  Rosalind Edwards and Val Gillies

help reduce poverty in conflict-ridden countries like Afghanistan ­because ‘the first 1000 days of life are key’: What does helping a 3-year-old control her temper tantrums have to do with reducing global poverty? Quite a lot, says Dana McCoy … ­children’s early cognitive and social development [in low and m ­ iddle ­income countries] has largely been an ‘overlooked’ issue in global ­poverty fighting circles, says McCoy … In Afghanistan, 47 percent of children are in trouble [developmentally]. In 11 countries in Africa the share tops 50%.7 Despite the paucity of evidence that early years intervention works, ­initiatives are being rolled out by Western philanthropic foundations across the developing world in the belief that improved mothering will benefit the state of the nation. The ‘Saving Brains’ partnership of Western philanthropic foundations seeks to ‘save’ both brains and nations through funding early intervention to promote children’s brain development in developing ­countries. Their ‘Fine Brains’ (Family-Inclusive Early Brain Stimulation) programme seeks to promote parental stimulation to improve children’s brain architecture in sub-Saharan Africa. Mothers in these countries are posed as ‘ill-equipped to maximise the benefits’ of interaction; they need to be trained and then to train their husbands to parent properly: Poor stimulation and poor social interaction can affect brain structure and function … parents in sub-Saharan countries are ill-equipped to maximise the benefits from [child-parent] interaction … it is expected that [trained] mothers will in turn train their male partners and other caregivers on these skills, within the context of the home setting. … The intervention will be a randomized control trial. … The effectiveness of the intervention will be evaluated by quantifying the effects on early brain development of children.8 At a stroke, the complex and diverse historical, economic, political, ­social, and religious contexts of sub-Saharan Africa are obscured in favour of a focus on individual mothers as able to overcome poverty, conflict and post-­ conflict, ­engrained gendered inequalities, and so on, through i­ mproving their ­knowledge of child development and home-engagement practices. This smacks of imperialism, with little sense of gender and intergenerational relations.

Conclusion Ideas about brain science and early intervention animate a ‘neurosexism’ that assumes mothers as the ‘natural’ environment for early intervention, and ultimately holds them as cause and solution for the wellbeing of the nation. This gendered focus is interlaced with inequalities of class and race.

(M)othering & politics of early intervention  29

The policy and practice preoccupation with how poor mothers and deprived families bring up and nurture their children relies on a meritocratic construction of the wealthy and privileged as having better-developed brains. This is a statement that many of us might find offensive. But, within the confluence of brain science and early years intervention, success is ­naturalised and unproblematically correlated with brain structure and ­intelligence. From this perspective, the solution to poverty is to make people smarter. Working-class mothers, black and minority ethnic mothers, and mothers in the global South can enable their children to think their way out of their predicament. The idea that real hardship and discrimination are to do with how much attention of the right sort mothers give to their children, and nothing to do with systematically and structurally engrained local, ­national, and global inequalities, is a cruel optimism.

Notes 1 The project was funded (2012 to 2014) by the Faraday Institute under its ‘Uses and Abuses of Biology’ programme: http://uabgrants.org/. The research r­ eceived ethical approval from the University of Southampton: ERGO ID 3581. 2 Note the use of ‘adult’. Beneficial interactions with other young children, or even young people as caregivers, are erased. 3 http://developingchild.harvard.edu/science/key-concepts/serve-and-return/ ­[accessed 1.7.17]. 4 http://reason.com/archives/2014/05/16/prosecuting-pregnant-­women-for-druguse [accessed at 1.7.17]; www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/cifamerica/2012/ apr/26/flaws-prosecuting-mothers-drug-addiction [accessed at 1.7.17]. 5 The practitioner was referring to a specific minority group concentrated in a particular area. Reference to the ethnicity may identify that area and thus the Children’s Centre, so we have not identified it. 6 https://blogs.unicef.org/blog/neuroscience-is-redefining-early-childhood-­ development/ [accessed 1.7.17]. 7 www.npr.org/sections/goatsandsoda/2016/06/09/481399255/kids-development [accessed 1.7.17]. 8 www.savingbrainsinnovation.net/projects/0581-03/ [accessed 1.7.17].

References Allen, G. (2011a) Early Intervention: The Next Steps. An Independent Report to Her Majesty’s Government, London: Cabinet Office. Allen, G. (2011b) Early Intervention: Smart Investment, Massive Savings. The Second Independent Report to Her Majesty’s Government, London: Cabinet Office. Brown, R. and Ward, H. (2012) Decision-making within a Child’s Timeframe an ­Overview of Current Research Evidence for Family Justice Professionals ­Concerning Child Development and the Impact of Maltreatment, Working Paper 13, Childhood Wellbeing Research Centre. Bruer, J.T. (1999) The Myth of the First Three Years: A New Understanding of Early Brain Development and Lifelong Learning, New York: Simon & Schuster. Davis, D.A. (2007) Narrating the mute: racialising and racism in a neo-liberal ­moment, Souls 9(4): 346–360.

30  Rosalind Edwards and Val Gillies Duster, T. (2005) Race and reification in science, Science 307: 1050–1051. ­ andbook, Eysenck, M.W. and Keane, M.T. (2010) Cognitive Psychology: A Student’s H New York: Psychology Press. Featherstone, B., Gupta, A., Morris, K. and Warner, J. (2016) Let’s Stop Feeding the Risk Monster: Towards a Model of ‘Child Protection’, Families, Relationships and Societies. doi:10.1332/204674316X14552878034622. Fine, C. (2010) Delusions of Gender: How Our Minds, Society and Neurosexism ­Create Difference, New York: W.W. Norton & Co. Gerhardt, S. (2004) Why Love Matters: How Affection Shapes a Baby’s Brain, Hove: Brunner-Routledge. Gillies, V., Edwards, R. and Horsley, N. (2017) Challenging the Politics of Early ­Intervention: Who’s ‘Saving’ Children and Why, Bristol: Policy Press. Goldberg, D.T. (2009) The Threat of Race: Reflections on Racial Neoliberalism, ­Oxford: Wiley Blackwell. Hays, S. (1998) The Cultural Contradictions of Motherhood, New York: Yale ­University Press. Keller, H. (2014) Introduction: Understanding relationships – what we would need to know to conceptualise attachment as the cultural solution to a universal human need, in H. Ottoman and H. Keller (Eds) Different Faces of Attachment: Cultural Variation on a Universal Human Need, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 1–26. Kenney, M. and Műller, R. (2016) Of rats and women: Narratives of motherhood in environmental epigenetics, BioSocieties. doi:10.1057/s41292-016-0002-7. Lee, E., Bristow, J., Faircloth, C. and Macvarish, J. (2014) Parenting Culture Studies, Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. LeVine, R.A. (2014) Attachment theory as cultural ideology, in H. Ottoman and H. Keller (Eds) Different Faces of Attachment: Cultural Variation on a Universal Human Need, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Macvarish, J. (2014) Babies’ brains and parenting policy: The insensitive mother, in E. Lee, J. Bristow, C. Faircloth and J. Macvarish (Eds) Parenting Culture Studies, Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 165–183. Mansfield, B. (2012) Race and the new epigenetic biopolitics of environmental health, BioSocieties 7(4): 352–372. Mansfield, B. and Guthman, J. (2015) Epigenetic life: Biological plasticity, ­abnormality and new configurations of race and reproduction, Cultural ­G eographies 22(1): 3–20. Nadeson, M.H. (2002) Engineering the entrepreneurial infant: Brain science, infant development toys, and governmentality, Cultural Studies 16(3): 401–432. Ottoman, H. and Keller, H. (Eds) (2014) Different Faces of Attachment: Cultural Variation on a Universal Human Need, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Parton, N. (2005) Safeguarding Childhood: Early Intervention and Surveillance in Late Modern Society, Basingstoke: Palgrave. Payne, G. (2012) A new social mobility? The political redefinition of a sociological problem, Contemporary Social Science 7(1): 55–71. Reay, D. (2013) Social mobility, a panacea for austere times: Tales of emperors, frogs, and tadpoles, British Journal of Sociology of Education 34(5–6): 660–677. Schore, A. (2000) Attachment and the Regulation of the Right Brain, Attachment and Human Development 2(1): 23–47.

(M)othering & politics of early intervention  31 Singh, I. (2012) Human development, nature and nurture: Working beyond the ­divide, BioSocieties 7(3): 308–321. Thornton, D.J. (2011a) Neuroscience, affect and the entrepreneurialisation of ­motherhood, Communication and Critical/Cultural Studies 8(4): 399–424. Thornton, D.J. (2011b) Brain Cultures: Neuroscience and Popular Media, New ­Brunswick: Rutgers University Press. UCEF (United Nations Children’s Fund) (2001) The State of the World’s Children 2001, New York: UNICEF. Wade, P. (2010) The presence and absence of race, Patterns of Prejudice 44(1): 43–60. Wiggins, M., Oakley, A., Sawtell, M. and Austerberry, H. (2005) Teenage ­Parenthood and Social Exclusion: A Multi-method Study – Summary Report of Findings, ­London, SSRU Institute of Education, University of London. Wise, T. (2010) Colorblind: The Rise of Post-racial Politics and the Retreat from ­R acial Equity, San Francisco: City Lights.

Chapter 3

A mother’s place is in the home Deconstructing self-interest and altruism in feminist economics Coralie Raffenne Introduction As an established academic discipline in many Anglo-American u ­ niversities, feminist economics provides critical analyses of orthodox economics, as well as original and valuable empirical and statistical research on many unexplored areas pertaining to gender inequalities. Just like mainstream economists, pioneering feminist economists carry a diversified agenda rather than a uniform and unified approach. Some seek to influence public policy promotion of gender equality, speaking from a position of relative privilege inherited from economics’ contemporary prestige and influence. Contemporary approaches also explore intersectionality among class, race, gender, and sexuality in the constitution of social and economic identity and discriminations. Historically, “(f)eminist economics emerged from dissatisfaction with the mainstream model for all the elements of economic life left out and rendered invisible, particularly traditionally female responsibilities for housework, childcare, and broader care of the family and community”.1 Therefore, feminist economists have provided a constant and rich critique of the construction of mothers and motherhood in orthodox economics and its implications for gendered economic (dis)empowerment. The motherhood pay gap is a well-illustrated and persisting phenomenon (Power in Figart and Warnecke, 2013, 9): Evidence that mothers suffer a wage penalty over and above the penalty for being a woman raises concerns not only for gender equality but also for the capacity of societies to manage a sustainable balance between their economic aims of active female participation in paid work and the social aims of providing a fair distribution of income to support the reproduction and rearing of children.2 Research has showed that having children brings financial bonuses to ­fathers (Grimshaw and Rubery, 2015), whilst mothers suffer the greatest wage ­penalty, and are left behind childless women in terms of remuneration.

A mother’s place is in the home  33

The  economic inequalities connected to motherhood are diverse. They c­ oncern most activities linked to care work inasmuch as it is perceived and carried out as “woman’s/mother’s work”. To explain gendered economic disempowerment, feminist critique has explored two sides of the same coin. On the one hand, women have been excluded from the traditionally male spheres to which the greatest rewards are attached. Therefore, liberal feminism has promoted equal o ­ pportunities for women, encouraging opportunities to develop a more separated, ­autonomous, and competitive self. On the other hand, feminist economics has attempted to analyse the contribution of devalued care work to ­society, economics, and ethics. These two approaches are complementary, as it seems essential to grant value to the caring traditionally undertaken by women and mothers, but also to encourage a generalised contribution to this form of labour. Economic discourse, in the Foucauldian understanding of both representations and practices, has constituted economic ­processes that tend to marginalise women on the implicit grounds that they are, ­actually or ­potentially, mothers. Based on Nancy Fraser’s theory of justice (Fraser, 2003), it can be argued that women as mothers encounter two forms of ­economic injustice: misrecognition of the value of their labour and ­economic contribution and a resulting maldistribution of economic ­resources. Hence, social and economic justice requires both distributive ­justice, in terms of equal pay and fair remuneration of work undertaken mainly by women for example, and the recognition of the value of different labour and skills attributed to womanhood and, particularly, motherhood. This chapter explores how feminist economics has deconstructed the conceptual tools and assumptions underpinning underrated care work, as the expression of women’s altruism in the home, as opposed to the self-­interested ­ arket. behaviour of the Rational Economic Man (REM) in the context of the m Unspoken masculinist assumptions and values in orthodox economics have material implications for women’s access to resources. The inequalities resulting from contemporary capitalism have been highlighted and challenged by feminist economics, which proposes an alternative through the ethics of care and a renewed understanding of the firm and its responsibility.

Self-interest and the market: the (de)construction of the Rational Economic Man and the value of production The gendered construction of modern liberal rationality has been highlighted by feminist critique. The subject of rights in law and politics is the ­individual, understood as an autonomous agent, whose thought is unaffected by his environment and social context and whose rationality is identified to neutrality and objectivity. Homo oeconomicus or the REM is the calculating counterpart of the rational subject in mainstream economic thought.

34  Coralie Raffenne

The theory of the REM came to dominate economic thought as ­ eoclassical economics imposed its rational choice theory. The ­neoclassical n approach ­focuses on the optimisation of the distribution of goods, ­outputs, and income through market processes. The functioning of the market is constructed as the result of the rational choices of income-constrained ­individuals and of firms, both seeking to maximise utility or profit. U ­ tility is understood as the satisfaction of individual desires autonomously ­determined by the individual. Although neoclassical economics has been criticised in other economic approaches (Sen, 2001), such as institutional and neo-institutional economics, the REM remains paradigmatic. Nancy Folbre (1994) describes him as follows: His tastes and preferences are fully formed; his personal and financial assets are given. He is a rational decision-maker who weighs costs and benefits. He processes perfect information perfectly. All his decisions are motivated by the desire to maximize his own utility (…) to make himself happy. In the competitive marketplace, where he constantly buys and sells, he is entirely selfish, doesn’t care at all about other ­p eople’s utility. The REM’s agency is based on a view of the individual that “presumes that humans are autonomous, impermeable to social influences, and lack sufficient emotional connection to each other to feel any empathy”.3 This view is a gendered construction that assumes that men are naturally ­selfish, ­autonomous, and dominating whereas women are naturally selfless, ­yielding, and dominated. As such, the self-interested individual self is the only one capable of productive and rational behaviour in the context of the market. However, in the home, the REM is altruistic and loves his wife and children as much as his very self. Orthodox economics describes the Market as Homo oeconomicus’ ­natural environment. It is the economic expression of the political notion of the ­ rivate public sphere, as opposed to the family as the economic unit in the p sphere. The Market is the place of exchange where value is created. ­Feminist economics has challenged the primacy of the Market; the notion of social provisioning as the process of producing use and exchange values within and outside the market is proposed as a more inclusive approach. The ­Market ascribes value on the basis of individual choice and ­preferences, driven by competition and self-interest, whereas social provisioning grounds ­economic life in social interactions, granting complexity to markets as s­ ocial ­institutions. On the basis of a more complex understanding of economic processes, unorthodox economists, such as Amartya Sen, have argued for a more comprehensive measurement of economic success. The heterogeneity of human needs that cannot be reduced to income aggregates, including the need for care, has to be accounted for in economic analysis4.

A mother’s place is in the home  35

To challenge the narrow view of the Market as the locus of value production through exchange, some feminist scholars have proposed the calculation of the ­economic ­contribution of women’s unpaid work in the measuring of ­national wealth output5. Contrary to the orthodox view of the Market as the natural environment of the REM, markets are social institutions that do not operate nearly as mechanically as Adam Smith theorised (1776). Many businesses, because of their economic or technological power, are not submitted to market forces and competition. Markets are embedded in moral values and ­regulatory ­systems. They are highly dependent on trust and, at times, sensitive to broader societal or ethical issues and scandals. Hence, the idea that markets are moved solely by the REM’s self-interest without any regard for the value of care and altruism has been forcefully challenged in feminist economics analyses (Nelson, in Figart and Warnecke, 2013). How does neoclassical economics account for home life and the motivations behind the family? The private sphere of the family is described as distinct from the public sphere of the market. The family is preserved from the selfishness of the market. The family has a joint utility function that presumes that all its components want the same thing. The minute the REM walks through the door of the family home, he becomes altruistic as this is the rational behaviour to successfully thrive towards a common goal and destiny. Individual self-interest is replaced by a more collective vision of the interest of the family unit. The REM, far from being a neutral economic model, reflects and perpetuates sexual stereotypes. Nelson has argued that the implicit stereotypes underlying the REM can be traced back to Adam Smith through to “Victorian notions of the hard-driving industrial breadwinner versus the ‘angel in the house’” (Nelson, 2013). The seemingly neutral figure of Homo oeconomicus prioritises masculine-­stereotyped traits over feminine-associated ones. The antiquated figure of the male breadwinner with backstage support continues to constitute, both symbolically and materially, the hegemonic ­economic agent. This is materialised in the wage structure that favours fathers (ILO ­Report, 2015). Recent empirical studies have showed that fathers are perceived as highly committed to paid work and thus deserve to earn the largest bonuses (Hirsh, Hollingdale and Stecy-Hilebrandt in Figart and Warnecke, 2013). The REM is part of the gender subtext in orthodox economies that both symbolically and materially disqualifies mothers’ economic agency. However, with the development of neoliberal interpretations of e­ conomic categories, it can be argued that the most perfect personification of the REM within the firm is the shareholder. This main actor on financial ­markets is chiefly driven by the maximisation of his capital investment, and thus ­particularly concerned by the profit maximisation objectives of the firm. The ideal (male) worker is both selfless in his total identification to the firm’s objectives and an instrument of the shareholders’ self-interest.

36  Coralie Raffenne

Altruism in the family and the work place: The deprecation of the selfless mother and of caring labour The behavioural model within the family is opposed to that of the self-­interest in the market context. The REM becomes altruistic as the other components of the family rely on him for the definition of their joint utility. The other family members are defined as his dependents. Prior to the 18th century, when the family was considered the main site of economic activity, women were seen as productive workers. By 1900, they had been formally ­relegated to the category of “dependents”. This change was caused by a shift in commodity production from the household to the factory in the early years of industrialisation. Production and reproduction were strictly ­separated and caused the disappearance of any consideration of unpaid labour and care that women provided for households. In neoclassical economics, this sexual division of labour is explained and justified through dichotomising spheres of life and the self. Whilst the market is set in motion by self-interest, households seek to maximise a common bundle of goods and services. Mothers’ selflessness: Justifying the gendered division of labour Women as mothers and carers and thus more naturally inclined to altruism are confined to the private sphere of the family. Within the family, each member is part of a greater whole where there is no possible conflict of interest. The will of the caring self dissolves into the will of other family members. Initially totally marginalised and ignored in neoclassical ­m icroeconomics, the family was placed at the centre of studies conducted in the 1980s and 1990s by orthodox American economists such as Gary Becker (1981) who recognised households as part of the economy. The family is then viewed as efficient cooperation in order to optimise the allocation of resources within the unit. Women’s altruistic self is however assumed, not analysed, r­ eflecting the view that women are naturally nurturing and thus less capable of rational economic or moral choices. More recently, economic theory has attempted to introduce the notion of self-interest to correct this vision of the family as a purely altruistic unit. Game-theory and bargaining models have been ­ argaining position applied to the family, taking into account the respective b of family members and their assessment of the utility of the household: optimizing individuals will choose whether to stay in the marriage or leave by comparing the utility they experience in the marriage to what they anticipate if they leave the marriage (…) the resources that one could withdraw from one’s partner and/or retain for oneself if the ­marriage dissolved are those that increase bargaining power. (England, in Ferber and Nelson, 2003, 49)

A mother’s place is in the home  37

Thus, bargaining theories highlight the possible disadvantage for women of a division of labour in which men specialise in the Market and they (the women) are assigned to altruistic tasks. In the context of the workplace, the gendered ideal worker norm is ­paradoxically reliant on a masculine expression of selflessness. The ideal worker is constructed as devoted to paid employment and w ­ illing to ­demonstrate his commitment through long hours, flexibility about ­private responsibilities arranged around work, and mobility6. Where the ­organisational unit concerned is the firm, the worker is soluble in the ­profit-maximisation ends of business. All workers, including mothers, are evaluated with implicit reference to this norm. It is assumed that women (as actual or potential mothers) are devoted to caregiving in the home; thus, ­female workers hit the “maternal wall”, the impossibility of fulfilling the ideal worker criteria. Therefore, the cultural representations of women as mothers are deeply embedded in orthodox economics through this d ­ ouble bind. In the context of the firm, the ideal worker is soluble in the self-­interest of the shareholders who seek to maximise their capital investment on ­financial markets. Distributional effects The REM neither needs nor provides care and pursues his own self-interest. Caring labour, on the other hand, is constructed as a selfless endeavour epitomised by mothering. This conceptual dichotomy is materialised through very concrete outcomes: Occupational segregation, the unequal sharing of domestic and reproductive labour, the wage gap, and underpaid care work. The enduring perception that care is the natural domain of women as actual and potential mothers has a two-fold effect. Firstly, the motherhood penalty has been highlighted in many national and international studies (ILO Reports). Orthodox economics provides the following accepted rationalisation: The rationalist economics approach emphasizes the following ­factors: ­ arket (1) reduced “human capital”, or knowledge, subsequent to labour m interruptions or reductions in working time, and subsequent ­reduced commitment (since women are more likely to face employment interruptions, they are less inclined to seek out training or higher-paid ­positions with more responsibility); and (2) employment in f­ amily-friendly jobs which are lower-paying (after having children women often opt into part-time jobs, and may have little option but to accept jobs with less responsibility). (Grimshaw and Rubery, 2015, v) Feminist economics emphasises the impact of the gendered norm of the ideal worker in the evaluation of careers. A study conducted in the United

38  Coralie Raffenne

States reveals that mothers suffer a 7% wage penalty per child; however, only 2% of this penalty can be related to delays in careers; the remaining 5% cannot be explained on the basis of lost job experience (Budig and England, 2001). Moreover, women who take parental leave of 15 months or longer are likely to suffer an irreversible penalty and experience no ­upward ­occupational move. Another American study conducted amongst undergraduate ­students in charge of evaluating fictitious CVs reveals that evaluators gave lower ­competence and commitment ratings, and thus lower salaries, to the ­fictitious mother candidates as compared to women with no children, whilst offering fathers the highest starting salaries (Hirsh, ­Hollingdale, Stecy-Hilebrandt in Figart and Warnecke, 2013). Secondly, the dichotomous agency opposing self-interested economic ­actors to altruistic homemakers is implicitly hierarchical as it entails that care work, when it is not done for free, deserves a low remuneration; it is even more poorly paid than non-care work involving a similar level of skill. This has been described as the “care penalty” (Budig and England, 2001). Various explanations have been put forward to account for this ­p enalty. Care work is described as involving natural female ability connected to mothering. The resulting sense of satisfaction and utility would explain the acceptance of lower wages. Feminist analyses point out that the care ­p enalty is unconnected to the nature of the work itself, but inherent to the way care work is represented and organisationally structured. Therefore, care work can imprison women in social roles, which makes resorting to collective ­industrial action to improve wages and work conditions more symbolically and practically problematic. Care workers become “prisoners of love” as Nancy Folbre framed it (Nelson, in Figart and Warnecke, 2013). The global care chain entails that working mothers in rich countries employ paid care workers from poorer countries, paying wages that will necessarily be much ­ rganisational lower than what they themselves earn. The cultural and o framework that devalues care extends to all female-typed work even if it does not directly involve caring activities (Hirsh, Hollingdale, Stecy-­Hilebrandt in Figart and Warnecke, 2013). The conceptual limits of the self-interested/altruistic dichotomy There is no consensus as to how to value women’s caring role and work in the family and in the workplace in the face of the REM’s prominence. ­Maintaining gendered identification of care to women is contested by many feminist thinkers, whilst cultural feminists celebrate feminine traits and ­difference, albeit constructed through patriarchal domination. The ­recognition of the value of care work in the home and outside can r­ einforce stereotypes and further limit women’s access to money and power. Policies that take into account the gendered division of labour to grant more

A mother’s place is in the home  39

time or pay ­benefits to mothers at work, such as “mommy tracks” (Budig and ­England, 2001) have the counter-productive effect of increasing ­discrimination for women as they become more expensive to hire. Feminist economic critique suggests that both the paradigm of self-­ interest and that of altruism should be deconstructed. Men’s selfish ­autonomy ­outside the family is exaggerated whilst giving them credit for too much altruism within the family. Stay-at-home mothers are described as “dependents”, but in fact their husbands, as well as their children, are quite dependent on them for care and nurturing. Gender discrimination in the workplace is the expression of a selective form of altruism and solidarity that benefits men and runs contrary to the principles of market rationality and competition. Hence, homophily in recruitment and career advancement means that the REM will favour his fellow self at the expense of efficiency criteria. Orthodox economics naturalises gendered constructions and ­processes through apparently gender-neutral models. However, altruism in the f­ amily context is not the result of a natural tendency in women and ­particularly mothers, but the result of limited choice; many political, s­ ocial, and l­ egal rules, including property rights, have restricted ­women’s choices more than men’s. The social norms regarding appropriate ­gender roles were and are ­enforced by systemic and institutional violence. The social norms ­c oncerning the division of work are reinforced by l­ egal ones. For instance, in France, court decisions organising child custody and ­a llowance after ­parental separation reinforce gender and class ­stereotypes regarding the division of labour between fathers and mothers, and the ­values of their ­respective roles. The legal rules and their judicial implementation, far from limiting the negative impact of a separation for mothers, further aggravate existing economic inequalities within the couple (Le Collectif Onze, 2013). In many industrialised countries, care work has increasingly moved out of ­ arket women’s traditional realm of the home and into the public realms of m ­ odify the and governmental provision; nonetheless, this transfer did not m gender structure of care giving or increased respect and v­ aluing of ­women’s work through visibility and exchange value. As argued ­previously, paid ­caregivers are predominantly female and underpaid, although ­altruism can hardly be used as an economic explanation in this market context. More suitable ­explanations can be sought in the structure of the global care chain and the fact that paid care work in industrialised countries is undertaken primarily by women from the South, with specific intersectional ­effect on this kind of labour. Whether in the home or in the market, women still do a disproportionate share of care and housework, and reference to a ­natural selflessness of mothers, as opposed to the rational self-interest of Homo ­oeconomicus, can no longer provide a satisfactory explanation for the ­enduring gendered division of labour.

40  Coralie Raffenne

The new feminist economics of care A focus on care can reinforce gendered stereotypes if it is considered that caring is a natural female talent, a biological expression of the ­mothering body. The critique of the marginalisation of care work in orthodox ­economic analysis can, on the contrary, be the medium through which dominant ­dichotomies are challenged: male/female; selfish/altruistic. Caring implies reciprocity, altruism, and responsibility for others. The very concept of care work threatens the underpinnings of neoclassical economic theory: REM maximises a utility function that does not include any consideration of other people’s welfare, especially those who are outside the immediate family. Care work can also be done for money and, in any case, it is linked to economic production. Caring labour underpins the ability of people to provide labour to the paid economy and is an essential component of the development of future citizens, workers, and taxpayers. Caring labour, paid or unpaid, is an economy-wide necessity. Mainstream economics is unable to explain a paradox at the heart of caring, care work, and the family, acutely experienced by all mothers: The tension among selfishness and altruism, individual self-interest, and the interests of the group as a whole. It treats the family either as though it were a single person with one common will or as a collection of single individuals bargaining with each other in a completely selfish way. The feminist focus on gender and caring allows for a deep challenge to structuring mainstream economic concepts such as the motivations behind most economic agency, the social embeddedness of corporations, and interdependency in business relations.

Beyond gendered dichotomies: Relational autonomy and responsibility, the ethics of care applied to the firm Feminist economics and work on care have conceptual implications that go beyond a critique of the gendered division of labour. They provide a ­renewed perspective on essential economic concepts such as the firm and its function. Indeed, through a feminist perspective, it is possible to ­challenge the view that firms, as rational economic agents maximising profits, are ­naturally ­unethical in the face of the race to the bottom imposed by m ­ arket ­competition. The Corporate Social Responsibility (CSR) scholarship, which questions the orthodox vision of the firm as a profit machine in the sole ­interest of shareholders, and feminist economics’ focus share ­congruent aims as to the (de)construction of corporate culture and organisation (Mumford, 2010). Therefore, their conceptual framework can be connected and mutually reinforced.

A mother’s place is in the home  41

The firm: Selfish or altruistic? In mainstream economics, the firm is an extension of the REM and obeys the same logic. According to Milton Friedman: “Few trends could so t­ horoughly undermine the very foundations of our free society as the ­acceptance by ­corporate officials of a social responsibility other than to make as much money for their stockholders as possible” (1962, 134). In the dominant view, the firm acts on the market as a non-relational entity, c­ ompeting with all others with the sole objective of maximising profits. The individual firm confronts an external world of market forces and competitors, which undermines its prospects for success. It is a mechanical sociopath. Competitive pressures will run out of business any company that pays ­attention to anything other than wealth maximisation. Competition makes for stronger, healthier companies that are self-reliant. Competition brings out the best in the people in the firm and helps to trim away waste. ­Corporations are driven by market forces beyond their control. Far from ­being solely driven by their own choice, they are constrained by regulation or market competition; they show no discretion in whether to consider ­ethical or ­environmental issues. Within the framework of orthodox economics, corporations appear in constant tension as they are caught in the middle of conflicting forces: Their own internal and selfish dynamics, market pressures, and the legal requirement to comply with the public interest. These representations lead to an adversarial vision of economic processes, where ethics necessarily conflict with business, and regulations are an unacceptable burden on companies. Very little space is left for issues such as gender equality or more general social justice and environmental protection. There are two possible ways to address this conceptual dead-end: Either to integrate these issues to ­current economic thinking, by arguing for instance that gender equality or ­environmental protection make good business sense; or to promote a more radical change in the conceptual and cultural framework of corporation and broader economic discourse. Stakeholder view in CSR thinking: An alternative approach to the firm Business ethics theorists have developed the notion of CSR that challenges the mainstream view of the firm, constructing it as citizen driven not only by profit but also in consideration of its positive and negative impact on the world. Central to CSR theories is the notion of stakeholders. Stakeholder theorists attempt to articulate the meaning of the firm and the sense of ­responsibility that businesses should feel to those both inside and outside the “walls”.

42  Coralie Raffenne

Rather than viewing the firm as an autonomous and self-centred unit, CSR theories describe the corporation as constituted by the network of ­relationships in which it is involved with the employees, customers, ­suppliers, communities, businesses, and other groups who interact with and give meaning to the firm’s activity. The firm is no more and no less than a web of relations among stakeholders in its specific environment. CSR has been interpreted and implemented from very ­different ­perspectives. Some authors consider that CSR can challenge the ­shareholder primacy imposed by neoliberal capitalism, whilst other ­scholars ­argue that CSR has been instrumentalised by companies to promote a ­superficial ­approach to major social issues such as child labour or global ­warming. Whilst some authors give no credit at all to the existing CSR f­ ramework as a means for addressing unethical and destructive corporate ­behaviour (Shamir, 2010), others argue that CSR with genuine stakeholder ­empowerment can make corporations accountable, but only if CSR comes with a radical ­rethinking of the basic assumptions of economic rationality and corporate culture (­ Ireland and Pillay, 2010). This radical reassessment is precisely what is being put forward by many feminist economists. One form of stakeholder empowerment can be through gender-inclusive corporate leadership. The business case for gender equality in companies is well established. Research has also recently directed itself to the correlation between greater gender-inclusive boardrooms and increased CSR performance: Prior Catalyst research has established that companies with the highest representation of women leaders financially outperform, on average, companies with the lowest. In fact, companies that maintained board gender diversity in at least four out of five years significantly outperformed those with zero women directors. Even as a commitment to gender-inclusive leadership, particularly when sustained over time, is associated with higher returns on the short-term balance sheet, the benefits of gender-inclusive leadership extend beyond financials. New data from Catalyst and researchers from Harvard Business School ­suggest that gender-inclusive leadership and corporate social responsibility (CSR) are linked. … This research suggests that gender-inclusive leadership is good for business and society. Findings demonstrate that ­corporate stakeholders understand the value of gender-inclusive leadership and its positive influence on the quantity of a company’s CSR activities. Gender- inclusive leadership may also increase the quality of CSR initiatives. Companies with both women and men leaders in the boardroom and at the executive table are poised to achieve sustainable big wins for the company and society. (Soares, Marquis, and Lee, 2011)

A mother’s place is in the home  43

Although this research establishes a correlation between gender-inclusive management and greater CSR, no causal link can be asserted. It argues that a more diverse perspective on issues of fairness in the boardroom certainly broadens a company’s approach of CSR. In any case, it is not argued here that women, or mothers, naturally adopt a more caring attitude in their ­corporate leadership. When feminist critique meets business ethics The congruence between feminist analyses of care and CSR has been raised by CSR theorists themselves. In their work, prominent stakeholder ­theorists have explicitly relied on the feminist ethics of care (Wicks, Gilbert, and Freeman, 1994). The work of Carol Gilligan (1982) is referred to in order to redefine and broaden the responsibility of the firm. The ethics of care has inspired certain feminist writings on care work and its place in the global economy (Nelson, 2013). Both approaches put forward a strong critique of caring understood as a natural expression of female altruism and devalued because it is socially engendered to women, particularly mothers. The capacity for care should be regarded as a strength and a socially essential skill to be taught to and expected of men as well as women, in the home as well as in the company. Individuals and firms are to be understood as having varying degrees of dependence and interdependence on one another. Those particularly affected by one’s choices deserve extra consideration to be measured according to their vulnerability; the ­latter proposition reflects the stakeholders’ theory that companies are responsible for the impact of their actions to their broader environment − workers, suppliers, customers and the environment. The ethics of care is a normative theory guiding behaviour, ­including ­corporate decision-making, based on the idea that interpersonal ­relationships and care or benevolence is central to moral action. Setting aside the ideology of orthodox economics and the REM, firms are to be considered as embedded in a societal and environmental context that they must take into account on ethical as well as economic grounds. Therefore, the feminist critique of the REM can be transposed to firms to provide a framework for social and environmental responsibility, and to replace economic ideal-types based on conflict and competition by an ethics of responsibility and collective action. A change in the normative framework of corporate and business culture and the broader economy requires a deep questioning and reconstruction of its current ideological framework. Feminist economics has a valuable contribution to make to this endeavour. The new concepts and proposals arising from this must be implemented through material instruments provided by law, rather than left to voluntary private initiatives. Unless the

44  Coralie Raffenne

current understanding of the very nature of the firm is overhauled, gender equality policies will always be perceived as burdens on companies and fail to hit their target. Feminist economics effectively questions the ­neoclassical hegemony of Homo oeconomicus and its current neoliberal expression in the shareholder primacy. Such questioning seems necessary to the effective ­i mplementation of economic gender equality.

Notes 1 Marilyn Power in Figart, D.M. and Warnecke, T. (eds), 2013, p. 9. 2 ILO, see in particular “The motherhood pay gap: A review of the issues, theory and international evidence”. Damian Grimshaw and Jill Rubery, University of Manchester, 2015 ILO Report, Conditions of Work and Employment Series, No. 57. 3 Nancy Folbre (1994). 4 P. England, “Separative and soluble selves: Dichotomous thinking in ­e conomics”. In Ferber and Nelson (eds), 2003, p. 34. 5 Marilyn Power in Figart, D.M. and Warnecke, T. (eds), 2013. 6 J.A. Nelson in Figart, D.M. and Warnecke, T. (eds), 2013, p. 69.

References Becker, Gary S. A Treatise on the Family. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press (1981, Enlarged ed., 1991). Budig, Michelle, and England, Paula. “The Wage Penalty for Motherhood”. ­American Sociological Review, 66: 204–225 (2001). Ferber, Marianne, and Nelson, Julie. Feminist Economics Today Beyond Economic Man. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press (2003). Figart, Deborah M., and Warnecke, Tonia L. (eds). Handbook of Research on G ­ ender and Economic Life. Cheltenham: Edward Elgar (2013). Folbre, Nancy. Who Pays for the Kids? Gender and the Structures of Constraint. ­London: Routledge (1994). Fraser, Nancy. Fortunes of Feminism: From State-managed Capitalism to ­Neoliberal Crisis. Brooklyn, NY: Verso Books (2013).Fraser, Nancy, and H ­ onneth, Axel. Redistribution or Recognition? A Political-philosophical Exchange. London; New York: Verso (2003). Friedman, Milton. Capitalism and Freedom. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press (1962). ­ evelopment. Gilligan, Carol. In a Different Voice: Psychological Theory and Women’s D Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press (1982). Grimshaw, Damian, and Rubery, Jill. The Motherhood Pay Gap: A Review of the Issues, Theory and International Evidence. ILO Report, Conditions of Work and Employment Series No. 57 (2015). Ireland, Paddy, and Pillay, Renginee G. “Corporate Social Responsibility in a ­Neoliberal Age”, in Utting, Peter, and Marques, José Carlos (eds). Corporate ­Social Responsibility and Regulatory Governance. International Political ­Economy Series. London: Palgrave Macmillan (2010), 77–104. Le Collectif Onze. Au tribunal des couples. Enquête sur des affaires familiales. Paris: Éditions Odile Jacob (2013).

A mother’s place is in the home  45 Mumford, Ann. Tax Policy, Women and the Law: UK and Comparative Perspectives. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press (2010). Nelson, Julie A. “Gender and Caring’’ in Deborah M. Figart, and Tonia L. Warnecke (eds.). Handbook of Research on Gender and Economic Life. Cheltenham: Edward Elgar, 2015, 62–76. Sen, Amartya. Development as Freedom (2nd ed.). Oxford; New York: Oxford ­University Press (2001). Shamir, Ronen. “Capitalism, Governance, and Authority: The Case of ­Corporate Social Responsibility”. Annual Review of Law and Social Sciences, 2010, 6: 531–553. Smith, Adam. An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations (1776). Edited by S. M. Soares. MetaLibri Digital Library, 29th May 2007. https://www. ibiblio.org/ml/libri/s/SmithA_WealthNations_p.pdf Soares, Rachel, Marquis, Christopher, and Lee, Matthew. “Gender and Corporate Social Responsibility: It’s a Matter of Sustainability”. Catalyst, 2011: 78–92 (2011). Wicks, Andrew C., Gilbert, Daniel R., and Freeman, R. Edward “Feminist ­Reinterpretation of the Stakeholder Concept”. Business Ethics Quarterly, 4(4): 475–497 (October, 1994).

Part 1

Difficult times for mothers

Chapter 4

Mother figures behind bars Pregnant women and mothers in prison in England and Wales Katherine Albertson, Mary J Renfrew, Georgina Lessing-Turner, and Catherine Burke

Introduction Women have served custodial sentences separately from male prisoners in the UK since the first purpose-built female prison, HMP Holloway in London, was opened in 1902. Likewise, for over 100 years, mothers have been allowed to keep their babies with them in prison, but no formal ­arrangements were made in the UK until the early 1980s (HM Prison Service, 1999). Present day arrangements are that women entering prison, who are pregnant or have a child under the age of 18 months, have the right to apply for a place in a Mother and Baby Unit (MBU). Every year, around 600 pregnant women are held in English prisons, yet in 2015, Ministry of Justice figures suggest that only 100 babies lived with their mothers in prison. The limited research base indicates that while this subject is a complex issue, despite finding that mothers and babies can often benefit from residing in a supportive MBU, this resource is significantly under-utilised. In February 2016, the then Prime Minister commented that it was “absolutely terrible” to think of infants spending time behind bars, subsequently calling for an urgent rethink of the prison system. In the same year, a BBC Radio 4 soap opera “The Archers” carried a storyline of a pregnant woman in prison, resulting in national media attention and wide public debate, underlining the continued influence of political agendas and mediated representations of motherhood on real women’s lives. This chapter highlights the policy, research, and current evidence-base in light of this increasingly politicised and culturally contested representational milieu. We utilise Foucault’s (1990) notion of motherhood in prison as a historically situated figure that is put into discourse. Through an examination of the MBU application policy and the current under-utilisation of MBU places, this chapter exposes the implicit and yet underpinning notional representations of ‘appropriate’ motherhood in this context.

50  Katherine Albertson et al.

Motherhood in prison, a figure put into discourse More than ten years ago, Kath Woodward argued that motherhood in contemporary Western culture occupies a particular but ambiguous place. Motherhood is subject to strongly contested and often highly idealized representations. Motherhood is recognizable and identifiable through the discursive and symbolic regimes which produce meanings about the experience, and through which we make sense of our identities. (Woodward, 2003, p. 18) This chapter utilises a cultural studies approach in order to examine the politics of representation by exploring the ways in which motherhood in prison is represented through discourses in popular culture, political rhetoric, and criminal justice policy documentation in England in the 21st century. This chapter argues that as a signifying system, while the cultural representation of motherhood in prison can and does change, it continues to not simply reflect, but reproduce the dominant social order. In order to examine the influences on our ideas about motherhood within the prison context, we must pay attention to meanings and how they are produced and re-produced (Hall, 1997). In Western cultures, idealised notions of motherhood are constructed that operate to regulate and control the behaviour of women, via distinguishing a “good” mother from a “bad” mother (Maher, 1992, p. 39). In Britain, media representations of female offenders conform to ‘discourses of representation specific to deviant women’ (Wykes, 1995, p. 52) traditionally based on women being considered either ‘bad’ or ‘mad’ (Wilczynski, 1991; Weatherby et al., 2008). The tendency to characterise female offenders as doubly deviant, by way of breaking both the law and society’s gendered expectations, is argued to serve a two-fold moral function by both reinforcing concepts of appropriate gender behaviour, and as a cautionary tale to ward other woman against deviating from these expectations (Heidensohn, 1989, p. 102; Lloyd, 1995). With regard to motherhood in prison, these complex and pervasive ideologically based perceptions impact on criminal justice practitioner decisions around the sentencing of mothers (Carlen, 1988 cited in Medlicott, 2007, p. 255; ), and are also internalised by female prisoners (Clark, 1995; Schram, 1999). These judgements of appropriate notions of “good” motherhood have significant impacts in the criminal justice context, which is important with regard to their implications on criminal justice policy as of all the subtler constraints on the way women act and are supposed to act, few are more complex than the workings of social policies. (Heidensohn et al., 1985, p. 191)

Mother figures behind bars  51

This chapter presents a Foucauldian-inspired critique of the production of meaning through discourse to examine the contemporary discourse around motherhood in prison in the UK. Drawing on Foucault’s (1971, 1972) work, the authors draw together a range of discourses, describing the rules, dimensions, and actual practices resulting from a particular body of knowledge or representational system that encapsulates the figure of motherhood in prison in the 21st century English context. This chapter is structured around three broad dimensions of discursive practice, underpinned by Foucault’s concepts, which direct our attention as follows: •

•

•

First by incorporating a genealogical1 aspect, to explore the order or emergence of the issue at hand (Foucault, 1977). This chapter provides a summary of the wider UK criminal justice policy context that underpins the management of both women and mothers in prison. Second by presenting an exploration of the actual mechanisms of the MBU application criteria, imbued within existing power relations, to assess how they may function as an implicit demonstration (Foucault, 1982) of approved or refused motherhood status in prison. The author’s research and other data in this area are used to contextualise this section. Finally by addressing issues of subjectification2 (Foucault, 1982) through an examination of the signifying practices that impact on women who find themselves in this position − brought to life with selected excerpts of interviews with women having been through the MBU system − with the kind permission of Birth Companions.3 This aim is also complemented by a broader critique of the national UK media-based discourse resulting from a pregnant woman in prison story line in a popular BBC Radio programme.

In this way, this chapter presents the examination of a representational system of discourse − as a figure of motherhood (Foucault, 1982) that holds particular reverberations in mid-2000s England. A figure put into discourse through political, social policy discourse and media-generated representation, all of which have a powerful impact on those women in custody with the right to active and on-going motherhood status in prison.

Discourse 1− Women in prison and the UK penal policy context In order to account for the order or emergence (Foucault, 1977) and development of the discourse around mothers in prison, this section provides a short historical contextualisation of the key events around women’s imprisonment in the UK penal policy context (Crowther-Dowey, 2007; Medlicott, 2007; Prison Reform Trust, 2015).

52  Katherine Albertson et al.

While mothers have been allowed to keep their babies with them informally in UK prisons for over a 100 years, these arrangements were not formalised until the early 1980s (HM Prison Service, 1999). In 1983, in response to increasing public concern around women in prison, the national charity and pressure group Women in Prison was established to monitor developments in the female prison estate. In 1989, the Home Office commissioned a report regarding the appropriate development of young children in prison MBUs (Home Office, 1989). By the early 1990s, the UK experienced a change in rhetoric contained within the Criminal Justice Act 1991, which focussed on promoting justice through community rather than custodial sentences; however, this change in penal thinking was short-lived and we saw a reversion to more punitive attitudes to social and criminal justice issues, parallel with lone parents being subjected to national disparagement (see Crowther-Dowey, 2007). By 1993, the then Justice Secretary, declared “Prison Works” at the Conservative Party Conference, and the future dominance of custodial sentences in the UK seemed assured. However, in 1994, the UK was rocked by the public scandal of pregnant prisoners being handcuffed whilst in labour, and a year later, the Chief Inspector of Prisons staged a public “walk-out” of HMP Holloway in response to the unsanitary conditions within the prison. A Home Office research report highlighted the high proportion of women in prison who were either pregnant or had dependent children. The survey found that 61% of women prisoners were mothers of children less than 18 years of age, with a high percentage under 5 years of age (Home Office, 1997). The resulting media headlines sent an indignant message around the issue of sending mothers of young children to prison in the UK press, with reports such as: ‘Pregnant women suffer behind bars’ (The Independent, 7 August 1997); ‘Call for rethink on jail mothers’ (Evening Standard, 24 June 1997); and ‘Pity for mums’ (Manchester Evening News, 6 October 1997) (cited in Caddle, 1997, p. 21). A time for change? In 1998, the Home Office responded to increasing public concern with the creation of the Women’s Policy Group and the production of a Strategy for Women Offenders by 2000. A series of high-profile reports4 have subsequently concluded that prison is rarely a necessary, appropriate, or proportionate response to women who get caught up in the criminal justice system. In 2008, the UK’s newly formulated National Offender Management Service (NOMS) developed gender-specific standards under the Prison Service Order 4800. By 2010, the impact of the introduction of the Equality Act 2010 in the UK was felt with its requirement of an assessment of different needs of women and men in the criminal justice system (Ministry of Justice/NOMS, 2012). Also in 2010, the UK signed up to the United Nations Rules for the Treatment

Mother figures behind bars  53

of Women Prisoners and Non-custodial Measures for Women Offenders(the Bangkok Rules5). A recent Criminal Justice Committee concluded that the newly introduced Equity duties do not appear to have had the desired impact on the provision of gender-specific services, or on broader policy initiatives (House of Commons Justice Committee, 2013). More broadly, the UK criminal justice system remains in considerable upheaval as a result of the UK Government’s Transforming Rehabilitation6 reforms. The current landscape of criminal justice discourse How the Transforming Rehabilitation changes will impact mothers in prison is still to become clear. Given the penal policy rhetoric rationalising these transformations, one can hear both the justification of austerity (under the Coalition Government’s austerity programme) and that since 2010, NOMS has been tasked with making savings of £900m (equivalent to a cut of just under 25%7), as, ‘The cost to the taxpayer of reoffending is estimated to be £9.5 to £13 billion per year’ (Ministry of Justice, 2010). Similarly, in January 2013, the Government announced a review of the women’s prison estate with the same rationale: We simply cannot afford—either financially or morally—to ignore these issues. It costs £45,000 to keep a woman in prison for one year, while almost 45 per cent of all women released from custody in 2010 reoffended within 12 months, committing further offences and creating countless more victims. Where women commit crimes, they must be punished ­appropriately and properly. (Ministry of Justice, 2013, p. 2) In 2015, it was announced that the UK’s biggest female prison, HMP Holloway (which also contained a MBU up until 2013), was to close. Francis Crook of the Howard League for Penal Reform is reported as commenting “Simply moving women in order to sell off land during London’s seemingly unstoppable property boom, is not courageous” (cited in Saner, 2016). Since the 1970s, feminist criminologists have asserted that women’s deviant behaviour is demonised by society as being doubly deviant: having not only broken the law, but having violated normative standards of femininity (Chesney-Lind and Pasko, 2013; Smart, 2013). Despite this, however, mainstream criminology and criminal justice practice have largely continued to both explain and treat female deviance through the lens of physiological or psychological disturbance (Gaarder et al., 2004). The ad hoc way in which women’s prison regimes have been shaped by specific and ideological conceptions of idealised femininity, womanhood, and motherhood can be seen as a perpetuation of wider welfare anxieties about the role of women in the family and society (Carlen and Worrall, 2004).

54  Katherine Albertson et al.

Discourse 2 – Mother and Baby Unit admission criteria In order to pay attention to mechanisms imbued with existing power relations and how they function (Foucault, 1982), this section provides a description of the MBU admission criteria as indicative of wider socially constructed perceptions regarding the criteria by which motherhood is accepted or denied within the criminal justice context. In 2012, there were seven prisons with MBUs with a national capacity for 77 babies in the UK. At the time of writing, there are six prisons8 in England with MBUs (Ministry of Justice, 2017). Currently, MBUs in the UK have a total capacity for 64 babies, who can stay with their mothers in prison until they are 18 months old (Delap and Abbott, 2016). Up until 2016, the actual number of pregnant and postpartum women in UK prisons was not known (see Albertson et al., 2012). Every year, however, it is estimated that around 600 pregnant women are held in prisons in England and Wales (Kennedy et al., 2016, p. 1), and in 2015, 100 babies spent time in an MBU (Delap and Abbott, 2016, p. 34). The numbers of children spending time within prison nurseries were likewise not collated, making them ‘institutionally invisible’ (Pösö et al., 2010, p. 516). However, as of July 2016 data on MBUs is to be included as part of the NOMS annual reporting (Ministry of Justice, 2016). The operational framework for delivering MBU facilities is set out in Prison Service Instruction 54 (2011) and Prison Service Instruction 49/20149 MBUs. All MBU applications − whether made before or after ­entering prison − are considered by an Admissions Board (Ministry of ­Justice, 2016, p. 3): The Board must be multi-disciplinary and include an Independent Chair, MBU Manager, Community Offender Manager, and have input from Local Authority Children’s Services. The best interests of the child are the primary consideration, alongside the safety and welfare of other mothers and babies on the unit. Each application decision is made based on the following criteria: • • • •

There are no concerns about mother’s conduct and behaviours that may place her own children or other mothers’ children on the unit at risk. The applicant has provided a urine sample for a Mandatory Drugs Test that tests negative for illicit substances. The applicant is willing to refrain from substance misuse. The applicant is prepared to sign a standard compact, which may be tailored to her identified individual needs.

Mother figures behind bars  55

•

The applicant’s ability and eligibility to care for her child is not impaired by poor health or for legal reasons such as the child being in care or subject to a Child Protection Plan (Prison Service Instruction, 2014, section 2.16, p. 8).

In order to put the MBU eligibility criteria listed above in context, it is important to clarify the profile of the UK female prison population. The next section will turn to the authors’ and other researchers’ findings regarding low rates of MBU utilisation. Prison Reform Trust (2016) figures from 2015 show that rates of selfharm in the UK’s female prison estate are at the highest level ever; the female prisoner population accounts for 23% of these reports, despite representing just 5% of the total prison population. Over half of the female prison population in 2015 (53%) report experiencing some form of abuse as a child, and just less than half (46%) have a history of domestic abuse. In terms of mental health profile, 26% of women in prison received treatment for a mental health problem in the year before custody. Finally, 46% of women prisoners report having attempted suicide at some point in their lives. With these female prison population facts in mind, compounded by the idealised notions of “good” motherhood, returning to the MBU application criteria above, it is therefore less surprising that a recent HMP Inspector of Prisons Annual Report (2015, p. 15) found that MBUs were under-used. Empirical data regarding these issues remains however scarce.

Discourse 3 – Representation, subjectification, and reality: Motherhood in prison By attending to processes of subjectification (Foucault, 1983), this section examines signifying practices that influence women’s decisions regarding having their children with them in prison in the UK. This section highlights a number of structural and cultural constraints that negatively affect active motherhood role opportunities within the criminal justice system. In 2016, it is estimated that around 50% of pregnant women or mothers of children under 18 months going into prison do not apply for, or are unsuccessful in their application for, an MBU place and are subsequently separated from their babies (Kennedy et al., 2016). Ministry of Justice (2016, p. 5) figures highlight that of the 173 applications to an MBU made in 2015, of those applications that resulted in a recommendation, 65% were approved and 35% were refused. Gregorie and colleagues (2010) surveyed women with children less than 18 months old in seven prisons in the UK; 92% knew about MBUs before imprisonment, while just less than a third (30%) applied for an MBU place.

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Of the remaining sample, the rationales for not applying were as follows: For 24%, the child was already in a social services placement; 23% did not feel prison was the right environment for their babies; their children were settled with family members (16%); 10% had children over the age limit; and 4% did not know they could apply. Of the mothers in the study who applied for an MBU place: • • •

30% were refused on the grounds of their sentence length, and 9% were awaiting a decision from the MBU Board. 6% were refused because of a previous childcare history; 6% already had their child removed; 6% had changed their minds. 3% were refused because of the nature of their offence; the remainder were unclear about the reasons they had been refused a place (Gregoire et al., 2010, p. 384).

Subsequent studies have identified four significant factors that mitigate MBU applications: Criminal justice practice and processes; MBU eligibility criteria issues; the influence of perceptions of other family members and staff; and wider perceptions that prison is not the right environment for a baby (O’Keefe and Dixon, 2015).

Criminal justice practice and process Current criminal justice practice and process leave mothers inadequately informed about the provisions available in MBUs (Albertson et al., 2012, 2014; O’Keefe and Dixon, 2015). Mothers appearing in court, not expecting to receive a custodial sentence, are unprepared for making the necessary care arrangements, including an MBU application. Further, on arrival in prison, women do not reveal their status as mothers and are too distressed to absorb prison reception information (O’Keefe and Dixon, 2015). I never knew what I was entitled to, there were no brochures. There was nothing that said this is what happens when you have a baby in prison, this is what you are entitled to. (interview with mother in prison, in Kennedy et al., 2016, p. 22) It has also been suggested that there is significant inconsistency in practice relating to MBU admissions (Children’s Commissioner, 2008), while foreign national prisoners may be more likely to apply for and get an MBU place (Galloway et al., 2014). In addition, it has been argued that the selection criteria for MBUs favour women from ethnic minorities because they tend to be serving longer sentences and are less likely to have mental health issues (Birmingham et al., 2006).

Mother figures behind bars  57

Eligibility/criteria issues A further mitigating factor regarding accessing MBU places is identified as an apparent lack of clarity on the application criteria cited by MBU prison staff (Albertson et al., 2012). The criteria appear ‘to select out women with psychiatric morbidity, child care problems and other difficulties’ (Birmingham et al., 2016, p. 393). I noticed they [healthcare staff] always spoke to the officers first even though I’ll be sitting there, so it’s like they discarded me as a human being. (interview with mother in prison, in Kennedy et al., 2016, p. 23) While mental health issues are not explicitly referred to in the MBU application exclusion criteria, this ‘may have the effect of excluding women with recognised or unrecognised mental illness’ (Gregoire et al., 2010, p. 379; Birmingham et al., 2006). These researchers go on to suggest that women with mental illness may therefore be much more likely to be found in the group of mothers separated from their babies in prison. I was handcuffed on my way to the appointment. It was so degrading, people looking at you and judging. It was the worst feeling in the world. (interview with mother in prison, in Kennedy et al., 2016, p. 23) In other words, women who have treatable mental health problems are effectively excluded from MBU places, based on these application-criteria issues (Gregoire et al., 2010).

The influence of perceptions of other family members and staff The views of other family members and professional healthcare staff can prove influential in a woman’s decision-making regarding applying for an MBU placement, for example, those who either a) do not want the baby to be in a custodial setting or b) see the prison as a long distance from them as impeding access to the child (O’Keefe and Dixon, 2015). Other women submit to pressure from their partners, which can prove particularly problematic if the partner is controlling and/or abusive. In O’Keefe and Dixon’s (2015) study, it is asserted that some social workers within a “pro-separation” model focus on finding alternative care for babies as standard practice, rather than exploring the possibility of MBU placement fully with the potential applicants. I had two officers sitting outside the curtain so that the whole ward knows you are in prison. (interview with mother in prison, in Kennedy et al., 2016, p. 23)

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Deciding not to apply for an MBU place occurs where mothers with other children report feeling like they will be “choosing” their baby over their older children who may be living in the community (O’Keefe and Dixon, 2015).

Prison not the right environment for a baby A final influence on women’s decision-making processes is the sense that prison is not the most appropriate space for their babies. Indeed, mothers struggle hugely with the concept of seeing their babies in prison. Many mothers will view themselves as incapable of effective parenting and unless this view is challenged by professionals it is easy to see how women feel babies are better off without them. (O’Keefe and Dixon, 2015, p. 17) When I arrived in Holloway I was the lowest anyone can be, my biggest fear being my failure as a mother. I’d left two small children and although they were being looked after by my family, I couldn’t help but feel heartbroken. (interview with mother in prison, in Kennedy et al., 2016, p. 21). These wider cultural perceptions of the appropriateness of babies in prison were the subject of a 2016 storyline in a classic BBC Radio 4 soap opera “The Archer’s”. A pregnant character, having stabbed her abusive husband, was declined bail and gave birth whilst on remand. Birth Companions,10 a UK charity having published a Birth Charter for women in prisons in England and Wales (Kennedy et al., 2016), were consulted on “The Archer’s” storyline. BBC Action Line, a support service that provides information and support for issues covered in programmes, received 25,000 calls about domestic abuse following “The Archer’s” storyline.11 I was fortunate to go back to the Mother and Baby Unit. Thanks to support I completely turned my life around and have been clean six years this year. (interview with former mother in prison, in Kennedy et al., 2016, p. 23) Donations to a JustGiving website set up for survivors of domestic abuse raised over £150,000 (Corf, 2016). In February, the then Prime Minister called for a rethink of the way the prison system treats pregnant women and mothers with babies. The then Justice Minister said: ‘We need radically to reform how we treat women offenders. At the moment, too many women are in jail. A prison sentence not only punishes them, but also makes life much tougher for their children’ (cited in Foster, 2016).

Mother figures behind bars  59

Conclusion This chapter presents a Foucauldian-inspired critique of the production of meaning through discourse to examine the contemporary discourse around motherhood in prison in the UK as being underpinned by notions of socially constructed appropriate gendered behaviour. This approach draws together a range of discourses, rules, dimensions, and practices resulting from a representational system encapsulating the figure of motherhood in prison in the 21st century English context. Analysis of the MBU application criteria illustrates how they embody socially approved motherhood status in prison and highlights the signifying practices that influence women’s decision-making processes regarding applying for an MBU place. In the last five years, fewer pregnant women have passed the risk assessment enabling them access to an MBU. In some cases, however, this may be due to an increase in risk aversion rather than an increase in risk (Women in Prison, 2015, p. 23). This subject is further compounded by the wider UK criminal justice austerity landscape. Further work is required regarding why so many mothers are rejected for an MBU place in prison and therefore denied active motherhood status. This chapter presents a broad-brush examination of a representational system of discourse − as a figure of motherhood (Foucault, 1981) that holds particular reverberations in mid-2000s England and Wales. It has shown that as a figure put into criminal justice discourse, motherhood in prison is subject to complex individual, cultural, and policy constraints, compounded by fear of negative family and community reactions, and the social stigma mitigating women’s decisions to apply for an MBU place. Foucauldian ideas have been used to stress that institutions of discipline rest on the unwitting internalisation or acceptance of discourses of obedience, subservience, and dependence in this context. Despite many attempts to overturn the experience of women in the criminal justice system, after 300 years − the pathological “errant female” discourse seems to remain dominant in the UK criminal justice system (Zedner, 1998; Dobash and Dobash, 1986), and as this chapter has illustrated, in the impact on the social appropriation of those deemed worthy of motherhood status in prison. With regard to the treatment of female offenders and motherhood in English prisons, the observation remains that ‘any official reform strategies in relation to gender-testing and gender sensitive regimes have remained at the level of rhetoric rather than being put into practice’ (Carlen, 2012, p. 157). Motherhood in prison stubbornly remains a figure brought into discourse and is subjected to ‘enduring judgements of maternal deficiency’ (Sharpe, 2015, p. 12) reinforced by messages from wider criminal justice policy, criminal justice practice, family members, professionals, the media, and peers.

60  Katherine Albertson et al.

Notes 1 A Foucauldian historical technique in which one questions the commonly understood emergence of various philosophical and social beliefs by attempting to account for the scope, breadth, or totality of discourse. 2 A philosophical concept coined by Michel Foucault, referring to the construction of the individual subject in discourse. 3 Permission confirmed via e-mail contact with Birth Companions, 06/06/2016; Kennedy, A., Marshall, D., Parkinson, D., and Abbott, A. (2016) Birth Charter for Women in Prisons in England and Wales. London: Birth Companions. 4 The Prison Reform Trust’s Committee on Women’s Imprisonment (2000 − the Wedderburn Report), the Review of Women with Particular Vulnerabilities in the Criminal Justice System (2007 − the Corston Report), the Women’s Justice Taskforce report (2011 − Reforming Women’s Justice), and the Scottish Government’s Commission on Women’s Offenders in 2012. 5 Bangkok Rules, adopted 6 October 2010. www.un.org/en/ecosoc/docs/2010/ res%202010-16.pdf (Accessed 23/10/2014). 6 Transforming Rehabilitation is the name given to the government’s programme for how offenders are managed in England and Wales from February 2015. The programme has involved the outsourcing of a large portion of the probation service in England and Wales. 7 Women in Prison (2015) State of the Estate: Women in Prison’s Report on the Women's Custodial Estate, p. 21 [online]. www.womeninprison.org.uk/perch/­ resources/sote-2015.pdf (Accessed 12/01/2017). 8 Bronzefield, Eastwood Park, Styal, New Hall, Peterborough, and Askham Grange. 9 Superseding PSI 54/2011 MBUs and PSO 4801 Management of MBUs. 10 Birth Companions is a UK charity that supports women experiencing severe disadvantage during pregnancy, birth, and early parenting to overcome the inequalities they face and fulfil their potential. Birth Companions are the UK’s leading organisation working in this area, with widely acknowledged expertise in the needs of perinatal women facing severe disadvantage in both prison and the community. Their web-site address is: www.birthcompanions.org.uk/. 11 Reported in the Sheffield Star Newspaper on Friday 30th December 2016, p. 3.

References Albertson, K., O'Keefe, C., Lessing-Turner, G., Burke, C., and Renfrew, M. (2012) Tackling Health Inequalities through Developing Evidence-based Policy and Practice with Childbearing Women in Prison: A Consultation. Project Report, Sheffield Hallam University. Birmingham, L., Coulson, D., Mullee, M., Kamal, M., and Gregoire, A. (2006). ‘The Mental Health of Women in Prison Mother and Baby Units’, Journal of ­Forensic Psychiatry and Psychology, 17, 393–404. Caddle, D. (1997) ‘Women in Prison’, Criminal Justice Matters, 30(Winter 1997/98), 21–22. Carlen, P. (1988) Women, Crime and Poverty. Milton Keynes: Open University Press. Carlen, P. (2012) Women’s Imprisonment: An Introduction to the Bangkok Rules. ­Revista Crítica Penal y Poder, nº 3, Observatorio del Sistema Penal y los Derechos Humanos, Universidad de Barcelona [online]. http://revistes.ub.edu/index. php/CriticaPenalPoder/article/viewFile/5058/6756.

Mother figures behind bars  61 Carlen, P., and Worrall, A. (2004) Analysing Women’s Imprisonment. Cullompton: Willan. Chesney-Lind, M., and Pasko, L. (2013) The Female Offender: Girls, Women, and Crime. Thousand Oaks, London: Sage. Children’s Commission (2008) 11 Million report: Prison Mother and Baby Units do they meet the best interests of the child? [online]. https://dera.ioe.ac.uk/7418/1/ force_download.php%3ffp=%252Fclient_assets%252Fcp%252Fpublication %252F164%252FPrison_Mother_and_Baby_Units.pdf Clark, J. (1995) ‘The Impact of the Prison Environment on Mothers’, Prison Journal, 75, 306–329. Corf, E. (2016) JustGiving [online]. www.civilsociety.co.uk/news/justgiving-­donationsin-aid-of-archers-character-climb-to-159-600.html. Corston, J. (2007) The Corston Report: A Review of Women with Particular Vulnerabilities in the Criminal Justice System. London: Home Office. Crowther-Dowey, C. (2007) Introduction to Criminology and Criminal Justice. New York: Palgrave MacMillan. Delap, N., and Abbott, L. (2016) ‘Holding the Baby: Responsibility for Addressing the Needs of Offending Pregnant Women and New Mothers Should be Shared across the System’, The Howard League for Penal Reform ECAN Bulletin, 11 (31), November 2016. https://howardleague.org/wp-content/uploads/2016/11/ ECAN-Bulletin-Issue-31-November-2016.pdf Dobash, R. P., and Dobash, R. E. (1986) The Imprisonment of Women, Oxford: Blackwell. Foster, P. (2016) ‘Michael Gove: Archers Stabbing Plot Reinforces Case for Prison Reform’, The Telegraph Newspaper [online]. www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2016/05/16/ michael-gove-archers-stabbing-plot-reinforces-case-for-prison-re/. Foucault, M. (1971) ‘Orders of Discourse’, Social Science Information, 10(2), 7–30. Foucault, M. (1972) The Archaeology of Knowledge. London: Tavistock. Foucault, M. (1977) Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison. New York: ­Random House. Foucault, M. (1982) ‘The Subject and Power’, Critical Inquiry, 8(4), 777–795. Foucault M. (1983) ‘Afterword’, in Dreyfus, H. L., and Rabinow, P. (eds) Michel Foucault: Beyond Structuralism and Hermeneutics. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, pp. 208–226. Foucault, M. (1990) The History of Sexuality: An Introduction. New York: Vintage. Gaarder, E., Rodriguez, N., and Zatz, M. S. (2004) ‘Criers, Liars, and Manipulators: Probation Officers’ Views of Girls’, Justice Quarterly, 21(3), 547–578. Galloway, S., Haynes, A., and Cuthbert, C. (2014) An Unfair Sentence—All Babies Count: Spotlight on the Criminal Justice System. London: NSPCC. Gregoire, A., Dolan, R., Birmingham, L., Mullee, M., and Coulson, D. (2010) ‘The Mental Health and Treatment Needs of Imprisoned Mothers of Young Children’, The Journal of Forensic Psychiatry and Psychology, 21(3), 378–392. Hall, S. (1997) Representation: Cultural Representations and Signifying Practices (Vol. 2). London: Sage. Heidensohn, F. (1989) Crime and Society. London: Macmillan Education. Heidensohn, F., Silvestri, M., and Campling, J. (1985) Women and Crime. London: Macmillan.

62  Katherine Albertson et al. HM Prison Service (1999) Report of a Review of Principles, Policies and Procedures on Mothers and Babies/Children in Prison, July 1999 [online]. www.hmprisonservice. gov.uk (Accessed 23/10/2014). HMP Chief Inspector of Prisons for England and Wales Annual Report 2014–2015 (2015) [online]. www.gov.uk/government/uploads/system/uploads/attachment_ data/file/444785/hmip-2014-15.pdf. Home Office (1989) The Development of Young Children in Prison Mother and Baby Units. Home Office Research and Planning Unit Research Bulletin No. 26. ­London: HMSO. House of Commons Justice Committee (2013) Women Offenders: After the Corston Report. London: TSO. Kennedy, A., Marshall, D., Parkinson, D., and Abbott, A. (2016) Birth Charter for Women in Prisons in England and Wales. London: Birth Companions. Lloyd, A. (1995) Doubly Deviant, Doubly Damned: Society’s Treatment of Violent Women. London: Penguin Books. Maher, L. (1992) ‘Punishment and Welfare: Crack Cocaine and the Regulation of Mothering’, Women and Criminal Justice, 3, 35–70. Medlicott, D. (2007) ‘Women in Prison’, in Jewkes, Y., Crewe, B., and Bennett, J. (eds) Handbook of Prisons (pp. 254–267), Abingdon, Oxon: Routledge. Ministry of Justice (2010) Policy Paper—2010 to 2015 Government Policy: Reoffending and Rehabilitation [online]. www.gov.uk/government/publications/2010-to-2015government-policy-reoffending-and-rehabilitation/2010-to-2015-governmentpolicy-reoffending-and-rehabilitation. Ministry of Justice (2013) Strategic Objectives for Female Offenders [online]. www. gov.uk/government/uploads/system/uploads/attachment_data/file/177038/ strategic-objectives-female-offenders.pdf. Ministry of Justice (2016) Management Information Notice, Applications and Admissions to Prison Mother and Baby Units [online]. www.gov.uk/government/uploads/ system/uploads/attachment_data/file/498374/mbu-ad-hoc-release-2013-2015.pdf (Accessed 12/01/2017). Ministry of Justice (2017) UK. Government Web Site [online]. www.gov.uk/ life-in-prison/pregnancy-and-childcare-in-prison. Ministry of Justice/NOMS (2012) A Distinct Approach: A Guide to Working with Women Offenders. London: MoJ. O’Keefe, C., and Dixon, L. (2015) ‘Enhancing Care for Childbearing Women and their Babies in Prison’ [online]. www.shu.ac.uk/research/hccj/sites/hccj/files/­ enhancing-care-childbearing-women-babies-prison.pdf. Pösö, T., Enroos, R., and Vierula, T. (2010) ‘Children Residing in Prison with their Parents: An Example of Institutional Invisibility’, The Prison Journal, 90(4), 516–533. Prison Reform Trust (2015) Briefing: Why Focus on Women’s Imprisonment [online]. www.prisonreformtrust.org.uk/Portals/0/Documents/why%20focus%20on% 20reducing%20women's%20imprisonment%20BL.pdf. Prison Reform Trust (2016) Bromley Briefings [online]. www.prisonreformtrust. org.uk/Portals/0/Documents/Bromley%20Brief ings/Summer%202016%20 briefing.pdf. Prison Service Instruction 49 (2014) Mother and Baby Units [online]. www.justice. gov.uk/downloads/offenders/psipso/psi-2014/psi-49-2014-mother-and-babyunits.pdf.

Mother figures behind bars  63 Prison Service Instruction 54 (2011) Mother and Baby Units [online]. https:// w w w.google.co.uk /search?q=Pr ison+Ser vic e+Instr uction+54%2F2011& s ou r c e id=i e7& rl s=c om.m i c ro s of t:e n- GB:IE -Add r e s s & i e=& o e=&g fe _ rd=cr&ei=h6qyWIHpK8vU8geA8ajQAQ&gws_rd=ssl. Saner, E. (2016) ‘A Woman’s Place? Why the Closure of Holloway Could Bring a Prison Revolution Closer’, The Guardian, 28 November. www.theguardian.com/ society/2015/nov/28/closure-of-holloway-womens-prison-revolution. Schram, P. J. (1999) ‘An Exploratory Study: Stereotypes about Mothers in Prison’, Journal of Criminal Justice, 27(5), 411–426. Sharpe, G. (2015) ‘Precarious Identities: “Young” Motherhood, Desistance and Stigma’, Criminology & Criminal Justice, 15(4), 407–422. Smart, C., (2013) Women, Crime and Criminology (Routledge Revivals): A Feminist Critique. London: Routledge. Weatherby, G. A., Blanche, J., and Jones, R. (2008) ‘The Value of Life: Female ­K illers and the Feminine Mystique’, Journal of Criminology and Criminal Justice Research and Education, 2(1), 1–20. Wilczynski, A. (1991) ‘Images of Women Who Kill Their Infants: The Mad and the Bad’, Women and Criminal Justice, 2(2), 71–88. Women in Prison (2015) State of the Estate: Women in Prison’s Report on the Women’s Custodial Estate [online]. www.womeninprison.org.uk/perch/resources/sote2015.pdf. Woodward, K. (2003) ‘Representations of Motherhood’, in Earle, S., Letherby, G. (eds) Gender, Identity & Reproduction (pp. 18–32). London: Palgrave Macmillan. Wykes, M. (1995) ‘Passion, Marriage and Murder: Analysing the Press Discourse’, in Dobash, R. E., Dobash, R. P., and Noaks, L. (eds) Gender and Crime (pp. ­49–76), Cardiff: University of Wales Press. Zedner, L. (1998) ‘Wayward Sisters: The Prison for Women’, in Norris, N., and Rothman, D. J. (eds) The Oxford Handbook of the Prison: The Practice of Punishment in Western Society (pp. 328–361), Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Chapter 5

Martyr, miscreant, or a modern mama? Exploring the archetypal and realistic images of mothers of children with disabilities Katherine E. Smith Introduction Every society has norms that discern what behaviours are acceptable and unacceptable (Davis, 2010, pp. 6–7). In most societies, motherhood is seen as an admirable role (Buchanan, 2013, p. 22). Because motherhood is such a crucial part of society, it is usually linked to unparalleled goodness (Malacrida, 2009, pp. 99–100). The creation of the good/bad mother binary allows for a seemingly clear-cut way to measure mothers (Buchanan, 2013, pp. 7–8). While the negative half of the binary is rejected, its existence is necessary to illustrate the expectations of society (Buchanan, 2013, p. 8). The woman who attains the label of “good mother” earns the adoration of society. The deviance of a mother who fails to meet the norms of society can lead to disaster, as was illustrated by the American legal battle of Buck v. Bell. Carrie Buck was an 18-year-old American woman who had been committed to the Virginia State Colony for Epileptic and Feebleminded in 1924. The superintendent of the institution claimed that Buck had the mental capacity of a child. However, Buck was likely institutionalised for no other reason than that she had become pregnant out of wedlock. To avoid a scandal, Carrie was quickly declared feebleminded, a trait that was enough to label one a bad mother in 1927 (Cohen, 2016, pp. 15–17). Furthermore, Carrie’s own mother was already a patient at the colony, with the same diagnosis of feeblemindedness. Claims were made by doctors at the colony that both Buck women had mental capacities well below their respective ages. Additionally, Carrie’s seven-month-old daughter was also deemed feebleminded. The accuracy of the claim that either Carrie or her young daughter was intellectually disabled has been contested by scholars (Cohen, 2016, pp. 292, 298). However, the lineage of the Buck women induced a panic that intellectual disability could be inherited, implying that both Buck women were bad mothers for passing on a defective genetic code. The ruling in Buck’s case found forced sterilisation of the disabled population acceptable, and not a violation of the rights provided by the American Constitution. In its analysis of the case, Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes asserted, “Three generations

Martyr, miscreant, or a modern mama?  65

of imbeciles are enough” (quoted in Cohen, 2016, p. 2). The fate of Carrie Buck proves that the labels of “good” and “bad” mother are determined more by societal expectation than mothering ability (Cohen, 2016, pp. 3, 11). This chapter seeks to examine how the expectations and norms of an able-bodied society affect the dichotomy of good and bad motherhood as applied to mothers of children with disabilities. The goals of this chapter are to, first, observe how mothers of children with disabilities are viewed by society, second, examine how mothers of children with disabilities position themselves in the dichotomy of good/bad mothering, and, finally, analyse how the image of the good/bad mother is represented in popular disability-centred fiction.

Methodology The primary data displayed in this chapter comes from electronic, telephone, and in-person interviews with 15 American mothers of children with varying disabilities. Each individual participant will hereafter be referred to as “Mother” with a corresponding letter of the alphabet to distinguish one from another. Each participant was asked ten open-ended, qualitative questions about her experience as a mother of a child with a disability. While the questions asked of each mother were identical, the interviews took on a mode of narrative inquiry. Narrative inquiry allows society’s inner workings to be examined through the lens of personal narrative. The disabilities discussed in these interviews include Cerebral Palsy, Juvenile Diabetes, Autism Spectrum Disorder, Angelman’s Syndrome, Down’s Syndrome, Muscular Dystrophy, Cystic Fibrosis, and Spina Bifida. References to a child’s specific disability have only been included when absolutely necessary. The ages of the 18 children discussed range from three to 26 years of age, with a mixture of both male and female genders. References to the child’s gender have also been edited out for the sake of maintaining privacy. The term “child with a disability” is used in reference to individuals whose mothers still provide moderate to total assistance, regardless of age. In an effort to protect confidentiality, names of children have been removed from the narrative stories told by their mothers.

Societal image of the bad mother and disabled child Very few mothers of children with disabilities term their experience of motherhood as ideal (Landsman, 2005, p. 123). Society places these mothers in a quandary: They are vilified if they terminate an impaired foetus, but they are criticised if they give birth to a child that may be considered a societal burden (Hubbard, 2010, pp. 114–115). Other mothers, who do not receive

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their child’s diagnosis until after birth, may feel blindsided by the information. It is usually only after a severe trauma that possibility of impairment is discussed. Three mothers argued that their initial exposure to the disability was foreign, even cruel: I was handed something I wasn’t prepared for. I did my best, but I remember asking my obstetrician … why no one had told me about prematurity. I’m not even sure I knew what prematurity was before I had my [child]. It wasn’t something that was discussed. MOTHER E: You feel like you are the only one that this is happening to. MOTHER K: When we got the diagnosis, the doctor said, ‘Your child is severely intellectually disabled. I’m sorry, that means your child is mentally retarded.’ They [the medical professionals] had already put my child in a box. Someone said, ‘well, [the child] wasn’t going to be a rocket scientist anyway.’ MOTHER B:

A common, though uninformed, societal reaction is to reflect on the antiquated images of the kind of mother has a child with a disability (Landsman, 2009, p. 33). Those who are unaware of disabilities may believe that only mothers who intentionally harm their babies in gestation have children who develop disabilities (Landsman, 2009, p. 33). This thinking is propagated by a society that urges expectant mothers to think of the potential consequences their actions could have on the foetus. Pathos-driven materials that show mothers drinking and smoking while pregnant shift the blame of disability onto the mother (Landsman, 2009, pp. 26–27). Even though it may not be accurate or fair, the message is clear: the mother is responsible for the health of the child (Read, 2000, pp. 70–71). This societal edict that mothers carry the burden of causing their child’s disability leads to mother-blame.

Mother-blaming and shaming Historically, disabilities could be rooted in mother-blame. Disabilities were thought to occur due to a sin or sexual promiscuity on the part of the mother (Keith, 2001, p. 16). Society places mothers of children with disabilities ­under intense scrutiny. Unfortunately, mothers are usually the ones that are questioned, or held as “suspect”, if something goes wrong with the child, and society is unlikely to look for any other culprit than the mother (Read, 2000, pp. 70–71). When asked if they had experienced mother-blame and shame, many of the mothers stated that they either initially blamed themselves or others suggested that they should shoulder the blame: My child has a disability that has a correlation with a lack of f­ olic acid. I didn’t realize I was pregnant, and didn’t take folic acid right away. I had a family member tell me, ‘I bet you wish you’d taken that folic acid now.’

MOTHER I:

Martyr, miscreant, or a modern mama?  67

I tried to figure out what I did wrong [during pregnancy to have a child with a disability]. Was it something that I ate, was it because I got [the child] vaccinations, or because I waited until I was 35 to have kids? MOTHER O: I wondered if I didn’t eat the right things. I never did drugs. I’ve been told that I’m being punished for something that I did in my past. Some things just happen. MOTHER E: My child has [a disorder that restricts the consumption of sugar] and people asked, ‘Oh, did you feed [child] too much sugar?’ People aren’t educated about disabilities. MOTHER K:

No mother wants to be seen as a bad mother, but for a mother of a child with a disability, the pressure to avoid, or change, that label is much greater. Scholars point out that mothers of children with disabilities often hide any negative feelings they have toward their experience with the disability for fear that they will labelled as “bad mothers” (Watermeyer and McKenzie, 2014, pp. 411–412). If a mother expresses frustration or confusion about the disability, those emotions can be misconstrued as feelings toward the child. To be a “good mother” the mother must intertwine herself with the needs of the child, making her “less entitled to [her] own feelings of struggle” (Watermeyer and McKenzie, 2014, p. 412). Indeed, mothers of children with disabilities are often condemned to live with the label of “bad mother” until they prove otherwise (Knight, 2013, p. 666). Mothers of children with disabilities often find any maternal failing on display. Private matters become public and are available for social commentary (Read, 2000, p. 108). Interestingly, mothers of children with invisible disabilities, like Autism Spectrum, noted being labelled as “bad” mothers for not controlling the behaviours of their children. However, when mothers of children with physical disabilities tried to correct their children in public, they were labelled as “bad mothers”. My [child] has a physical disability and if I discipline in public, people look at me like I shouldn’t be doing that, but I try to treat [my child] normally. Society feels like [my child] shouldn’t be doing something that [the child is able to do]. I push [my child]. I put a lot of pressure on myself because I want the best for [my child]. MOTHER O: If I scolded my child [who was in a wheelchair] in public, people would look at me. There are higher standards [for mothers of children with disabilities]. It’s easy for someone to look [and judge]. MOTHER H: My [child] is Autistic. There were times when we would be in a store and [the child] would scream. People would say, ‘Oh, that mother’s not a good mother because she hasn’t taught her kid how to behave in a store.’ The key is awareness [about disabilities], but the child reflects on the parent. MOTHER F: You can’t see [my child’s] disability, so when [my child] has a meltdown, people just assume that [the child’s] a brat. MOTHER G:

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Society often oversimplifies the mothering narrative, offering only the option of good and bad mothering when a combination of the two may be more realistic. Bad mothers are typically illustrated as “selfish” while good mothers are portrayed as sainted martyrs who give of themselves to better their children (Knight, 2013, p. 663). While neither image is wholly accurate, perhaps even offensive, society has distilled the lives of these mothers into “human interest stories [fit] for mass consumption” (quoted in Knight, 2013, p. 663). Stuck between stereotypes, a mother of a child with a disability is likely to be either villain or hero in society’s narrative.

The cost of being a good mother Overcoming the label of “bad mother” that has been projected onto these women can be all-consuming. Mothers of children with disabilities often have to give up more of their pre-parent identity in order to feel that they are “good” mothers (Knight, 2013, p. 663). Being a “good mother” is admirable, but it comes with risks. A concern of raising a child with a disability is the disappearance of the mother’s individual identity. The loss of self can be attributed to the fact that the mother may choose to isolate herself from mothers of children without disabilities because she is not able to connect to her peers’ version of motherhood (Prezant, 2007, pp. 184–185). For example, one mother, quoted in a Time Magazine article, described the isolation of parenting a child with a disability by saying, when people call you and are like, ‘Oh, I’m so stressed out, my plans for Disney are falling through, …’ I can’t relate to that. I’m like, ‘my kid stopped eating three weeks ago and is on a liquid diet, and we’re wondering if we’re going to have to put a feeding tube in him’. (quoted in Cottle, 2012, p. 1) While none of the mothers interviewed in this project shared stories that were as drastic as the one above, some commented on the social and economic isolation that can be a result of raising a child with a disability. MOTHER N: I don’t go to baby showers or birthday parties because my daugh-

ter can’t handle the stimulation and it’s hard to find a baby sitter. I sacrificed the time, the income, and the career. We went every Friday for therapy for four years. MOTHER M: Everyone in our family and all of our friends always put us on a pedestal for doing what we do for our [child]. They say [they] don’t know how we do it. And yet, none of them have taken the time to learn how to care for [our child]. When asked if they would like to learn how to work the feeding tube or put [our child] in the wheelchair, they say they’re too nervous that they’ll hurt [the child] or they’re not cut out for that kind of thing. So we are left to be the only two that can care for [the child]. MOTHER F:

Martyr, miscreant, or a modern mama?  69

While many mothers of non-disabled children would rightly assert that they, too, have made material sacrifices for the betterment of their children, mothers of children with disabilities may not be able to escape the sacrificial cycle (Read, 2000, p. 109): “The mother of the child with the disability is frequently by her child’s side at times when other [non-disabled] children would not be with their mothers” (Read, 2000, p. 109). Many children with disabilities will be dependent upon their mothers for more than the expected 18 years. Several mothers interviewed here echo previous research, saying that their children can’t be expected to function on a timetable of progression toward adulthood and simultaneous independence. The greatest fear of many of these mothers, regardless of the disability of the children, is what will happen to their children when they are no longer able to provide care. MOTHER A: Our biggest fear is who will take care of [our child] when we are gone.

I pray the good Lord calls [our child] home the day before He calls me. I’m going to be taking care of my child for the rest of my life, and I worry about what’s going to happen to [my child]. I can’t do things that other people my age are doing. Most parents of [adult children] can do their own thing and can go and travel because their children are on their own, but I can’t do that because [my child] can’t be left alone. MOTHER B: I’m needed to provide transport. I couldn’t go back to work because my child needed me, and still does. I can’t release [my child] to total independence because there’s no one to drive [my child], or double check appointments. I worry about who will be me when I’m not here. MOTHER H:

This looming concern for the future of her child likely cements the mother as “good”, but is also a hazard of self-sacrifice.

Reflections on being a “good” mother At this point in the chapter, the maternal voices have been interwoven with how society views mothers of children with disabilities. A much more pressing issue, though, is whether societal expectation affects how these mothers view themselves. Although society states that a good mother of a child with a disability is saint-like and self-sacrificing, the mothers interviewed in this project tended to be uneasy with that definition. The mothers acknowledged that there are some sacrifices to be made, but did not want praise for making them. The mothers sidestepped the admiration of society and shifted the focus of that admiration onto their children. The image of the angelic mother is outdated and can be more of an insult than a compliment. The way that these mothers position themselves in the binary seemed contradictory to the societal expectations explained previously. We are very uncomfortable with the label [of ideal or perfect]. If you put somebody on a pedestal, they are bound to fail.

MOTHER K:

70  Katherine E. Smith MOTHER L: I’m not a superhero. MOTHER J: I think people think I’m greater than what I am. I’ve always heard

people say things about how they could never do what I do, but they could. I’ve never thought of myself as different from any other mom, I’m doing my best to take care of [my child]. MOTHER D: I don’t agree with the label of the perfect mother. I’m very diligent and I make sure [my child] is taken care of. It’s my job to do whatever I have to do [to help my child]. You learn how to be the mom you need to be. It’s not always going to be easy. You are going to have regret and feel guilty, but I’m proud that [my child] is mine. MOTHER H: It’s not so much that I’m a good mother as my children are just good kids. Looking at a child with a disability as a “blessing” changes the way that the conversation of mothering works (Landsman, 2009, p. 168). Instead of concentrating on the sacrifice that the mother makes for the child and how she should be praised for her actions, the child becomes the focal point. The child becomes the subject, the active role, instead of the passive one, or the object and the mother becomes the one who is acted upon by the child (Landsman, 2009, p. 168). Landsman furthers this explanation of the child as a gift or a blessing to the mother by saying, “Mothers of disabled children utilize gift rhetoric to transform the disabled child from perpetual receiver into a giver. … The mother in turn redefines her sometimes sorrowful and often exhausting giving into an act of receiving” (Landsman, 2009, p. 168). Looking at the child with a disability as the giver instead of recipient makes the angelic image of the mother begin to fade. Children with disabilities should not be seen as negatives, but as positives. MOTHER L: [Our child] has shown us how closed our eyes were and opened them to stuff that we [as people with normative bodies] take for granted. We are doubly blessed. MOTHER H: [My child] has taught us to treasure each moment. Our family is closer [because of the child with disability]. Children with disabilities are a blessing. MOTHER K: [My child] enriched [my life] and took it to a whole new level. [My life] is one hundred times harder, but worth it. There is no guidebook [for raising a child with a disability]. MOTHER C:

Guilt for being a “bad mother” No one wants to label herself a bad mother. Society crafts an image of the “bad” mother as one who is neglectful of the foetus (Landsman, 2009, p. 33). While none of the mothers interviewed here did anything to encourage the

Martyr, miscreant, or a modern mama?  71

development of an impairment, some mothers still had a sense of guilt. The guilt did not always come from having a child with a disability, but from how the disability affected the other children. Some mothers had very positive experiences dealing with the disability and siblings, but many felt guilty for focusing so much attention on one child. Some mothers even sensed hostility or confusion from their other children because of the time devoted to the child with the disability. Research shows that sibling resentment, and maternal worry over its development, is not uncommon (Read, 2000, pp. 27–29). Typically, siblings grow to realise the necessity of that attention, but a mother may still carry guilt (Lavin, 2001, pp. 44–45). There were three days that I didn’t go [to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit] to see [my child with disability] because I was too sick, but aside from those three days, I was there every day. I missed a lot of crucial time with [my able-bodied child] to be with [my child with disability] and that’s what distresses me the most. I had to be a bad mom to [my able-bodied child] to be a good mom to [my child with disability]. MOTHER L: We were up front with the other children about [child’s] disability. There wasn’t any resentment, quite the opposite. MOTHER F: My [able-bodied child] often says, ‘you love [child with a disability] more than me.’ MOTHER I: My [able-bodied child] will often say about the sibling, ‘[child with disability] takes up all your time.’ MOTHER O: [My able-bodied child] was resentful of the time I spent with the sibling. [My able-bodied child] and I are not as close as we should be. MOTHER J: It can be tough to make sure you give each child the equal love and attention. It can be especially hard for the toddler to understand why mommy has to change and feed [the child with a disability] first. I don’t blame [the child with a disability] and I don’t allow my [able-­ bodied child] to either. I simply explain that [sibling] NEEDS mommy to do everything for [the child with disability] and [the able-bodied] child doesn’t. MOTHER G: My [able-bodied child] asks on a weekly basis, ‘why do you do that for [the child with disability] and not me?’ MOTHER B:

The traditional “good” mother in young adult fiction The traditional mother in Western literature is one who is happy to devote herself to all mothering duties (Gilmore, 2016, p. 98; Kotanko, 2016, pp. 161–162). The traditional “good” mother finds no place outside of the domestic sphere and accepts that her identity now lies within the home and children (Gilmore, 2016, p. 98–99; Kotanko, 2016, pp. 161–162). The “good” mother exudes warmth, kindness, and a sage wisdom. In disability fiction,

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the “good” mother is still personable, loving, and intelligent, but the expected sacrificial mother reappears. The “good” mother image is usually exacerbated in disability literature because the child requires unlimited parental attention and specialised care. In Terry Trueman’s Stuck in Neutral, the mother ascribes to the traditional mother format with little complaint. The mother becomes wholly devoted to her son, becoming a foil to the boy’s father who struggles to deal with the task of raising a severely disabled child. In a scene where the father demonstrates anger and resentment for the disability, the mother responds with saint-like tranquillity saying, “I know, babe. We just have to try and remember it’s not his fault” (Trueman, 2000, p. 63). By refusing to give into the negativity that she could rightly embrace, the mother furthers her development as a good mother by becoming resilient. Even though it is her son’s disability that causes the eventual dissolution of her marriage and changes the course of her life, the mother is not dissuaded. The mother is irrepressible, but still traditional, in that she does not respond to the affect that her child’s disability has had on her life (Gilmore, 2016, p. 100). Instead, the mother focuses her attention on the son, again showing the image of a mother whose sole purpose in life is to care for her child. Indeed, the child, who narrates the story, acknowledges that, “If I had to name a single reason why I’ve been as happy as I’ve been, I know that it would be my certainty of Mom’s love for me, love that’s absolute, rock solid” (Trueman, 2000, p. 76). This love and unwavering devotion to her son allows the mother to be classified as a good mother, but it also opens her up to another, less than positive, maternal role.

The “smothering mother” When members of a minority are represented in literature, they are often restricted to characterisations based on stereotypes of race, sexuality, and even ability (Gilmore, 2016, pp. 98–99). Mothers in Disability Fiction often find themselves wedged between stereotypes: The good mother and what is described as the “smothering mother” (Gilmore, 2016, p. 99). Mothers of children with disabilities, while able-bodied, may be misrepresented because of their association with disability. The smothering mother is one who cannot separate her identity from her child and does not accept the necessity of the growing child’s independence (Gilmore, 2016, p. 99). The smothering mother’s identity is so entrenched in that of her child’s that she loses her pre-maternal identity (Jung, 2010, p. 22). The smothering mother may look for situations where she can force her children to revert to the roles of objects instead of subjects in their own lives (Gilmore, 2016, p. 100). In Everything, Everything, the mother raises her normative daughter to believe that she has a rare immunodeficiency disorder, which keeps her dependent upon her mother indefinitely. Defending her actions, the mother tells her daughter, “I had to protect you. Anything can happen to you out here. … Stay with me.

Martyr, miscreant, or a modern mama?  73

You’re all I have” (Yoon, 2015, p. 277). The smothering mother represents a class of women who struggle to cope with the fact that their children will become less and less dependent upon them as they age into adulthood. However, rebuffing the stereotype of the smothering mother, the mothers interviewed in the first half of this project did not relish the dependence of their children. In some examples of disability literature, though, the smothering mother may serve as an extension of what it means to be a “good” mother. As people with disabilities may need assistance as adults, the mother who is always available to her child could be necessary. For example, the son and narrator of Stuck in Neutral acknowledges the smothering mother characteristic in his own mother when he complains, “My mom … still talks to me as if I were a newborn baby or idiot. I wish just once I could say to her, ‘Geez, Mom, I’m fourteen friggin’ years old.’ But I can’t” (Trueman, 2000, p. 24). Unlike the traditional mother whose maternal role will eventually shift from major to minor in the life of her child, the mother of a child with a disability does not have that guarantee. Therefore, the good mother image and the smothering mother may be one in the same, or they may find that they must merge to create an even more sacrificial mother.

The “good enough” mother in young adult fiction The “good enough” mother is one who increasingly phases out her attentiveness to her child, forcing him to assimilate to a world that does not revolve around him. D.W. Winnicot, who first defined the “good enough” mother, described her as one who: “starts off with an almost complete adaptation to her infant’s needs, and as time proceeds she adapts less and less completely, gradually, according to the infant’s growing ability to deal with her failure” (Winnicot, 1953, p. 93). The “good enough” mother, oddly, starts out as a traditional mother, who attends to her child. However, the “good enough” mother calculatingly steps to the side in order to help her child learn that he is not the focal point of the universe, and not every need will be met (Winnicot, 1953, p. 93). While society may view the “good enough” mother as a bad mother, she is necessary for proper human development (Winnicot, 1953, p. 93). In disability literature, the “good enough” mother is not as highly visible as her traditional mother counterpart, but her presence is vital to her child. Wonder, by R.J. Palacio, has the mother turn away from the sacrificial character to suggest a more contemporary role of advocacy. Wonder is the story of an adolescent boy with a facial deformity who enters public school after years of home schooling. This mother seems to be the antithesis of the smothering mother, realising that her son cannot function under her protection for the rest of his life. Therefore, the mother advocates for him to be placed in a mainstream school where he will have to learn to deal with the hardships of living as a person with a disability in an able-bodied world. As the complete opposite of the

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parental outlook in Stuck in Neutral, Wonder’s mother is the one who pushes to have her son placed outside the domestic bubble. The mother states: “We can’t pretend he’s going to wake up tomorrow and this isn’t going to be his reality because it is … and we have to help him learn to deal with it” (Palacio, 2012, p. 10). While this attitude is very different from that of the smothering mother, mothers of diverse children often have to help them realise their own capabilities in spite of the fact that they may be devalued by larger society (Gilmore, 2016, p. 107). By refusing to shelter her son from emotional discomfort, the mother in Wonder is preparing him to thrive in a world that will see him differently. Even though the mother in Wonder does not conform to traditional good mother standards, she is not a bad mother. In fact, a “good enough” mother, in the end, may prove more valuable to the child because she has taught him how to be self-sufficient. While often overshadowed by the traditional mother figure, this modern mother offers another option of what it means to be a “good” mother (Gilmore, 2016, pp. 109–110).

Conclusion From the research shown here, the societal images of both good and bad mothers are antiquated and inaccurate. The portrayal of the bad mother as intentionally harmful or as the cause of the impairment is highly offensive to mothers of children with disabilities. While the good mother stereotype has had minor changes to seem more contemporary, her halo is still tightly secured (Knight, 2013, p. 671). Mothers of children with disabilities are also moving away from those polarising images, choosing to position themselves not as saints, but as average mothers. The analysis of popular disability fiction illustrates that mothering, even in literature, may be a spectrum. While there are extremes of exceptionally good and bad mothers, most mothers are not ideal or sub-par, but rather mothers doing what they believe is best for their children. Portraying literary mothers as, over-attentive, traditional, or simply “good enough” makes the reader aware that motherhood is not an either/or situation. Motherhood is individualised to meet the needs of the child, the mother, the family, and their environment.

Bibliography Primar y references Mother A. Electronic interview. 20 May 2016. Mother B. Personal interview. 16 May 2016. Mother C. Telephone interview. 27 May 2016. Mother D. Telephone interview. 1 June 2016. Mother E. Telephone interview. 27 May 2016. Mother F. Telephone interview. 20 May 2016.

Martyr, miscreant, or a modern mama?  75 Mother G. Telephone interview. 27 May 2016. Mother H. Telephone interview. 21 May 2016. Mother I. Telephone interview. 3 June 2016. Mother J. Electronic interview. 23 May 2016. Mother K. Telephone interview. 27 May 2016. Mother L. Telephone interview. 18 May 2016. Mother M. Electronic interview. 22 May 2016. Mother N. Telephone interview. 28 May 2016. Mother O. Telephone interview. 23 May 2016. Secondar y references Barnes, Colin. “A Brief History of Discrimination of Disabled People.” The Disability Studies Reader. Ed. Lennard J. Davis. 3rd ed. New York: Routledge, 2010. 20–32. Print. Buchanan, Lindal. “Theorizing Motherhood in Public Discourse.” Rhetorics of Motherhood. Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 2013. 1–32. Ebook. Cohen, Adam. Imbeciles. New York: Penguin Press, 2016. Print. Cottle, Michelle. “The Coming Special Needs Care Crisis.” Newsweek. April 2012. 3 June 2016. www.thedailybeast.com/newsweek/2012/04/29/an-epidemic-of-­ special- needs-kids-heads-for-a-crisis-of-care.html Davis, Lennard J. “Constructing Normalcy.” The Disability Studies Reader. Ed. Lennard J. Davis. 3rd ed. New York: Routledge, 2010. 4–19. Print. Gilmore, Dorina Lazo K. “Minority Mama: Rejecting the Mainstream Mothering Model.” Mothers in Children’s and Young Adult Literature, From Eighteenth Century to Post-Feminism. Eds. Lisa Rowe Fraustino and Karen Coates. Jackson: University of Mississippi, 2016. 98–113. Ebook. Hubbard, Ruth. “Abortion and Disability: Who Should and Should Not Inhabit the World?” The Disability Studies Reader. Ed. Lennard J. Davis. 3rd ed. New York: Routledge, 2010. 108–119. Print. Jung, Carl. Four Archetypes. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2010. Print. Kotanko, Alexandra. “A Daughter’s Sacrifice: Saving the ‘Good-Enough Mother’ from the Good Mother Fantasy.” Mothers in Children’s and Young Adult Literature, from Eighteenth Century to Post-Feminism. Eds. Lisa Rowe Fraustino and Karen Coates. Jackson: University of Mississippi, 2016. 162–172. Ebook. Keith, Lois. “Punishment and Pity: Images and Representations of Disability, Illness and Cure.” Take Up Thy Bed and Walk: Death, Disability and Cure in ­Classic Fiction for Girls. New York: Routledge, 2001. 15–32. Ebook. Knight, Kathryn. “The Changing Face of the ‘Good Mother’: Trends in Research into Families with a Child with Intellectual Disability, and Some Concerns.” ­Disability and Society 28.5 (2013): 660–673. Print. Landsman, Heidi Gail. “Mothers and Models of Disability.” Journal of Medical Humanities 26.2–3 (2005): 121–139. Print. Landsman, Heidi Gail. Reconstructing Motherhood and Disability in the Age of ­“Perfect” Babies. New York: Routledge, 2009. Print. Lavin, Judith Loseff. Special Kids Need Special Parents: A Resource for Parents of Children with Special Needs. New York: Berkley Books, 2001. Print.

76  Katherine E. Smith Malacrida, Claudia. “Preforming Motherhood in a Disablist World: Dilemmas of Motherhood, Femininity and Disability. International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education 22.1 (2009): 99–117. Print. Palacio, Raquel Jaramillo. Wonder. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2012. Print. Prezant, Fran P. “Supports Outside of Your Family.” Married with Special-Needs Children: A Couple’s Guide to Keeping Connected. Eds. Laura E. Marshak and Fran Pollack Prezant. Bethesda: Woodbine House, 2007. 173–195. Print. Read, Janet. Disability, the Family, and Society: Listening to Mothers. Buckingham: Open University Press, 2000. Print. Trueman, Terry. Stuck in Neutral. New York: HarperTeen, 2000. Print. Watermeyer, Brian, and Judith Anne McKenzie. “Mothers of Disabled Children: In Mourning or on the March?” Journal of Social Work Practice 28.4 (2014): ­405–416. Print. Winnicot, Donald Woods. “Transitional Objects and Transitional Phenomena—A Study of the First ‘Not Me’ Possession.” International Journal of Psycho-Analysis 34 (1953): 89–97. Electronic. Yoon, Nicola. Everything Everything. New York: Ember, 2015. Print.

Chapter 6

South Asian mothering in white spaces Sana Rizvi

We say that mothering, especially the mothering of children in oppressed groups, and especially mothering to end war, to end capitalism, to end homophobia and to end patriarchy is a queer thing. And that is a good thing. Those of us who nurture the lives of those children who are not supposed to exist, who are not supposed to grow up, who are revolutionary in their very beings are doing some of the most subversive work in the world. If we don’t know it, the establishment does. (Gumbs, 2016, 20)

Mothering, from a critical feminist lens, has been conceptualised as possessing the implicit knowledge systems that help provide emancipatory, strategic, and spiritual strategies beyond the biological function, which help mothers to perform the act of caring and nurturing children (Sakho-Lewis and College, 2017). Gumbs (2016) has termed mothering within a minority context as a queer act, a defiant act for mothers who have traditionally been viewed as a problem by the state. Minority mothers broadly encompass contexts that include Black and Minority Ethnic backgrounds and Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, and Queer groups, as well as teenage, ­working-class, incarcerated, disabled, immigrant, single, Gypsy, and religious minorities such as Muslim mothers. Minority mothers have continued to experience inequality in accessing education, health, welfare, employment, and citizenship over recent decades. Yet they continue to resist and challenge social inequalities masked as racism, sexism, ableism, or homophobia by the very act of mothering. This chapter represents the views and concerns of 19 Muslim mothers from the British-Pakistani and British-Bangladeshi communities mothering children with disabilities, based on 37 unstructured and semi-structured interviews conducted during three separate, small-scale research projects in the UK in 2010–2011 (Rizvi and Limbrick, 2015), 2012–2013 (Rizvi, 2017), and 2013–2016 (Rizvi, 2016). All three studies explored how South Asian Muslim mothers understood their child’s disability, and how they viewed, negotiated, and performed their roles within their child’s education in the

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context of multiple social inequalities. These three studies examined mothering at the intersections of religion, gender, immigrant experiences, and culture. Interviews were conducted with mothers whose children aged five to 19 had been diagnosed with a range of mild to profound disabilities. The first study included six British-Bangladeshi mothers, two British-­Bangladeshi fathers, and five members of staff at a special school in the West Midlands (Rizvi and Limbrick, 2015). The second study included five British-Pakistani mothers living in northern England (Rizvi, 2017). The third study included eight British-Pakistani mothers from south-west ­England (Rizvi, 2016). The mothers were from diverse backgrounds in terms of socioeconomic status, migration trajectories, educational backgrounds, language, family structure, and religio-cultural influences. The names of all participants, their children, and the schools were anonymised with the use of pseudonyms to protect their collective confidentiality. The researcher was invited into the participants’ homes; she temporarily became part of their personal lives, helping to ensure that her participants’ experiences and views were represented as authentically as possible within academic discourse.

Muslims in Britain In many Muslim-majority countries,1 procreation within marriage is not only encouraged, and in some instances state-imposed through restricting the availability of contraception, but it also raises the status of women to a religiously revered position within society (Pappano and Olwan, 2016). For instance, a famous hadith (religio-historical narration) states that paradise can be found beneath the feet of one’s mother. However, Williams (2015) notes that Muslim communities in the West are scrutinised, negatively stereotyped, and targeted for their reproductive practices. They are accused of dangerously plotting to take over Western society by using childbirth as a political tool. For instance, in October 2015, a public petition was launched that obliged the House of Commons to debate banning immigration altogether on the basis that “many of them are trying to change the UK into a Muslim country” (Halkon, 2015). Although this petition faced a public backlash, it nonetheless legitimised fearmongering of immigrant and minority communities in the UK. The normalisation of such discourse within official institutions speaks to the targeted discrimination and ‘othering’ of Muslims in Britain. However, according to one survey from the national project Tell MAMA, which measures anti-­ Muslim attacks in the UK, B ­ ritish Muslim women (56%) are far more likely to be verbally or physically assaulted than Muslim men, primarily by White men; this abuse often has misogynistic as well as racist and Islamophobic undertones (Tell MAMA 2016 Annual Report, 2017). Indeed, Baroness Warsi, a former Conservative Government Minister and prominent British Muslim has spoken publicly about how anti-Muslim prejudice has “passed the dinner-table test” and become socially acceptable within Britain (Kirkup, 2011).

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Although such discourses surround British Muslim mothers generally, Muslim mothers of children with disabilities experience further and deeper alienation and surveillance. They are frequently subject to ridicule, suspicion, medical gaze, and intervention by health and education professionals, academia, politicians, and the media for their cultural practice of arranged marriage. For instance, Baroness Flather, a Conservative-­appointed peer, declared that it is “absolutely appalling that first-cousin marriages in Pakistani communities are leading to so much disability among children” (Swinford, 2015). Such political comment and media coverage incorrectly conflates entirely legal cultural marital practices with incest, thereby provoking fear and disgust towards British-Pakistani Muslim communities. Research on British South Asian communities conducted from a health perspective has examined how ethnic-minority communities have tackled the issue of cousin marriages, and their attitudes towards genetic counselling. According to data from the most recent Census, South Asians account for 7.5% of the population of England and Wales (Office for National Statistics, 2011). However, studies have found that British-Pakistani and British-Bangladeshi families have a greater and increasing prevalence of profound and multiple learning disabilities in comparison with other ethnic groups (Strand and Lindsay, 2009; Emerson, 2009); some studies have found a greater likelihood of severe disabilities (Emerson and Hatton, 2004). This prevalence has been attributed to consanguinity and material deprivation (Emerson, 2009). Studies have found that community patriarchy can impede the willingness of British-Pakistanis to eradicate consanguinity as a marital practice (Darr et al., 2013; Shaw and Hurst, 2008). However, there was little evidence suggesting that religion influenced their attitudes to genetic counselling. Research has also found that the negative stereotypes held by professionals about Muslims affected the level of information given to Muslim families, further alienating them and lowering their quality of life; tellingly, participants distrusted medical professionals about the genetic risks of consanguinity as a consequence, reflecting the concern that they were being scapegoated (Darr et al., 2013; Shaw and Hurst, 2008). Much of South Asian family research has been gender-blind, with a palpable absence of maternal agency within this discourse. This is despite the fact that most studies have overwhelmingly interviewed mothers within family research, and that many of these mothers have been the primary advocates fighting for the best provisions for their children with disabilities. Therefore, the author’s studies address the absence of minority maternal voices, and more importantly, examines two integral aspects that shape their mothering in a Western context: the role of religion, and their positioning as immigrants.

Allah by my side Within existing literature, some researchers have examined the role of religion in the context of South Asian parental perceptions and understanding

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of disability. Yet this focus on religion has been simplistic and descriptive, viewing mothering through rigid, traditionally religious, and rather patriarchal paradigms. There has been an absence of resistance and active redefining of the maternal relationship with God on their own terms. For instance, Bywaters et al. (2003) found that British South Asian parents reported an amalgam of biomedical and religio-cultural explanations for disability, although their religious views were generally positive, accepting disability simply as God’s will. Nonetheless, two mothers in the sample did report religious policing by community members, who blamed their children’s disabilities on the mothers’ presumed sins. Similarly, in the collaborative study by Croot et al. (2008) with nine families, including seven from British-­Pakistani backgrounds, all participants reported positive religious rationales for their children’s disabilities; explanations ranged from considering parenting a child with disability as a sign of being ‘chosen’ by God, or as a divine test of their compassion and faith, to envisaging a ‘guaranteed place’ in heaven for them. Although both studies explored the religious understanding of disability, they viewed religion as a static additive context to the participants’ day-to-day experiences that parents had engaged in after having a child with a disability. However, the author found that religion was an intrinsic constitutive factor for British Muslim mothers, which was part of their lived experiences regardless of their children’s disability. The author’s recent study (Rizvi, 2016) found that mothers possessed a deeper understanding of Islamic jurisprudence, which provided guidance for their mothering practices. They questioned the patriarchy embedded within religious teaching, challenging the notion of maternal sacrifice as an innate trait for ‘good’ Muslim mothers. For example, Parveen is a mother who had experienced child bereavement and has a daughter with profound disability, … whenever I read those Quranic verses which said God hadn’t merely created you to suffer burns and wounds … I couldn’t live like that, I’d read and write a lot and I realised this life wasn’t for me … so when I meet other Pakistani mothers who’ve neglected themselves, I often give them an example of a jug of water [representing the mother] and lots of glasses representing your kids, husband, home, everything … you’re constantly pouring water into different glasses but what will you do when the jug runs out of water and there’s some glasses left? So, you must ensure you fill your jug, you must care for yourself and only that allows you to be a good mother. Parveen Parveen did not consider her hardships to be divine retribution for any supposed sins, or a rite of passage to heaven. Her religious knowledge allowed Parveen to separate religion from cultural practices, questioning

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the lack of theological grounds for her own oppressive experiences. Her rejection of the life of a ‘good sacrificing Muslim mother’ resonates with feminist writers such as Rich (1976 cited in Sinno, 2016), who suggested that the institutional practices of motherhood should not be conflated with the actual experiences of mothers, and that it is not a question of whether or not mothers exercise their agency or feel empowered in their lives, but rather how various intersections and multi-dimensionality affect their agency (Sinno, 2016). According to Rizvi (2016), mothers resisted not merely mainstream societal patriarchy, but also patriarchy within the British Muslim community. A religious lens also coloured the narratives of first-time mothers of children with disabilities (Rizvi, 2016). Mothers did not report feeling the ‘loss of a perfect child’ (Ellis, 1989) or experience any of the five stages of the Kübler-Ross Model of Grieving (1969). This model outlines the linear progression of emotional states that one goes through when experiencing the loss of a loved one. The Kübler-Ross Model of Grieving (1969) is often referenced in euro-centric literature that examines mothers’ initial experiences of learning that their children have disabilities. These five stages are denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. In the study by Landsman, mothers complained that their children’s Special Education Needs (SEN) assessments had lacked contextualisation and inaccurately represented their children’s behaviour and capabilities; professionals had told these mothers to “face reality” (Landsman, 2005, 128) and accept their children’s disability. Therefore, mothers who resisted their children’s diagnoses or whose responses fell outside of expected norms became subject to professional gaze and were perceived as being in denial according to the Kübler-Ross Model of Grieving (1969). Rahat, a mother of a child with disability (Rizvi, 2017), shared her disappointing experience of giving birth in hospital, The doctors asked my family if I realised what [disability] my daughter had as I had a happy expression on my face. Rahat After many unsuccessful attempts at starting a family, Rahat had simply been overjoyed that she had finally given birth to a daughter. She was not depressed to learn that her daughter had a degenerative disability because, for Rahat, disability was not her daughter’s overriding identifier. Yet her doctor’s reaction, expecting Rahat to conform to an idealised maternal narrative and grieve at her daughter’s diagnosis, was shocking and made her aware of how mothering a child with disability is viewed as a grievous and tumultuous process. This is not to deny that mothers do not experience a range of human emotions, but rather that they do not experience these emotions as a linear process (Rizvi, 2016). Kiran, a mother of a

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child with Global Developmental Delay, describes holding conversations with God: It was so emotional for us when he was born … we asked, ‘Why us? Why him?’ You go through all that, but that’s what was meant to be … that’s God’s way … God tests people in different ways, this was a test … ­religiously, it makes it bit easier for us. Kiran Mothers adopted a parallel trajectory to make sense of their experiences, set within a religious narrative of undergoing divine tests and reconciling to God’s will. Their emotional responses were linked to their Muslim identities and religious worldviews, since Islamic theology attributes great significance to the religious responsibilities surrounding parenting in general, for children with and without SEND. In addition, they also suggested that mothering a child with a disability attested to the fact that God had put them through trials, not as punishment, but to show them that they were capable of looking after children with disabilities. Moreover, by raging at God at various stages of their children’s lives, they found a more personal and healthier way of channelling their frustrations, rather than internalising their children’s difficulties as their own failures. However, Parveen’s response to her child’s death illustrates the religious epistemology that can help mothers make sense of their struggles: You know life can be very challenging. … I’ve found support in my faith … the way I see it, when a gardener tends his garden he must thin and trim the plants [population] … if those plants called him cruel and argued for their place within the garden, then they only see their own situation, they don’t see what the whole garden needs … only the gardener can view the whole garden, the whole picture and he’d never want his garden destroyed. I think of God’s earth as a beautiful garden and he’d never want his garden damaged. Parveen (Rizvi, 2016) Parveen was not bitter as she discussed her daughter’s last few days, suggesting her death was inevitable in light of the prognosis. Parveen had accepted medical opinion and had also made her peace in a religious sense, believing that she should not lose faith because her daughter’s death was part of God’s grander plan. Parveen was able to explain her daughter’s exact disability and how long it took to diagnose her: I researched the odds [of being born with XYZ2] were one in 50,000 … I don’t think such a severe case had probably occurred … now I think in the south-west there are three children, including Amber. Parveen (first interview)

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Although Parveen professed a form of religious epistemology, she simultaneously held a medical explanation for her daughter’s disability. This suggests her religious faith did not impinge on her understanding of her child’s disability. She did not compartmentalise or live life in strict binaries. Parveen’s religious views in relation to her daughter’s death do not reflect an absence of medical reasoning, or a natural response to coping with the loss of her daughter. Parveen is not a ‘non-expert’3 of religion; her position as a religious preacher sets her apart from all the other research participants, allowing her to rationalise and establish a meaningful framework through which she could consider her difficult experiences without seeming to be ‘in denial’ or irrational. Existing South Asian literature has found that community gatekeepers often rely on patriarchal, indifferent, and inaccurate explanations of disability, whether claiming that disability is a divine gift or punishment as a way of silencing maternal dissent, or blaming the mother’s sins for her child’s disability (Croot et al., 2008). However, Parveen’s experiences of supporting her two children with disability make her uniquely placed to amalgamate her theological knowledge with her maternal lens to provide a nuanced and authentic response to community patriarchy. The above discussions have highlighted some of the ways in which religion plays a role in empowering mothers, and providing them with a meaningful paradigm that shapes their mothering experiences. The next section examines how immigrant positioning mediates their interactions with various state institutions, and consequently, their ability to support their children.

Immigrant mothering and the difficult task of ‘double vision’ They want you not to reflect the idealised nuclear family but rather to strive for it and live in perpetual emotional shame and commercial want. (Gore, 2016, 144) Gore (2016) posits that families who fall short of the White, heterosexual, middle-class, able-bodied ideal are not only disadvantaged, but also shamed through professional gaze. Within home-school literature, research on parental involvement and partnership has been conceptualised from the professional’s point of view, utilising the deficit lens, which places the responsibility of any lack of parental engagement on the families themselves, thus marginalising them further. There is little acknowledgment from schools about how immigrant families must engage with various professionals, whilst simultaneously fighting for basic needs such as food and housing or struggling to obtain respite support due to multiple caring responsibilities

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at home. Yet most schools do not consider these ‘invisible’ hardships and only record the family’s non-participation: We look after Alina, we take her out, change her, shower her … everything. They’ve [parents] been informed many times of hygiene ­issues, but nothing. It’s our sole responsibility! Laura, special school teacher (Rizvi and Limbrick, 2015) Special school staff reported growing concerns that parents from the Bangladeshi community were not as engaged as parents from other ethnicities, in part because their offer of coffee mornings and parent groups had been spurned (Rizvi and Limbrick, 2015). The interview with Alina’s mother, Zaibunnisa, revealed that she was struggling to cope; alongside Alina who has profound disability, Zaibunnisa had two further children with moderate disabilities and three children without SEND, all sharing a two-bedroom house with her husband, who worked long hours as a taxi driver. Zaibunnisa was severely depressed and desperately needed support; however, the school’s limited funds prevented them from reaching out to her family to arrange respite care. She stressed that her current involvement represented her best efforts: Right now, I’m very involved with my daughter’s school. I don’t know what’ll happen in the future as I’ve got two other children with the same condition. Zaibunnisa (Rizvi and Limbrick, 2015) The school’s aspiration for developing a partnership assumes that the parents possess a cultural capital that is similar to that of the school and its staff. In such situations, schools must question whether it is necessary or even ethical to engage parents in home-school partnerships when they are evidently struggling to fulfil their basic needs. Pappano and Olwan (2016) highlight the difficulties mothers face in engaging with schools to ensure better outcomes for their children, whilst also navigating a complex education system as an immigrant or minority group. This ‘double vision’ creates an awareness that they must adapt themselves to how mainstream institutions work, ensuring their children do not miss out because of their positionality and circumstances. However, not all minority mothers can successfully perform this multi-layered role, and inevitably, some will be labelled ‘inefficient’ by schools alongside Zaibunnisa: You know if I was in Pakistan, I wouldn’t have the facilities I have in England … I’m thankful to Allah that if He has given me a child with special needs, then He has also provided me with all kinds of facilities

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to look after him … in this country, everyone helps … I think I haven’t felt any problem ever [in England] … in Pakistan, I wouldn’t have such facilities. My son might not get taken care by teachers or the government. I’m very happy to see my child get much better … just because of these people. Tahira, mother of a boy with profound disabilities (Rizvi, 2016) It would be different if I wasn’t born in this country … that’s one of the big factors, I think if you know the language and are comfortable approaching people and speaking with them, I think you can tackle anything … so I overcome challenges with my children, we’ve even gone to the council, fighting for them and everything. Shehnaz, a mother of two children with disabilities (Rizvi, 2016) Mothers did not report harbouring romantic notions of returning to their country of origin, regardless of whether they were first or second-generation UK immigrants (Rizvi and Limbrick, 2015; Rizvi, 2016; and Rizvi, 2017). First-generation immigrant mothers like Tahira (Rizvi, 2016), through either transnational marriage or economic migration, appeared to be fighting for their child’s inclusion at an epistemic level, rather than inclusion merely within mainstream schools. They rationalised their negative immigrant experiences within Britain with the overall benefit it provided to their child, which was a reflection of their decision to settle in the UK. For mothers, there was no ‘myth of return’ to their country of origin as is often highlighted in literature examining immigrant community experiences of navigating health, social care, and education systems (Bhatti, 1999; Goodley et al., 2013). However, second-generation mothers like Shehnaz (Rizvi, 2016) considered themselves better equipped in terms of cultural capital as well as resources than first-generation mothers, because they had been born and brought up within British society and were more familiar with British institutions. They were acutely aware of the non-inclusive and patriarchal nature of society within Pakistan, and they had made their permanent home in the UK because they wanted their children to be supported and accepted in every aspect of their lives. In actively participating in support groups and augmenting their resources through a close group of professionals, they were realising their agency within their children’s education. Mothers in each study were acutely aware of their multiple positionalities and engaged in ‘double consciousness’ (Du Bois, 1897), adapting their positioning according to how mainstream society viewed them. They highlighted instances where professionals had blamed them for taking the risk of procreating within cousin marriages, of being suspected of being physically abused

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because they were married to Pakistani or Bangladeshi men, of appearing to be oppressed by their husbands and/or family, and of feeling singled out because they were South Asian Muslims: They [professionals] think, ‘They’re Asians, as soon as the daughter’s older they’ll pack up and leave’ [school] … But that’s not true … I’m encouraging her [Farha] to go to college, university, make her own identity. Saira, a mother of three children with mental health difficulties (Rizvi, 2016) Saira highlighted how her daughter’s school held such negative stereotypes of South Asians in general that they had assumed that she would take her daughter Farha out of school to get married in Pakistan during the summer holidays (Rizvi, 2016). She maintained that, as a victim of a non-­consensual marriage herself, this was anathema to her. She also pointed out that Farha was 21 years old and was at a further education college, and that she wanted all her daughters to pursue higher education and to be independent. Eventually, Saira had to ask her doctor and the family intervention worker to intervene on her behalf with the school to help remove this negative image. Nonetheless, this episode created distrust in her mind about how the school perceived her and her family. She constantly experienced ‘double consciousness’ (Du Bois, 1897), acknowledging that the school’s viewing her as a problem ruined her relationship with the school. Zaibunnisa and Saira’s accounts, as discussed in this section, reflect how stereotypes and assumptions about ethnic minorities can adversely affect the communication between schools and families. Consequently, this can affect the type and quality of the provisions offered to the children. The maternal narratives in this section reflect the paradoxical relationship between mothers and the welfare state in the UK. On the one hand, the mothers were aware that they were perceived as being disengaged, problematic, and passive, but at the same time they were determined in their efforts to ensure that their children do not miss out on the provisions and support offered by the SEN system in the UK.

Concluding remarks By revisiting maternal accounts within three of her studies, the author is reminded of the Black queer feminist academic Audre Lorde’s powerful words, “we can learn to mother ourselves” (Lorde, 1984, 173), calling on Black mothers to create positive change in their circumstances through self-­healing, strategically organising themselves, and recognising their multiple positionalities. This bold statement, which highlights the need for self-­reliance and empowerment, also resonates with mothers who have been blamed, racialised, and marginalised by the neoliberal economic system for their

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impoverished circumstances and because they have failed to fit the state’s notion of ideal mothering. The experiences of Saira, Zaibunnisa, Parveen, Tahira, Shehnaz, Kiran, and Rahat do not suggest that their identities were disabling to their experiences; rather, these mothers were on diverse trajectories towards realising what may enable or disable them in performing mothering. Religion was not only a significant aspect of each South Asian Muslim mother’s identity, but it also allowed her to employ an alternative framework to the traditional Western model of grieving, as she made sense of her experiences of being a mother to a child with disability. Moreover, each mother practiced her religion very differently, and as a result had the flexibility to exercise her agency and challenge the religious or cultural exclusion of her child. In addition, mothers were fighting for their children’s inclusion on a more epistemic level that acknowledged and accepted their British South Asian Muslim children’s rights to an education and to all available opportunities that come with living within the UK, rather than merely focusing on inclusion through a narrowly defined educational lens.

Notes 1 For instance, Pakistan, Bangladesh and Indonesia (El Hamri, 2010) 2 Parveen’s daughter has a very rare disease that may identify her and her daughter, breaching their confidentiality. 3 Non-expert is a term used by Ammerman (2007) to distinguish institutional representation of religion from the everyday religious experiences and understandings of lay persons.

References Ammerman, N. T. (2007). Introduction. In Ammerman, N. T. (ed.) Everyday ­Religion: Observing Modern Religious Lives, 3–18. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Bhatti, G. (1999). Asian Children at Home and at School: An Ethnographic Study. London: Routledge. Bywaters, P., Ali, Z., Fazil, Q., Wallace, L. M., and Singh, G. (2003). Attitudes ­towards disability amongst Pakistani and Bangladeshi parents of disabled ­children in the UK: Considerations for service providers and the disability movement. Health and Social Care in the Community, 11(6), 502–509. Croot, E. J., Grant, G., Cooper, C. L., and Mathers, N. (2008). Perceptions of the causes of childhood disability among Pakistani families living in the UK. Health and Social Care in the Community, 16(6), 606–613. Darr, A., Small, N., Ahmad, W. I., Atkin, K., Corry, P., Benson, J., and Modell, B. (2013). Examining the family-centred approach to genetic testing and counselling among UK Pakistanis: a community perspective. Journal of Community Genetics, 4(1), 49–57. Du Bois, W. E. B. (1897). “Strivings of the Negro people.” The Atlantic Monthly. www.americasinging.com/wordpress2/wp-content/uploads/2009/11/WEBDuBois.pdf [accessed 7 June 2018].

88  Sana Rizvi El Hamri, N. (2010). Approaches to family planning in Muslim communities. BMJ Sexual & Reproductive Health, 36(1), 27–31. Ellis, J. B. (1989). Grieving for the loss of the perfect child: parents of children with handicaps. Child and Adolescent Social Work Journal, 6(4), 259–270. Emerson, E. (2009). Estimating future numbers of adults with profound multiple learning disabilities in England. Tizard Learning Disability Review, 14(4), 49–55. Emerson, E., and Hatton, C. (2004). Response to McGrother et al. (Journal of ­Intellectual Disability Research, 46, 299–309) The prevalence of intellectual ­disability among South Asian communities in the UK. Journal of Intellectual ­Disability Research, 48, 201–202. Goodley, D., Runswick-Cole, K., and Mahmoud, U. (2013). Disablism and ­diaspora: British Pakistani families and disabled children. Review of Disability Studies: An International Journal, 9 (2/3), 63–78. Gore, A. (2016). Queering family. In Gumbs, A. P., Martens, C., and Williams, M. (eds.) Revolutionary Mothering: Love on the Front Lines, 142–144. Toronto, ON: Between the Lines. Gumbs, A. P. (2016). M/other ourselves: a black queer feminist genealogy for radical mothering. In Gumbs, A. P., Martens, C., and Williams, M. (eds.) Revolutionary Mothering: Love on the Front Lines, 19–31. Toronto, ON: Between the Lines. Halkon, R. (2015). “Islam is the ‘fastest growing religion’ and will ‘overtake Christianity by the end of the century’.” The Mirror, 10 December 2015. www.mirror. co.uk/news/world-news/islam-fastest-growing-religion-overtake-6986333 [accessed 7 June 2018]. Kirkup, J. (2011). “Tory chief Baroness Warsi attacks ‘bigotry’ against Muslims.” The Telegraph, 19 January 2011. www.telegraph.co.uk/news/religion/8270294/­ Tory-chief-Baroness-Warsi-attacks-bigotry-against-Muslims.html [accessed 7 June 2018]. Kübler-Ross, E. (1969). On Death and Dying. New York: The Macmillan Company. Landsman, G. (2005). Mothers and models of disability. Journal of Medical Humanities, 26(2–3), 121–139. Lorde, A. (1984). Sister Outsider: Essays and Speeches. Freedom, CA: Crossing Press. ­ ngland Office for National Statistics, UK. (2011). Ethnicity and National Identity in E and Wales 2011. www.ons.gov.uk/ons/dcp171776_290558.pdf [accessed 7 June 2018]. Pappano, M. A., and Olwan, D. M. (2016). Muslim Mothering: Global Histories, ­T heories, and Practices. Bradford, ON: Demeter Press. Rich, A. (1976). Of Woman Born: Motherhood as Experience and Institution. New York: Bantam. Rizvi, S. (2017). Exploring British Pakistani mothers’ perception of their child with disability: insights from a UK context. Journal of Research in Special Educational Needs, 17(2), 87–97. Rizvi, S. (2016). Fighting your corner: an in-depth study of how British-Pakistani mothers support their child with SEND. PhD thesis, School of Education, University of Bristol. Rizvi, S., and Limbrick, P. (2015). Provision for learners with SLD/PMLD from ethnic minority families. In Lacey, P., Ashdown, R., Jones, P., Lawson, H. and

South Asian mothering in white spaces  89 Pipe, M. (eds.) Routledge Companion to Severe, Profound and Multiple Learning Difficulties, 90–101. Oxford: Routledge. Sakho-Lewis, J. R., and College, C. (2017). Black activist mothering: teach me about what teaches you. The Western Journal of Black Studies, 41(1–2), 6–19. Shaw, A., and Hurst, J. A. (2008). “What is this genetics, anyway?” understandings of genetics, illness causality and inheritance among British Pakistani users of genetic services. Journal of Genetic Counselling, 17(4), 373–383. Sinno, N. (2016). Empowered Muslim mothering: navigating war, border-crossing, and activism in El-Haddad’s Gaza Mom. In Pappano, M. A., and Olwan, D. M. (eds.) Muslim Mothering: Global Histories, Theories, and Practices, 21–51. Bradford, ON: Demeter Press. Strand, S., and Lindsay, G. (2009). Evidence of ethnic disproportionality in ­special education in an English population. The Journal of Special Education, 43(3), 174–190. Swinford, S. (2015). “First cousin marriages in Pakistani communities leading to ‘appalling’ disabilities among children.” The Telegraph, 7 July 2015. www. telegraph.co.uk /news/health /children/11723308/First- cousin-marriagesin-­Pakistani-communities-leading-to-appalling-disabilities-among-children.html [accessed 7 June 2018]. Tell MAMA 2016 Annual Report (November 2017). A Constructed Threat: Identity, Intolerance, and the Impact of Anti-Muslim Hatred. London: Faith Matters. Williams, T. D. (2015). “Patriarch of Antioch: Muslims want to conquer Europe with ‘faith and the birthrate’.” Breitbart, 6 November 2015. www.breitbart.com/ national-security/2015/11/06/patriarch-antioch-muslims-want-conquer-­europefaith-birthrate/ [accessed 7 June 2018].

Part 2

Unorthodox mothers

Chapter 7

Motherhood and mothering in contemporary ‘IP memoirs’ Eva-Sabine Zehelein

Most women conceive naturally, yet ever more women use Assisted Reproductive Technologies (ART)1 to become pregnant and carry a child/children to term. Some women employ another woman to birth their child/children. In traditional surrogacy, the surrogate is genetically related to the embryo(s), since her oocyte(s) is/are used with donor sperm or sperm by the intended parent/father. This can trigger socio-psychological, political, and legal concerns. Although traditional surrogacy is a prominent biblical theme,2 the (in)famous case of ‘Baby M’ in 1985/86 was the first to cause an intense, long-lasting debate about the nature of ‘mother’ and the nature and role of motherhood and mothering, as well as of the mother-child relationship. In 1984, William and Elizabeth Stern (he a biochemist, she a paediatrician with early signs of multiple sclerosis) contracted Mary Beth Whitehead as a traditional surrogate for $10,000; post birth, Mary Beth was to relinquish her parental rights, William to obtain custody, and E ­ lizabeth to adopt the child. After the infant – named Melissa (‘Baby M’) by the Sterns and Sara by Ms Whitehead – was born in March 1986, the latter felt she could not give up the child. The Sterns sued her, and the New Jersey court ruled that the contract was binding and that Ms Whitehead had no parental rights. She appealed to the New Jersey Supreme Court, which ruled that the contract was not enforceable, but it still granted custody to the Sterns and visitation rights to Ms Whitehead. The Court also declared surrogacy in New Jersey illegal (cf.  e.g. Spar, 2006: 69–72; Peterson, 2016). Many second-wave feminists at the time were enticed by an essentialist understanding of motherhood, including the assumption that a special tie exists between birth mother and child, thus turning the gestational host into the ‘natural mother’ with a ‘sacred right’ to the infant. This concept eclipses the intended mother from the motherhood narrative and relegates her as physically and psychologically damaged to the side lines with no agency and no rights to claim a child to whom another woman has given birth and thus no way to become a mother. According to the Center for Disease Control and Prevention, 2.3% of all ART cycles performed in the US between 2009 and 2013 used a gestational carrier. Since 1999, more than 18,000 children

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have been born from gestational surrogacy (Perkins et al., 2016: 436–437). Here, the surrogate is not genetically related to the child/children she carries. Intended parents use their own oocyte(s) and sperm or sperm and/or oocyte(s) from an (anonymous) donor. Through in vitro fertilisation (IVF) and especially intracytoplasmic sperm injection (ICSI), one oocyte is fertilised with one sperm ex utero and one to three blastocysts are transferred to the uterus of the gestational carrier. Genetic and gestational maternity are disconnected. Thus, a second woman can ‘be the mother, too’; although she does not share in the pregnancy and birth process, she is genetically related to the child and can therefore claim the infant as ‘hers’. Separating gestation and genetics allows for a truly revolutionary act in human history: The severance of the symbolic umbilical cord – the argument that to nurture an embryo in utero establishes automatic and exclusive motherhood status and a unique natural bond between the pregnant woman and the embryo. The ‘mother’ is no longer ‘only’ the woman who gives birth; nurture is not necessarily nature. Many women write about their individual mothering, that is, about their road towards being a mother and their experiences of childrearing within the broader context of the patriarchal institution of motherhood.3 This proliferating literary subgenre has been labelled ‘mommy lit’ (Hewett, 2006) with the special subcategory ‘mommy memoirs’ (Brown, 2010: 123) or ‘mo-moir’ (O’Reilly, 2010b: 203). The core element of this genre is that a woman ‘tells it how it is’, explores the ‘truth’ about being a mother and the challenges accompanying all practices of mothering. For Andrea O’Reilly – the spearhead of what she herself christened ‘motherhood studies’ some ten years ago – one aspect is central to these memoirs: a new ideology of motherhood, namelym], ‘new momism’4 or ‘intensive mothering’. I concur with O’Reilly’s assessment that the motherhood memoir as a discourse by presenting women as mothers actively engaged in intensive mothering ‘naturalises and normalises the very patriarchal conditions of motherhood that feminists … seek to dismantle’ (O’Reilly, 2010b: 205). Under the patriarchal institution and ideology of motherhood, the definition of mother is limited to heterosexual women who have biological children, while the concept of good motherhood is further restricted to a select group of women who are white, heterosexual, middle-class, able-bodied, married, thirty-something, in a nuclear family with usually one to two children, and, ideally, full-time mothers. (O’Reilly, 2010a: 7) Although motherhood memoirs aim to unmask ‘good motherhood’ by spelling out the truths and colourful facets of life as a mother, they fall short of challenging and rejecting gender essentialism.5 As Peterson (2016) has recently shown, during the ‘Baby M’ case, second-wave feminists were divided

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between the ‘difference’ (there is a difference between a surrogate and another woman – the ‘natural bond’, cf. 111) and the ‘equality’ (all men and women are equal in their ability to nurture and parent children, cf. 114) lines of argumentation. One might well argue that this debate has still not been solved; it surfaces, for instance, in ‘IP memoirs’. ‘IP memoirs’ – memoirs by women who have received a child via a surrogacy arrangement – are a rather recent literary and cultural phenomenon; they even less prone to challenge a dominant cultural discourse of gender essentialism. Quite the contrary: The narratives of why women want children so much and how they finally become mothers are suffused with romantic(ised) notions of motherhood and mothering. I wish to argue that these memoirs present a double bind: on the one hand, written against normative understandings of motherhood by adding an intended parent and genetic mother to the mythologised mother-child bond, they broaden both the definition of ‘mother’ and the practice of mothering, while, on the other hand, they reaffirm core tenets of patriarchal motherhood through depictions of ‘new momism’. This double bind might be caused by the protean nature of ‘IP memoirs’. They are framed by an extraordinary force field, situated at the intersections of personal trauma narrative, autopathography and matriography, as well as scriptotherapy and biography. The authors work through their very intimate trauma of not being able to conceive their own children. For these women, there is no female agency; they do not ‘own’ their bodies and make decisions about when to be pregnant. If they possess any agency at all, it is only to the extent that they can try and conceive by opening body and mind to expensive, complex, invasive, and painful medical interventions. Thus, they render their personal ‘road to surrogacy’ as a transformative performative process from ‘whole woman’ to ‘unhealthy woman’ to ‘incomplete mother’. By detailing the medical aspects of ART treatment and pregnancy, necessitated by their ‘dysfunctional’ bodies, they engage in normative discourses about health and disease. G. Thomas Couser (1997) has suggested the term ‘autopathography’ for narratives about illness or disability that challenge socio-cultural discourses othering the writer as not normal but rather deviant or pathological. The biological becomes biographical when not only the ‘technical’ medical aspects of modern conception through ART (including hormone treatments, genetic screening, ICSI, and embryo implantation) are detailed, but also non-pregnancies, miscarriages, still-births, dilations and curettages (D and Cs), and the times of high hopes and utter despair. The ‘IP memoir’ as matriography is thus also a story of and about the sick body, the emotional hardships of becoming an intended parent, and finally a mother to a child to whom one has not given birth. The texts therewith inscribe the genetic mother into the motherhood discourse and broaden the definition of the performative act of mother(hood). However, many women build a narrative of unity in the face of difference. This difference is a culturally

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created and commercially cemented one of gender essentialism. It seems that many memoirists desire to prove and emphatically emphasise that they ‘can be good mothers, too’. As Kukla (2008) has shown, reproduction is in the ‘cultural mythos’ (74) often restricted to three distinct phases or moments: conception, pregnancy, and birth, when it should be understood as ‘the process of creating new people and building families and communities’, which is a decades-long process, a ‘social and material labour of love’ (86). Reproduction happens ‘through women’s ongoing, richly textured labour’ (69). Yet ‘good mothers’ and their partners attend the social ritual of the regular ultrasound scan, deliver vaginally, and breastfeed. Such a discourse is not about medically safe procedures to protect life and health of mother and child, and not about women’s individual choice and power over their bodies, but about measuring so-called ‘proper motherhood’ through the accompanying market-driven symbolic spectacle. Every woman who defaults on any of these categories might be considered a deficient, a ‘bad mother’. It is because of these cultural inscriptions that women who have not given birth to their child/children enter an apologia, in the context of which, though, they reinscribe the patriarchal market-oriented ‘new momisms’. They do not question the motherhood narrative, do not demand, for instance, better work-life balance and child care. In the face of the socially constructed and culturally mediated notion that there is a special natural/ biological bond between birth mother and child, they rather than challenge reaffirm that notion of the ‘sacred’ bond and simply, yet powerfully, add themselves as a third term to the equation. The ‘good mother’ paradigm conflates with the ‘good woman’ assumption: It is natural that a woman can conceive; infertility is thus a disease and woman is discursively framed as having a sick body. After intervention, she must strive to be the ‘good mother’ in order to justify the pains, ordeals, and expenses she has borne on her rocky road to motherhood. In scriptotherapeutic mode à la Henke (19986), working-­w riting through the trauma and undergoing a process of healing, the women reach motherhood and enter mothering after arduous times, justifying and accounting for the individual decisions made to eventually find closure. Finally, but of extraordinary importance, these texts are also a creation story, the first part of children’s biographies. Not too many people provide private minutiae about the conception and genesis of their infant(s) for the public. Some mothers disclose highly intimate details about themselves and their family life thus potentially depriving their offspring of their autonomy to construct their own identities in narrative. To illustrate these arguments, the following will discuss in due brevity two memoirs by women who have employed a gestational host to conceive a child: ‘Her Body, My Baby’ (Kuczynski, 2008), and Bringing in Finn (Connell, 2013). Both memoirs emphasises auxiliary topics: Issues of class (Kuczynski), and the case that a woman serves as the gestational host for

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her own daughter (Connell). They exemplify very multifaceted innovative practices of ‘IP memoir’ – memoirs by Intended Parents. I tried hard not to see myself as a failure In an essay for The New York Times Magazine, published in November 2008, Alexandra Kuczynski conveys her story of becoming a mother in text and peritext: Aged 39, she had been ‘[e]xhausted by years of infertility, wrung emotionally dry by miscarriage’. Despite the hardships of 11 failed IVF cycles and four failed pregnancies over five years, the longing for a child was still so strong that surrogacy became the final option. She decided with her husband to hire a surrogate as an ‘organ rental’. And about the candidates, Alex/our narrating I explains that none were poor (after all, health insurance was a must), but of course they were also not rich.7 She identifies a ‘gentle hypocrisy’ of agencies that speak about altruism as the ultimate motivation for women to volunteer for surrogacy, yet she spends many more lines on the attempt to present her choice in a favourable light: The chosen one, Cathy, is stable, sensible, has taken care of 17 foster children, is college-educated, a tennis and piano player, and thus, all in all, ‘not so different from us’. Cathy is not too different, yet also different enough to be just the perfect ‘vessel, the carrier, the biological baby sitter, for my baby’. When it surfaces that the surrogate’s daughter donates eggs to pay for college, you begin to wonder about the relationship between the IP and the surrogate. And this might well find expression in phrases such as Cathy was getting bigger, and the constraints on her grew. I, on the other hand, was happy to exploit my last few months of nonmotherhood by white-water rafting down Level 10 rapids on the Colorado River, racing down a mountain at 60 miles per hour at ski-racing camp, drinking bourbon and going to the Super Bowl. What might support the occasional but strong textual whiff of class difference and thus power imbalance are two photos that accompany the ­m ini-memoir with their own, yet complementary system of meaning. The first shows the surrogate in front of her home in Harleysville, PA. ‘Almost baked’ (as the caption has it) is a problematic term, suggesting that she is indeed nothing other than an oven for a bread or cake that was prepared by and belongs to someone else – the author. What do we see? A back porch, in somewhat dilapidated condition, paint coming off, and cracks in the porch, some floorboards are coiling a little, vegetation is creeping up, dirt all around, stuff lying about, many shoes on a rack. The woman sitting on the porch floor is well advanced in her pregnancy, she wears a red sweater that makes her appear even bigger, she has bare feet (but red toe nails), and leans back a little on her right hand, the left protectively placed on her belly. She is not smiling, really; her gaze, directed past or beyond the camera, might

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express something between serenity and pain. The focus is not the woman, really, but on the huge red belly protected but in a sense also pointed at by her left hand, the dog is looking at it as well. Photo number two shows an immaculate back porch, starch white, with columns and never sat upon or well-kept lounge chairs with super-thick cushions, an incredibly flush-lush lawn, a well-trimmed curvy hedge in the back, the curve somewhat mirrored in the front-left lawn patch. Blue hydrangeas, white swans, blue-white porch cushions, and the baby boy in blue pants – all is colour coordinated. We are in Southampton, a rich neighbourhood on Long Island, called The Hamptons. Here is the woman of the house, in sandals, a brown skirt, and pink sweater, standing very straight, facing directly into the camera. She is holding her infant son with both arms in a protective-possessive tight wrap to her left shoulder/her heart. The son is not on display as in a ‘look how beautiful he is’. We do not even see much of him. Next to and behind her, we perceive the baby nurse, a person of colour, dressed in immaculate white, standing there like a fourth column. Hands on her back, she is looking at the boy and waiting for orders. ‘Every day is mother’s day’, indeed. Who is the mother? Well, Cathy has been branded ‘the biological babysitter’ and ‘organ rental’; secondly, her name is suppressed in the child’s entire creation story when our author would crop Cathy’s and the clinic’s names out of the frame of sonogram pictures before sending them out to family and friends: ‘I wanted her identity to disappear and mine to take its place’. Thirdly, Cathy is eclipsed from the post-natal narrative. Finally, as the caption makes clear, the child’s name is not Max Hilling, but Max Dudley Stevenson. So, it would be easy for the reader to judge Alex’s decision as morally repulsive and exploitative, depriving Cathy of any agency at all. However, Alex also provides narrative snippets that let us glimpse how much she has suffered. Her body is not healthy, and thus, one might argue, she has a right to treatment of this health issue; she has suffered psychologically and physically, and deserves a child. We have just read the heart-breaking rendition of one of the miscarriages: In March, I went to see my doctor at Cornell. I would have been about 10 weeks pregnant. … I had done it, my own fecundity triumphant. “Agh,” he said, his voice strangled in his throat. “I have some bad news.” … Do you see the black dot?” [on the sonogram]. I nodded cautiously. “That was the heart,” he said. … The nurse called two days after [the D and C]. “In case you were interested, it was a girl,” she said. In case I was interested. … The nurse continued. “And the good news is that there was no sign of a genetic defect.” Knowing that there were no genetic defects – reassuring, in at least a scientific way – also made me realise something else: The baby, the foetus, wasn’t the failure. I was the failure. The inability to be pregnant is presented here as a disappointing non-­ normative, unhealthy state that causes deep identity insecurities. This is an

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aspect constitutive of nearly all ‘IP memoirs’. McLeod and Ponesse (2008) have argued that ‘women often morally blame themselves for infertility … and that their self-blame is intimately tied to their oppression as women’, particularly in pro-natalist environments (127). Women thus revert to the pro-natalist and patriarchal motherhood register in order to justify their reproductive activities. However, they simultaneously employ the liberal feminist standpoint. Alex argues that the gestational host Cathy is a free woman who has the right to decide over her body; if she wants to ‘rent out her womb’ or altruistically help another woman have a child, she should have every right to do so. If she receives financial compensation, that is just fair. She sells her reproductive labour and becomes a reproductive service worker. But it is because Alex has the money that she can have a child, and it is this cultural moment that makes it possible that a white married upper ­m iddle-class woman with fertility issues can hire another white woman to carry her genetic baby to term and then hand it over to a coloured baby nurse. Cathy might be very financially challenged – so how much free choice is there, then? Is this not yet another case of exploitation, a commercialisation of pregnancy and objectification of the female body and self? Is this a form of ‘white slavery’, where white woman, on the basis of pecuniary inferiority connected to class labours and produces wealth/children as commodities to increase the wealth of her ‘owners’? Reproductive liberty is difficult. Reproductive justice is difficult. The text makes no attempt to hide the chasm of class difference and power imbalance that exists between our author/now mummy and the gestational host. It does not gloss over another constitutive element of ‘IP memoirs’: the difficulty an intended parent often faces once the baby is there: It is yours, but you were not pregnant with it, and you did not give birth to it, and you cannot breastfeed it – so how much of a mother are you? The role of the mother is conceived of as an assemblage of aspects or job descriptions, and Alex is ‘incomplete’, her gender role under-performed, her identity as a mother ‘crippled’ since she cannot fulfil all the parameters of ‘being a proper mother’. In order to countermand this ‘deficit’, the genetic-as-natural bond between child and intended mother is accentuated. Since the intended mother is the passive part during both pregnancy and birth, she actively works on the narrative creation of herself as mother and the textual disappearance of the hired other. It might be quite indicative that Cathy and Alex also never pose for a photo together. Kristine, congratulations – you and Sara and Bill are really, truly pregnant. (220) More than Alex Kuczynski (2008), Sara Connell (2013) in her memoir Bringing in Finn relates the long and excruciatingly painful journey she and her husband had to make to finally be parents. Sara, sexually abused during

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childhood by neighbourhood boys and a friend’s stepfather, as a teenager lost her left ovary due to a ruptured ovarian cyst. She reveals the emotional hardships she and her partner experienced over years of hope and fertility treatment and destitution. Writing this book is a form of scriptotherapy, a process of self-healing, a ‘writing out and writing through traumatic ­experience in the mode of therapeutic re-enactment’ (Henke, 1998: xii). Sara writes down the series of unspeakable, self-altering, and potentially self-­ destructive experiences. More than any other surrogacy memoir I know, Sara Connell depicts her journey to mothering as a story of a sick and ­suffering and hurt(ing) body – psychologically as well as physically. There is a strong emphasis on the hardships caused by the duration and intensity of medical treatment over six years: Hormone shots for follicle stimulation, ‘medically scheduled sex’, IVF (egg retrieval and embryo transfer), pregnancy, perinatal loss in the fifth month due to ‘incompetent cervix’ and c­ onsequently still birth of twin sons via caesarean followed by posttraumatic stress disorder, five more IVF cycles resulting in one miscarriage. The memoir begins with a prologue or vignette portraying the moment of the twins’ still birth. Here, too, just as in Alex’s memoir, notions of failure and defeat are prominent: The day we left the hospital, a therapist from the perinatal loss department presented us with two death certificates and asked us if we wanted the bodies for a burial. … We were being taken out the back like the trash, sparing those families who came to the hospital and left with a baby, arms full of balloons and flowers and plush toys, the unsightly image of two devastated parents with shell-shocked eyes and dangling arms empty, like wraiths. (2) This dramatic opening pulls the reader into the story about Sara’s six-yearlong attempt to birth a child. Sara travels her own road of healing from self-hatred and hurt to self-discovery and restoration. On the way, she also reconnects to her mother, experiences ‘relational transcendence’ (261) with her, a form of physical intimacy she has not felt since being in her mother’s womb. The mother-daughter relationship grows into a mother-mother bond where Sara’s own biological mother becomes the gestational host for Sara’s and Bill’s child so that Sara herself can become a mother. Moments when she ‘felt like a whole and complete mother-to-be’ (252) change with times when she, too, blames herself, suffers from ‘poisonous firing of thoughts that I didn’t deserve this gift – that if I couldn’t have a baby on my own, the ‘normal’ way, I didn’t deserve to have one at all. People earn a baby by carrying one; the sacrifices of pregnancy make you worthy’ (253). She also envies her mother: ‘I wanted to be the one sitting in the first chair. I wanted

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to feel the baby moving in my body’ (261). Yet she continues to emphasise the proximity between mother and daughter and child as a holy triad of mutual emotional interconnectedness, which might convince the reader that this form of surrogacy arrangement is actually the most natural and conceivable. The fact that her mother served as a surrogate caused high media attention at the time. Thus, this memoir also answers to a stiff media discourse. Connell couches her story as one where the mother-daughter bond is the ultimate solution. That her mother at age 60 carries her child to term is presented as natural and a ‘gift … of life’ (179). Creating a family is a family matter, indeed.8 This story is not only one of suffering, an autopathography, but also one of resistance, resilience, reconciliation, and healing (Harris, 2003: 1). By writing down how she ended her self-hatred and rebuilt close connections to her parents, especially to her mother, and how she witnessed and co-­ experienced her mother’s pregnancy and finally became a mother to Finn, Sara performs her idiosyncratic scriptotherapy. As Henke has observed: ‘It is through the very process of rehearsing and re-enacting a drama of mental survival that the trauma narrative effects psychological catharsis’ (1998: xix). ‘There is a thin line between paternalism and exploitation when considering the surrogate’s needs. Similarly, there is a thin line for the intended parents between reproductive autonomy and accountability’ (Braverman et al., 2012: 304). Thus, memoirs by intended parents are situated in an extraordinary force field. On the one hand, they serve to explain and justify the action taken to finally be (a) parent(s). They might thus be reminiscent of a confessional-meets-how-to-manual. The intended audience/implied reader might look for advice and support, but also be highly critical of surrogacy arrangements. The authors thus (re)present themselves, their bodies, and their deficits in a form of quasi-confessional, with extremely intimate health and medical details, engaging with, contesting, yet at the same time also reinscribing the cultural norm of health and sickness as well as patriarchal motherhood and pro-natalism. To justify and explain why they want a child so much, they revert to notions of the sick body that deserves treatment, confronting their own trauma of incapability through a scriptotherapeutic quest taking them from hopes to pain and ordeal to ultimate happiness, a child. They idealise mothering and motherhood as something they cannot imagine living without. This desire for a child is – as all needs and desires are – partly socially produced (Marsh and Ronner, 1996: 252–253), and infertility, a medical condition, is also culturally framed and deeply embedded in discourses about true motherhood and pro-natalist worldviews. But then, a third term is added to the mother-child equation – the genetic mother. Despite the sacred/natural bond emphasised by the gender essentialists, an IP can also claim a child as hers. And because

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she is ‘incomplete’, she will do her best to make amends and be super mom, steeped in the romantic-repressive antics of ‘new momisms’ and ‘intensive mothering’.

Notes 1 Assisted Reproductive Technology (‘ART’) ‘includes in vitro fertilization – ­embryo transfer (IVF-ET), gamete intrafallopian transfer (GIFT), zygote intrafallopian transfer (ZIFT), and frozen embryo transfer (FET). These techniques also apply to oocyte donation and gestational carriers. Approximately 99 ­p ercent of ART cycles performed are IVF-ET’ (SART-Society for Assisted Reproductive Technology website). 2 Hagar gestates for Sarai and Abraham (Genesis 16; 1–6), Bilhah and Zilpah both bear two sons for Jacob and his two wives Rachel and Leah (Genesis 30; 1–13). 3 ‘Within motherhood studies the term motherhood is used to signify the patriarchal institution of motherhood, while mothering refers to women’s lived ­experiences of childrearing as they both conform to and/or resist the patriarchal institution of motherhood and its oppressive ideology’ (O’Reilly, 2010a: 2). 4 ‘The new momism is a highly romanticized view of motherhood in which the standards for success are impossible to meet’ since ‘a woman has to devote her entire physical, psychological, emotional, intellectual being, 24/7, to her ­children’ (Douglas and Michaels, 2004: 4). 5 O’Reilly (2010b) speaks of a ‘cognitive dissonance between the reality and ideology of motherhood’ (209). 6 ‘The act of life-writing serves as its own testimony and, in so doing, carries through the work of reinventing the shattered self as a coherent subject capable of meaningful resistance to received ideologies and of effective agency in the world’ (Henke, 1998: xix). 7 According to research by Berend (2012), most surrogates in the US are white, lower middle-class or middle-class women in their 20s or 30s, married with children. 8 Illinois, where the Connells live, recognises the intended parents as parents in gestational surrogacy (750 ILCS 47/15).

Bibliography Berend, Z. (2012) The romance of surrogacy. Sociological Forum. 27 (4), 913–936. Braverman, A., Casey, P., and Jadva, V. (2012) Reproduction through surrogacy in the UK and the USA. In: Richards, M., Pennings, G., and Appleby, J. B. (eds.) Reproductive Donation. Practice, Policy and Bioethics. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, pp. 289–307. Bromfield, N. F. (2016) ‘Surrogacy has been one of the most rewarding experiences in my life’: a content analysis of blogs by U.S. commercial gestational surrogates. International Journal of Feminist Approaches to Bioethics. 9 (1), 192–217. Brown, I. (2010) Ambivalence of the motherhood experience. In: O’Reilly, A. (ed.) 21st Century Motherhood. Experience, Identity, Agency. New York, Columbia University Press, pp. 121–139. Connell, S. (2013) Bringing in Finn. An Extraordinary Surrogacy Story. Berkeley, Seal Press. Electronic book.

Motherhood and mothering in ‘IP memoirs’  103 Couser, G. Th. (1979) American Autobiography: The Prophetic Mode. Amherst, ­University of Massachusetts Press. Couser, G. Th. (1997) Recovering Bodies: Illness, Disability, and Life Writing. ­Madison, University of Wisconsin Press. Douglas, S. J., and Michaels, M. W. (2004) The Mommy Myth: The Idealization of Motherhood and How It Has Undermined All Women. New York, Free Press. Fernquest, J. (2015) No surrogacy services for foreign couples. Bangkok Post, 20 February 2015. Field, M. A. (1990) Surrogate Motherhood. The Legal and Human Issues. Expanded Edition. Cambridge, Harvard University Press. Guzman, V. R. (2016) A comparison of surrogacy laws of the U.S. to other Countries: should there be a uniform federal law permitting commercial surrogacy? Houston Journal of International Law. 38 (2), 619–652. Hammarberg, K., Stafford-Bell, M., and Everingham, S. (2015) Intended parents’ motivations and information and support needs when seeking extraterritorial compensated surrogacy. Reproductive BioMedicine Online. 31, 689–696. Harris, J. (2003) Signifying Pain: Constructing and Healing the Self through Writing. Albany, State University of New York Press. Henke, S. A. (1998) Shattered Subjects: Trauma and Testimony in Women’s Life-­ Writing. London, Macmillan Press. Hewett, H. (2006) You are not alone: The personal, the political, and the ‘new’ mommy lit. In: Ferriss, S., and Young, M. (eds.) Chick Lit: The New Woman’s Fiction. New York, Routledge, pp. 119–139. Humbyrd, C. (2009) Fair Trade International Surrogacy. Developing World Bioethics 9 (3), 111–118. Illinois Gestational Surrogacy Act (750 ILCS 47) (2005) Available from: www.ilga. gov/legislation/ilcs/ilcs3.asp?ActD=2613&ChapterID=59 [Accessed 11 July 2019]. Kuczynski, A. (2008) Her body, my baby. The New York Times Magazine, 28 ­November 2008, MM 42. Kukla, R. (2008) Measuring Mothering. International Journal of Feminist ­Approaches to Bioethics, 1 (1), 67–90. Marsh, M., and Ronner, W. (1996) The Empty Cradle. Infertility in America from Colonial Times to the Present. Baltimore, The Johns Hopkins University Press. McLeod, C., and Ponesse, J. (2008) Infertility and moral luck: the politics of women blaming themselves for infertility. International Journal of Feminist Approaches to Bioethics. 1 (1), 126–144. O’Reilly, A. (ed.) (2010a) 21st Century Motherhood. Experience, Identity, Agency. New York, Columbia University Press. O’Reilly, A. (2010b) The motherhood memoir and the ‘new momism’: biting the hand that feeds you. In: Podnieks, E., and O’Reilly, A. (eds.) Textual Mothers/ Maternal Texts: Motherhood in Contemporary Women’s Literatures. Waterloo, Wilfrid Laurier University Press, pp. 203–213. Perkins, K. M., Boulet, S. L., Jamieson, D. J., and Kissin, D. M. (2016) Trends and outcomes of gestational surrogacy in the United States. Fertility and Sterility. 106 (2), 435–442. Peterson, J. (2016) Baby M: American feminists respond to a controversial case. Journal of Women’s History. 28 (2), 103–125.

104  Eva-Sabine Zehelein Pyrce, C. (2016) Surrogacy and citizenship: a conjunctive solution to a global ­problem. Indiana Journal of Global Legal Studies. 23 (2), 925–952. SART – Society for Assisted Reproductive Technology. (2016) Available from: www.sart.org [Accessed 11 July 2019]. Spar, D. L. (2006) The Babyrr Business. How Money, Science, and Politics Drive the Commerce of Conception. Boston, Harvard Business School Press. Zehelein, E.-S. (2018) Mothers, ART and narratives of (be)longing. CoSMo. 12 (Spring), 77–94.

Chapter 8

Teenage mothers in England Resisting or silenced by the regulatory framework? Sarah Bekaert

Introduction In an ever-tightening regulatory framework, deciding to parent in the teen years has become an act of resistance, one that young parents have to justify as they endeavour to navigate the system that should provide support but tends to judge. In contemporary UK society, teenage mothers contend with a perception that they have ‘failed’: failed themselves because they are seen to have not completed an educational trajectory that assumes upward social mobility, and failed society through not participating in the ­workplace before starting a family. The irony is that time and again, and certainly from well before the Teenage Pregnancy Strategy (SEU 1999), the contexts of young people’s lives suggest that parenthood frequently stimulates a ­re-­engagement with education and work, and that young parents draw ­m inimally and legitimately on the welfare support available, whilst organising a range of informal networks for support, living, and childcare (Herrman 2007; SmithBattle 2000). Nevertheless, young people in the UK live with the legacy of the Teenage Pregnancy Strategy (SEU 1999) with its goals to reduce teenage pregnancy rates by 50% and to support young parents in avoiding social exclusion by re-engaging with school or work. Recent statistics have highlighted the achievements of the ten-year strategy with continuing reduction in rates since the strategy ended (Hadley et al. 2016). However, there is an emergent counter-narrative that the stigmatisation of teenage parents is a significant outcome of this reduction in rates (Fearnley 2018). This chapter explores teenage women’s accounts of repeat pregnancy decisions made in a contemporary context that problematises ‘early’ parenthood and assumes consequent social exclusion. For the group of women interviewed, a first unexpected pregnancy was lost, through either miscarriage or abortion. The decision to abort tended to be oriented around a desire to finish education, although this suggested more of a rite of passage to adulthood than a career plan with ‘social mobility’ goals. For some, a miscarriage occurred before abortion, while deciding what to do, or despite

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a decision to carry on. This chapter will focus on the young women’s subsequent emergent desire for pregnancy and parenthood. In their narratives, further pregnancies are ‘explained’ as occurring through events beyond their control such as failed contraception, being convinced they were infertile or giving their fertility over to fate. Yet despite these legitimising accounts, there is a clear embodied resistance through continued pregnancy, and some of the young women directly voiced wanting to be pregnant, albeit briefly, or demonstrated a quiet excitement when they were. Ironically, their accounts may reinforce feckless teen parent stereotypes through ‘poor contraception’ use. However, viewed reflexively, and specifically considering the power relationship between the young women and the researcher, which may mirror wider regulatory dynamics, the young women may have been trying to convince the listener that they were conforming to the commitment to avoid pregnancy in the teenage years despite opening up a space for pregnancy.

Background A young people’s clinic in a London borough, which included provision of contraception and sexual health services, was instrumental in trying to achieve government targets to reduce the teenage pregnancy rate locally over the decade of the Teenage Pregnancy Strategy 1999–2009 (SEU 1999). The clinic piloted an Assertive Outreach pathway to reduce repeat pregnancy for teenage women. This involved an Assertive Outreach Nurse contacting the young women who had a pregnancy, offering them a contraception consultation and facilitating contraception provision. An audit of this pathway, whilst indicating the ‘effectiveness’ of the pathway overall, also highlighted a small group of young women who became pregnant, lost their first pregnancies through miscarriage or abortion, then became parents within two years of the first pregnancy. Commissioners saw these young women as a ‘failure’ of the outreach. The phenomenon was also a conundrum for practitioners. These young women did not “renormalise” as Tabberer et al. (2000, p. 42) suggested, whereby young women reassume the expected trajectory of further education, work, and non-reproduction after ‘lost’ pregnancies; they became mothers. This warranted further examination, not so much to contribute to a reduction in the teenage pregnancy rates, but to explore the influences on their decisions.

Methodological considerations The exploratory study drew on concepts of power, at a relational level as well as broader socio-cultural influence, including policy and legislation. A feminist reflexive approach was taken to the research process. The contextual and relational aspects of decision-making for women discussed by Carol Gilligan in In a Different Voice (1982) – which at the time provided a counter-narrative to an emergent dominant (and persistent) discourse of

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the ‘male’ rational decision-maker (Kohlberg 1981) were drawn upon to explore the layers of relationship that had an impact on the young women’s pregnancy decisions. The work of Oakley (1981) and Phoenix (2008) was also important in considering the power relations in the interview context. Oakley (1981, p. 244) suggested that the positionality of both researcher and participant would inevitably change (but not negate) the research results. Phoenix (2008, p. 66) highlighted the insights to be gained if the researcher reflexively considers what the participant orients to in the narrative, what appears to be motivating the ways of telling the story, and the identities that are brought into being or reproduced in the talk. Conceptual considerations included the work of Foucault (1984) who noted that alongside the ‘biopower’ of agencies and ‘capillary power’ of day-to-day manifestations of dominant discourses there is ‘continual and clamorous legislative activity’ that makes an essentially normalising power acceptable (p. 144). Rose (1989) extended Foucauldian concepts of power by exploring how citizens of a liberal democracy are expected to regulate themselves. Rose reflected on a society where we psychologically shape our personal desires towards unceasing normalised expectations (1989, p. 213). Governments expect that citizens should want to regulate their conduct and existence for their own welfare, that of their families, and that of society (Rose 1989, p. 224). People are ‘entrepreneurs of themselves’ (p. 226), shaping their own lives through available choices. This, of course, assumes a range of available ‘choices’ that are not afforded to all (Phoenix 1991). Again, the work of Foucault (1984) and his concept of resistance was important in considering whether, and how, the young women ‘resisted’ the dominant discourse of ‘non-reproduction’ (Smith 2014) in their teenage years.

Method Eight young women, aged between 17 and 19 years, identifying as either Black African or Black British, were interviewed to explore what might have been the influencing factors on their pregnancy decisions. Their names have been changed to protect confidentiality. Data analysis was undertaken through the Listening Guide, which ‘operationalised’ the methodological approach (Mauthner and Doucet 1998; Taylor et al. 1996). Using this method, Taylor et al. (1996, p. 253) explored the relational in narrative through conducting a reading for who is speaking (the participant), who is listening (the researcher), and examining the social location of both in the construction of a relational psychology. The authors suggested four separate readings of the data: • •

For the reader’s impressions and emotional responses, For the participant’s voice; for example, how she represents herself – ­referred to as the ‘voice of I’,

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• •

For relational voices, and within this the voice of political resistance can be analysed, and Finally for ‘disassociation’ – do the participant’s words suggest ‘separation of self from experience’; what is revealed of their feelings, needs, and desires (Taylor et al. 1996, p. 244)?

With a focus on wider regulatory frameworks, and how these are infused into day-to-day encounters, this study took the approach of Mauthner and Doucet (1998) who developed the method from a sociological viewpoint. They also suggested four main readings of the data with some variation to the original readings: • • • •

For ‘plot’ – eliciting the overall story the participant wishes to tell b ­ efore beginning the fragmentive process of data analysis For reader response to the participant’s words, building in a feminist reflexivity to the method. For relationships For social structures and cultural contexts.

Several returns to the data refined analysis and identification of themes or threads through and across the young women’s narratives. This chapter reflexively considers two of these themes, different, but inextricably linked: Legitimising accounts for a subsequent pregnancy and a muted desire for pregnancy. An emergent tension is explored between a personal desire for pregnancy and the non-reproductive regulatory framework, and how this tension is evident in the way the young women present themselves.

Legitimising stories The young women’s accounts showed that, by the time they were pregnant a second time, most of them were beyond statutory education, arguably a marker for ‘adulthood’ and a freedom to decide their futures. Nevertheless, they accounted for their pregnancies through explanations that included failed contraception, concerns around infertility, and fate being in control of events. For example, one of the young women, Angelique, aged 17, used several of these legitimising narratives to explain her second pregnancy. At the time of the interview, Angelique was quite heavily pregnant. She had become pregnant a couple of months into a new relationship. In her new relationship, she said that they had used condoms occasionally – because of a belief that they were infertile as a couple: We used condoms sometimes. I always thought I’m never going to get pregnant, and he always thought for some reason his sperm don’t work.

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She also described not being able to find a contraceptive method that suited her, and how eventually she stood back and handed her fertility over to fate: And that’s when I found out I was pregnant I was crying more because it’s not like I believed him (her ex-partner saying she would be infertile after an abortion) but I was just like wow yeah because I went on the implant … then I went on the Microgynon, and then I just said do you know what, I know I’m just going to be with the person they will just come, like my stable boyfriend, and if it’s time for me to get pregnant, then it’s time. (Angelique, aged 17) Angelique utilised several discourses to account for her second pregnancy; these ‘explanations’, in relation to teenage parenthood, also appear in the other young women’s accounts. For example, Ally and Cadeen, both aged 18, reported a convoluted engagement with contraception culminating in a pregnancy. After aborting her first pregnancy so that she could finish school, Ally had an implant fitted, but later had it removed as she gained weight. She then took the combined pill, which she said failed and she became pregnant again. She miscarried this pregnancy and restarted the pill, but became pregnant again whilst using it. On the one hand, she expressed shock and surprise that she had become pregnant again whilst taking the pill ‘I don’t know what happened’; however, later in her narrative she explained how she was ill and was vomiting for a time and had sex when the pill may not have been protecting her. She acknowledged that ‘this one is my fault basically’. Susannah, aged 18, also described how she was taking the contraceptive pill when she became pregnant the second time. However, in her account preceding this claim, there was a time when she was not taking the pill, where the pregnancy may have occurred, or around the time she restarted taking it where it may not have been fully working: It was probably just before my exams started cos I was so stressed with like exams and stuff that I was just forgetting to take them, so I just thought I’ll just have a break for a while. So it was towards the end of my exams that I started taking those again. Everything was fine … I thought I was overworking and stuff like that. And then I thought, ok I’ll do a pregnancy test, and it came up positive and I was like … I was wondering how did that happen while I was still taking the pill? (Susannah, aged 18) One of the main goals of the Teenage Pregnancy Strategy was to improve young people’s knowledge of contraception use (SEU 1999). It might seem that some of the young women in this study used contraception ineffectively and may have benefitted from such input. For example, Ally did not use condoms when she had an episode of diarrhoea and vomiting whilst taking the

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pill, and Susannah stopped taking the pill during exam time, yet their narratives suggested that they continued to have sex with their partner and became pregnant. In a study, Burns (1999) noted that the young women ‘decide to use contraception, (but) use it ineffectively’ (p. 496). Similarly, Ekstrand et al. (2009, p. 173) found participants’ unplanned pregnancies were predominantly the result of ‘inconsistent’ contraception use. However, contextual factors should be taken into consideration with apparent ‘ineffective’ and ‘inconsistent’ contraceptive use. The young women were concerned regarding the possible side effects of contraception, and use reflected the ebb and flow of relationships and gendered expectations, where consistent use despite not being in a stable relationship might suggest lack of loyalty (Nelson et al. 2012) or being ‘up for’ sex (Bernard 2015). Overall, the young women’s narratives illustrated that they did engage with contraception but not in a straightforward way. Their use reflected that of the young women in a study by Goncalves et al. (2011) where the young women interviewed gave accounts of trying various contraceptive methods and finding them unsuitable, using them creatively, or linking them with negative effects on the body and therefore stopping use. The analysis of Goncalves et al. (2011, p. 6) suggested that using contraception demonstrated the young women’s commitment to the broad expectation to avoid pregnancy in the teenage years, yet they took breaks from contraception to protect their fertility. Similarly, for the young women in the study, contraception use demonstrated a commitment to the technology of avoiding pregnancy in the teenage years, yet not using it ‘properly’ and taking breaks may have been used to explore their fertility. Some of the young women voiced conviction that they were infertile, which consequently meant they felt they did not need to use contraception. Mai, aged 17, explained that she had sex quite often in this and previous relationships without contraception and never became pregnant: We never have. I didn’t think I could ever fall pregnant to be honest. It never happened even with my other ex-boyfriend. Similarly, Danielle, aged 19, did not mention any contraception use right from the beginning of her relationship and simply stated that she did not think she could get pregnant; ‘I’m unlucky like that’. She offered a firm storyline of infertility regarding her first pregnancy and this is affirmed in her mind when she miscarries the pregnancy: So then I thought if I got pregnant I’d lose it, I was just thinking whatever, so I didn’t use protection with him whatever, and then within one month I was pregnant again with her so I was just thinking oh my gosh. I wasn’t really happy, I wasn’t really like oh yeah I’m pregnant I was just like yeah whatever … I thought she would die that’s why that I didn’t say anything. I mean I still thought like maybe later on in my pregnancy

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something would happen to the placenta, or something so I wouldn’t actually have a baby born and have to bury her or whatever God forbid. But I didn’t think I’d have a baby at the end of it. (Danielle, aged 19) Thorsén et al. (2006) found a common misconception amongst young people that when they had unprotected sex and had not become pregnant they started to believe they could not get pregnant. Consequently, they did not fully engage with contraception in the belief that it was not needed. Once a pregnancy has been lost either through miscarriage or abortion, a concern whether motherhood will be possible can also emerge. White et al. (2006) noted that teenagers who have had previous miscarriages may have concerns that the events may recur. Infertility may also be a concern after having had an abortion. Some of the young women in a study by Ekstrand et al. (2013) were keen to confirm their fertility after an abortion, and the young women in a study by Hallden et al. (2005) were concerned that pregnancy would not be possible after an abortion. Hallden et al. (2005) highlighted the importance of being fertile to the young women, of knowing that they were able to conceive; although the young women in their study chose ‘not to give life now’ (Hallden et al. 2005, p. 798). This desire to prove fertility may lead to a repeat pregnancy soon after a pregnancy loss. White et al. (2006) suggested that if young women fear they may be unable to conceive and they ultimately desire a pregnancy, then they may be more likely to try to conceive now instead of waiting until they are older. Bailey et al. (2001) noted that repeat pregnancies were most common among young women whose first pregnancy had resulted in a miscarriage, and Clarke (2002) linked the loss of a pregnancy, through miscarriage or abortion, with a desire for repeat pregnancy to affirm the ability to conceive and give birth. Alongside contraceptive failure and concerns over infertility, some of the young women in this study described a sense of fate directing their fertility. Shonda, aged 18, suggested that fate was in control of her fertility after her second abortion. She explained how she and her partner still did not use condoms after the second abortion: If I was meant to have a baby I would have had the baby. For Angelique, after an extensive description of her ex-partner’s violence towards her and the shaky start to her current relationship, she described some contraception use but preferred to leave her fertility to fate: If it’s time for me to get pregnant, then it’s time. McMahon (1995) explored how working-class women are more likely to leave pregnancy and parenthood to fate. She described how middle-class

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and working-class women responded very differently to unprotected sex: More advantaged women tended to take emergency contraception after unprotected sex whereas more disadvantaged women were likely to wait and see if they become pregnant. This might be through not having the financial means to buy emergency contraceptive pills or the ability to access clinic provision, as well as differing expectations for career trajectories. Most of the young women in this study reported taking proactive action with a first pregnancy mostly due to a desire to complete statutory education. They decided to abort although some miscarried in the interim. With subsequent pregnancies, the picture became more complex. It appears that through concerns regarding possible infertility, sometimes incurred by a pregnancy loss through abortion or miscarriage, and having finished statutory education that motherhood became a more desired pathway despite wider society still considering these pregnancies as early, and young motherhood stigmatised. Consequently, the young women mobilised legitimising narratives that seemed to be at odds with personal desire. They presented narratives that appeared to aim to convince the listener of their good ­citizenship: that they were trying to avoid pregnancy when contraceptive failure, concerns regarding infertility, or fate meant that they became ­pregnant, despite their efforts to avoid pregnancy. Yet at the same time, their narratives attested to being open to the possibility of pregnancy. Similar to the young women in the Goncalves et al. study (2011), the young women used narratives of contraceptive or infertility medicalisation that enables many of them to demonstrate engagement with normative society yet also ‘develop a potent off-stage critique’ (p. 201) – through hints of gaps in contraceptive use or being convinced they were infertile so no contraception was used, and therefore opening up a possibility of pregnancy. Goncalves et al. (2011, p. 212) termed this ‘covert resistance to normative ideologies’. This is akin to Foucauldian governmentality (Foucault 1984) where a space is opened up for resistance to normalised expectations, rather than that of Rose (1989) where personal desire and that of the state come to be the same.

Muted desire for pregnancy These legitimising narratives relating to how the young women became pregnant a second time rendered a quieter narrative of desire for pregnancy and parenthood much harder to identify. At first, it appeared that the young women did not narrate a decision to carry on with a second pregnancy. On closer reading, some accounts were actually candid about wanting to become pregnant or being open to pregnancy, which would account for a lack of deliberation when they were. However, these statements were brief and easily overlooked such as Mai, saying, ‘I wanted to get pregnant by him’ or Sandra, aged 19, stating ‘I’m a big girl, make my own decisions now’ when she described how she stopped using contraception once she finished school. A further reading

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for this muted narrative in the young women’s transcripts was conducted. An early focus on what was said, the more frequently spoken narratives, had failed to consider that which was little spoken. This may be considered a part of the reading for ‘voice of I’, but paying more analytic heed to infrequent or less dominant aspects of this reading. It is suggested that ‘quietening’ an expression of desire for pregnancy and parenthood may have stemmed from a desire to resist judgement in the stigmatised landscape of young parenthood. Mai is the only one of the young women who overtly stated that she wanted to get pregnant by her partner. Sandra spoke of how her partner and his family were happy, and how she reassured her mother that everything would be fine. This pregnancy therefore did not seem unwelcome: And he was, he was happy. Like he was just happy, and his mum was happy too because it’s their first grandchild. And that’s his first child too, so he was happy … but my mum was thinking about me, school and later on in life. And that was what my mum was thinking about. But I was telling her don’t worry, don’t worry. … (Sandra, aged 19) Shonda described her partner’s caring response when they were out at a party. This did not give the impression that the pregnancy was a shock event where they were undecided about what to do: He’s like so excited. I proper remember that he was excited. Angelique also did not speak of any deliberations with her second pregnancy. In fact, there was a sense of celebration around the whole description of discovering the pregnancy. She told her partner about the pregnancy in a creative way, leaving him a note and the positive pregnancy test to discover, which said: Congratulations you’re a daddy and I’m a yummy mummy. However, despite a description of her partner’s excitement, his mother’s positive reaction, and the suggestion of multiple pregnancy tests, Angelique never overtly said that she was happy to be pregnant during her account.

Discussion Analysis has suggested that the young women gave narrative assurances of ‘good citizenship’, that they were adhering to normalised technologies for pregnancy avoidance in the teenage years. Legitimising narratives were offered through accounts of contraception failure, infertility, and fate as responsible for a subsequent pregnancy. There was, however, resistance to the regulatory

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framework through continuing with this pregnancy, quiet excitement, and some direct statements of wanting to be pregnant. The young women simultaneously located themselves within the dominant socio-­political regulatory framework of non-reproduction and commitment to education, yet also demonstrated an emerging openness to pregnancy and parenthood, as well as contentment with, and continuation of, a subsequent pregnancy. The young women in this study appeared to be navigating two contradictory discourses. Firstly, motherhood as a mandate society expects from women (Russo 1976), which has possibly been called into question by a pregnancy loss through an earlier abortion or miscarriage. Usually, women rarely have to justify having a baby because of the centrality of motherhood to the identity of the adult female. The second discourse comprises expectations of non-reproduction for teenage women. Therefore, the young women in this study may have felt a need to justify a subsequent pregnancy. Alongside, the young women had experienced a pregnancy loss and life events such as finishing school, risked potential morbidity and mortality through gang involvement, and were in longer-term relationships. These factors may have rendered motherhood an increasingly desirable pathway that stands in tension with policy and social discourses that problematise young women who become mothers. Choosing silence regarding openness to pregnancy might have worked to successfully avoid enlistment into a negative moral discourse (Burman 2017, p. 424). Feminist research has tended to be concerned with ‘hearing’ women’s voices, encouraging women to speak out and to challenge oppression. Yet the reading for muted narratives, which has suggested an openness to or even a desire for pregnancy and parenthood, which the young women felt unable to speak boldly, might be seen as a ‘failure’ to speak out. Parpart (2010) has observed that feminist research tended to see a failure to speak out as a disempowered position. However, she challenged this view of women’s silence on oppression in their lives with her analysis of women’s ability to speak out about rape, violence, and war crimes. In these contexts, speaking out about oppression may incur further violence and death. She observed that this is not a disempowered stance; it is a means of protection. Bhavnani (1990) has suggested that silence can be resistance: A power engineered through simple avoidance. The dominance of the non-reproductive body technology for the teenage years (Smith 2014) and the widespread stigmatisation of the teenage mother may have led to a desire to avoid such judgement, from the researcher or from the wider audience to the research by simply not talking about their decision to carry on with the pregnancy. Silence on the subject may have been deliberately chosen. As such, this was an agentic rather than passive position taken by the young women. Bhavnani (1990) has also questioned the legitimacy of ‘giving voice’ to marginalised groups through research. She acknowledged that this may be a step towards empowerment; however, it is vital to carry out a simultaneous

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analysis of the impact and role of those who are ‘potential hearers’ and why they ‘do not hear’ (p. 152). Without this analysis, the reasons these voices are not being heard or listened to are hidden or masked. An examination of researcher positionality in the research process and specifically the ­participant-researcher encounter was vital in exploring the motivation behind why the young women may have foregrounded certain narratives and muted others. Wilkinson (1988) and England (1994) stress the importance of examining how the varied positionalities of both researcher and participant may inhibit or enable the research encounter. Feminist reflexivity pays attention to issues of difference and power within research relationships. Burman (1992) has highlighted the insight that can be gained through explorations of class, race, gender, and age difference in the research context. She stated that the interview is collaborative and power is always present and should be acknowledged by the researcher (Burman 1992). The young women may have constructed the researcher as a representative of institutions that serve to problematise and prevent teenage pregnancy. Consequently, the young women may have tailored their narratives to avoid such judgement. Phoenix (2008, p. 66) observed that participants ‘orient’ their narratives to the positionality of the researcher. This is informed by how participants believe the researcher is going to interpret what is said and how what is said will be perceived by the wider public when the research is published. Arai (2009, p. 52) has noted how young mothers are ‘the subject of public and policy scrutiny’ and how it is unsurprising that, when given the opportunity, teenage mothers will attempt to distance themselves from these negative stereotypes and strive to present themselves as ‘responsible citizens’. Nevertheless, within the participant-researcher relationship, the young women were not silent and quiet overall. There was much discussion around housing, budgeting, partner’s involvement, and future plans, usually at the point where discussion of their pregnancy decision-making with this subsequent pregnancy had been anticipated. This suggests that their silence on giving a rationale for carrying on with their subsequent pregnancy was a deliberate decision, a proactive resistance (Taylor et al. 1996). However, another consideration is that the young women were ‘silenced’ in expressing a desire to be pregnant and/or show happiness when they became pregnant. This view might be supported by Taylor et al. (1996). They noted how resistance to ‘patriarchal social order’ can take two forms, either overt where a young woman speaks out, or, ‘where a girl goes underground with her feelings and knowledge … as a strategy of self-protection’ (Taylor et al. 1996, p. 240). Taylor et al. (1996, p. 240) were concerned that when the young women hid their feelings, these may become lost to themselves and lead to acceptance of harmful conventions of social behaviour. Considered from this point of view, the young women in this study may have been silenced by a social norm that expects teenagers to avoid pregnancy and parenthood and is judgemental when this expectation is contravened.

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Summary It could be argued that these young women chose not to articulate their desire for pregnancy due to normative hegemonic discourse that proscribes parenthood in the teenage years. The ‘motherhood mandate’ is not afforded teenage woman, and pregnancy avoidance is assumed in order to fully participate in further education in preparation for the paid workforce. However, although muted, the young women did express a desire to have babies, and, more obviously, their continued pregnancy was an embodied resistance to this regulatory framework. Nevertheless, the young women’s ‘good citizenship’ narratives obscured and denied their desire for pregnancy. If young women do not feel able to consult with professionals for fear of judgement, valuable opportunities might be missed to support the young women in planning, and throughout, their pregnancies. The reflexive approach to this study has highlighted that clinicians, like the researcher, should consider their institutional positioning, and how they are perceived by the client. It should be acknowledged that policy and target-driven services frequently reproduce wider societal norms and expectations rather than respond to client need. Rose (1989) observed the tendency of statutory organisations to case manage individuals and groups that are deemed to be ‘at risk’, which describes the current trend for targeted intervention and particularly the assertive outreach model adopted by this service to avoid repeat teenage pregnancy. However, this research suggests that the outreach model, and indeed wider public perception, evolve to include support for teenage women within their changing personal and social landscape with widening or receding possibilities – and where childbearing in the teenage years is recognised as a legitimate choice.

References Arai, L. 2009. Teenage Pregnancy: The Making and Unmaking of a Problem. Policy Press, London. Bailey, PE., Bruno, ZV., Bezerra, MF., Queiróz, I., Oliveira, CM. and Chen-Mok, M. 2001. Adolescent pregnancy 1 year later: the effects of abortion vs. motherhood in Northeast Brazil. Journal of Adolescent Health, 29(3), pp. 223–232. Bernard, C. 2015. Black teenage mothers’ understandings of the effects of ­maltreatment on their coping style and parenting practice: a pilot study. Children & ­Society, 29(5), pp. 355–365. Bhavnani, KK. 1990. What’s power got to do with it? pp. 141–152. In Deconstructing Social Psychology. Parker, I. and Shotter (Eds.). Routledge, London. Burman, E. 1992. Feminism and discourse in developmental psychology: power, subjectivity and interpretation. Feminism & Psychology, 2(1), pp. 45–59. Burman, E. 2017. Developmental Psychology, pp. 450–472. In The Sage Handbook of Qualitative Research in Psychology. 2nd Edition. Willig, C. and Stainton-­Rogers, W. (Eds.). Sage, London.

Teenage mothers in England  117 Burns, VE. 1999. Factors influencing teenage mothers’ participation in unprotected sex. Journal of Obstetric, Gynecologic, & Neonatal Nursing, 28(5), pp. 493–500. Clarke, J. 2002. Repeated Teenage Pregnancies – The Meanings Ascribed by Teenagers – A Comparison between London and Two Caribbean Islands. Brunel University, British Library, ETHoS. Ekstrand, M., Tydén, T., Darj, E. and Larsson, M. 2009. An illusion of power: ­qualitative perspectives on abortion decision‐making among teenage women in Sweden. Perspectives on Sexual and Reproductive Health, 41(3), pp. 173–180. Ekstrand, M., Tydén, T., Darj, E. and Larsson, M. 2013. Twelve-month follow-up of advance provision of emergency contraception among teenage girls in ­Sweden—A randomized controlled trial. Uppsala Journal of Medical Sciences, 118(4), pp. 271–275. England, KV. 1994. Getting personal: reflexivity, positionality, and feminist ­research. The Professional Geographer, 46(1), pp. 80–89. Fearnley, B. 2018. Contemporary young motherhood: experiences of hostility. ­Journal of Children’s Services. doi:10.1108/JCS-07-2016-0014 Foucault, M. 1984. The History of Sexuality, Volume 1: An Introduction. Penguin books, London. Gilligan, C. 1982. In a Different Voice. Harvard University Press, Cambridge. Goncalves, H., Souza, AD., Tavares, PA., Cruz, SH. and Behague, DP. 2011. ­Contraceptive medicalisation, fear of infertility and teenage pregnancy in Brazil. Culture, Health & Sexuality, 13(2), pp. 201–215. Hadley, A., Ingham, R. and Venkatramen, CM. 2016. Implementing the United Kingdom’s ten-year teenage pregnancy strategy for England (1999–2010). How was this done and what did it achieve? Reproductive Health, 13(139). https://­ reproductive-health-journal.biomedcentral.com/articles/10.1186/s12978-0160255-4 (accessed August 2018) Hallden, B., Christensson, K. and Olsson, P. 2005. Meanings of being pregnant and having decided on abortion: young Swedish women’s experiences. Health Care for Women International, 26(9), pp. 788–806. Herrman, JW. 2007. Repeat pregnancy in adolescence: intentions and decision making. MCN. The American Journal of Maternal Child Nursing, 32(2), pp. 89–94. Kohlberg, L. 1981. The Philosophy of Moral Development Moral Stages and the Idea of Justice. Harper and Row, San Francisco. Mauthner, N. and Doucet, A. 1998. Reflections on a voice-centred relational method of data analysis: analysing maternal and domestic voices, pp. 119–144. In Feminist Dilemmas in Qualitative Research: Private Lives and Public Texts. Ribbens, J. and Rosalind Edwards, R. (Eds.). Sage, London. McMahon, M. 1995. Engendering Motherhood: Identity and Self-transformation in Women’s Lives. Guilford Press, New York. Nelson, LE., Morrison-Beedy, D., Kearney, MH. and Dozier, A. 2012. Black adolescent mothers’ perspectives on sex and parenting in nonmarital relationships with the biological fathers of their children. Journal of Obstetric, Gynecologic, & Neonatal Nursing, 41(1), pp. 82–91. Oakley, A. 1981. Interviewing women: a contradiction in terms? pp. 30–61. In Doing Feminist Research. Roberts, H. (Ed.). Routledge and Kegan Paul, London.

118  Sarah Bekaert Parpart, JL. 2010. Choosing silence: rethinking voice, agency and women’s empowerment, pp. 15–29. In Secrecy and Silence in the Research Process, Feminist Reflections. Ryan-Flood, R. and Gill, R. (Eds.). Routledge, Oxford. Phoenix, A. 1991. Young Mothers. Wiley-Blackwell, Oxford. Phoenix, A. 2008. Analysing narrative contexts, pp. 64–77. In Doing Narrative ­Research. Andrews, M, Squire, C. and Tamboukou, M. (Eds.). Sage, London. Rose, N. 1989. Governing the Soul: The Shaping of the Private Self. Taylor and Frances/Routledge, London. Russo, N. 1976. The motherhood mandate. Journal of Social Issues, 32(3), pp. 143–153. Smith, L. 2014. ‘You’re 16… you should probably be on the pill’: girls, the non-­ reproductive body, and the rhetoric of self-control. Studies in the Maternal, 6(1). www.mamsie.bbk.ac.uk/articles/abstract/10.16995/sim.6/ (accessed August 2018). SmithBattle, L. 2000. The vulnerabilities of teenage mothers: challenging prevailing assumptions. Advances in Nursing Science, 23(1), pp. 29–40. Social Exclusion Unit. 1999. Teenage Pregnancy Strategy. HMSO, London. Tabberer, S., Hall, C., Prendergast, S. and Webster, A. 2000. Teenage Pregnancy and Choice. Joseph Rowntree Foundation, York. Taylor, JM., Gilligan, C. and Sullivan, AM. 1996. Missing voices, changing meanings: developing a voice-centred, relational method and creating an interpretive community, pp. 233–257. In Feminist Social Psychologies: International Perspectives. Thorsén, C., Aneblom, G. and Gemzell-Danielsson, K. 2006. Perceptions of contraception, non-protection and induced abortion among a sample of urban Swedish teenage girls: focus group discussions. The European Journal of Contraception & Reproductive Health Care, 11(4), pp. 302–309. White, E., Rosengard, C., Weitszen, S., Meers, A. and Phipps, MG. 2006. Fear of inability to conceive in pregnant adolescents. Obstetrics and Gynecology, 108(6), pp. 1411–1416. Wilkinson, S. 1988. The role of reflexivity in feminist psychology. Women’s Studies International Forum, 11(5), pp. 493–502.

Part 3

Asian mothering/mothers

Chapter 9

Motherhood experiences of East Asian women in Britain Hyun-Joo Lim

Introduction Women’s experiences of gendered lives vary because gender intersects with other social divisions, such as ethnicity. As such, motherhood is culturally specific, and women from different national/ethnic backgrounds hold different beliefs around ‘good’ mothering and exercise heterogeneous practices of mothering. Built on this, this chapter aims to enhance our understanding of motherhood by examining the stories of first generation East Asian (Chinese, Korean, and Japanese) women living in Britain. The research is founded upon a feminist approach that seeks to illuminate the experiences of being a woman in a gender-divided society. Consistent with this, life h ­ istory interviews were taken of 30 East Asian mothers with children under the age of 11 (10 Chinese, 10 Korean, and 10 Japanese). The data was analysed using an intersectional framework, which consists of seven categories outlined in the section below.

An intersectional framework Intersectionality refers to the interlocking relations among different social categories, such as gender, class, and ethnicity (Andersen and Hill Collins 2004). Overcoming the mechanical addition of these categories on top of each other, its central tenet lies in its endeavour to examine the interaction among them and its effects on individuals’ lives, especially those who are at the margin of society (Hill Collins and Bilge 2016). The major intersectional categories have been centred around identity. However, I argue that the intersectional framework should be broadened beyond identity categories in order to unpack the effects of the interplay among multifarious structural and individual factors. Not only identity categories but also other factors are of significance to migrant women, such as their pre-migration and post-migration circumstances. For example, the work of Lee et al. (2002) on Chinese migrant women highlights the importance of motivation for ­m igration as the post-migration experiences differ between those who came as independent career developers and those who were dependent on their

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husbands. In addition, the research of Brah (1996) on South Asian women illustrates the impact of educational level on their experiences in the labour market. Moreover, the work of Evans and Bowlby (2000) on South Asian migrant women underscores the effect of these women’s class position, including financial situation, in their involvement in the labour market as well as gender dynamics within the family. The study of Zhou (2000) further illuminates that the gender ideology migrant women hold, especially obtained in their exit country, is vital in shaping their post-migration experiences. Portes (1995) additionally demonstrates the influential role the location of the settlement has on ethnic minorities, especially whether they have settled in an ethnic community with wider social networks available. In particular, ethnic communities play a crucial part in shaping the lives of immigrants, in buffering the negative impact of discrimination whilst reinforcing the ‘imagined’ cultural values of their ‘home’ country (Portes 1995). On this basis, I have identified seven categories that are considered to have most relevance to East Asian migrant women’s experiences. These are their motherhood and gender ideologies, especially influenced by their cultural heritages; educational level; economic circumstances of the family; reasons for migration; the length of settlement in Britain; gendered beliefs of their husbands influenced by their ethnic heritages; and the local areas of their settlement. The role of husbands’ gendered beliefs influenced by their cultural heritage has been vastly overlooked in existing studies. Filling in this lacuna, I aim to illuminate the importance of this in understanding migrant women’s experiences.

Narratives of stay-at-home mothers The accounts of stay-at-home mothers, especially those from Korea and Japan, were strikingly supportive of intensive motherhood, based on the premise of the mothers’ dedication, putting their needs and desires aside. In this, the mother’s absence through employment was largely regarded as having a detrimental effect on the emotional wellbeing of her children. This view was illustrated in the narrative of Seyoun, a mother from Korea with two children aged eight and six, who lived in New Malden, with the household income of £70,000–80,000. She came to Britain to accompany her ­Korean expatriate husband less than three years prior to the interview. Despite having a real potential to progress high up in her career as a primary school teacher, Seyoun took six years off work after having children, then resumed briefly when her youngest child began nursery full-time before stopping again to migrate to Britain. Her motherhood ideology seems to have played an influential role in her decisions towards employment: When they need care, when they need mothers, if they don’t have (mothers), they are psychologically unstable definitely, especially when they are younger. For me when the child is young, it seems better for mothers not to have a job. It’s better to be with them. …

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According to Cho (2008), in Korea the negative representation of employed mothers began during Korean industrialisation, through Japanese annexation and the emergence of the urban middle-class and nuclear families. The establishment of couple-centred families buttressed the Japanese ideal of ‘good wife, wise mother’, which was deployed as ‘wise mother, good wife’ [hyun-mo-yang-cheo] in Korea, stressing more significance on women’s mothering roles (Lee et al. 2008). This imagery began to have a dominant influence on women with a modern education in the construction of their identity, principally founded on their roles as wives and mothers. Reflecting this, existing studies have observed the unsupportive attitudes of Korean society towards the labour market participation of married females with children (e.g. Patterson and Walcutt 2013). Alongside Seyoun’s belief in the mothering role illustrated above, unpacking her stories also reveals other intersecting factors that might have affected her decision. In her discussion of her husband’s role in childcare, Seyoun described her husband’s contribution as rather minimal, only responding to her requests but never helping voluntarily. This reflects a typical Korean man whose primary responsibility is associated with his breadwinning role, and thus no expectations to provide primary care are placed on him (Cho 2002). This concurrently suggests the intersection between her motherhood ideology and her husband’s gendered belief in the employment status of Seyoun, as found in other studies that demonstrate the frequent women’s loss of employment as a consequence of such an intersection (e.g. Cooke 2007). Here, their place of settlement in a tight Korean community was likely to have played an influential role in reinforcing the ideology of Seyoun (and possibly her husband). In addition, her middle-class position with a relatively high household income is likely to have affected her decision. The interview data indicates the distinctively comfortable lifestyles of expatriates’ wives, due to high incomes and other financial incentives offered to expatriates. This enabled them to meet and interact in cafes on a regular basis after dropping children at school, exchanging ideas about their children’s education, reinforcing their gendering role. This suggests her class position provided a buffer in terms of being able to choose to stay at home instead of finding a downgraded job in the UK’s labour market that largely discriminates against migrants. Concurrently, this arguably reinforced her gendered role as a primary care provider in the host society. Based on all of these, Seyoun’s current employment status should be seen as the outcome of the intersection of different factors, including her motherhood ideology; her husband’s gendered beliefs; the locality of her residence; and her economic situation. The espousal of the salience of the mother’s primary care similarly emerged in the narrative of Asuko, a mother from Japan, with two children aged four and eight, who had settled in Britain for 11 years. She married a white British man whom she met in Japan, and they lived in Buckinghamshire with a household income of £30,000–40,000. Using her previous role as a computer engineer, Asuko found a similar job in a Japanese company

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based in London. However, after having her first child, she gave up her job despite her conviction that she would always work regardless of having children until that time. Also, continuing to work seemed to make financial sense, but motherhood completely changed her mind: Before I had the children, I thought bringing up children was easy and all mothers should work, and all the full-time mothers are lazy. But, it’s so hard and it’s so important to be with children. … INT: Why do you think being with them is important? ASUKO: Because they need love from, real big love from the mother not just if they’re looked after by childminders or even grandmother. It’s not enough. It’s the first time you’re needed by someone so much. If I leave this baby, she will die. Maybe she can survive if somebody gives her milk or warmth and change nappies but that’s not good enough. ASUKO:

It is evident from this extract that Asuko believed that the mother’s care is so vital that it is irreplaceable and the provision of physical care itself is not sufficient for a genuine quality of life for young children. The deficiency of emotional love and care by the mother could equate to near death despite the physical survival of the baby. This is consistent with the findings of much Japanese literature that underscores the vitality of motherhood in raising a healthy and happy child. According to Hirao (2001, p. 193), Japanese motherhood is constructed on the notion of a unique relationship between mother and child, having a close psychological connection and an inseparable bond. Hirao explicates that Japanese mother-child relationships are epitomised by a notion of amae (dependence), defined as a “desire to be passively loved” and to receive unconditional care. This is predicated upon the belief that a child is an extension of the mother, which unsurprisingly leads to the idea that the mother has a direct influence on the development of her child, especially during the formative stage of early years. This also implies that unfulfilled amae will have a harmful effect on the child long-term, causing psychological problems. Hirao (2001) claims that this ideology was reinforced by the Western maternal deprivation theory and attachment theory introduced in Japan in the late 1970s, providing ‘scientific’ support, which strengthened the belief that employed mothers are detrimental to their children. Asuko’s following narrative reverberates this sentiment: … It’s not nice to see their children only evenings and early in the mornings, just weekends. It’s not good enough. But some people of course have no choice. They have to work and I can understand it. There are some families, they have a nice house, a nice car and lots of holidays like that. It looks like their mothers work for that but then children must feel lonely or feel sad about it even though they don’t say that.

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Asuko’s above narrative suggests financial incentives are less important for some women’s decisions to give up their paid employment, but their understanding of what constitutes ‘good’ mothering role is more important. As found in the study of Johnston and Swanson (2006), working mothers were described using stereotypes, devoid of their individual differences, as those who are money-driven and self-centred, unlike stay-at-home mothers who devote themselves to raising their children, putting their self-interest aside. Dissimilar to the majority of Korean women whose husbands are also Korean, the gendered belief of Asuko’s husband who was British is not clear. Nonetheless, the complete absence of fathers’ role in childcare in her narrative plus their gendered role division evince that both of them are likely to support the ideal of the male economic provider and the female home carer. Similarly, the impact of her locality is not clear cut as she did not settle in an area with a large Japanese population. Nevertheless, she mentioned her more regular interaction with other Japanese mothers than British ones, which suggests a strong chance of influence by mothering beliefs and practice from other Japanese women. From this, it can be inferred that the motherhood identity of Asuko was the intersection of her motherhood ideology with possibly her husband’s gendered belief and her social networks with other Japanese mothers. The narratives of the mother’s constant presence and availability prevalently found in the data of Korean and Japanese mothers, however, did not emerge in those of stay-at-home mothers from China. For instance, Fang (a mother from China), did not talk about the intrinsic necessity or value of a mother’s care and presence for her child but instead described working highly positively as well as emphasising the importance of work for her life. Fang, who continued to work as a manager of a company in China after having her daughter, was actively looking for a job in Britain at the time of the interview. However, her English skills were preventing her from getting a job. Fang’s narrative might have been the result of her Chinese heritage, which encouraged women’s participation in the labour market, as will be discussed in the following section.

Narratives of employed mothers In contrast to the narratives of stay-at-home mothers, those of the employed illuminate different beliefs around ‘good mothering’, in which paid work is represented as a vital component in their identity as well as having a beneficial impact on their children and themselves, with the exception of a few mothers from Korea and Japan. The majority of mothers in employment, mostly from China, did not seem to have a hierarchical view of childcare (e.g. that the mother’s care is the best and has an ‘irreplaceable’ value for their children), thus it was treated as substitutable by other people.

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Many employed mothers stressed the benefits of working, for themselves as well as for their children, providing opportunities that are not available for stay-at-home mothers. This was illustrated by the narratives of Hua, a mother with two children aged seven and three, who married a Chinese man, came to Britain 12 years prior to the interview, and lived in the Southampton area. She opted out of providing information on her household income. Hua worked for an international organisation as a software developer after completing her PhD. Alongside this demanding full-time job, Hua was involved in a number of roles in the local Chinese community organisation, including running a traditional Chinese dancing class for young children at the weekend as well as being a member of a traditional Chinese female dancing group. Her following narratives are indicative of her positive view on employment: INT: What are the advantages and disadvantages of being a working mother? HUA: The advantage is working mothers have a business view so that’s some-

thing, if you stay at home, you won’t get … how to operate the business, how to motivate people. So when I talk to my children, even though some small things … I could give them some examples to say you could do this way, do that way, then I think this way helps my children to grow up and be ready for future work more easily. Also when I take my children to my work, they feel, ‘Oh, that’s a great place’. I feel that maybe I’m setting an example for them to see what kind of future they might have or even better – but I would say if I’m not working, I wouldn’t have this kind of view. I would just work at home, handling with cooking, with my children’s exercise, and also talking to mums who may also stay at home and don’t have this kind of view outside the family. INT: Do you think there are any disadvantages of being a working mother? HUA: Umm, I think it’s that my children see me less. Especially with two children my focus now is really to help my daughter education-wise so I need to spend time with her on her exercise and on her piano so I have much less time with my son. Although I asked Hua both the positives and negatives of working mothers, her narratives were dominated by the benefits of work until I specifically questioned the downside of employment for mothers. What emerges noticeably from her account is there is no indication of concerns or anxiety about the detrimental effects that her employment might have on her children due to her limited availability. Resonating this, the study of Ochiai (2013) shows that the employment of Chinese women continues through marriage and childbearing, unlike many Korean and Japanese women. The labour market participation of women, including those with children, in China, particularly in urban areas, has been normalised since the establishment of the People’s Republic of China in 1949 (Croll 1983; Fincher 2014).

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Whilst Hua’s narrative appears to be starkly different from that of stayat-home mothers by portraying the mother’s employment positively for their children, at the same time it suggests she practised ‘professional’ child-­ rearing, proposed by Hays (1996) and Vincent et al. (2004). For example, Hua spent a significant amount of her time on her daughter’s education and taking her to various extra-curricular activities whilst also ensuring her daughter practised piano regularly. This is indicative of Hua’s involvement in intensive child-rearing, similar to the mothers with professional employment in the research of Vincent et al. (2004). Yet, the origin of her practice is likely to differ from that of Western mothers due to the concoction of multiple ideologies that juxtapose Confucian traditions, China’s socialism, and the influence of Western ideologies that were introduced to China in the early 20th century. Moreover, as illustrated in Hua’s account, education of children is one of the most important facets of child-rearing in East Asia, including China (Chan 2012). Within Confucian ideals, communitarian values are regarded as more important than individual ones, which renders a child’s academic success to be largely regarded as the achievement of the family as a whole, not only as a pathway for happiness and the self-­fulfilling life of an individual child (Lee 2003). In this context, children might be forced to work hard against their will: for instance, Hua’s interview did not suggest she had asked her daughter how she felt about her extra-curricular activities and the regular practice she had to do, but the focus of her talk was on achievement and success. This seems to contrast with Hays’ (1996) child-centred intensive mothering where an individual child’s happiness is seen as the central tenet of ‘good’ mothering. Furthermore, her other interviews revealed highly gender segregated childcare arrangements in her family; despite both her and her husband working full-time, it was Hua who organised and managed their son’s childcare as well as their daughter’s educational work and activities, with no real contribution from her husband. Hua’s narratives suggest somewhat contradictory construction in her motherhood and employment identity. Thus, Hua’s experiences should be understood in the light of the intersection of multiple juxtaposing factors. Her husband’s gendered belief and practice originated from his Chinese upbringing; described by Hua as ‘They (men) are not trained to do anything at home’ these are important factors affecting her gendered role, in conjunction with her own belief. Contradicting gender relations have been developed in China due to the influence of Confucianism and Mao’s socialism (Jiang 2001). Women’s labour force participation has strongly been encouraged since Mao, and a lack of jobs for educated middle-class women is largely seen as shameful or negative in China (Zhou 2000). Nonetheless, the deeply entrenched gender norms have persisted, pervading every sphere of Chinese society (Guoying 2013). Hence, whilst women’s employment rate is one of the world highest (Cook and Dong 2011), women’s subjugated position in the private and public domains has not been changed, with expectations on women

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to take primary care responsibility. This seems to a large extent to explain the position of Hua, who has strong conviction of women’s employment but at the same time continues to take the primary care role. In addition, her move to Britain following her husband, not the other way, also indicates the gendered pattern, although this did not discourage her career development. Moreover, her educational qualifications are likely to have played a significant part in her positive views and pride in her job as her PhD allowed her to gain a professional career in a competitive field, especially for migrants. Another factor that needs to be considered is her heavy involvement in her ethnic organisations. In that sense, the locality of her residence is important as it had a large Chinese community, which enabled her to get involved in a range of activities closely tied to her ethnic identity as well as her children’s. This also meant she had regular and close interactions with other Chinese migrants in the area, which was likely to have strengthened her beliefs and practices around motherhood and employment associated with Chinese culture. Resonating with Hua’s accounts, women from China showed a strong worker identity, compared to those from Korea and Japan. The majority of my interviewees from China grew up in the post-Mao era in which educated middle-class women’s participation in the labour market was regarded as the norm and as positive (Zhou 2000). Interviewees talked of the impact of Chairman Mao’s ideology that encouraged women’s economic activities. In China everybody works, ladies and men, everyone from old, young, everyone works so there is no tradition in staying at home. I think it’s to do with Chairman Mao. He said “women hold up half of the sky”, just equal to men. CHEN: In China, women go to work I think for equal rights. If women don’t have a job, maybe you depend on your husband, so you can’t be independent. … In China you have to go to work. I had to. It’s not because your family pushes you or the government pushes you but the circumstances, the environment, you feel you have to. PING:

The invisible yet powerful cultural pressures faced by women in China are notable here. This is suggestive of their perceptions of the deeply and widely pervasive axiom of paid work outside the home in Chinese society. In this sense, it is not surprising to find that Chinese women are keen to work full-time: If I can afford a nursery, I would like to work full-time because in the summer I tried to let her go to the nursery but the fees were so expensive, I couldn’t afford it.

CHEN:

Dissimilar to China, where she was able to work full time even after having her first child, thanks to support from her family, familial help was not available to Chen in Britain. The availability of affordable quality childcare plays

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a significant role in the employment status of (Chinese) immigrant women, as observed by Ho (2006). In this respect, her decision was not made in a vacuum but within the structural context of Britain, which is one of the world’s most expensive places for childcare (Hansen et al. 2006). Owing to the loss of a familial network among Chinese immigrant families, women mostly take up the caring responsibility, which accentuates their gendered roles. A full-time employed mother from Japan also talked about the benefits of working whilst stressing the ‘quality’ time she spent with her children. Yoko was a mother of two children aged four and ten who lived in London. She immigrated to Britain to follow her British husband whom she met in Japan. She had lived in Britain for 11 years and worked as an administrator in a company. Their household income was £50,000–60,000: Being a working mum means that I also have a life other than just being a mother, which I like, because when I was just a mother, which is nice, I kind of felt I missed out on social life. Just grown-up conversation was missing and although my husband is lovely, you get kind of bored of talking to him just alone. I mean you get bored talking to other housewives, other mums because they ONLY talk about children or husbands or clothes or shopping. And I just find that a bit boring and uninspiring so I just felt like I need to get out and have my own life as well as being a mother, which is lovely … I’m full of energy at the weekend. We do lots of things together on the weekend: go to like forest, park, and I try to like REALLY REALLY listen to them and play with them and I do like that too. [my emphasis] The importance of work in her identity is palpable in Yoko’s account. Simultaneously, there is clear evidence of her attempt to justify her limited time with her children due to work. In the milieu where intensive motherhood takes the hegemonic cultural position, employed mothers construct ‘good mothering’ divergently from stay-at-home mothers to justify their time away from their children. The study of Johnston and Swanson (2006, pp. 513–514) indicates employed mothers emphasised ‘periodic quality interaction based on the quality of communication with their children’ or ‘focused attention and affection’. Echoing this, Yoko stressed the quality time her work was able to provide her children during the weekend when she was around. Her account also suggests that she did not choose to work because she did not love being a mother but because she needed identity and life outside motherhood by stressing ‘being a mother, which I like’ and ‘being a mother is lovely’ to make it clear to the interviewer. Here, her account implies that her work is not only valuable for herself but also benefits her children by providing a space for herself whilst enabling her to give her children focused and quality time; therefore, she is ultimately a ‘good mother’. In Yoko’s case, she was exposed to other cultures during her formative age, as she was educated

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in an Anglophone International school in Thailand when she was 15. Therefore, the impact of Japanese culture that is strongly marked by gendered roles is likely to be relatively weak. In conjunction with this, her interview also suggests her husband who worked as a primary school teacher fulltime took the primary caring role by doing the majority of school pick-ups and household chores during the week. In that sense, the intersection of her life path with her husband’s ethnicity and egalitarian gendered belief played an influential part, for instance, unlike the majority of men from Japan who have internalised male-breadwinner and female-carer ideology (Germer et al. 2014). In addition, the fact they lived in London with its multiple ethnic composition could have an impact as she was less exposed to the implicit and explicit pressure of Japanese cultural norms. However, despite seemingly egalitarian and transgressive gender practice in her household, gendered norms continued to shape her narrative as shown above. Furthermore, Yoko mentioned the financial benefits of her employment, as with her husband’s income alone they would have a less comfortable life than now, with less holidays, etc. Thus, economic reasons played a part in her decision, different from the majority of stay-at-home mothers.

Conclusion The findings suggest that the motherhood ideologies of individual women, influenced by national and/or ethnic cultural heritage, had a major impact on women’s beliefs around what constitutes ‘good’ mothering and subsequent decisions towards childcare. Reflecting this, the accounts of stay-athome mothers were predominantly characterised by the importance of the mother’s direct care for the emotional wellbeing and healthy development of their children. By contrast, the stories of employed mothers, mostly from China, did not support the incessant presence and availability of mothers, seeing care as replaceable by other women, such as grandmothers and nurseries. Women from China talked of this in reference to their perception of the culture in China where all adults are expected to work, regardless of childcare responsibilities. In intersection with this, the ethnic origin of their husbands added another dimension, as it seems to have influenced the gendered experiences of East Asian migrant mothers. The data suggests that having husbands who share the same ethnic and/or national origin as themselves might have consolidated the continuation of the conventional gender beliefs and practices between couples. Alongside this, my analysis also suggests the impact of the locality of settlement for East Asian women, especially through their connection with local ethnic community organisations and networks as well as interaction with people from same countries, as exemplified in the stories of Seyoun and Hua. For example, all my Korean interviewees resided in or in propinquity

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to New Malden, known as ‘Korean Town’. Owing to the availability of ­Korean products and services, the continuation of the ‘Korean way of life’ seemed possible here. However, the length of settlement in Britain did not seem to have a major influence on the majority of the women’s acculturation processes. In addition, the reasons of migration did not seem to have an obvious impact on East Asian women’s decision towards childcare and employment. The study of Lee et al. (2002) suggests more gender egalitarian and self-fulfilling post-migration experiences for women who migrated for their independence and career development and gender defined post-migration lives for those who immigrated as dependents. My data, however, suggests that such implications are rather ambiguous, with mixed patterns: Some women continued to pursue their dreams by obtaining higher qualifications and improving skills according to their original intention of immigration while others forwent their individual aspiration for their identity of wife and mother, dissimilar to the findings of Lee et al. In terms of educational level, most of the time, this category did not have a notable influence on the intersectional outcomes. However, the case of Hua illustrates the possible impact of her high educational qualification at a British university on the positive construction of her worker identity. The secure employment position in a professional sector seems to have reinforced her positive outlook on worker identity and its beneficial influence on her motherhood. This in a sense illuminates the possible effect of the labour market condition of Britain, which treats her qualification and chosen career path favourably. Thus, dissimilar to the majority of East Asian women in my study, Hua experienced upward mobility in her career. It is arguable that there emerged mixed responses with regard to the impact of the financial situation of individual women on their decision towards childcare and employment. On the one hand, stay-at-home mothers made their decision, largely based on their belief in ‘good motherhood’, rather than driven by economic rationalities, as can be seen in the account of Asuko. On the other hand, the narratives of a few employed mothers, such as Yoko, indicated financial incentives as an important component in their decision towards paid work. In addition, subtle differences can be traced in their mothering practices, depending on their financial situation, although these data were not included in this chapter due to limited space. While some mothers were keen and able to carry on the intense educational practices of their children, not everyone was able to do so due to financial strain. In this respect, household income played an important part in understanding different practices of child-rearing among East Asian mothers. However, it is important to stress here that financial motives alone would not be sufficient to determine mothers’ behaviours but have to be interweaved with their beliefs around ‘good motherhood’ unless their circumstances are extreme.

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All in all, despite divergence in the construction of motherhood and employment identity among East Asian mothers, all women in this study continue to be subject to the gendered expectations of motherhood and most of them remained as a primary care provider. My study highlights that out of seven intersectional categories, women’s motherhood ideology is significant, in intersection with their locality of settlement, husband’s gendered beliefs, and economic circumstances to some extent. In addition, the labour market condition of Britain, which is rather hostile to migrants, as well as expensive childcare costs, also affect the translation of these women’s motherhood beliefs into practice, at times reinforcing their gendered roles.

References Andersen, M. L. and Hill Collins, P. (eds) 2004. Race, class and gender: an anthology. 5th edition. London: Thomson Learning. Brah, A., 1996. Cartographies of diaspora: contesting identities. London: Routledge. Chan, A. K.-w., 2012. Doing family, contesting gender and expanding affinity: ­family practices of married women in Hong Kong. Families, Relationships and Societies, 1 (1), 25–41. Cho, H.-J., 2008. Korean women and men. 2nd edition. Seoul, South Korea: Moon-hak and Jisung. Cho, S.-S., 2002. The motherhood ideology. Seoul, South Korea: Hanwool. Cook, S. and Dong, X.-y., 2011. Harsh choices: Chinese women’s paid work and unpaid care responsibilities under economic reform. Development and Change, 42 (4), 947–965. Cooke, F. L., 2007. “Husband’s career first”: renegotiating career and f­ amily ­commitment among migrant Chinese academic couples in Britain. Work, ­E mployment and Society [online], 21 (1), 47–65. Croll, E., 1983. Chinese women since Mao. London: Zed Books. Evans, S. L. and Bowlby, S., 2000. Crossing boundaries: racialised gendering and the labour market experiences of Pakistani migrant women in Britain. Women’s Studies International Forum [online], 23 (4), 461–474. Fincher, L. H., 2014. Leftover women: the resurgence of gender inequality in China. London: Zed Books. Germer, A., Mackie, V. and Wohr, U., 2014. Introduction: gender, nation and the state in modern Japan. In: Germer, A., Mackie, V. and Wohr, U., eds. Gender, nation and state in modern Japan. Abingdon, UK: Routledge, 1–24. Guoying, W., 2013. Analysis of progress and issues of gender equality in China. In: ­ eimyung Joo-Hyun, C., ed. East Asian gender in transition. Daegu, South Korea: K University Press, 51–72. Hansen, K., Joshi, H. and Verropoulou, G., 2006. Childcare and mothers’ employment: approaching the millenium. National Institute Economic Review, 195, 84–102. Hays, S., 1996. The cultural contradictions of motherhood. New Haven: Yale University Press. Hill Collins, P. and Bilge, S., 2016. Intersectionality. Cambridge: Polity Press.

Motherhood experiences of East Asian women  133 Hirao, K., 2001. Mothers are the best teachers: Japanese motherhood and early childhood education. In: Brinton, M. C., ed. Women’s working lives in East Asia. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 180–203. Ho, C., 2006. Migration as feminisation? Chinese women’s experiences of work and family in Australia. Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies [online], 32 (3), 497–514. Johnston, D. D. and Swanson, H. D., 2006. Constructing the “good mother”: the ­experience of mothering ideologies by work status. Sex Roles [online], 54, 509–519. Jiang, J., 2001. Times have changed; men and women are the same. In: Zhong, X., Wang, Z. and Di, B., eds. Some of us: Chinese women growing up in the Mao era. New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 100–119. Lee, K.-J., 2003. Women in the Korean traditional society. In: Society, W. S. R. I. O. K., ed. Rewriting women and Korean society. 5th edition. Seoul, South Korea: Research Institute of Society and Culture, 41–62. Lee, K.-S., Jung, M.-R. and Kim, H.-J., 2008. Comparative study of South Korean, Japanese and Chinese parents’ child rearing. Research of Infant Education, 28 (3), 151–171. Lee, M., Chan, A., Bradby, H. and Green, G., 2002. Chinese migrant women and families in Britain. Women’s Studies International Forum [online], 25 (6), 607–618. Ochiai, E., 2013. The logics of family and gender changes in early 21st-Century East Asia. In: Joo-Hyun, C., ed. East Asian gender in transition. Daegu, South Korea: Keimyung University Press, 117–166. Patterson, L. and Walcutt, B., 2013. Korean workplace gender discrimination ­research analysis: a review of the literature from 1990 to 2010. Asia Pacific Business Review, 19 (1), 85–101. Portes, A., 1995. Economic sociology of immigration: the essays on networks, ­ethnicity, and entrepreneurship. New York: Russell Sage Foundation. Vincent, C., Ball, S. J. and Pietkainen, S., 2004. Metropolitan mothers: mothers, mothering and paid work. Women’s Studies International Forum [online], 27, 571–587. Zhou, Y., 2000. “The fall of the other half of the sky”? Chinese immigrant women in the New York area. Women’s Studies International Forum [online], 23 (4), 445–459.

Chapter 10

Chinese motherhood in the UK Carmen Lau Clayton

Introduction In the UK, Chinese settlement and relocation can be traced back to the 1840s, and since then, Chinese migration flows have been occurring at a steady and uninterrupted rate (Poston and Wong, 2016). Currently, the Office for National Statistics (ONS) suggests that Britain has 433,150 ­Chinese residents, representing 0.7% of the overall British population (ONS, 2015). For Chinese families who migrate to Western societies, cultural differences are pinpointed to the disparity between Confucian values (seen as traditional Chinese norms) and individualism (seen as typical Western practices). ­Chinese immigrant parents are often viewed as maintaining ethnic traditions that are at odds with their children’s experiences in the new culture, which can affect parenting approaches, parent-child relationships, and childhood experiences (Way et al., 2013). This chapter will show that the findings from a small ­research study suggest that Chinese mothers’ child-rearing decisions can be influenced by their own childhood ­experiences, the valuing of the p ­ arent-child relationship and children’s rights, and an awareness and ­acceptance of Westernisation. Such data expands on the current literature that portrays cultural norms as the main explanatory factor for British ­Chinese household functioning, thus offering a more holistic account of Chinese families. A brief literature summary of Chinese parenting styles and explanations will be provided, before detailing the study itself and its key finding.

Chinese parenting styles Confucianism has been said to be the most influential philosophy upon Chinese culture and the functioning of family life itself. Confucian ethics convey not only appropriate child-rearing expectations and child-rearing techniques, but also what are regarded as valuable qualities in children. The focus upon the family, the responsibility of parenthood, and the duty to raise well-adjusted children are highly prioritised within this framework (Wu and Chao, 2005). As Confucianism is the main influential backdrop to

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Chinese traditions and norms, it is still preserved by many Chinese immigrant communities today (Huang and Gove, 2012). When discussing the migration and settlement of Chinese families to Western nations such as England, Chinese culture has often been described to be in contrast to the individualist nature of Northern American and European cultures. Within Western societies, independence, individual achievement, personal growth, and the rights of the individual are emphasised. The role of parents, then, is to help children acquire self-sufficiency, self-direction, and decision-making abilities (Shek, 2002). In contrast, Chinese culture encompasses a collectivist approach, which prioritises the group (be it the family, society, or state) as opposed to the needs, wishes, and desires of the individual. In maintaining group unity and harmonious interpersonal relationships, obedience to authority, self-control, and compliance seem to be expected in a more consistent and absolute manner by Chinese parents (Chao, 1995). In support, Ho (1986) and other recent writers found that many Chinese parents placed a greater emphasis on obedience, proper conduct, moral training, and the acceptance of social obligations, than on the development of children’s independence, assertiveness, and creativity (as seen within the majority of Western parenting styles). When immigrant Chinese parents endorse child-rearing methods that are different to, or in conflict with, the parenting values of the new country of settlement, problems may arise within the household. Specifically, if young Chinese people prefer the norms of the dominant wider culture, whilst Chinese parents espouse the values of their country of origin, this may lead to feelings of confusion and frustration for the younger generation (Shek, 2002). A child may also feel a lack of integration within the wider society. Furthermore, differences in opinions regarding appropriate parenting methods and approaches may cause conflict between Chinese immigrant parents and their offspring (Phinney and Ong, 2002). Other observations seen within Chinese child-rearing practices, both in China and overseas, includes parents’ responsibilities and social obligations to train the child to be sensitive to moral and social rules, and the complex meaningfulness of shame (Xu et al., 2005). The larger goal of this cultural child-rearing practice is to produce an adult who is sensitive to shame and hence to other people’s opinions, evaluations, and judgements (Fung, 1999). Being aware and considerate to others, or to ‘give face’, is an important concept in traditional Chinese social structure, especially in a one-to-one relationship (Taylor, 1987). Reciprocal expectation has been suggested to be another key aspect of Chinese child-rearing practices. Parents expect children to be obedient and respectful and parents are expected to be responsible and experienced instructors who pass along cultural norms, values, and life experiences. (Xu et al., 2005: 525)

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In demonstrating obedience to elders and parents, Chinese children are expected to show filial piety. Filial piety has been suggested to be the major goal that guides the socialisation of children in the traditional Chinese family (Wang and Ollendick, 2001). The emphasis upon respect for authority figures within Chinese child-rearing methods is said to be pervasive across the school environment, public gatherings, and other social contexts (Fung et al., 2003). For some British Chinese families, being dutiful and respectful are essential features of their Chinese identities (Wang, 2017). Harsh scolding and physical punishment also correlate with the Chinese emphasis on compliance to authority from a very early age (Chen and Kennedy, 2004). Chinese parents (immigrants or otherwise) appear to be more tolerant of, and active in, their use of corporal punishment (Chang et al., 2004). The significance of the male within the Chinese belief system has led to the father being the principle disciplinarian of the child. Within Chinese culture, physical child-rearing approaches are seen to encourage the integrity of the child, rather than as a punishment (Siu-Ming and Tam, 2005). With the general acceptance of corporal punishment amongst Chinese families, child neglect and the possible psychological abuse inflicted are not recognised in the same way as in Western societies, which may cause problems for immigrant Chinese households living overseas (Wong, 2004). Research suggests that Chinese parents who adhere strongly to Chinese values are more likely to maintain a distance with their child during family interactions. This demeanour, to some extent, is conveyed in an authoritarian or controlling parenting style, particularly when children misbehave (Xu et al., 2005). In support, Wu and Chao (2005) found that Chinese immigrant parenting tends to be more authoritarian and less authoritative than that of their Western counterparts. Authoritative parenting often entails parental warmth, which is responsive and assertive (but not restrictive) with children. In contrast, authoritarian parenting involves parental dominance that is seen to be restrictive and cold towards young people (Baumrind, 1971). Chinese parents’ early expectations of children’s ability to comply also tends to correlate with authoritative parenting (Ren, 2015). However, traditional Chinese values not only emphasise child obedience and parental strictness, which are attributes of an authoritarian parenting style, but it also promotes parental acceptance and responsiveness, which are characteristics of an authoritative parenting style (Chao, 1994, 2000). Chao (1994) discussed how Chinese parents’ child-rearing responsibilities are fulfilled in the process of guan, which means to ‘govern’ as well as to love. Generally, Chinese parents in both Chinese and Western societies are immensely devoted to their children; they sacrifice much to meet their children’s needs and they provide ample affection and warmth, two characteristics of an authoritative parenting style. Thus, authoritative and authoritarian parenting styles are intertwined with the Chinese value system (Chao, 1995). Labels such as authoritative and authoritarian parenting, and differences between individualistic and collectivist cultures, can provide some

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distinguishing features and dimensions of Chinese parenting practices (Chao, 2000). However, flexibility within the constructs must be recognised, and it cannot be assumed that identified patterns in one culture or parenting style will have the same meanings and consequences across all societies (Peterson et al., 2005). Furthermore, the emphasis upon cultural parenting norms is limited, as the impact of globalisation, migration flows, transnationalism, and diasporas have arguably blurred the boundaries of countries and cultures, as the transfer of people, objects, and information intensifies across the world (Orbuch and Fine, 2003). As such, there can be diversity in cultural norms both within and between societies (Smidt, 2006). Although culture can play a significant part in the individual’s belief systems and interactions, the notion of culture itself is problematic. Conceptually, culture refers to many different aspects of human behaviour and ways of being, as well as denoting a set of cultural attributes, artefacts, symbols, and practices (Matsumoto, 2006). Culture is also underpinned by factors such as gender, class, and religion, as well as regional and linguistic differences (Brah, 1992). As such, culture is a complex and multifaceted construct, which can be interpreted and represented in many different ways. Moreover, migrant parents may not necessarily endorse their ethnic traditions, and not all immigrant children will adopt the traditions of the host culture (Dockett and Perry, 2005). Indeed, some research suggests that culture clashes are not inevitable. Many young Chinese people who were either born or raised in Britain tend to see themselves as being informed by both Chinese and British cultures (Song, 1997), and in this way are owners of a rich cultural capital upon which they can draw. The construction of cultural identities by British Chinese individuals can therefore be seen as cultural multilingualism, as much as it may form culture clashes or gaps (Parker, 1995). Culture in this way cannot be seen as fixed or determined by place or nationality (Karla et al., 2005), and so perhaps should not be used to categorise and define individuals or their behaviours. When considering such factors, further holistic investigations into British Chinese parenting practices are clearly needed.

Methods The exploration of contemporary British Chinese family life was based on a doctoral study funded by the Economic and Social Research Council. The study utilised qualitative, semi-structured, face-to-face interviews with Chinese parents and their children (Lau Clayton, 2014). The study was undertaken with 12 British Chinese households, and the sample size was kept small to acquire an in-depth and rich account of Chinese individuals’ lives and experiences. In each family, one parent and one child were invited to take part in three interviews each over a nine-month period. Seven families were invited to take part in the study through Chinese organisations, such as Chinese language supplementary schools and community groups. The

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other five families were sought via known contacts or snowballed from the initially recruited sample. All 12 Chinese families were from the North of England. In total, nine mothers participated in the study, aged between their late thirties and early fifties. The mothers’ countries of origin included Malaysia and Hong Kong and its various districts, such as the New Territories and Kowloon. Three mothers were homemakers, two worked in the education sector, two in the catering trade, one was studying for a National Vocation Qualification (a work-based qualification), and one mother classified herself as a housewife, but she also worked part-time. The participants immigrated to England at different times (from the 1970s up to 2004) and for different reasons. Six of the sample immigrated as adults for educational or business reasons. For the remaining participants, one mother arrived in England as a small child with her own parents, another immigrated after divorcing her husband, and there was one astronaut mother. An “astronaut family” is where the Chinese male immigrant (astronaut) commutes regularly and returns to Asia to work, whilst leaving his wife and children behind in the new country of settlement (Waters, 2005). Of the nine mothers, family arrangements included six nuclear families, one lone-parent family, one astronaut family, and one blended family (where a new partnership is formed with children from a previous relationship). Each mother had two or more children, ranging from primary school age up to grown adults (aged 18 and over). In each family, one parent and one child were interviewed separately either at home or in Chinese community centres. Only children who were under the age of 18 were invited to participate in the study, in order to focus on current parenting and childhood experiences. By using a one-to-one interviewing technique, the researcher was able to engage and adapt the interview process in accordance with the respondent’s requirements and comfort. Interviews were conducted two to three months apart and were based on three research interests: (1) parenting approaches, (2) parent–child intimacy levels, and (3) children’s agency. The three research areas allowed an insight into modern Chinese parenting. Only the accounts from the Chinese mothers will be used in this chapter to reflect upon contemporary Chinese motherhood experiences. Repeat qualitative interviewing was used, as it allows participants to tell their stories on their own terms and in their own words. One-off interviews have been criticised for creating a limited ‘snapshot’ of data collection, whereas, a series of interviews are better suited to capturing participant’s thoughts and reflections (Ritchie and Lewis, 2003). Contact over time is also necessary in research for children and adults, so that participants can relax enough with the researcher to reveal their beliefs, feelings, and concerns (Hill, 2006). In turn, repeat interviews allow the interviewees to get to know the researcher better. As such, more of a reciprocal relationship can be formed between the researcher and respondent. The establishment of trust and reciprocity was hoped to elicit higher levels of disclosures from

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the interviewees and the production of authentic accounts. The process of returning to participants over time also allowed member checking of the results (Shek et al., 2005). The researcher personally transcribed the interview accounts, as it allowed for a deeper level of familiarity with the data sets for the analysis process. Meaningful data from the transcripts were organised by themes and further sub-categories, according to the research questions and links to pre-existing theories and research. The job of indexing, or slicing, the data set was done manually with the aid of Microsoft Office. The combination of personally transcribing the interview accounts and the manual procedure of indexing allowed a more thorough examination of what the interviewees had said and permitted repeated examinations of their accounts. A conceptual map was subsequently developed on paper to interpret the data, where relevant interview verbatim was assigned to emerging themes. Analysis from the conceptual map then fed into the next stages of investigation for the following interview waves. The maintenance of a research diary was a method of logging research developments, research activities, and general reflections. Such considerations also aided the design of subsequent interview questions and prompts. Documenting the data, the researcher’s perspective, and the decision-making process allowed auditability and external reliability of the investigation throughout all of the research stages (Shek et al., 2005). The transcripts, thematic coding, and conceptual map enabled a repetitive interplay among theory, data collection, and analysis to be completed in an iterative manner, known as an abductive process. Within an abductive strategy, theory is constructed by first describing the activities and meanings by groups and individuals, followed by the formulation of categories and concepts to understand or explain the problem at hand (Blaikie, 2000). The emerging data categories and theories in this research were therefore seen as ‘thick descriptions’, where there was an interpretive focus on the meaning and intentions of the interviewee’s behaviours. The alternating process of moving among everyday concepts and meanings, lay accounts, and social science explanations means that theory is therefore generated as an intimate part of the research process (Blaikie, 2000).

Research findings and discussion: Filial piety and corporal punishment Existing academic accounts of Chinese parenthood often view Chinese parents as being authoritarian, seen within the practices of patriarchy, absolute parental authority, filial piety, and high psychological control. Patriarchy in Chinese culture, namely compliance with and respect for authority (especially of elders and male authority figures), has also been stressed as an integral part of the early socialisation process for Chinese children. Findings from this study also demonstrated Chinese mothers’ insistence on, and promotion of, the father as the head of the household within intact families.

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Families who upheld a paternalistic family model used the father figure as the main discipliner for serious violations by the child, with mothers seeing to minor transgressions. If my daughter has severely misbehaved, I let my husband deal with it, as he is the head of the household. (Abigail, late thirties, married, two children) Due to the family arrangements in lone and astronaut Chinese households, the mothers assigned themselves the role of disciplinarian. Under these circumstances, children perceived their fathers (if they were present at all) as less authoritarian than their mothers. Patriarchy and filial piety have been found to contribute towards the use of corporal punishment in some Asian families. Though a number of Chinese mothers admitted to chastising their children when they were younger, such disciplining methods were no longer used by the participants after their child reached the stage of adolescence. In part, this was due to legality issues concerning corporal punishment. Although English law does not prohibit corporal punishment within the family, recent debates regarding children’s human rights are arguably influencing contemporary Chinese parenting practices (Dwyer, 2010). The way that parents treated their children back in those days was to beat them. But now you can’t do that anymore, as children will just sue you in England! (Sandra, late forties, lone parent, two children) Chinese mothers also expressed their concern about the impact that such parenting techniques could have on their children’s psychological well-­being, ­ arent-child whilst others stressed the negative effects it may have on the p relationship. I try to explain to her instead of smacking her. As I say, I’m getting into my forties now and I still remember my father and mother hitting me. It affects you for the rest of your life. So, if I hit my daughter now, when she’s in her teens, she’ll remember it when she’s in her forties too. (Abigail, late thirties, married, two children)

Children’s independence and autonomy Most Chinese mothers seemed keen for their children to become more independent and self-reliant, to varying degrees. Such characteristics are at odds with the generalisation that Chinese parenting is simply authoritarian, which restricts children’s independence. Many cited generational changes

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and their own childhood reflections as the key reasons for a more lenient and flexible parenting approach. You think well, my parents were like that, so I’m not going to be as strict as my parents but a little bit like them. But I think I give my kids more leeway than my parents gave to me. I think in a way I’ve been there and I know how she [daughter] feels, so at least I let her do a bit of it. But I wasn’t even allowed to do anything when I was a kid. (Ava, mid-forties, married, three children) In contrast to parents’ own childhoods, contemporary British Chinese mothers encouraged their children to be more communicative, and to negotiate and to assert their choices as part of their parenting strategies. As Louise (late forties, married, two children) commented: Children should make their own decisions instead of being told all the time. I think it’s dangerous if you grow up being told what to do. There were other explanations for such decisions too. Annabel (early fifties), for example, who was an astronaut mother, cited practical reasons and her own personal experience of solo parenthood as factors in her parenting outlooks. For example, Annabel actively encouraged her daughters to travel on the bus alone and to socialise with friends: “She [daughter] needs to socialise and have a social life, instead of being stuck with me”. Encouraging children’s independence, thoughts, and self-expressions led to some mothers experiencing conflicts with their British Chinese children. I do try to encourage my daughter to show her feelings and to talk more. I think it is important to express yourself. Sometimes it can lead to disagreements, but most of the time we try to work it out. (Ava, mid-forties, married, three children) The recognition and acceptance of conflicts and disagreements by modern British Chinese mothers is in sharp contrast to their own childhoods, where Chinese ideology suggests that harmony must be maintained between oneself and others. Parents back then were stricter, children had to listen to their parents, they were always right. Now you learn, you know, it’s not the case that parents are always right, society has changed and times have moved on. Maybe they [children] have learnt more and know more, so you being wrong as a parent is not unlikely. When I know my daughter’s opinions are right I have to accept that. (Chloe, early fifties, re-married, one child)

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Where Chinese mothers did appear to be strict and controlling, this was not entirely due to cultural reasons. Recent migration to the UK, for instance, meant that mothers like Sue (early fifties) were particularly cautious about their children’s whereabouts whilst settling into the new country. Taking her son’s socialising opportunities as an example, Sue’s limited geographical knowledge of the local area and lack of familiarity concerning public transport options were significant factors when forbidding her son to socialise outside of the home. Similar to Sue, Nicole (early forties) lacked basic ­English language skills and communicated little with her son, so she knew very little about his peer groups and school life. As such, she was less willing to allow her son any free time with peers outside of the home. No, I won’t let my son out much. When he gets invited to friend’s houses or to do activities, I won’t let him go because I have told him that I will worry. It may be because I can’t communicate with others. (Sue, early fifties, married, three children)

Displays of care and affection Chinese parents are said to be less physically and emotionally expressive with their children. Instead, love is demonstrated by successfully meeting the child’s needs, especially through instrumental support and sacrifice (Chao and Tseng, 2002). This can be seen within Confucian doctrine, which stresses that one’s good intentions are conveyed through actions more than words (Wu and Chao, 2005). As a result, Western understandings of warmth and care, which incorporate physical and emotional demonstration, may not be applicable to collectivist understandings that are based on support through involvement and investment (Lim and Lim, 2005). However, the majority of Chinese mothers in the study did demonstrate their love and affection through physical means, in order to enhance feelings of closeness in the parent-child dyad. I think Chinese people feel embarrassed to show their emotions, especially the older generation, they never did that. You see, Chinese people always like to keep things inside; they never show their feelings. But I want to show my children affection and how I am feeling. (Heather, early forties, married, two children) Sue suggested that the mother-son relationship had improved since moving to the UK from Hong Kong, because of the cultural differences for intimate relating between parents and children. After coming to the UK, I feel closer to my son because of the differences in culture. Like, the manner is different here and we can be more affectionate, cuddle and talk more intimately. I feel that this will prolong our relationship also. (Sue, early fifties, married, three children)

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Chinese mothers wanted to be seen as friends to their children. Such comments contrasted their own childhood experiences with the older generation. I feel as though my daughter will be able to confront me with her problems more than I did with my parents, because my parents were not as open. I grew up in the UK and became more Westernised, I figured that the Chinese are not as open, but I am more Westernised than my parents were. So, I can talk to my children more and they can talk to me and confide in me. (Ava, married, mid-forties, three children) However, despite the emphasis placed upon ‘being like friends’, parents still expected children to respect and obey them. The Chinese value of filial piety was still seen as an important value for family functioning and children’s socialisation.

Parent-child closeness Intimacy within parent-child relationships often requires cohesiveness. Cohesiveness is described as togetherness and the sharing of time and activities within a relationship (Prager, 1995). Cohesive activities, such as sharing a meal, completing a task together, or watching sports game together, may not necessarily involve intimate engagement, but often serve as a backdrop for intimate interactions. Many parents emphasised the importance of cohesiveness through ‘family time’ and tried to encourage shared activities with children to increase or maintain bonds. The sharing of meals was prioritised in all households within the study. The main thing is to have dinner together; it’s the time to talk about what’s happened in the day and to communicate. I think it is important. (Sue, early fifties, married, three children) In addition to regular meals together, parents and children engaged in shared interests and activities, such as sporting activities, hobbies, and watching television programmes. In particular, engaging with Chinese traditions and festivals was highlighted as an important sharing experience to bring parents and children closer together. This included Chinese New Year, the Mid-Autumn Festival, and the Boat Festival. All parents attempted to celebrate and preserve as many Chinese traditions as possible for their children. Newly migrated parents appeared to participate in such activities more readily than the families who had lived in Britain for a longer period of time. Chinese families who were more settled suggested that they were not

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always able to participate in Chinese celebrations due to lack of resources, heavy work schedules, and limited family time. It’s nice if you can keep both cultures together, but if one has to take over the other, I think it should be the British culture as you are living in Britain. Living here, you have to integrate into the society and live and work like the others. (Louise, late forties, married, two children) Sanderson (2004) suggested that any attempt to create and maintain intimacy within a relationship is a worthwhile venture, as intimacy levels play an important role in predicting relationship satisfaction and help to maintain attachments over time. However, parental workload was repeatedly mentioned by British Chinese mothers as a barrier to participating in cohesive activities as a family. This was especially problematic for two parents who worked in the catering (take-away) trade, which required evening and weekend working hours. The lone mothers also expressed difficulties in balancing family time with employment requirements.

Conclusion Parent’s descriptions of their own upbringing coincided with established research findings, where the parents of the previous generation were authoritarian and adhered strongly to Confucian values. Interestingly, the importance of Chinese traditions and values was still evident amongst contemporary families, although to varying degrees, despite differences in Chinese mothers’ backgrounds, life histories, socio-economic class, age, and education status. This included clearly defined gender roles, responsibilities, and obligations of the individual within the family, and children’s respect for parental authority. Chinese mothers did not subscribe wholly to Confucianism. Parents of today also drew upon Western ideals in their parenting, which were associated with the typology of authoritarian parenting. Examples included parental warmth, open communication, verbal reasoning from children, and encouraging children’s decision-making. Passiveness and absolute acceptance of parental authority were not deemed attractive traits for children growing up in the 21st century. Chinese mothers recognised that the world was a competitive place that required resilience and independence. Chinese mothers also described themselves as being more tolerant than parents of the past, as a result of their own childhood experiences and the need to adapt to generational changes. Where parenting could be perceived as controlling or restrictive, this was explained by environmental or other contextual factors, such as a mother’s newly migrated status, communication barriers with children, and/or a lack of knowledge about their children’s peers, namely friendship groups, as opposed to Chinese cultural norms alone.

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By exploring the accounts of Chinese mothers and their parenting traits, this study highlights the complex and interactive nature of Chinese mothering, where individual and family experiences are created through, and are contingent upon, family practices within and outside of the home (Morgan, 1996). Furthermore, the different uses of culture, and what aspects of which culture are chosen and used by parents to teach and guide their children, cannot be pinpointed as being traditionally Chinese (namely Confucian/ collectivist) or Western. Instead, cultural identities are non-fixed entities, which are situational and relational, and this is reflected in the parenting behaviours of contemporary Chinese mothers. Although it is recognised that the research was on a small scale and that there are several limitations inherent within the study itself (e.g. choice of methods, sample size, etc.), in a context of a multicultural and rapidly changing Britain, this chapter hopes to provide a fresh insight into British Chinese motherhood and to raise a better awareness and understanding of Chinese households.

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146  Carmen Lau Clayton Fung, H. (1999). Becoming a Moral Child: The Socialization of Shame among Young Chinese Children. Ethos, 27(2), pp. 180–209. Fung, H., Lieber, E. and Leung, W. L. (2003). Parental Beliefs about Shame and Moral Socialization in Taiwan, Hong Kong, and the United States. In K. S., Yang, K. Hwang, P. B. Pedersen and I. Daibo (Eds.) Progress in Asian Social ­Psychology: Conceptual and Empirical Contributions. Westport, CT: Praeger ­P ublishers, pp. 83–109. Hill, M. (2006). Ethical Considerations in Researching Children’s Experiences. In S. Green and D. Hogan (Eds.) Researching Children’s Experiences: Approaches and Methods. London: Sage, pp. 61–86. Ho, D. Y. F. (1986). Chinese Patterns of Socialization: A Critical Review. In M. H. Bond (Ed.) The Psychological Character of the Chinese People. Hong Kong: ­Oxford University Press, pp. 1–37. Huang, G. H. C. and Gove, M. (2012). Confucianism and Chinese Families: ­Values and Practices in Education. International Journal of Humanities and Social ­Science, 2(3), pp. 10–14. Karla, V. S., Kaur, R. and Hutnyk, J. (2005). Diaspora & Hybridity. London: Sage. Lau Clayton, C. (2014). British Chinese Families: Parenting, Relationships and ­Childhoods. Palgrave MacMillan Studies in Family and Intimate Life. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Lim, S. L. and Lim, B. K. (2005). Parenting Style and Child Outcomes in Chinese and Immigrant Chinese Families: Current Findings and Cross-Cultural Considerations in Conceptualization and Research. In G. W. Peterson, S. K. Steinmetz and S. M. Wilson (Eds.) Parent-Youth Relations: Cultural and Cross-Cultural Perspectives. London: Haworth Press, pp. 21–42. Matsumoto, D. (2006). Culture and Cultural Worldviews: Do Verbal Descriptions about Culture Reflect Anything Other Than Verbal Descriptions of Culture? ­C ulture & Psychology, 12(1), pp. 33–62. Morgan, D. (1996). Family Connections: An Introduction to Family Studies. ­Cambridge: Polity Press. ONS (2015). 2011 Census Analysis: Ethnicity and Religion of the Non-UK Born Population in England and Wales: 2011. Online: www.ons.gov.uk/peoplepopulationandcommunity/culturalidentity/ethnicity/articles/2011­c ensusanalysisethni cityandreligionofthenonukbornpopulationinenglandandwales/2015-06-18 (­accessed 1/11/2018). Orbuch, T. and Fine, M. (2003). The Context of Race/Ethnicity in Interpersonal Relationships: Crossing the Chasm. Journal of Social and Personal Relationships, 20(2), pp. 147–152. Parker, D. (1995). Through Different Eyes: The Cultural Identities of Young Chinese People in Britain. London: Avebury. Peterson, G. W., Steinmetz, S. K. and Wilson, S. M. (2005). Persisting Issues in ­Cultural and Cross-Cultural Parent-Youth Relations. In G. W. Peterson, S. K. Steinmetz and S. M. Wilson (Eds.) Parent-Youth Relations: Cultural and Cross-Cultural Perspectives. London: Haworth Press, pp. 593–604. Phinney, J. S. and Ong, A. D. (2002). Adolescent-Parent Disagreements and Life ­Satisfaction in Families from Vietnamese- and European-American Backgrounds. International Journal of Behavioral Development, 26, pp. 556–561.

Chinese motherhood in the UK  147 Poston, L. D. and Wong, J. H. (2016). The Chinese Diaspora: The Current ­Distribution of the Overseas Chinese Population. Chinese Journal of Sociology, 2(3), pp. 348–373. Prager, K. J. (1995). The Psychology of Intimacy. London: Guildford Press. Ren, L. (2015). Parenting Young Children in Contemporary Chinese Society: A Mixed Methods Study (Unpublished doctoral dissertation). University of Nebraska-­ Lincoln, Lincoln. Ritchie, J. and Lewis, J. (2003). Qualitative Research Practice: A Guide for Social Science Student Researchers. London: Sage. Sanderson, C. A. (2004). The Link between the Pursuit of Intimacy Goals and ­Satisfaction in Close Relationships: An Examination of the Underlying ­Processes. In D. J. Mashek and A. Aron (Eds.) Handbook of Closeness and Intimacy. ­London: Lawrence Erlbaum, pp. 247–266. Shek, D. T. L. (2002). Parenting Characteristics and Parent-Adolescent Conflict: A Longitudinal Study in the Chinese Culture. Journal of Family Issues, 23, pp. 189–208. Shek, D. T. L., Tang, V. M. Y. and Han, X. M. (2005). Evaluation of Evaluation Studies Using Qualitative Research Methods in the Social Work Literature (1990–2003): Evidence That Constitutes a Wake-Up Call. Research on Social Work Practice, 15(3), pp. 180–194. Siu-Ming, K. and Tam, D. M. Y. (2005). Child Abuse in Chinese Families in ­Canada: Implications for Child Protection Practice. International Social Work, 48(3), pp. 341–348. Smidt, S. (2006). The Developing Child in the 21st Century: A Global Perspective on Child Development. London, New York: Routledge. Song, M. (1997). You’re Becoming More and More English: Investigating Chinese Siblings’ Cultural Identities. New Community, 23(3), pp. 343–362. Taylor, M. (1987). Chinese People in Britain. Berkshire: NFER-Nelson. Wang, D. (2017). Imagining China and the Chinese: Cultural Identities of British Chinese Young People in and around London (Unpublished doctoral dissertation). University College London: London. Wang, Y. and Ollendick, T. H. (2001). A Cross-Cultural and Developmental ­A nalysis of Self-Esteem in Chinese and Western Children. Clinical Child and Family ­Psychology Review, 4(3), pp. 253–71. Waters, J. L. (2005). Transnational Family Strategies and Education in the Contemporary Chinese Diaspora. Global Networks, 5(4), pp. 359–377. Way, N., Okazaki, S., Zhao, J., Kim, J. J., Chen, X., Yoshikawa, H., Jia, Y. and Deng, H. (2013). Social and Emotional Parenting: Mothering in a Changing ­Chinese Society. Asian American Journal of Psychology, 4(1), pp. 61–70. Wong, S. L. (2004). Chinese and Indian Diasporas: Comparative Perspectives. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. Wu, C., and Chao, R. K. (2005). Intergenerational Cultural Conflicts in Norms of Parental Warmth among Chinese American Immigrants. International Journal of Behavioral Development, 29, pp. 516–523. Xu, Y., Farver, J. A. M., Zhang, Z., Zeng, Q., Yu, L. and Cai, B. (2005). Mainland Chinese Parenting Styles and Parent–Child Interaction. International Journal of Behavioral Development, 29(6), pp. 524–531.

Part 4

Lesbian mothers/ mothering

Chapter 11

Lesbian mothers and citizens The morality test at the United States Supreme Court Anthony Castet

American public life in the 21st century has witnessed a dual process of the legal recognition and social acceptance of same-sex-parented families, with steady and incremental political progress for Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer, and Questioning issues.1 There is a growing concern about the deterioration of general morality according to a 2015 Gallup poll. The results indicated that 72% of Americans believed the state of moral values was getting worse in the country.2 More precisely, they identified the lack of social cohesion, changes in family structure, and a lack of faith as the most important problems they faced.3 In other words, they were most anxious about people’s behaviour and their way of life. Most importantly, they seemed to be questioning their concept of citizenship—namely how Americans are supposed to interact with each other and how they deal with people’s inner differences—and their idea of moral authority—that is how their subjective perceptions of what is right or wrong will be taken into consideration by public officials. One subject of particular political and judicial contention in recent years has been the protection of religious liberty, as well as “sincerely held religious beliefs”4 against American moral decline, supposedly fuelled by the “campaign for the freedom to marry”5 as a means for greater visibility and legal protections for same-sex families. The culture war paradigm6 created by James Davison Hunter has acted as a catalyst for reasserting traditional religious values while offering a platform to lesbian mothers and second-class citizens committed to normalising their families and demanding moral reparation. In view of this, the 2015 US Supreme Court decision (“Obergefell v. Hodges”)—making marriage equality the law of the land—was a major legal breakthrough for lesbian families. This analysis sketches out the basis for a more pragmatic conceptualisation of the culture war paradigm. This chapter is a starting point for LGBTQ research into power struggles over moral, political, and legal ­representations of LGBTQ Americans in US democracy. Thus, its main purpose is to contend that religious morality was framed not only as a shield to legitimise bias, prejudice, and discrimination, but also as a civil rights issue dedicated to preserving the sanctity of the First Amendment, namely

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“religious freedom”. By drawing on four plaintiffs’ standardised interviews conducted between January and February 2017 and on the court proceedings in the Perry (2010) and DeBoer cases (2014), it appears that the rhetoric of religious morality purposefully interfered with the process of assimilation by making it inferior and de-emphasising the importance of equality and ­legal rights to lesbian mothers and their children.7 Despite demonstrating that they were perfectly capable of maintaining stable and healthy households for their children, lesbians were delegitimised as mothers because of their sexual orientation, causing them to become vocal opponents to hostile ­prejudices. Assessing the repairing, protective, and regulatory nature of the US justice system shows how it can act as a bulwark in the protection of rights and liberties by refusing to subject a minority group to the moral reprobation of conservative Christians.

A process of acceptance, normalisation, and education April DeBoer and Jayne Rowse are both nurses, and have been together for almost 20 years. They adopted five children with special needs from the ­hospital and are still fostering other children. Their family is as diverse as the fabric of the United States: Two African-American girls, one ­biracial boy, one biracial girl, and one white boy. The genetic make-up of their ­family was circumstantial, as the children found their way towards them in different ways. Interestingly, DeBoer and Rowse asserted that their family life was no different than anybody else’s, refusing to see the Manichean view of the typical middle-class family as mostly white, nuclear families with 2.4 children living in the suburbs, versus all the other families that do not fit in, including dysfunctional ones. As mothers, they both wanted to make a better world for their children by providing them with a home they own, and securing their future by suing the State of Michigan, hoping they would all be treated equally under the law, as in any other family. Marriage did not change their relationship, as they had united in a commitment ceremony in 2008, but Rowse acknowledged that she now feels reassured since their marriage rights allowed them to establish their legal relationship with their children. They both consider themselves moral and competent parents through teaching their children right from wrong, and making them sensitive to the issues of racism and sex discrimination by using simple language. As an American and as the protector of her family, Rowse is well aware that discrimination and race are still “festering wounds on the soul of America”,8 as Andrew Hartman (2015, p. 103) explained, although she has never suffered herself from sexual orientation discrimination. When she was younger, she only went as far as to challenge gender roles by playing baseball, and now, she and her wife “take on male role models” at home by doing repairs around

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the house, and teaching the kids how to play football and baseball. As parents, their priority is to spend quality time with their children, ­provide them with all the affection they need and experiences that will help them grow, and teach them to be hopeful for the future. DeBoer even considers that being a nurse helps her and her wife advocate for their children who have special needs. Kristin Perry and Sandy Stier are two lesbian mothers who have been in a committed relationship for almost 20 years. Perry has two twin boys from a previous same-sex relationship, and Stier has two boys conceived from a previous marriage to a man. Having been raised as a Catholic on a farm in Iowa, conservative values pervaded Stier’s cultural upbringing, with heterosexual married couples being regarded as the norm. Stier sacrificed her true self to marry a man and still feels the impact of her religious background even though she no longer identifies with the religious doctrine. As a heterosexual woman, she learned to be selfless, as she only related to the concepts of loving your family, and how to love somebody, so she had to deal with her own frustrations in her first marriage. With Perry, Stier experienced a more balanced and satisfactory relationship. Coming out as gay to her children and her family was particularly intense, as she had already divorced her husband. As a mother, Stier had to make sure her children would be well adjusted, as they faced a t­ ransitional period when the two mothers chose to blend their respective families into one household. Their children were also exposed to issues such as equality and discrimination, which required a great deal of conversation around what it meant to be misjudged based on your sexuality or the colour of your skin. According to Perry, as heterosexual young adults raised by a ­lesbian couple, their four sons are now very aware of what it is like to experience a privileged life without having to suffer from structural stigma and discrimination. During the trial, Perry was particularly concerned about the future of her children and of an entire generation, while Stier found the process of trial preparation and giving testimony difficult as it made her feel vulnerable and exposed.9 Their moral obligation, as American citizens, was to sue the State of California so that the lawsuit could be used as a tool to repair the harm brought about by so much prejudice and violence, and to remind the government of its responsibility to treat everyone fairly and equally. However, in order to demonstrate that same-sex couples wanted to contribute to the institution of marriage favourably, they had to conform to a series of specific requirements established by their attorneys. Standardisation, namely maturity, motivation to marriage rights acquisition, commitment to stable and durable relationships, and authenticity, applied to committed same-sex couples, were necessary to serve as an eye-opener for an entire culture: an American society overwhelmed with criminalisation and the condemnation of homosexual conduct, according to David Boies.10

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Some activists and observers argue that the LGBTQ movement needs to overhaul its advocacy strategy by distancing itself from the civil-rights template, to support, instead, a grassroots approach that favours education and reform to change the culture of discrimination more effectively.11 The fact of the matter is that one of the purposes of the trial, initiated by o ­ rdinary citizens, was to educate about same-sex love and lesbian parenthood. The civil-rights model may not be necessarily ‘antinomic’ to change the culture model from the bottom up. What appears to be clear, nevertheless, is that the civil-rights orientation cannot hold by itself as a long-term encompassing operational strategy as it remains contingent to the enforcement of ­progressive policies toward LGBTQ equality.

Invisibility, inferiority, and arbitrary classification This kind of commitment and responsibility in raising their four children together enhanced their legitimacy as lesbian parents in a same-sex family unit, even though they were not allowed to adopt each other’s children. However, according to Perry, they always felt that they belonged to a category of ‘different’ and ‘other’, not only because they were ‘domestic partners’ and not spouses, but because, as a lesbian woman, Perry had always refused to fantasise about a wedding. For Perry, marriage was the ‘pursuit of happiness’ reserved for heterosexuals only. She was surrounded by many people who could make her feel uncomfortable about her sexual orientation, reminding her that homosexuality was still unacceptable and incompatible with family and married life. Although the enactment of domestic partnerships in California was specifically designed to secure the long-standing relationships of same-sex couples without federal rights and protections, ‘domestic partners’ were still not entitled to the principles of acceptance, honour, and respect from society, family members, or even children. Stier felt their relationship was reduced to a technical legal term to which nobody could relate: “We are not business partners. We are not social partners. We are not glorified roommates”. Failing to identify with other individuals made them question their sense of belonging, and what it meant to be American, as they were compelled to use negative statements to define themselves. Perry put a significant amount of time and energy into deflecting inimical reactions by concealing the true nature of her relationship, pretending to be like every other woman in order to be ‘likable’. The compromise of domestic partnerships put Perry and Stier into a ‘separate but unequal’ class of people, as if they had been subjected to a sloppy government experimentation to assess the strength and authenticity of their commitment and household, pending the confirmation of further credible studies that demonstrated that same-sex couples posed no rational threat to the institution of marriage. This arrangement was ultimately designed to maintain a wait-and-see ­approach indefinitely, which is not even guaranteed by the 14th Amendment,

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thus allowing conservatives to carry out debunking studies that would discredit the current body of literature, which is favourable to same-sex marriage, and propose a constitutional amendment instead.12 Indeed, the passing of Proposition 8 caused same-sex families to endure the most scorching defeat in liberal California while Barack Obama was the elected President of the US. The campaign for Proposition 8 relied heavily on mass propaganda, oversimplified discourse, groundless stereotypes, and pseudo-scientific evidence to distort the realities of same-sex families. Traditional families were made to believe that if Proposition 8 did not pass their children would be taught that gay marriage is morally acceptable, and that they could become homosexual or decide to get married to a person of the same sex simply by being exposed to homosexuality. As lesbian parents and citizens, Perry and Stier were treated as ‘undesirable’, ‘deviant’, ‘less than, ‘not good enough’, and ‘dangerous’, without much leverage to personally respond to these attacks that relegated them to a ‘morally inferior’ rank: “I was being used […], I am the way I am […], I was being mocked and […] disparaged […]. I didn’t really have any way to respond to it”.13 The campaign did not focus on the benefits of traditional marriage, but rather on God’s punishments for legalising gay marriage, which would lead to the ‘Flood’ and other cataclysmic events inherited from the Bible. The referendum was an opportunity to reassert the legitimacy of oppressive structures and normative beliefs from the Church. In fact, according to Stier, in the debate over same-sex marriage, ­morality and gay parenting have been instrumentalised as opposing tools of ­discrimination and exclusion. However, it appears that sexual orientation is never part of the equation when it comes to modelling to your child. During the trial, Michael Lamb, Professor of Psychology at the University of Cambridge, intended to delineate the multiple parenting skills assigned to parents, contributing to child development, within a suitable economic and social environment: A good parent is one who is effective at reading the signals of that child, understanding what that child needs and providing appropriate stimulation, guidance, and setting appropriate limits for their children. And parents who provide that kind of committed, loving care have children who are more likely to be well adjusted.14 What defines good parents is their ability to maintain quality and healthy relationships with both their partners and their children. These four mothers are perfectly capable of fulfilling a robust and healthy relationship based on moral standards, while restoring and reconciling the purposes of morality and parenting − no matter one’s sexual orientation. Altering the Constitution, a sacred document, to remove rights can be deemed a distortion of the original intent of the document and the latest

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stage of discrimination against a community in the context of America’s culture wars. The campaign for Proposition 8 revealed one of its insidious intentions, which was to empower Californians by telling them they had a moral obligation to maintain an illegitimate hierarchy of people divided into four classes: heterosexuals, 18,000 married same-sex couples, same-sex couples married in other states and recognised by California, and Californian same-sex couples who were denied marriage equality on a daily basis. On morality, Judge Walker, using a precedent, stated: “The Constitution cannot control private biases but neither can it tolerate them”. As a consequence, religious or moral beliefs based on tradition or assumptions are not sufficient grounds to legislate or to authorise a referendum against a targeted community. As part of a minority group, Rowse and DeBoer have often been the target of moral judgements and negative assumptions about their way of life and their family: “People said we should not be allowed to be married, we should not be allowed to be parents, we should not be allowed to exist […]”. The divisive and violent nature of American culture has always made it challenging for acceptance and inclusiveness to apply to American diversity and its DNA permanently. This episode is a stark reminder of the considerable distance the nation must still travel in order to form a “more perfect union” by putting an end to the destructive forces of homophobia and bigotry as LGBTQ Americans are still prone to verbal abuse, physical assault, legal regression, and crime. Rowse’s detractors have succeeded in weaponising morality to distort the very national ideals of freedom and equality, but also suffrage to determine the fundamental rights of a minority group, deemed a suspect class even though there is still no legal consensus to consider sexual orientation a suspect classification. Eventually, the issue of same-sex parenting comes down to the legal question of whether or not it is constitutional to justify discrimination based on Judeo-Christian morality to protect religious freedom.

Religious morality as “superior governmental interest” When Kentucky clerk Kim Davis refused to fulfil her obligation to deliver marriage licences to same-sex couples in July 2015, she set herself up as a ‘Christian and culture war warrior’ against a secular and democratic system of government. She explained the rationale behind her decision by arguing that her conscience prevented her from performing her duty because same-sex marriage acted “in contradiction to the moral law of God, natural law, and her sincerely held religious beliefs and convictions”. More specifically, she justified her refusal by claiming that Obergefell invaded her religious freedom grounded in the 1st Amendment, and even reminded Justice Kagan that Davis’s ancestors came to America precisely to seek refuge

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from religious persecutions: “Davis seeks that asylum, for her conscience, from this Court”.15 In other words, she pretended to be persecuted, as if she equated same-sex marriage to moral violence, which ultimately violated her moral conscience. Yet her alleged obstruction or hindrance to the free exercise of her religious beliefs is groundless and not supported by any sufficient evidence. Davis felt compelled not to enforce the principles of equality between homosexuals and heterosexuals by perpetuating structural stigma and discrimination against a conduct that is unnatural and morally offensive to her, while protecting religious conservatives’ “right not to recognise”16 same-sex couples. Consequently, Rowse became resigned to accepting a culture war against her family when conservative believers approached them at the Supreme Court to convince them to drop their case. They were told that as lesbian mothers, they “were on the wrong path”, that “they were not thinking clearly”, that “they were breaking God’s laws”. According to Rowse, these degrading and homophobic comments are just an example of a strategy of rhetoric masquerading as religious morality: “people are not always honest when they claim: it’s my religion that doesn’t allow me to like you”. Far from reconciling the American people, religion remains a divisive force in the public sphere on issues of family and sexuality. Under the traditional marriage supporters’ operating principle that “morality is constitutionally protected by free speech”, same-sex marriage represents a harmful imposition on their beliefs and a moral aggression that has nothing to do with the fundamental civil right protected by the 14th Amendment.17 In fact, John Eastman, Professor of Law, argues that under the equal protection clause, it is not a legal requirement that people be treated equally,18 giving credence to Justice O’Connor’s reasoning that the clause “is essentially a direction that all persons similarly situated should be treated alike”.19 Eastman distorts O’Connor’s interpretation to assert implicitly that same-sex couples cannot be equal in the eyes of the law because they cannot procreate biologically. This pseudoscientific argument is used as evidence that the human race is in jeopardy if the Court fails to defend God’s design and the complementary nature of the two sexes. One of the most ardent supporters of the theory is the late Justice Antonin Scalia, who was a champion of textualism when interpreting the US Constitution—that is sending homosexuals back to the closet where they used to belong by ‘tradition’. Scalia’s role on the bench was to protect a majority of people who chose to stand up for their traditional beliefs, who were unfairly depicted as homophobic bigots. He relied on history to remind his colleagues that homosexuality used to be classified as a mental disorder and that sodomy was a crime until 2003,20 as if LGBTQ Americans’ fight for equal rights was a fanciful quest that the Founding Fathers would have termed abhorrent. He supported the claim that the role of the government is to determine the kinds of behaviour deemed unacceptable in society, such as adult incest

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and prostitution: “the Constitution does not forbid the government to enforce moral and sexual norms”.21 According to Scalia, Americans who came out as gay must comply with the norm enacted democratically and, thus, change a conduct that is reprehensible. He repudiated the idea that American democracy is dysfunctional, especially when a referendum has enabled ­A mericans to voice their opposition 22 to special treatment of a sexual minority,23 implying that LGBTQ families have yet to win hearts and minds. Scalia’s dismissive stance on the notion of sexual orientation discrimination is a slippery slope to further ignorance and denial, whereas public opinion no longer considers homosexuality immoral.24 As an originalist, Scalia’s growing anxiety towards the demise of traditional sexual hierarchies clouded his judgement when pretending to preserve the intactness of the Constitution. Judge Shelby’s opinion in Utah partly echoed Scalia’s concern that the Constitution was supposedly under attack: It is not the Constitution that has changed but the knowledge of what it means to be gay or lesbian. The court cannot ignore the fact that the Plaintiffs are able to develop a committed, intimate relationship with a person of the same sex but not with a person of the opposite sex. The court, and the State, must adapt to this changed understanding.25 This is tantamount to saying that private biases, including religious and moral beliefs based on tradition, are insufficient as empirical evidence to deny a targeted community equal protection or to prevent same-sex couples from exercising their right to due process. According to O’Connor, moral disapproval of an unpopular group based on an immutable characteristic is “contrary to the values of the Constitution”.26 Therefore, procreation itself cannot stand as a biological interest to treat same-sex families differently, as religious Conservatives have no evidence to prove that traditional families may disappear, lose their rights, or be treated unfairly because of the existence of same-sex families. Actually, procreation has never been a prerequisite for the institution of marriage: George ­Washington was sterile and got married twice. The procreation argument is another strategy designed to govern Americans’ individual choices and their way of life. In “Bowers v. Hardwick” (1986),27 Justice Stevens reminded that the due process clause of the 14th Amendment only recognises “the citizens of the United States”, regardless of their sexual orientation, by bestowing upon them the freedom to control and direct their own lives: “[…] the homosexual and the heterosexual have the same interest in deciding how he will live his own life, and, more narrowly, how he will conduct himself in his personal and voluntary associations with his companions”.28 The right to life, associated with the freedom of speech and of association guaranteed by the 1st Amendment, protects not only intimate relations but also a

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person’s choice not to reproduce. The various same-sex marriage cases have demonstrated that same-sex relationships are perfectly consistent with the purposes of marriage. America’s traditional family structure and gender roles have been challenged by a liberal shift − inherited from the social movements of the 1960s and 1970s − towards more equality, much to the dismay of religious Conservatives who still praise gender norms, heterosexual privileges, and sexual classifications as their social and political agenda for ‘the good life’. They maintain that their religious values are threatened and need protection by law. Across the country, Christian Right lobbyists pushed for the enactment of Religious Freedom Bills, allowing religious exemptions to deny service to same-sex weddings. Religious freedom laws come down to preserving people’s moral biases and their comfort zones without having to deal with ­LGBTQ Americans. Religion and politics have merged into one single entity to further reinforce the gap between two different communities, which are still in the process of coming up with a better approach to engaging with each other. Religious morality turns into a smokescreen as conservative leaders have failed to identify precisely how same-sex families prevent them from exercising their religion, as conservative Churches are not legally required to perform same-sex weddings. According to Sharon Groves, a specialist in religious and LGBTQ issues, religious freedom laws could be interpreted as an establishment of religion in one particular state, but, by the same token, a denial of America’s religious pluralism: Political leaders are legislating a particular morality that they call ‘moral’ without claiming religion, which is, to me, the successful iteration of a theocracy because one particular brand of what we think is moral is going to hold, and then it becomes the law of the State. 29 In contrast, some more progressive churches have embraced the existence of same-sex families, and have successfully framed marriage equality as a principle of their religious faith, which means that the Christian Right cannot claim a religious monopoly to impose its conception of ‘the good life’. According to DeBoer, “morality has nothing to do” with the issue: “morality should be based on who I am as a person, as a parent, and not on the mere attributes of what people see”. Yet, the Hobby Lobby decision (2014),30, 31, 32 and the recent judicial nominees of the Trump a­ dministration  − mostly conservative white men − confirm that the religious liberty paradigm has been erected as a shield to provide social Conservatives with a licence to restrict other Americans’ fundamental rights, and even to discriminate in order to protect their freedom of conscience rights. In this new political era, lesbian mothers must continue to speak out for themselves, educating and sharing their experiences in multiple conversations. They even wish to

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be approached by Evangelical families, as they want their parenthood and status as mothers to be assessed on the content of their hearts, and not measured by their sexual orientation.

Notes 1 Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer and Questioning. Queer is an umbrella term encompassing various sexual orientations and gender identities. Questioning refers to individuals who are not sure of their sexual orientation and gender identity. 2 Americans’ outlook on state of moral values in the United States: “Right now, do you think that the state of moral values in the country as a whole is getting better or is getting worse?” McCarthy, Justin. “Majority in U.S. Still Say Moral Values Getting Worse.” Gallup.com. June 2, 2015, accessed February 15, 2017 [www.gallup.com/poll/183467/ majority-say-moral-values-­getting-worse.aspx? g_source=MORAL_ISSUES& g_medium=topic&g_campaign=tiles]. 3 “In your view, what is the most important problem with the state of moral values in the country today?” Brown, Alyssa. “Americans’ Negativity about U.S. Moral Values Inches Back Up”. Gallup.com. May 18, 2012, accessed February 15, 2017 [www.gallup.com/ poll/154715/Americans-Negativity-Moral-Values-Inches-Back.aspx]. 4 Emergency Application to Stay Preliminary Injunction Pending Appeal. “Davis v. Miller”. Addressed to Justice Kagan, United States Supreme Court, August 28, 2015 [www.liberty.edu/media/9980/attachments/2015/082815_Application_ to_Stay_Order_Pending_Appeal.pdf], p. 18. 5 Wolfson, Evan and Polaski, Adam. “Movement + Strategy + Campaign: The ­ abel-Brett, Freedom to Marry Winning Combination”. In Cathcart, Kevin and G Leslie. Love Unites Us: Winning the Freedom to Marry in America. New York: The New Press, pp. 108–119. 6 In his seminal book on the culture wars, James Davison Hunter traces the ­epistemology of the culture wars concept and its various implications in all fields of American life: politics, the family, education, law, media, culture, the environment, etc. He pays special attention to the role played by religion in these conflicts between the ‘orthodox’ and the ‘progressives’. Various examples ­i nclude gun control, racial profiling, gay marriage, and the death penalty. The expression ‘culture war’ first appeared in the public sphere when, during the 1992 Republican National Convention, Pat Buchanan asserted: “There is a ­religious war going on in our country for the soul of America”. Central to this struggle is the notion of moral authority. Proponents of diametrically opposed ideologies managed to rouse public opinion and to impose their presence in the media, in cultural fields, in various institutions, and, more recently, on the Internet and via social networks. Highly political, the culture wars are synonymous with political and judicial battles; they also amount to a struggle for power. Hunter, James D. Culture Wars: The Struggle to Define America. New York: Basic Books. 1991. 7 This content analysis is based on the plaintiffs’ original typescripts of testimonies. Perry and DeBoer (names unchanged) were involved in two separate federal court cases brought to the United States Supreme Court in 2013 (Perry) and 2015 (Obergefell). 8 Hartman, Andrew. A History of the Culture Wars: A War for the Soul of A ­ merica. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. 2015, p. 103.

Lesbian mothers and citizens  161 9 Perry, Kris and Stier, Sandy. Love on Trial: Our Supreme Court Fight For the Right to Marry. Berkeley: Roaring Forties Press. 2017, p. 23. 10 Ted Olson and David Boies were the plaintiffs’ attorneys. They were on opposite sides during Bush v. Gore (2000), but managed to reconcile their differences for marriage equality. Boies, David. “Why I took the Case”. In Redeeming the Dream: The Case for Marriage Equality. New York: Penguin. 2014, p. 35. 11 Mucciaroni, Gary. “Will Victory Bring Change? A Mature Social Movement Faces the Future”. In Ball, Carlos (ed). After Marriage Equality: The Future of LGBT Rights. New York: New York University Press, pp. 17–41. 12 Dinkelspiel, Frances. “Marriage Equality Pioneers Kris Perry and Sandy Stier Publish Joint Memoir”. Berkeleyside. June 13, 2017. Accessed F ­ ebruary 15, 2017 [www.berkeleyside.com/2017/06/13/marriage-equality-pioneers-kris-perrysandy-stier-publish-joint-memoir/]. 13 Proposition 8 Trial Transcript. “Perry v. Schwarzenegger”. United States Northern District of CA. No. C 09-2292 VRW. January 13th, 2010. Volume 3, p. 120. 14 Proposition 8 Trial Transcript. “Perry v. Schwarzenegger”. United States Northern District of CA. No. C 09-2292 VRW. January 11th, 2010. Volume 1, pp. 30–31. 15 Proposition 8 Trial Opinion Transcript. “Perry v. Schwarzenegger”. United States Northern District of CA. No. C 09-2292 VRW. August 4th, 2010, p. 134. “Palmore v. Sidoti” (1984) Held: The effects of racial prejudice, however real, cannot justify a racial classification removing an infant child from the custody of its natural mother. The Constitution cannot control such prejudice, but neither can it tolerate it. Private biases may be outside the reach of the law, but the law cannot, directly or indirectly, give them effect. 16 Emergency Application to Stay Preliminary Injunction Pending Appeal. “Davis v. Miller” (…). Addressed to Justice Kagan. August 28, 2015. Accessed February 15, 2017 [www.liberty.edu/media/9980/attachments/2015/082815_­Application_ to_Stay_Order_Pending_Appeal.pdf], p. 18. 17 Emergency Application to Stay Preliminary Injunction Pending Appeal. “Davis v. Miller” (…),ibid., pp. 10–11. 18 George Chauncey, Prop 8 Trial Transcript. “Perry v. Schwarzenegger”, op.cit., p. 428. 19 The 14th Amendment to the US Constitution (1868) states that “All persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the State wherein they reside. No State shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any State deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws”. Section 1 of the Amendment was referred to in various landmark cases such as “Brown v. Board of Education” (1954, racial segregation), “Roe v. Wade” (1973, abortion), “Lawrence v. Texas” (2003, sodomy laws), “Obergefell v. Hodges” (2015, same-sex marriage). 20 National Constitutional Center. “Does the Constitution’s Equal Protection Clause Require States to License Same-Sex Marriages?”. Debate held in Philadelphia, June 2, 2015. Accessed June 6, 2015 [www.intelligencesquaredus.org/ sites/default/files/pdf/060215_same-sex_marriage.pdf], p. 13. 21 Supreme Court of the United States Justices. “Lawrence v. Texas”. June 26, 2003, §2, p. 23. 22 In 1973, the American Psychiatric Association (APA) declassified homosexuality as a mental illness. In 1975, the American Psychological Association (APA)

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23 24 25

26

27 28 29 30 31

32

did the same. In Lawrence v. Texas (2003), the US Supreme Court struck down all sodomy laws and overturned a previous ruling − upholding the constitutionality of sodomy laws − in “Bowers v. Hardwick” (1986). Supreme Court of the United States Justices. “United States v. Windsor”. June 26, 2013, p. 18. Supreme Court of the United States Justices. “Obergefell v. Hodges”. Scalia’s dissenting opinion. June 26, 2015. Accessed June 26, 2015 [www.supremecourt. gov/opinions/14pdf/14- 556_3204.pdf], pp. 1–6. In 2011, about 9 million Americans identified themselves as LGBT, which is 3.8% of adults in the US. 1.3 million adults in the US are members of 646,464 same-sex couples. Gates, Gary. “How Many People are LGBT?” The Williams Institute. 2011. Accessed March 2, 2016 [http://williamsinstitute.law.ucla.edu/wp-content/­ uploads/Gates-How-Many-People-LGBT -Apr-2011.pdf]. US Supreme Court. “United States v. Windsor”. “Brief of Gary J. Gates as Amicus Curiae on the Merits in Support of Respondent Windsor”. 2013. Accessed March 2, 2016 [https://williamsinstitute.law.ucla.edu/wp-content/uploads/Briefof-Amicus-Curiae-Gary-J.-Gates-in-U.S.-v.-Windsor-No.-12-307.pdf], p. 15. Americans have become more accepting of homosexuality since 1990. Walter Frank. Law and the Gay Rights Story: the Long Search for Equal Justice in a Divided Democracy. New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press. 2014, p. 85. In May 2018, 67% of respondents believed that gay and lesbian relations were morally acceptable (63% in 2015). “Next, I’m going to read you a list of issues. Regardless of whether or not you think it should be legal, for each one, please tell me whether you personally believe that in general it is morally acceptable or morally wrong. How about gay or lesbian relations?” Gallup.com. “Gay and Lesbian Rights”. Accessed August 20, 2018 [https://news.gallup.com/poll/1651/ gay-lesbian-rights.aspx]. U.S. District Court for the District of Utah. “Kitchen v. Herbert”. December 2013, pp. 29–30. Supreme Court of the United States Justices. “Lawrence v. Texas”. June 26, 2003, p. 30. Held: The Georgia statute against sodomy is constitutional. Supreme Court of the United States Justices. “Bowers v. Hardwick”. June 30, 1986. Accessed August 20, 2015 [www.law.cornell.edu/supremecourt/text/478/186], p. 25. Interview conducted in Washington, D.C., June 2016. Castet, Anthony. « Guerres culturelles », idéologies et égalité des droits aux ÉtatsUnis: le cas du mariage homosexuel. Ph.D. Dissertation, Tours, France, 2016  : [http://www.applis.univ-tours.fr/theses/2016/anthony.castet_6679.pdf], p. 476. Supreme Court of the United States Justices. “Burwell v. Hobby Lobby”. June 30, 2014. Accessed August 20, 2015: [https://www.law.cornell.edu/supremecourt/ text/13-354] Held: family-owned corporations cannot be required to pay for something for which the family has a religious objection like contraception coverage.

Bibliography Primar y sources Castet, Anthony. « Guerres culturelles », idéologies et égalité des droits aux ÉtatsUnis : le cas du mariage homosexuel. Ph.D. Dissertation, Tours, France, 2016, p. 476 [www.applis.univ-tours.fr/theses/2016/nthony.castet_6679.pdf].

Lesbian mothers and citizens  163 Emergency Application to Stay Preliminary Injunction Pending Appeal. “Davis v. Miller”. Addressed to Justice Kagan, US Supreme Court, August 28, 2015 [www. liberty.edu/media/9980/attachments/2015/082815_Application_to_Stay_Order_ Pending_Appeal.pdf]. Gallup Historical Trend. “Gay and Lesbian Rights”. Gallup.com. Accessed August 20, 2018 [https://news.gallup.com/poll/1651/gay-lesbian-rights.aspx]. Gates, Gary. “How Many People are LGBT?” The Williams Institute. 2011. ­Accessed March 2, 2016 [http://williamsinstitute.law.ucla.edu/wp-content/uploads/GatesHow-Many-People-LGBT -Apr-2011.pdf]. Interview with Sharon Groves, conducted in Washington, D.C., June 2016. Proposition 8 Trial Transcript. “Perry v. Schwarzenegger”. United States ­Northern District of CA. No. C 09–2292 VRW. January 2010 [www.afer.org/our-work/ hearing-transcripts/]. Skype Interview with Kristin Perry and Sandy Stier (“Perry v. Schwarzenegger”). January 31, 2017. Skype Interview with April DeBoer and Jayne Rowse (“DeBoer v. Snyder”). ­February 4, 2017. Supreme Court of the United States Justices. “Bowers v. Hardwick”. June 30, 1986. [www.law.cornell.edu/supremecourt/text/478/186]. Supreme Court of the United States Justices. “Lawrence v. Texas”. June 26, 2003 [www.law.cornell.edu/wex/lawrence_v._texas_2003]. Supreme Court of the United States Justices. “United States v. Windsor”. June 26, 2013 [www.law.cornell.edu/supremecourt/text/12-307]. U.S. District Court for the District of Utah. “Kitchen v. Herbert”. Salt Lake City. December 2013. [https://ecf.utd.uscourts.gov/cgi-bin/show_public_doc? 213cv0217-90]. Secondar y sources Boies, David. “Why I Took the Case”. In Boies, David and Olson, Theodore B. (eds). Redeeming the Dream: the Case for Marriage Equality. New York: Penguin. 2014, pp. 32–46. Brown, Alyssa. “Americans’ Negativity about U.S. Moral Values Inches Back Up”. Gallup.com. May 18, 2012. Accessed February 15, 2017 [www.gallup.com/ poll/154715/Americans-Negativity-Moral-Values-Inches-Back.aspx]. Dinkelspiel, Frances. “Marriage Equality Pioneers Kris Perry and Sandy Stier Publish Joint Memoir”. Berkeleyside. June 13, 2017. Accessed February 15, 2017 [www.berkeleyside.com/2017/06/13/marriage-equality-pioneers-kris-perrysandy-stier-publish-joint-memoir/]. Hartman, Andrew. A History of the Culture Wars: A War for the Soul of America. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. 2015. McCarthy, Justin. “Majority in U.S. Still Say Moral Values Getting Worse.” Gallup.com. June 2, 2015. Accessed February 15, 2017 [www.gallup.com/poll/183467/ majority-say-moral-values-getting-worse.aspx?g_source=MORAL_ISSUES&g_ medium=topic&g_campaign=tiles]. Mucciaroni, Gary. “Will Victory Bring Change? A Mature Social Movement Faces the Future”. In Ball, Carlos (eds). After Marriage Equality: The Future of LGBT Rights. New York: New York University Press, 2016, pp. 17–41.

164  Anthony Castet National Constitutional Center. “Does the Constitution’s Equal Protection Clause Require States to License Same-Sex Marriages?” Debate held in Philadelphia, June 2, 2015. Accessed June 6, 2015 [www.intelligencesquaredus.org/sites/default/ files/pdf/060215_same-sex_marriage.pdf], p. 13. Perry, Kris and Stier, Sandy. Love on Trial: Our Supreme Court Fight For the Right to Marry. Berkeley: Roaring Forties Press. 2017. Walter, Frank. Law and the Gay Rights Story: The Long Search for Equal Justice in a Divided Democracy. New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press. 2014, p. 85. White, Ryan and Cotner, Ben. The Case Against 8. Dogwoof. 2014. Wolfson, Evan and Polaski, Adam. “Movement + Strategy + Campaign: The ­Freedom to Marry Winning Combination”. In Cathcart, Kevin and Gabel-Brett, ­Leslie (eds). Love Unites Us: Winning the Freedom to Marry in America. New York: The New Press, 2016, pp. 108–119.

Chapter 12

Lesbian motherhood From the social recognition of female homosexuality to the ‘lesby-boom’: A comparison between Britain and France Florence Binard

Until the 1970s, not only was homosexuality a taboo subject but homosexuals were perceived as sterile individuals because their sexuality was de facto non-procreative. Lesbianism1 and motherhood were thus considered antinomic, and the existence of lesbian motherhood was ignored and denied.2 Lesbians themselves subscribed to this viewpoint and thought it impossible to have and bring up children within a homosexual relationship. Radclyffe Hall’s famous novel, The Well of Loneliness (1928), which was regarded by many as the “Bible of lesbianism” up to and including the 1990s3, ends on the sacrifice of the heroine, Stephen, who leaves the woman she loves so that the latter may be free to live what was then regarded as a ‘normal’ life and realise the ‘natural’ desire ingrained in all ‘real women’: To get married and, more importantly, to have children and become a mother. What history shows us is that the path to the demand by lesbians of the public and legal recognition of lesbian motherhood has been inseparable, on the one hand, from the struggle for the decriminalising of homosexuality and its social recognition and, on the other hand, from the feminist struggles for women’s individual freedom, especially for the freedom to choose celibacy and not be stigmatised for this choice of lifestyle. In a paradoxical way, it was necessary for all women – whatever their sexuality – to be free from the double constraint of marriage and procreation for lesbian motherhood to become a possible and acceptable option. It was, therefore, in the wake of the libertarian movements of the 1960s and as a result of the women’s liberation movement of the 1970s that lesbian motherhood was able to become visible. The 1980s marked a second major turning point due to the symbolic and practical impact of the birth of the first test-tube baby – Louise Brown in 1978. This event highlighted the fact that procreation could be dissociated from sexual intercourse, and by allowing sterile heterosexual couples to procreate in this way, it opened the way for lesbians to become pregnant without having sexual intercourse with a man and even without having any contact with the genitor of their children.

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Evolution of moral values and law changes Legal and social recognition of the gay/lesbian couple Lesbian motherhood is both the reflection and result of the evolution of sexual moral standards in Western countries. Paradoxically, the first indispensable step towards its acceptance by the general public was the decriminalisation of male homosexuality. In Britain, female homosexuality was never made a crime: The Labouchère amendment to the Criminal Law Act of 1885 applied to men only, and therefore the Sexual Offences Act of 1967, which decriminalised homosexual acts in private, did not in theory concern women. In France, as Marie-Josèphe Bonnet reminds us, “homosexuality between two adults ceased to be criminalised during the French Revolution when sodomy was removed from the list of crimes against nature”.4 The purpose of the 1982 law was therefore to put an end to the discriminatory Law of 1945 according to which the age of consent was 21 for homosexuals and 15 for heterosexuals.5 In both countries, although women were not directly targeted, their image benefited from the new laws in so far as they contributed to make homosexuality ‘less shameful’ in the eyes of society. On the medical side, the declassification of homosexuality as a mental illness by the American Psychiatric Association in 1973 also contributed to the de-­ stigmatisation of homosexuality, thereby making it more socially acceptable. However, there is no denying that the AIDS epidemics at the beginning of the 1980s accelerated the process of ‘normalisation’ by revealing the need for legal recognition of gay couples, notably in terms of inheritance laws. By the end of the 20th century, several Western countries had given legal recognition to same-sex couples. In France, the PACS (Pacte civil de solidarité) was voted for in 1999, while in Britain, The Civil Partnership Act came into force in 2005. Same-sex marriage became legal in 2013 in France and in 2014 in Britain.6 Evolution of the concept of family The legal evolution of Lesbian, Gay Bisexual, and Transgender (LGBT) rights has proven crucial in the development of lesbian motherhood; however, other laws have contributed in an indirect way to the formation of lesbian families. The Family Law Reform Act (1969) gave illegitimate ­children  – children born out of wedlock – almost the same rights as legitimate children.7 In France, the 1972 law established the principle of equality in matters of descent, but the distinction between ‘legitimate’ and ‘illegitimate’ children was only abandoned in 2005.8 These laws marked a shift in the stigmatisation of so-called ‘bastard children’. In France, the percentage of ‘adulterous children’ was 6% in 1965, and it was slightly over 40% in 2007.9 In the spirit of the counter-culture movements of the late 1960s, many couples rejected marriage and engaged in ‘free love’ relationships. In Britain,

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there is no legal status for ‘common law marriages’, but unmarried couples can sign ‘cohabitation contracts’ or ‘living together agreements’ in order to protect themselves and one another.10 In France, the first jurisprudence regarding non-marital relationships dates back to the early 1970s.11 Finally, the relaxation of divorce laws since the 1970s,12 especially the possibility to divorce by mutual consent, has led to considerable changes in the perception of the institution of the family, especially regarding what constitutes the family unit. Until the 1970s, being the child of divorced parents carried a stigma. However, the diversification of family forms and structures since then has opened the way to the normalisation of what was deemed reprehensible and shameful before. In this social context, where single-­parenthood is on the increase and where the composition of stepfamilies is becoming more and more complex, children brought up by lesbian couples appear to be less and less different and are therefore less susceptible to bullying. Sexual liberation and new technologies This evolution of the notion of family could not have taken place without women’s sexual liberation, without the freedom for every woman to have “a child: when I want one, if I want one, in the manner I choose” as summed up in a French women’s lib slogan.13 In this domain, Britain was ahead of France as British women accessed the pill in 1961 and abortion in 1968 as compared to 1967 and 1975 for French women. This liberation was made possible largely due to scientific progress and was crucial as it meant that procreation, sexuality, and marriage could be dissociated. At the beginning of the 1980s, other technological progress increased the dissociation between sexuality and procreation even further. The new biomedical techniques whose main aim was to provide infertility treatment for heterosexual couples profoundly transformed the perception of descent: To natural blood descent was added another kind of descent, a legitimate, however, non-biological one. Owing to artificial insemination, heterosexual couples in which the husband was infertile were able to have children, whilst from a legal point of view the husband was recognised as the legitimate father of the child. Artificial insemination is a means for unmarried women or lesbians to procreate without sexual intercourse with a man, by using the frozen sperm of an unknown donor.14 In France, the first Centre for the Study and Conservation of Sperm (CECOS), created in 1973 at the hospital of the Kremlin Bicêtre in Paris, refused to inseminate single women or lesbians. However, before the Law of 1994, a private network for frozen sperm was available to lesbians. For example, the Centre of Functional Exploration and Reproduction Studies (CEFER) in Marseille practised inseminations for lesbians and it was common for gynaecologists specialised in infertility problems to also provide inseminations for lesbians.15

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The first test tube baby (conceived by in vitro fertilisation(IVF)) was ­ ouise Brown, born in 1978 in the UK. In France, the first test tube baby, L Amandine, was born in 1982. At that time, this medical progress caused worries for some concerning the future of humanity. The spectre of a society as the one imagined by Aldous Huxley in Brave New World (1934) gave rise to concern. Questions were raised regarding the motor, cognitive, and psychological development of these babies. Since 1978, more than eight million babies have been born thanks to IVF techniques.16 From hetero-parenthood to lesbian motherhood Until the end of the 1970s, there was a small minority of self-identified lesbian mothers, but the vast majority of children with lesbian mothers were conceived in a heterosexual relationship, the mothers having become lesbians after the birth of the child or children. Many among these were confronted with custodial disputes at the time of divorce or separation. Legal procedures were seldom, but when they took place, the lesbian mother was usually denied custody of her children. The mainstream press and media were mostly silent on these matters, only the lesbian and feminist press relayed information on these issues. Thus, for example, Spare Rib, which defined itself as “a women’s liberation magazine”, published an article entitled “Lesbian Mums on Holiday” in 1983.17 It deals with the testimonies of lesbian mothers who spent holidays at a women-only centre—Oaklands Women’s Holiday Centre—where they were able to create a support and advice network, namely, “The Lesbian Mothers Network”. The testimonies insist on the benefits for children to meet other children being raised by lesbians. The main point of the centre is to allow women to exchange and share views and knowledge about their personal experiences and thus raise their consciousness. Some tell about the difficulties they have faced concerning the custody of their children; others explain that their husbands know nothing about their lesbianism and insist on the importance of keeping this aspect of their lives a secret: “I’m active in the Lesbian Custody Campaign now, but can’t be public about it in case he [her former husband] finds out”. The article is a valuable source of practical information. It gives the address and telephone number of the “Lesbian Line”, which provides help for lesbians who need it; it also states the exact address where lesbians can find leaflets on self-insemination. Finally, it informs its readers that a lesbian-only conference on child custody is to be held in Brighton.18 The French lesbian press and, especially, the monthly magazine, Lesbia,19 also published articles on these issues.20 The 1980s saw an evolution in the social perception of homosexuality, and lesbians began to publicly demand the right to bring up their own children. In October 1981, the Council of Europe issued a recommendation pertaining to discrimination against homosexuals; it called on the governments of

Lesbian motherhood: in Britain and France  169

the member states: “to ensure that custody, visiting rights and accommodation of children by their parents should not be restricted on the sole grounds of the homosexual tendencies of one of them”.21 The result was an increase in the number of both legal procedures and lesbian mothers gaining custody of their children. The 1980s also witnessed a growth in the number of lesbians choosing to have children whilst being open about their sexual orientation. This was facilitated by the development of artificial insemination with donor sperm (AID) and IVF. Four ways of becoming mothers were now available to lesbians22: 1 Having children from a previous heterosexual relationship or by having had sexual intercourse with a man outside any relationship. 2 DIY pregnancies/babies by obtaining fresh sperm from heterosexual or homosexual male friends. 3 Accessing medically assisted procreation (MAP). 4 Adoption. The phenomenon was such that it was described as a ‘lesby-boom’ or ‘lesbaby-­boom’.23 It is to be noted that the laws differ between France and the UK. As was the case regarding divorce laws, contraception, and abortion, France is lagging behind Britain on matters of lesbian motherhood. Basically the British Human Fertilisation and Embryology Act (HFEA) of 200824 grants equal access rights to artificial reproduction methods to everyone, regardless of their marital status or sexual orientation.25 Sperm donation is limited, however, in order to prevent the risk of consanguineous marriages, the number of children born using the sperm of a given donor cannot exceed ten, and the fertility clinics that provide MAP treatment must be licensed and monitored by the HFEA.26 Since 1 April 2005, donors are no longer automatically anonymous, which means that donor-conceived individuals can access information collected at the time of donation but also donor identifying information when they reach 18 years of age.27 In France, access to MAP (both AID and IVF) has been banned for single women and lesbians since the bioethics Law of 1994.28 Fertility treatment is available to heterosexual couples only, which means that French lesbians have had to resort to services abroad, mainly in Belgium, Spain, and the UK. It is interesting to note that in France the question of ‘homo-parenthood’ only became a matter of interest for the general press at the turn of the 21st century.29 Concerning the question of adoption, the gap between France and the UK is also striking. The Adoption and Children Act in England and Wales (2002), the Adoption and Children (Scotland) Act (2007), and the Civil Partnership Act (2005) gave lesbian and gay couples the right to adopt. Government bodies have even subsidised campaigns encouraging adoption by LGBT people. The mainstream British lesbian Magazine, Diva, often publishes adverts by

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the social services of local authorities that promote adoption by lesbian couples. In 2013, following the publication of the report of British Association of Adoption and Fostering (BAAF), Martin Narey, the Government Adviser on Adoption declared that: “More lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender people should come forward”.30 In France, the same-sex marriage law of 2013 opened legal adoption to married lesbian couples31 but outside wedlock, despite recommendations in 2015 by the Haut Conseil à l’Egalité entre les femmes et les hommes (HCEfh),32 the partner of a lesbian biological mother cannot legally recognise the child as hers and therefore cannot claim any rights over the child. Despite electoral promises by François Hollande, AID remains illegal for unmarried women and married lesbians. Finally, on the question of surrogacy, the two countries also differ. Whereas it is absolutely illegal in France,33 Britain has the most liberal surrogacy law in Europe. In 1984, The Warnock Committee published a report on artificial procreation and issued the following statement: “We recommend that it be provided by statute that all surrogacy agreements are illegal contracts and therefore unenforceable in the courts”.34 The ensuing Law of 1985, the Surrogacy Arrangements Act of 1985, made legally binding surrogacy agreements illegal in the UK but has allowed for a distinction between ‘commercial surrogacy’ and ‘altruistic surrogacy’, the latter being legal.35 The effects of homo-parenthood on children’s development Since the early 1980s, a number of surveys and studies – carried out by LGBT associations but also by national or academic institutions – have been conducted in connection with the marked increase in homo-parenthood.36 Their aim has been to refute the arguments put forward by the detractors of samesex parenthood by providing evidence of the merits and ‘normality’ of these families. Opponents to lesbian motherhood worry that the children brought up by lesbians may be ostracised and suffer from psychological disorders. In their opinion, a child needs a biological father to develop harmoniously and become a well-balanced individual. Interestingly, these adversaries of same-sex families do not apply this argument when heterosexual couples resort to donor sperm. In France, not only does the law allow sperm donation in this context, but the clinical treatment and intervention practices are covered by the social security system.37 They also tend to ignore the fact that single-mother families have always existed and that the absence of a father has not, in the vast majority of cases, resulted in psycho-behavioural issues. Another source of concern for these opponents lies in the fear that children raised in a same-sex family might develop sexual identity disorders and become homosexual themselves. Yet, according to the psychoanalyst and psychologist, Susann Heenen-Wolff, studies show that the reality is very different as “between 0 and 10% of children brought up by lesbian or gay parents identify themselves as lesbian or gay, which corresponds to

Lesbian motherhood: in Britain and France  171

the estimated global lesbian and gay population”.38 A third argument put forward by the detractors of homo-parenthood bears upon the question of gender identity. They worry that children of homosexual parents may be unable to distinguish between what is (naturally) masculine and what is (naturally) feminine and that, as a consequence, they may not know what sex they belong to, in other words, that same-sex parenthood might lead to the erasing of sex differences between men and women. As underlined by Martine Gross, here again, the fallacy of the argument is easily demonstrated since the attraction between two people of the same sex is sex-based.39 The last argument advanced is the spectre of social stigmatisation. The aim is to make lesbian and gay couples feel guilty of exposing their children to abuse and bullying because homosexuality is subject to social rejection. Such a stance is reminiscent of the attitude towards children of divorced parents in the 1960s and early 1970s, when divorcees were accused of sacrificing their children’s happiness for their own. Another way of looking at this issue is to wonder whether it would and could be acceptable to ask a black couple to refrain from having children on the grounds that the latter may be victims of racism.

Conclusion After nearly four decades of research and surveys, the results show that children brought up by same-sex parents do not differ from children brought up by heterosexual parents: They do not suffer from more or fewer psychological disorders. It is difficult to estimate how many children live with same-sex parents as figures vary considerably depending on the sources. The French National Institute for Demographic Surveys (INED) estimated that in 2005 between 24,000 and 40,000 children were brought up by same-sex couples (the vast majority of which were lesbian couples), but the Association of Lesbian and Gay Parents and Future Parents (AGLP) gave much higher figures for the same period, between 100,000 and 200,000.40 Concerning the UK, in 2010, according to the Office for National Statistics (ONS), 480,000 people self-identified as lesbian or gay and 245,000 as bisexual. Over 45% of lesbians and gays were cohabiting, out of which 8% were households comprised of at least one child whereas up to a third of bisexual household included at least one child.41 This would indicate that the French and British official figures seem to converge. Lesbian and gay parenthood is both a sign and a source of social change. New types of lesbian families are emerging: A genitor on her own or a genitor and her lesbian partner, sometimes including a father/donor with or without a partner. Consequently, there now exist diverse configurations of familial parenthood: Mono-parenthood, bi-parenthood, co-parenthood, pluri-parenthood. As underlined by Nathalie Ricard, “The diversity of familial configurations correspond to the variety of means through which lesbians become mothers”.42 These new families are not so dissimilar from

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blended or reconstituted families who raise new legal and ethical issues both in France and in the UK. What should be the rights of the male genitor or donor or co-parent(s) in matters of education? Why should legal recognition be based on blood links/biological parentage? Is it not time the laws of descent were revised? Should there be distinctions between biological parents and social parents? Should a child be able to have more than two legal parents? To a large extent, the issues brought about by these questions are already awaiting answers, all the more so as technological advances are fast developing: The three-person IVF, which uses the DNA from three people was approved by the British Parliament in 201543 and by the Human Fertilisation and Embryology Authority (HFEA) in 201644, and according to BBC News, the first three-person baby born to a previously infertile couple was born in Ukraine on 5 January 2017.45 In Brazil, lesbians have been able to construct families by using technologies, including donor insemination (DI) and the Reception of Oocytes from Partner (ROPA).46 Social developments seem to be clearly ahead of the legislator.

Notes 1 It is to be noted that the concept ‘lesbianism’ was rarely used before the 1970s as, in the first part of the 20th century, the phenomenon was perceived and understood first, in terms of ‘inversion’ and then, in terms of ‘female homosexuality’ with a narrow focus on sexuality. 2 See Florence Binard, “Lesbianisme et maternité au début du XXè siècle en Grande-Bretagne” in Maternité, paternité, parentalité à la lumière du genre, eds., Sophie Geoffroy and Sophie Jorrand, Saint Denis, University of La Réunion, 2014, pp. 19–35. 3 See for example the front cover of the 1996 Virago edition. 4 Marie-Josèphe Bonnet, Adieu les rebelles!, Paris, Flammarion, 2014, pp. 49–50. 5 www.adheos.org/majorite-sexuelle-definition-explication (accessed 31/01/2017). 6 It is to be noted that in Britain the idea of a social recognition for lesbian couples was put forward as early as the inter-war period by such women as Radclyffe Hall and Laura Hutton. See, Florence Binard, Les discours entourant ­l’homosexualité féminine dans l’entre-deux-guerres en Grande-Bretagne, PhD thesis 2003, unpublished, 270. 7 Family Law Reform Act 1969 (c. 46), www.legislation.gov.uk/ukpga/1969/46 (­accessed 31/01/2017). 8 Reform of the Filiation Law, July 4, 2005, www.senat.fr/rap/l07-145/l07-1450.html (accessed 31/01/2017). 9 Ibid., www.senat.fr/rap/l07-145/l07-1451.html (accessed 31/01/2017). 10 Citizens advice, “Living Together and Marriage: Legal Differences”, www. citizensadvice.org.uk/family/living-together-marriage-and-civil-partnership/­ living-together-and-marriage-legal-differences/ (accessed 31/01/2017). 11 Common law marriage: www.assemblee-nationale.fr/14/projets/pl0344-ei.­ asp#P101_12487 (accessed 31/01/2017). 12 See Matrimonial Causes Act, 1973, chapter 18: www.legislation.gov.uk/­ ukpga/1973/18 (accessed 31/01/2017). For France, see law n° 75-617 of July 11, 1975 pertaining to divorce reform, www.legifrance.gouv.fr/affichTexte.do?cidTexte= LEGITEXT000006068520.

Lesbian motherhood: in Britain and France  173 13 See http://8mars.info/citation/58. 14 After an important development in France during the 19th century, artificial insemination was further developed in the United States. PANCOAST realised the first insemination with donor sperm in 1884. In 1946 Jean Rostand discovered the possibility of freezing sperm. The first babies conceived thanks to frozen sperm were born in the 1950s. At the beginning of the 1960s, a new technique allowing the conservation of frozen sperm in liquid nitrogen at a ­temperature à −196°C was perfected and the first sperm banks appeared. https:// www.­p erinat-france.org/en/node/198 (accessed April 1, 2017). 15 See Lesbia n° 18, June 1984 and Lesbia Magazine n° 99, November 1991, pp. 23–25. 16 See “More than 8 million babies born from IVF since the world’s first in 1978”, https://medicalxpress.com/news/2018-07-million-babies-born-ivf-world.html (accessed December 3, 2018). 17 Spare Rib, issue 134, September 1983, “Lesbian Mums on Holiday”, 6–8 and 35. 18 The conference, which was to be held at the Brighton Women’s Centre, was organised by “Lesbian Custody”, a subgroup of “Rights of Women” whose headquarters are in London. Spare Rib, issue 134, September 1983, “Lesbian Mums on Holiday”, 35. 19 Created in 1982 Lesbia was renamed Lesbia Magazine in 1989. It ceased publication in 2012. 20 See, for instance, “Elever un enfant”, Lesbia, n° 53, September 1987, pp. 18–29 or “inséminations artificielles: Do it Yourself”, Lesbia Magazine, n° 99, November 1991, pp. 23–28. 21 “Discrimination against Homosexuals”, Recommendation 924 (7.3.d) ­October 1981, Council of Europe, http://assembly.coe.int/nw/xml/XRef/Xref-­ XML2HTML-EN.asp?fileid=14958&lang=en (accessed February10, 2017). 22 See Judith Stacey and Elizabeth Davenport, “Queer Families Quack Back”, in Diane Richardson and Steven Seidman, Handbook of Lesbian and Gay Studies, London, Sage, 2002, pp. 355–74. 23 The expression ‘lesbaby-boom’ was first used in the United States. See ­Judith Stacey and Elizabeth Davenport, “Queer Families Quack Back”, in D ­ iane ­Richardson and Steven Seidman, Handbook of Lesbian and Gay Studies, ­London, Sage, 2002, p. 365. 24 Human Fertilisation and Embryology Act (2008), www.legislation.gov.uk/ ukpga/2008/22/contents. 25 See “Donor Conception, Surrogacy, Adoption and Co-parenting Laws in the UK” www.coparents.co.uk/sperm-donors-laws-in-UK.php. MAP has always been legal for single women and lesbians in the UK. 26 Human Fertility and Embryology Authority, www.hfea.gov.uk/clinicstaff.html. 27 Donors: Donating for Treatment & Research, www.hfea.gov.uk/5554.html. 28 Law n° 94-654, 29 July 1994, www.legifrance.gouv.fr/WAspad/UnTexteDeJorf. 29 In June 1998, the headline for L’Evénement du Jeudi was: “Familles Homo: Le Dernier Tabou”, n° 711 and in June 2000, the title on the front cover of Le Nouvel Observateur was: “Quand les HOMOS veulent des ENFANTS”, n° 1859. 30 March 3, 2013, www.independent.co.uk/life-style/health-and-families/healthnews/children-in-gay-adoptions-at-no-disadvantage-8518004.html (accessed February 10, 2017). 31 1-3.2.1 “La situation des couples de même sexe mariés: la reconnaissance d’une filiation adoptive”, www.assemblee-nationale.fr/14/projets/pl0344-ei.asp#P418_ 46006. 32 See the HCEfh press release of July 1, 2015: www.haut-conseil-egalite.gouv.fr/ sante-droits-sexuels-et/actualites-53/article/l-acces-a-la-pma-pour-toutes-les.

174  Florence Binard 33 See Law n° 94-653, July 29, 1994, www.senat.fr/lc/lc182/lc182_mono.html. 34 Report of the Committee of Inquiry into Human Fertilisation and Embryology, p.  47. www.hfea.gov.uk/docs/Warnock_Report_of_the_Committee_of_­ Inquiry_into_Human_Fertilisation_and_Embryology_1984.pdf. 35 Surrogacy Arrangements Act 1985, www.legislation.gov.uk/ukpga/1985/49 (­accessed February 10, 2017). 36 Gillian E. Hanscombe and Jackie Forster, Rocking the Cradle: Lesbian M ­ others. A Challenge in Family Living, London, Peter Owen Publishers, 1981; Sandra ­Pollack and Jeanne Vaughn, Politics of the Heart: A Lesbian Parenting Anthology, New York, Firebrand, 1987 are two examples of the first books published on lesbian motherhood. 37 Medical assistance is free up to six AIDs and four IVFs, www.service-public.fr/ particuliers/vosdroits/F31462 (accessed February 10, 2017). 38 Susann Heenen-Wolff, Homoparentalités, Bruxelles, Fabert, 2011, p. 33 (­Author’s translation). 39 Martine Gross, Qu’est-ce que l’homoparentalité, Paris, Petite bibliothèque Payot, 2012, p. 164. 40 Susann Heenen-Wolff, Homoparentalités, Bruxelles, Fabert, 2011, p. 17. 41 “Gay Britain: inside the ONS statistics”, The Guardian, 13 September 2010, www.theguardian.com/news/datablog/2010/sep/23/gay-britain-ons. 42 Nathalie Ricard, Maternités Lesbiennes, Montréal, IREF, 2001, p. 19. 43 James Gallagher, Health Editor, BBC News Website, “UK Approves Three-­Person Babies”, BBC News, 24 February 2015, www.bbc.com/news/ health-31594856 (accessed March 1, 2017). 44 “HFEA permits cautious use of mitochondrial donation in treatment”. It is to be noted that the approval concerns only mitochondrial donations and, therefore, under the present law, lesbians do not have access to this method. www. hfea.gov.uk/10563.html (accessed March 1, 2017). 45 Michelle Roberts, “IVF: First Three-Parent Baby Born to Infertile Couple”, BBC News Online, 18 January 2017, www.bbc.com/news/health-38648981 (­accessed March 1, 2017). 46 Rosana Machin, “Sharing Motherhood in Lesbian Reproductive Practices”, ­Biosocieties, Vol. 9, No. 1, March 2014, pp. 42–59.

Part 5

Representations of mothers in art

Chapter 13

Maternal fantasies in an era of crisis – single mothers, self-sacrifice, and sexuality in Japanese television drama Forum Mithani

Introduction During the 20th century, a narrative linking a woman’s identity to her maternal function came to dominate public discourses of womanhood and family in Japan. Arguments based on biological determinism – the ­notion that biological facts justify social norms – or cultural convention were used to promote the notion that Japanese women were inherently suited to the maternal role. However, it was only after the Second World War that socio-­ economic conditions enabled women to devote themselves to childrearing in large numbers. A discourse emphasising the importance of a mother’s role in child development was shaped and reinforced by research in the fields of child health, psychology, and medicine. Doi Takeo’s1 (1973) theory of amae has been particularly influential on discourses and practices of modern Japanese childrearing, which focus on establishing a close bond between mother and child through intensive mothering. This relationship of co-­dependence established a prototype for gender relations in Japanese society, perpetuating the notion that a woman’s role was to serve the needs of a man. Thus, the concept of the modern Japanese family was founded on a fantasy of a selfless, undesiring mother devoted to her husband and children. However, this discourse did not reflect the reality for many Japanese women, who felt burdened by the heavy expectations of motherhood. Since the women’s rights era of the 1970s, they have shown increasing reluctance to conform to the exacting standards imposed on them by virtue of their gender, taking advantage of greater access to higher education and employment opportunities, which were once reserved predominantly for men, to delay or escape their confinement to the domestic sphere. Marriage rates and fertility rates have declined significantly since the 1970s: There were only five legal unions per 1,000 people in 2016, compared with 10.4 in 1972; meanwhile, the total fertility rate has fallen from 2.14 to 1.44, far below the replacement rate (NIPSSR, 2018). These may be explained by women’s increased independence, but are also indicative of the social, political, and economic conditions that have prevented many women from pursuing both

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a career and a family. Nevertheless, women have often borne the brunt of blame from conservatives, who fear that they are losing their maternal instinct, precipitating a ‘crisis’ of the family. Television drama, a genre watched by a largely female audience,2 has proved fertile ground for reflecting, reproducing, and examining discourses of motherhood and family. Narratives of single motherhood stand out in particular for their reproduction of the maternal fantasy. Family dramas produced during the 1960s and 1970s glorified the image of the selfless single mother as a beacon of support for the community. Nonetheless, unrelentingly cheerful representations of the family no longer seem appropriate in an era of crisis. This chapter examines contemporary manifestations of the maternal fantasy in television drama, with a particular focus on series centred on single mother protagonists. This genre offers rich potential for exploring the conflict Japanese women experience in trying to reconcile their identities as mothers and women. Contemporary representations accentuating the close mother-child bond reveal male anxiety over female rejection of the maternal role and a nostalgic desire for the image of the indulgent mother. Conversely, the depiction of maternal self-sacrifice offers the potential to resist the discourse of the maternal fantasy, revealing women’s hostility to their socially prescribed roles as mothers. Nonetheless, the tendency to punish single-mother heroines who challenge the image of the asexual mother – by portraying them as deviant or inflicting misfortune upon them – suggests that the fantasy continues to enjoy widespread support. Such representations reflect the attitudes of a television industry that continues to be dominated by men. The concept of motherhood has worked itself into everyday discourse, to the extent that it has come to be regarded as self-evident in modern society. As Barthes explains, “[i]n passing from history to nature, myth acts economically: it abolishes the complexity of human acts, it gives them the simplicity of essences” (1973, p. 143). The history of maternalism in Japan is relatively short, undermining arguments that it is a deep-rooted phenomenon of nature or culture (Ueno, 1996). Feminist scholar Ueno Chizuko has likened motherhood to a manufactured product, subject to historical change, whose continued existence is determined by the level of “consumer acceptance” in the Japanese market (Ueno, 1996, p. 5). The following explains in brief how the narrative highlighting a woman’s maternal role came to monopolise discourses of family and childrearing in Japan after the Second World War.

Amae theory and the construction of the maternal fantasy Although the focus on a woman’s role in childbearing and childrearing first emerged in Japan in the late 19th century, it was not until the post-war era of high economic growth that the conditions were optimal for the widespread

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acceptance of the notion that motherhood was a woman’s primary role. The theory of amae put forward by the psychoanalyst Doi Takeo has been particularly influential on discourses and practices of childrearing in modern Japan. The word derives from the verb amaeru, which translates as “to depend and presume upon another’s benevolence”, and indicates a desire for one’s needs to be indulged by another (Doi, 1988, p. 20). The mother-infant relationship, in which the latter is totally dependent on the former to meet its needs, served as the prototype for amae. Doi argued that amae was a human instinct with a vital role in infant development, working to “foster a sense of oneness between mother and child” (1973, p. 75). Only through being indulged in childhood could children grow up to become psychologically healthy adults (Johnson, 1993, p. 131). The 1960s and early 1970s became a golden age for the family, as the number of marriages hit an all-time high of over one million a year and there was a second post-war baby boom (Kumagai, 2015). Increasing urbanisation, the move away from the three-generation household to the two-generation nuclear family, and the increase in male, white-collar workers who could support a family on one wage resulted in the emergence of the professional housewife during this era. The heterosexual, two-parent family, based on the gendered division of labour, became the standard model of family (Ochiai, 1997). Masculine identity became synonymous with the ‘corporate warrior’, who dedicated his life to the corporation and was largely absent from the home, fulfilling his paternal duty through his role as an economic provider (Ishii-Kuntz, 2003). A woman’s identity was defined by her role as wife and mother, supporting her husband, and raising future productive members of society (Ohinata, 1995). The ‘housewifisation’ – to use Mies’ (1998, p. 4) term – of Japanese women was not unwelcome to the state. The unpaid labour of women at home supported the economic growth of the country by keeping social care costs low and enabled men to focus exclusively on building the nation into a powerhouse. As such, public policy supported placing the burden of childrearing on women with initiatives and legislation regarding childrearing, such as limiting access to day care. Public policy on maternal and child health was also responsible for encouraging the belief that a child needs the exclusive care of its mother for the first three years of life, a belief that continues to inform contemporary childrearing practices (Ohinata, 2009; Tama, 2006). Such policies were justified by research in the field of child development, which underscored the importance of establishing a close mother-child bond to the welfare of the child. This new research popularised the notion that a mother’s love was more important to a child than anything else, reinforcing the supposed ‘absoluteness’ and ‘necessity’ of maternal love, and led to criticism of working mothers (Ohinata, 2009). Amae theory had an enduring influence on discourses of motherhood and child development. It justified the conventional norms of Japanese childrearing, such as close physical contact, referred to in Japanese as sukinshippu

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(‘skin-ship’) – characterised through prolonged breastfeeding,3 co-sleeping, and co-bathing – as necessary to establish a sense of security in the child (Johnson, 1993, p.  131). It also perpetuated the notion that mothers were responsible for the faults of their children. Such perceptions received further endorsement from experts in the fields of child development and medicine. For example, paediatrician Kyūtoku Shigemori (1991) blamed the increased independence of women for a decline in natural maternal instinct. According to Kyūtoku, modern women avoided interaction with their children and were responsible for 60% of childhood disorders. Characteristic of this discourse, which was perpetuated by mostly male experts, was a tendency to focus on the needs of the child, ignoring the perspective of the mother (­Ohinata, 1995). The discourse of amae has become a millstone for Japanese women. Postwar Japanese society’s glorification of the ‘mother’ has been compared to the veneration of religious deities (Yamamura, 1983, p.  58). The ‘mother’ offers unwavering emotional support to the child, acting as a saviour in times of need. According to this ideology, maternal suffering becomes the ultimate expression of love. The mother-child relationship has also come to typify heterosexual relations between men and women, with husbands taking on the role of the self-indulgent child to their devoted, forgiving mother-­ wives (Asai, 1990; Yamamura, 1983). As such, the wife’s sexual identity is denied, forcing her to be pure and undesiring: “As a being that exceeds her sex, the mother’s social value is recognised through her never-ending denial of self” (Asai, 1990, p. 100). This ‘maternal fantasy’ – to use Asai Michiko’s term – became the foundation of modern conceptions of the ideal Japanese family. It became incorporated into the social fabric to such an extent that it was considered self-evident, its apparent naturalness making it all the more suffocating and oppressive (Asai, 1990, p. 116). The excessive focus on maternal attachment has a negative impact on both mother and child. Their confinement to the home, isolated from social networks, causes anxiety in the mother, who pours all her energies, as well as her stress, into the child, and overdependence of the child on the mother, his one constant companion (Ochiai, 1997, p. 138). It has been blamed for a number of social problems, including a rise in alcoholism among housewives (Ochiai, 1997), as well as youth delinquency and violence within the family (Tama, 2006). The maternal fantasy has been a common construction in the popular culture of post-war Japan, often the product of a male creator reminiscing nostalgically about a romanticised childhood. Literature, film, and television drama idealised the figure of the mother as a selfless woman who serves as a bottomless well of encouragement and emotional support (Yamamura, 1983). On television, the popular home dramas (family dramas centred on the home) that were broadcast during the late 1960s and early 1970s depicted ‘reliable mothers’– kind, wise women, who took satisfaction in protectively watching over others (Muramatsu, 1979, pp.  150–151). Significantly, these

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heroines were often single mothers. The absence of a husband/father figure allowed these women, and the narratives, to focus on their maternal role, denying them any other identity (Muramatsu, 1979, p. 150). Single-mother narratives have continued to provide a convenient medium for perpetuating the maternal fantasy in the 21st century, even as the gap between fantasy and reality has become increasingly visible.

Maternalism in an era of social crisis These glorified images of motherhood on screen did not reflect the reality of many Japanese mothers, who felt increasingly isolated and frustrated with their confinement to the domestic sphere (Ohinata, 1995). During the 1970s, a burgeoning women’s liberation movement emerged in Japan, seeking to dismantle the family system and rigid gender divisions (Shigematsu, 2005). More women began to reject the assumption that motherhood was their ultimate vocation and looked for fulfilment in other areas. Economic growth had increased their educational and employment opportunities and, under pressure from domestic women’s groups and international voices, the Japanese government introduced legislation purportedly aimed at eliminating gender-based discrimination in the workplace. However, little was done to improve conditions for those wishing to combine career and family (­Nemoto, 2016). Government policy and tough working conditions, as well as the high social expectations placed on motherhood, forced many women to delay marriage and motherhood while they pursued their careers. As more women entered the workforce, marriage and fertility rates declined, leading to warnings of a demographic crisis. Such fears became heightened after 1989, when the total fertility rate (TFR) fell to an all-time low of 1.57 births per woman over her lifetime.4 The TFR continued to decline after the bubble burst, and Japan fell into an extended period of recession and stagnation throughout the 1990s and 2000s. Increasing numbers of Japanese were remaining single and childless, either through personal choice or due to difficult financial circumstances. During the 2000s, the triple threats of economic instability, low fertility rates, and an ageing population prompted the government to highlight a woman’s dual roles in economic production and reproduction. This intensified the need to improve working conditions for mothers. The state responded by reforming legislation on parental leave, promoting family-friendly policies in the workplace, and encouraging men to take a more active role in childrearing. The Basic Law for a Gender-Equal Society was passed in 1999, and a Gender Equality Bureau was established within the cabinet office. Although these measures proved largely ineffective in eliminating discrimination, they did contribute to the evolving discourse on gender (Kano, 2015). The state’s efforts to promote gender equality were not welcomed by all: The early 2000s saw the emergence of a neoconservative backlash, partly

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fuelled by male anxieties over their declining status (Kano, 2015, p. 91). The masculine identity based on the post-war model of the ‘corporate warrior’ was undermined during the economic recession of the 1990s. Japanese men, who had already been sidelined in the home, found their status in the corporate world, the crux of their identity and self-worth, was also vulnerable (Yoda, 2000, p. 866). Consequently, the early 2000s saw the emergence of a discourse centred on the ‘weak male’, encapsulating the precarious position of men in their thirties and forties who could no longer count on the privileges of lifetime employment and associated benefits they once enjoyed. The decline of male status and the increasing independence of women precipitated a backlash from right-wing figures in the media and political spheres who considered gender equality a threat to the traditional family based on a male breadwinner and female homemaker (Kano, 2015, p. 97). In fact, the ‘crisis’ of the family is as much a consequence of prevailing economic and social conditions. While more women are graduating from university,5 pursuing careers, and becoming financially independent, thus diminishing the incentives to marry, long-term economic recession has decreased the number of eligible marriage partners with an income sufficient to raise a family comfortably. As a result, increasing numbers of Japanese are deferring marriage or remaining single (Kumagai, 2015, p. 53). The average age of first marriage for women has risen from 24.2 years during the golden age of marriage in the early 1970s, to 29.4 years in 2016 (NIPSSR, 2018). As marital birth is the overwhelming preference of Japanese – ­extramarital births are stigmatised and, as a consequence, extremely rare6 – deferred marriage significantly reduces a woman’s fertile window. The cost of raising and educating children is another factor limiting the number of children a couple has (NIPSSR, 2017). Many wives are required to work in order to support the family finances. However, in spite of government rhetoric, labour market conditions remain tough for mothers in Japan, which has one of the lowest employment rates for mothers of children under three in the OECD (Nishimura, 2016, p. 1). The influence of social discourses of motherhood must also be considered. Although women are no longer confined to the domestic sphere, and men are taking a greater role in childcare, raising a child is still considered primarily the task of mothers (Ohinata, 2009). Notions of the importance of a close maternal bond in the development of a child, particularly during the early years, still prevail (Holloway, 2010). The high expectations placed on mothers, who continue to bear the lion’s share of domestic duties, whether they work or not, has fostered the widespread perception that raising a child is a demanding exercise requiring a significant investment of energy and resources. Without the cooperation of men, women who are considering having children are faced with the double burden of work inside and outside of the home, which causes physical and mental stress. In a survey probing why married women had not had as many children as they had hoped, almost a

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quarter of those in the 35–39 age group felt they could no longer mentally or physically bear the burden of childrearing (NIPSSR, 2017). Meanwhile, half of the never-married women in their thirties believe raising children is a “great psychological strain” (Tachibanaki, 2010, p.  150). While their increasing rejection of motherhood suggests that some are resisting pro-­ natalist discourse, it could also be interpreted as confirmation of the dominance of the maternal fantasy. The drama Mother (2010) centred on one such woman who had rejected the maternal fantasy. Broadcast with the subtitle “Motherhood drives women crazy”, it reinforced the notion of maternal instinct as a strong motivating force of women (Mithani, 2014, p.  123). The heroine, an unemotional, single woman in her mid-thirties, with no apparent interest in marriage or motherhood, suddenly abducts a young girl to save her from an abusive home, passing the child off as her own daughter. The girl manages to soften the heart of her pseudo-mother, and they form a loving bond, but are eventually apprehended and separated. The drama, which was well-­ received by audiences and critics alike, suggested that even the most reluctant of women could not deny their instinctual desire to protect, and could be interpreted as a message to women in their thirties to start a family before it was too late.

Comforting fantasies in an isolated society The fears of a crisis in the family linked to a wider social crisis, encapsulated in the ‘relationless society’ discourse. In 2010, Japan’s national broadcaster, NHK, aired a documentary on the topic of people dying alone, which was linked to the breakdown in communal and familial bonds – or being ‘­relationless’ – caused by the increasing numbers of single-person households (Allison, 2015, p. 45). The importance of a connected society gained added relevance following the Great East Japan Earthquake of 2011, which took the lives of more than 18,000 people and displaced another 600,000 (Baldwin and Allison, 2015, p. 1). The disaster amplified the importance of a connected society in a tangible sense, as those affected relied on the remaining familial bonds that existed to survive the aftermath of the tragedy, and national and international volunteer networks responded to urgent calls for support and assistance. The word ‘kizuna’ – which translates as ‘connection’ or ‘bond’ – came to dominate the national conversation to such an extent that it was chosen as the word of the year in a public poll (Okada, 2011). Television drama has reflected the sense of crisis over the disintegration of the family and importance of social connection. As the concept of family comes under increasing scrutiny, some creators of Japanese drama have reverted to familiar stereotypes of gender and motherhood. The drama Woman (2013) was a bittersweet portrait of a single-parent family nostalgically reminiscent of the post-war images of the selfless, single mother.

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Produced by the same creative team as Mother, Woman touched on similar themes, including the glorification of the mother-child bond. The drama provided an intimate portrait of the relationship between the protagonist, young widow Koharu, and her two young children, offering numerous examples of sukinshippu and other behaviour characteristic of amae. In one touching scene, Koharu and her daughter lie under the covers of their shared bedding, as the former relates the story of the time she first met her daughter’s now-deceased father. The mother gently plays with her daughter’s hair, their faces softly illuminated by the lowlight coming in through the blanket covering their heads. The camera switches between close-ups of the two characters, inviting the viewer to share in this fantasy by identifying with both mother and child. Coming two years after the earthquake disaster, which left many families fatherless, the drama also focused on real-life issues facing single mothers in Japan, including poverty, job insecurity, and the difficulties of juggling work and childcare. Widowed at a young age, Koharu struggles to make ends meet, working long hours in low-paid jobs, and enduring humiliation when she tries to apply for welfare. As a devoted mother, she is willing to make any sacrifice for the sake of her children. In keeping with the subtitle of the drama, “My life for my children”, she refuses vital medical treatment because it would mean time away from them. Nevertheless, she refuses to see her children as a burden, insisting she is simply “doing what is normal for a mother”. The depiction of Koharu’s desperation and self-sacrifice, including a scene where she resorts to begging for change, tugged on the heartstrings of viewers who were drawn in by a sentimental portrayal of motherhood that evoked nostalgia for their own childhoods. The success of Woman, which won a number of industry awards and enjoyed favourable ratings, proved that a high level of ‘consumer acceptance’ for the image of the devoted, selfless mother continues to exist in contemporary Japan.

Subverting the discourse of maternal love However, there was some criticism of Woman for going too far in what one commentator referred to as a “sadistic” depiction of suffering (Satō, 2013). While the depiction of maternal sacrifice in popular culture is often presumed to be synonymous with maternal love, Molly Haskell (1999) has offered an alternative view. Writing on films popular with American female audiences during the 1930s and 1940s, Haskell argued that the obsessive nature of maternal love in such films was the flipside of a hatred that could not be expressed publicly. According to Haskell’s argument, the sacrifice of oneself for one’s child is in fact a venting of hostility towards said child. The guilt over this hostility causes the mother to commit the sacrifice; the greater the hostility, the greater the sacrifice needed to absolve the guilt (Haskell, 1999). Thus, Koharu’s sacrifice need not necessarily be interpreted

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as an act of selfless love, a viewpoint suggested by a supporting character in the drama who points out that her refusal of medical treatment will ultimately be detrimental to her children. Evidence of Koharu’s hostility towards her children is also hinted at elsewhere in the drama. When she arrives home late one night, she discovers her young son lying prone, apparently unwell. However, when Koharu tries to rouse him, the children reveal they are playing a game to fool her. Exhausted after a long day at work, she fails to find humour in their joke, and has an emotional breakdown, invoking the memory of her deceased husband. It is the reaction of a mother cruelly betrayed by the very children she would risk her life for. The sacrifices she has made are a response to her guilt for the resentment she feels over her premature widowhood, which has forced her into the socially prescribed performance of the maternal fantasy, denying her identity as a woman. Furthermore, by focusing on the difficulties that Koharu faces in her daily life, including poverty and discrimination, the drama acknowledges the social, economic, and political factors that have contributed to frustration. Therefore, as well as a dominant discourse that glorifies the mother-child bond, Woman offers an alternative message more critical of the heavy burden placed on mothers. The dark side of maternal self-sacrifice was explored further in the drama Platonic (2014). The heroine, middle-aged divorcee Sara, is admired by others for choosing to dedicate her entire existence to the care of her only daughter, who suffers from a serious heart condition. Her dedication draws comparisons with the Virgin Mary, another reminder of the deification of the post-war Japanese ‘mother’. Yet, beneath this aura of saintliness lurks thinly veiled resentment for the enormous sacrifice Sara has been forced to make – her desires as a woman. Focusing exclusively on her role as a mother has meant foregoing all other relationships. Sara’s description of her life after childbirth as being “closed-up in an excruciatingly narrow world”, inhabited only by herself and her daughter, suggests her hostility at being forced into the role of the selfless, undesiring mother. The suffocating nature of the intense mother-daughter relationship is further emphasised when Sara prevents her daughter from pursuing a romantic relationship, refusing to allow her to experience life as a normal teenager, which causes the daughter great distress. The extent of Sara’s sacrifice is revealed when it becomes apparent that she once engaged in sexual relations with a doctor to persuade him to continue treating her daughter. Ignoring the social pressures that may cause some mothers to focus excessively on their children, Platonic places the blame for this obsessive maternal behaviour on the individual, by suggesting that Sara is emotionally stunted and has an abnormal personality. Tellingly, this analysis comes in a conversation between two male characters, an ironic reminder that the pathologising of maternal excess has occurred within the context of a male-dominated society. Sara is offered a glimmer of happiness

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when she falls in love with a terminally ill stranger who has promised to donate his heart to her daughter upon his demise. However, happiness soon turns to tragedy, and Sara is ultimately ‘punished’ for violating the maternal fantasy when her new partner is killed, soon after they consummate their relationship. While the conclusion to Platonic offers Sara an escape from the strict confines of the mother-child bond – in the form of a cure for her daughter – it comes at the expense of her new-found romance.

The taboo of the desiring mother The issue of romantic love in televisual narratives centred on single mothers remains controversial, a sign of the extent to which the maternal fantasy continues to hold sway in Japan. More often than not, single mothers are depicted as uninterested in romance or lacking sexual desire. Where romantic or sexual desire has been depicted, it is usually the cause of conflict and must be repressed. For example, the drama Contrail (2016) focused on the story of a widowed mother who embarks on a sexual affair with a mute stranger. The subtitle “sin and love” emphasises the sense of illicitness of their assignations, which always occur in secret and at night. However, the widow’s desire is ultimately stymied when she discovers her lover was involved in her husband’s death. Forced to choose between her duty as a mother to remain faithful to the memory of her son’s father and her happiness as a woman, she chooses the former, restoring her status as a good mother. On the rare occasion a television series has attempted to subvert the ­maternal fantasy by depicting a desiring mother who is not ‘punished’ for reclaiming her identity as a woman, it can be unwelcome to critics and audiences. The comedy Starman (2013) featured an assertive single mother of three who uses deceit to pursue a relationship with a handsome, younger man. The comic and fantasy elements of the series – the young man is ­revealed to be an extra-terrestrial being with special powers – suggest it aspired to be nothing more than light-hearted entertainment. Regardless, reviewers and audiences balked at what they considered the outrageous behaviour of the protagonist, who often prioritised her own desires over the feelings of her children. Ratings plummeted to single figures after the first episode, and the drama was considered a “crushing failure” by staff at its broadcaster (Shūkan Shinchō, 2013). The persistence of the maternal fantasy in televisual narratives of single motherhood is a reflection of the attitudes of an industry dominated by middle-­class men that continue to revere outdated stereotypes of gender and motherhood. Only a quarter of the staff employed by commercial broadcasters in Japan are women. For those in senior positions, this figure falls to 12% (Samura, 2014). In the cases of Mother, Woman, and Platonic, the top creative positions were all filled by men, while the majority of viewers of these dramas were female. These narratives about and for women have

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been created by men, most of whom were born and raised during the 1960s and 1970s, the era that produced and idealised the fantasy of the selfless, undesiring mother. That this fantasy continues to be reproduced half a century later suggests a tendency to revert to the comforting illusion of the modern family in times of crisis. At the same time, contemporary culture cannot ignore the clamouring voices of women who have increasingly rejected the restrictive confines of the maternal role. The negative response to the extreme maternal suffering depicted in Woman suggests that the narrative of the self-sacrificing mother no longer enjoys the widespread ‘consumer acceptance’ it once did. Thus, we find signs of criticism and resistance in contemporary maternal melodramas such as Woman and Platonic, as the men who produce them must respond to the demands of a diverse female audience who no longer identify with a singular stereotype of womanhood. The recent trend of featuring older heroines in romantic storylines is one such response. Platonic and Contrail, both centred on protagonists over 40, are part of this trend, which not only reflects the need to appeal to an ageing television audience, but can also be attributed to social changes, such as later marriage and the advancement of women, which have influenced public perceptions of what makes a woman appealing. Although the heroines of Platonic and Contrail are ultimately punished for their supposed transgressions by being forced to relinquish their lovers, they at least challenge conventional perceptions concerning motherhood, age, sexual appeal, and desire. Contrail was particularly notable for its focus on the sexual attraction of the lead pair. Perhaps significantly, it was created by a female scriptwriter, Ōishi Shizuka. As Muramatsu Yasuko (2005) has argued, the world of Japanese television needs to include a diversity of voices if it is to offer more balanced portrayals of women.

Conclusion Contemporary depictions of single motherhood in dramas reveal the tension created by the changing socio-economic conditions of present-day Japan. Dramas such as Mother and Woman reflect anxiety over women’s apparent rejection of motherhood, which conservative voices blame for the disintegration of the family. Furthermore, the idealised images of intimate mother-child relations in Woman suggest that a nostalgic desire for the indulgent mother has returned in an era that has seen the concept of social connections gain renewed importance. Nevertheless, criticism of excessive maternal behaviour is also present in depictions of maternal self-sacrifice that reveal the resentment and frustrations of women forced to perform the maternal fantasy. Whereas Woman offered some social criticism of the exacting standards placed on mothers, Platonic suggested women were to blame for their own entrapment within the fantasy.

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The taboo on the desiring mother continues to persist in representations of single mothers in television drama. However, recent television series, such as Starman and Contrail, are beginning to challenge the notion of the asexual mother, with admittedly limited success. As long as men continue to dominate the television industry, the pace of such progress will be slow and susceptible to the influence of social discourses intent on restricting the independence of women. Increasing the representation of women within the industry, particularly at the higher echelons, is likely to produce more diverse and balanced representations of women on screen. Such progress requires change on a political and social level. Only when the practical and social obstacles to combining career and family are eliminated will one see mothers gain more creative control over their own narratives.

Notes 1 Japanese names are written according to the Japanese convention of family name followed by given name. 2 A survey in 2013 found that 65.8% of women watched television drama, ­compared with only 43.5% of men (Life Media, 2013). 3 Japanese mothers who breastfeed do so for 14 months, on average (Kobayashi and Usui, 2014). 4 This phenomenon subsequently became known as the ‘1.57 shock’ (Atoh and Akachi, 2003, p. 1). 5 The percentage of female high school graduates that advance to a four-year ­university has increased from 2.5% in 1960 to 45.6% in 2013 (MEXT, 2013). 6 In 2016, the extramarital birth rate was 2.29 (NIPSSR, 2018). For more on extramarital childbirth in Japan, see Hertog (2009).

References Allison, A., 2015. ‘Precarity and Hope: Social Connectedness in Postcapitalist ­Japan’, in: Baldwin, F., and Allison, A. (Eds.), Japan: The Precarious Future. NYU Press, New York, pp. 36–57. Asai, M., 1990. ‘Towards a Liberation from the “Fantasy of the Modern Family”’ [in Japanese], in: Ehara, Y. (Ed.), Feminism Debates: From the 1970s to the 1990s [in Japanese]. Keisō Shobō, Tokyo, pp. 87–117. Atoh, M., and Akachi, M., 2003. ‘Low Fertility and Family Policy in Japan – In an International Comparative Perspective.’ Journal of Population and Social Security 1 (supplement), 1–30. Baldwin, F., and Allison, A., 2015. ‘Introduction: Japan’s Possible Futures’, in: Baldwin, F., and Allison, A. (Eds.), Japan: The Precarious Future. NYU Press, New York, pp. 1–10. Barthes, R., 1973. Mythologies. Granada, London. Doi, T., 1988. ‘Dependency in Human Relationships’, in: Okimoto, D.I., and Rohlen, T.P. (Eds.), Inside the Japanese System: Readings on Contemporary ­Society and Political Economy. Stanford University Press, Stanford, pp. 20–25. Doi, T., 1973. The Anatomy of Dependence. Kodansha International, New York, Tokyo.

Maternal fantasies in an era of crisis  189 Haskell, M., 1999. ‘The Woman’s Film’, in: Thornham, S. (Ed.), Feminist Film ­T heory: A Reader. New York University Press, New York, pp. 20–30. Hertog, E., 2009. Tough Choices: Bearing an Illegitimate Child in Contemporary ­Japan. Stanford University Press, Stanford. Holloway, S.D., 2010. Women and Family in Contemporary Japan. Cambridge ­University. Press, New York. Ishii-Kuntz, M., 2003. ‘Balancing Fatherhood and Work: Emergence of Diverse Masculinities in Contemporary Japan’, in: Roberson, J.E., and Suzuki, N. (Eds.), Men and Masculinities in Contemporary Japan: Dislocating the Salaryman Doxa. Routledge, London, pp. 198–216. Johnson, F.A., 1993. Dependency and Japanese Socialization: Psychoanalytic and Anthropological Investigations into Amae. New York University Press, New York. Kano, A., 2015. ‘The Future of Gender in Japan: Work/Life Balance and Relations between the Sexes’, in: Baldwin, F., and Allison, A. (Eds.), Japan: The Precarious Future. NYU Press, New York, pp. 87–109. Kobayashi, M., and Usui, E., 2014. ‘Breastfeeding Practices and Parental Employment in Japan.’ Review of Economics of the Household 15, 579–596. doi:10.1007/ s11150-014-9246-9. Kumagai, F., 2015. Family Issues on Marriage, Divorce, and Older Adults in Japan: With Special Attention to Regional Variations. Springer, New York. Kyūtoku, S., 1991. Maternally-Induced Diseases [in Japanese]. Sunmark Bunko, Tokyo. Life Media, 2013. ‘Television Survey: 62% “Not Interested” in Smart TVs’ [in ­Japanese] [WWW Document] Research Bank. http://research.lifemedia.jp/2011/ 09/110913_tv.html (accessed 25.09.17). MEXT, 2013. ‘MEXT: 1. Overview’ [WWW Document]. Ministry of Education, ­Culture, Sports, Science and Technology. www.mext.go.jp/en/publication/­ statistics/title01/detail01/1373636.htm#06 (accessed 25.08.18). Mies, M., 1998. Patriarchy and Accumulation on a World Scale: Women in the International Division of Labour. Zed Books, London. Mithani, F., 2014. ‘New Heroines for a New Era? Single Mothers in Contemporary Japanese Television Drama.’ Acta Asiatica Varsoviensia 27, 111–129. Muramatsu, Y., 2005. ‘The Reproduction and Evolution of Gender Relations through Television Broadcasting’ [in Japanese], in: Kitakyūshū Shiritsu Danjo Kyōdō Sankaku Sentā “Mūbu” (Ed.), Women and Media [in Japanese]. Akashi Shoten, Tokyo, pp. 103–119. ­ ōtakusha, Muramatsu, Y., 1979. Women’s Studies in Television Drama [in Japanese]. S Tokyo. Nemoto, K., 2016. Too Few Women at the Top: The Persistence of Inequality in Japan. ILR Press, Ithaca. NIPSSR, 2018. ‘Population Statistics 2018’ [in Japanese] [WWW Document]. ­National Institute of Population and Social Security Research. www.ipss.go.jp/ syoushika/tohkei/Popular/Popular2018.asp?chap=0 (accessed 20.08.18). NIPSSR, 2017. ‘The Fifteenth Japanese National Fertility Survey, 2015.’ National Institute of Population and Social Security Research. www.ipss.go.jp/ps-doukou/e/ doukou15/Nfs15R_points_eng.pdf (accessed 29.01.18). Nishimura, J., 2016. Motherhood and Work in Contemporary Japan. Routledge, ­Taylor & Francis Group, London.

190  Forum Mithani Ochiai, E., 1997. The Japanese Family System in Transition: A Sociological Analysis of Family Change in Postwar Japan. LTCB International Library Foundation, Tokyo. Ohinata, M., 2009. ‘The Current State of the Concept of Motherhood and Related Problems’ [in Japanese], in: Amano, M., Itō, K., Itō, R., Inoue, T., Ueno, C., Ehara, Y., Ōsawa, M., and Kanō, M. (Eds.), New Edition Feminism in Japan 5 Motherhood [in Japanese]. Iwanami Shoten, Tokyo, pp. 41–67. Ohinata, M. 1995. ‘The Mystique of Motherhood: A Key to Understanding Social Change and Family Problems in Japan’, in: Fujimura-Fanselow, K., and Kameda, A. (Eds.), Japanese Women: New Feminist Perspectives on the Past, Present, and Future. Feminist Press at the City University of New York, New York, pp. 199–211. Okada, T., 2011. ‘A Year of “connection”. “Kanji of the year” announced’ [in ­Japanese]. Asahi Shimbun, 13 December, p. 38. Samura, T., 2014. ‘Inoue Hiroshi, President of Japan Commercial Broadcasters ­Association: 50% of New Hires are Women. I Think It Goes Without Saying that Gender Equality Has Become the Norm’ [in Japanese]. Kyōdo Sankaku 66, 12–14. Satō, M., 2013. ‘Satō Miyuki’s TV Spirit’ [in Japanese]. Shūkan Jitsuwa, 22 August, p. 173. Shigematsu, S., 2005. ‘Feminism and the Media in the Late Twentieth Century: Reading the Limits of a Politics of Transgression’, in: Molony, B., and Uno, K.S. (Eds.), Gendering Modern Japanese History. Harvard University Press, ­Cambridge, pp. 555–589. Shūkan Shinchō, 2013. ‘Drama Flop Hirosue Ryōko Talks Candle Sales behind the Scenes’ [in Japanese], 15 August, pp. 42–43. Tachibanaki, T., 2010. The New Paradox for Japanese Women: Greater Choice, Greater Inequality. International House of Japan, Tokyo. Tama, Y., 2006. ‘Changes in the Post-War Family from the Perspective of Body ­Politics – What Have We Gained?’ [in Japanese]. Women’s Studies Lecture Series: Further. Examination [in Japanese] 11, 1–26. Ueno, C., 1996. ‘Collapse of “Japanese Mothers”.’ U.S.-Japan Women’s Journal. English Supplement 10, 3–19. Yamamura, Y., 1983. Japanese Parents, Japanese Households [in Japanese]. Kaneko Shobō, Tokyo. Yoda, T., 2000. ‘The Rise and Fall of Maternal Society: Gender, Labor, and Capital in Contemporary Japan.’ The South Atlantic Quarterly 99, 865–902.

Chapter 14

Countering allegorical motherhood in Irish and Northern Irish contemporary art The female body as a tool for resistance Valérie Morisson “Motherhood is the most public of personal conditions”, American novelist Jane Smiley argues (Chase and Rogers, 2001, i). Echoing these words, in Feminist Art and the Maternal, Andrea Liss claims that “no body is more cruelly posed at the intersection of the visible and the invisible, the public and the intimate, than the maternal body” (Liss, 2009, xviii). This statement is strongly relevant to Ireland, where the personal and the public dimensions of motherhood are intricately entangled. The situation and rights of women have been the subject of many fierce debates in the Republic especially prior to the referenda on divorce and abortion. The joint influence of nationalism and Catholicism contributed to confining women to the domestic sphere so that they were seen primarily as mothers and wives. In Ireland, even more than in other Western countries, “female sexuality and women’s powers of reproduction are the defining (cultural) characteristics of women” (Grosz, 1994, 13). The debates on contraception, the referenda on divorce, same-sex marriage, and abortion, and the Magdalene Laundries scandals have nonetheless spurred people to reconsider motherhood and its representations: Once a disembodied national ideal, motherhood has gradually become a biological reality affecting women’s bodies and lives. Chase and Rogers claim “the personal dimension of motherhood lends an intensely emotional character to the public debates” (2001, 1). In Ireland, the latter have made the personal experience of motherhood remarkably complex and salient. Although gender issues in Ireland echo those that came to the fore in Western countries during the late 1960s, Western feminist art never blossomed there as “the lack of a common feminist historical consciousness had hindered the development of collective counter-hegemonic empowerment of women” (Urban, 2012, 2). Feminist artworks display some specific features: The allegorisation of motherhood is a prime target for criticism. In a 1996 paper, Michelle McCaffery argued that the erasure of real-life female bodies in Conservative discourse on abortion or divorce in Ireland “ultimately

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depends on the erosion of female subjectivity, and material female bodies” (1996, 11). The emphasis laid on intersubjectivity and corporeality in feminist artworks should therefore be viewed as attempts to resist silencing and erasure.

Out of allegory and into the political sphere Several female artists have used satire and parody to deconstruct the equation between the Virgin Mary and Irish mothers and denounce compulsory motherhood in nationalist Ireland. Rita Duffy’s grotesque mother figures may be construed as satirical versions of Irish nationalist imagery. Her Mother Ireland diptych1 (1988, oil on gesso, 120 cm × 90 cm) and Mother Ulster (1988, oil on gesso, 120 cm × 90 cm) satirically echo nationalist allegories idealising motherhood such as Maurice MacGonigal’s 1943 Mother and Child.2 The collusion between gender and nationalism and the ensuing emphasis on women’s reproductive roles have been widely evidenced (Yuval-Davis, 1997; Meyer, 2000, 1). The disempowerment of women in Ireland was achieved through the marriage bar, which excluded married women from the workforce, through the long ban on divorce, and the historiographical erasure of their participation in the national struggle.3 The nationalist emphasis on masculinity was a response to the feminisation of Ireland during the colonial period.4 The nationalist ideal and agenda defined women as reproducers to guarantee the nation’s purity and health. In the 1937 Constitution, Article 41.2 states: In particular the State recognizes that by her life within the home, woman gives to the State a support without which the common good cannot be achieved. The State shall therefore endeavour to ensure that mothers shall not be obliged by economic necessity to engage in labour to the neglect of their duties in the home. Even though the endorsement of motherhood did not result in much practical support for women,5 in the Irish Republic, womanhood was strictly equated with motherhood as the nation elaborated “the myth of the all-­ loving, all-forgiving, and all-sacrificing mother” (Liss, 2009, xvii). As Sara Gerend analyses, “the valorization and idealization of the female subject as a selfless protector of children prescribes motherhood as the patriotic goal for Irish mothers” (2005, 35); hence, the artistic allegorisation of motherhood under the guise of the Irish Madonna in many academic Irish paintings. Rita Duffy’s counter-allegory features a grotesque Mother Ireland clad in a green dress, holding four unruly children. The iron on her head as well as the bishop and the church in the background indicate that motherhood is keyed to household duties and Catholicism, which is what Duffy learnt from her working-class Catholic upbringing (Deepwell, 2005, 44–45). Wearing a

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blue dress symbolising the Northern Counties, Mother Ulster is surrounded by fewer children as the Protestants have a lower fertility rate, which poses political problems.6 Another painting, Gneas (1996), shows a green brassiere, “a new sexy symbol of Irishness, a new notion of being female” countering the repression of female sexuality (Deepwell, 2005, 48). The figure of the Madonna, a model for Irish women who were “encouraged to represent and manifest the ideal of Mary in their own ‘essence’ – in their behaviour, motherhood and their relationships with others” (Martin, 2000, 69), has been repeatedly revisited by feminist artists. In her Madonna series7 (2000–2010), Amanda Coogan challenges the Mother-Virgin allegory. Madonna in Blue (2001, Irish Museum of Modern Art) is a durational performance during which the artist, dressed in a pale-blue shirt referring to the Virgin’s veil, poses like a Madonna, holding her right breast in her hand for two hours (Morisson, 2016b). The formerly allegorical Virgin-­ Mother figure is perceptibly corporeal as the female body becomes both an icon due to the unsettling stillness of the artist and an erotic body as the bare-breasted Madonna is embodied. The passivity of the artist transforms the viewers into voyeurs and invites them to consider the male fetishisation of the female breast. In Mad with Child (2007), Coogan is clad in a sparkling tight-fitting blue dress that, like the mock halo behind her, turns her into a modern, glamorous Mary. She is breastfeeding a child, yet her garb and distraught gaze make us perceive this motherly act as an obligation rather than a pleasure. Coogan’s works indicate that the mother has been “enslaved into skewed standards of ethics and morality that keep her in her ‘rightful’ place” (Liss, 2009, 20). They consist primarily in “the physical disclosure of an outdated neurosis concerning the explicit female body and its intertwining with sexuality” (Novati, 2009, 180). Even after the successive elections of Presidents Mary Robinson (1990) and Mary McAleese (1997), who both gave hope to Irish women, female sexuality remained hampered by the patriarchal order and its emphasis on motherhood. Paradoxically, breastfeeding in public is still considered shameful as if suffused with taboo eroticism (see Liss, 2005, 74–75) and female breasts eroticised. Consequently, Coogan’s displaying her naked breast is subversive, as had been Dorothy Cross’ Virgin Shroud (1993, Tate Gallery) showing a Madonna-like mannequin covered not by a veil but by a cow hide with protruding tits crowning the figure. The work was part of a series of sculptures in which udders and cow symbolised both nipple and penis (Bonaventura, 1996, 16). The sacrilegious eroticism of the assemblage was transgressive as it drew attention to a non-maternal sexualised body.

Embodiments and incorporations Performance art has enabled female artists to translate the intellectual ­positions of theoreticians such as Elizabeth A. Grosz, Judith Butler, and

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Julia Kristeva into physical acts, to reappropriate the representation of femininity and challenge the underlying forces that mould the real female body. The personalisation of the political sphere, which feminist artists adopted as a strategy, has led to embodiment and experiential practices in live art. The artists’ bodies become “sites of contestation” (Grosz, 1994, 19) and produce “potentials for empowerment” (Walsh, 2016). In Immaculate Makeover (performed at the art biennial EVA International, Limerick, 2002), Áine Phillips, originally looking like the Madonna, gradually obliterated her face by using make-up in excess. Her expressionist defacement let the repressed primitive eroticism surface while showing the constraints associated with womanly beauty. A feminist performance artist, Helena Walsh confronts her personal experience of motherhood with the cultural and religious norms that frame mothering. She intends to “explore the effects of the overwhelming impact of the nation state’s continuing rigid moral policing of female reproductive autonomy”, which had negatively shaped her view of motherhood as “a form of entrapment/control” (Morisson, 2012, 84). In Mom, Marks of Motherlands, she probed the connections among national tensions, family history, and her perception of motherhood. She confesses: As I witnessed in the rural working-class environment where I grew up, women were often placed in a role of perpetual mothering and caring, rendered responsible for ‘containing’ the multiple ‘crises’ that occur within the homestead.8 In this work, entrapment is suggested through rows of baby bottles restricting the artist’s movements. Her breasts symbolically bandaged, she eventually uses the bottles as penises and brushes them frantically in gestures that are reminiscent of male penetration. The artist notes: I feel certainly the abundance of idealised representations of women in contemporary visual culture has always and still does somewhat impinge negatively on the cultural view of women – but I feel the inherent liveness and the degree of personal control enabled through performance is effective in combating such imagery.9 By using her own body and fostering experiential intersubjectivity with the public, she elicits a form of empathy that is conducive to awareness. Invisible Stains is a much more sombre piece, referring to the Magdalene Laundries in which Helena Walsh impersonates a young institutionalised woman probably having given birth out of marriage, forced to wash linen in silence to cleanse her soul. The artist resembles a fallen Madonna holding a dead infant: Her white headdress, the blue nappies that constitute her ragged dress, and her

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bandaged breasts evoke frustrated motherly love and alienation. In a more recent performance, The Pudding Club (performed at The Proud Archivist in London in 2014), Walsh made a parodistic reference to ancient Celtic rituals meant to foretell the identity of one’s future spouse or the number of children one would have. In her works, the weight of ideology and history is made perceptible through the physicality entailed by the performance, which generates identification and empathy that are specific to live art. The recorporealisation of the female body may verge on the abject: In several performances Walsh spits or uses her own blood as is the case in Mapping Feminism (coll. Live Art Agency), which represents an artistic journey drawn with the artist’s menstrual blood, a taboo impure substance “that leaks, uncontrollable”, an “impure polluting bodily fluid” (Grosz, 1994, 205). Áine Phillips also uses bodily fluids in Red Wedding Dress. She wears an excessively long red dress evoking passion but also female genitals, while white sheets stained with red paint are hung behind her. Shameful traces of female sexuality, tied with sin, (Ryan, 2010, 94) are displayed and legitimated by the artistic exhibition. One of Walsh’s most radical recorporealisations of motherhood is Consuming Colonies, a performance conceived just after the birth of the artist’s first child, which ties colonialism to motherhood. The gendering of the nation is associated with colonial history, for the English represented Eire as a young powerless maiden in need of help, while from a nationalist standpoint, the Irish maiden was raped and conquered. Postcolonial studies have highlighted patterns of gendered subalternity and equated the female body with the land that gets mapped, exploited, and probed by the colonisers. In Consuming Colonies, the artist staged a parodistic Last Supper during which she cooked her placenta – supposedly rich in nutrients – and offered it to her male guests. She explained that the performance links the physical experiences of the female body to political conflicts involving the occupation of one country by another. This is achieved by claiming the impregnated female body as an occupied space, invaded by an unknown alien creature.10 The placenta is an anti-symbol: It is a most concrete piece of the reproductive body. The performance may be viewed as an embodied version of the Eucharist. Besides, by incorporating a part of the maternal body, Walsh’s guests reverse the Greek myth of Athena’s birth. The goddess was born not from a woman but from Zeus after he had swallowed up the body of his pregnant wife. The ambiguity of the mother’s body is particularly salient in Consuming Colonies; it is both sacred and soiled, holy and hellish, attractive and repulsive, an abject body, an object of both worship and terror (­K risteva, 1982, 46–48).

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Like Helena Walsh, Áine Phillips uses performance to revisit rituals determining gender identity. Sex, Birth and Death (2001–2003), dealing with reproductive rights, interlaces mothering and erotic pleasure. The performance is made up of two parts: Part one is staged like a mass in which the holy bread is replaced by a foetus-like iced cake. While cutting slices from the cake, the artist recites poetic texts dealing with maternal love and desire. Her sensual gestures are screened in slow motion behind her so that the ambiguity of the act is highlighted and generates uneasiness. Slices of the cake are offered to the audience; the sharing evokes a possible complicity in the pleasure and violence of the cutting. The following words are uttered, heightening the confusion between life and death, birth and abortion: Take this baby and eat it, it is my blood money for a blood bank that I offer up to you Take this baby and eat it it is a sweet body and blood pudding that I offer up to you Take this baby and eat it it is my duplicate self that I offer up to you Take this baby and eat it it is my erotic frustrations, my deluded dreams and my sentimental regrets take this in memory of me and eat it, it is the epiphany of pro-lifers it is the logic of Catholics it is the cannibalism of mothers11 The last lines of this parodistic mass condemn the oppression of women by the Catholic Church, which is held responsible for the death of mothers who were unable to have abortions. The second part of the performance focuses on breastfeeding as the artist lets milk flow from her covered breasts while the sound track evokes bliss and pleasure. The excess of substance and the uncontrolled flow of fluids are echoed in the text, as the organic body is foregrounded: Oh carrying you wrapped inside my intestines Feeding you food from my teth and hair Warming you with my hot liquids Playing you dead baby games with blood marbles We have transformed and transfigured each other12 Other verses depict motherhood as a matter of “amniotic fluid” or seamlessly intertwine motherly and sexual love. The semantic and formal fluidity of the text brings to mind what Hélène Cixous identified as a female

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voice. Such fluidity and excess have often been adversely associated with femininity: the female body has been constructed not only as a lack or absence but with more complexity, as a leaking, uncontrollable, seeping liquid; as formless flow; as viscosity, entrapping, secreting; as lacking not so much or simply the phallus but self-containment. (Grosz, 1994, 203) Liquidity is reappropriated in the performance and reinjected with female imagination. The whole performance opposes the patriarchal denial of female pleasure and organic existence. Indeed, patriarchal discourse had schizophrenically coded pregnancy as that which should not and could not be seen; its obscenity would risk revealing the sexuality and passion that created the child. So the perennial insult of sentimentality masked true sentiment and deep feeling, which in contemporary terms deflects, insults, and embarrasses the passion that is erotic sentiment. (Liss, 2009, 13) Eroticism is evocatively restored in Phillips’ performance, which counters the “silent, decorporealized, hystericized Mother” (Pollock, 1999). Challenging the taboo of childbirth, which is seldom pictured, Áine Phillips proclaims: all life begins and ends on metal beds with my ankles in stirrups with the head of a man between them with my own head stretched back in vulnerability and my hands … over my mouth my hands covering my eyes my hands gripping the sliding metal my hands frantic to make some gesture my hands wielding a hammer and scissors my hands caressing the knife and forceps my hands pouring milk and brine my hands holding my weeping womb my hands carrying bread and a shroud my fingers signing victory and anger13 The anaphoric presence of ‘my’ bestows an incantatory potency to the text while highlighting the reappropriation of the representation of motherhood. As regards the juxtaposition of contradictory terms, it discloses the

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complexity and ambiguity of the mothering experience. The misconception of the Immaculate Conception is therefore poetically redressed. Abortion is also tackled, an issue that has incited many female artists to engage into art and activism: “100,000 Irish women have had UK abortions, but admitting or talking about it publicly is still problematic. I wanted to normalise the experience of abortion and place it along the continuum of female sexuality”, the artist claims.

Abortion: Art as a tool for resistance Ever since the 1970s, when women’s liberation movements appeared in ­Ireland, abortion has been fiercely debated. The 1861 Offenses against the Persons Act, which established a ban on abortion in Ireland, was passed during the colonial period and was enshrined in the Irish Constitution. Access to contraception was among the demands of the Irish Women’s Liberation Movement at a time when it was not granted in the Republic of Ireland. The 1974 McGee vs. the Attorney General case14 exemplified how the State strove to control women’s reproductive bodies regardless of their health. When ­Ireland joined the European Union, women hoped the Irish Law would change. Although there was some progress in the 1990s, with the 1993 decision to allow the selling of condoms in vending machines, the 1995 lift of the ban on divorce and increased awareness after the death of young women who had been denied abortions, the referendums on abortion, which were held in 1983, 1992 and 2000, failed to bring marked changes.15 The Eighth Amendment of the Constitution Act in 1983 was a backlash for women as it defined Irish women in terms of their reproductive capabilities and equated the nation with motherhood. The X Case, in 1992, nonetheless opened a door for abortion in limited cases and facilitated information and travel to Great Britain while rejecting the possibility of abortion on the Irish soil. It enshrined what was aptly termed an English solution to an Irish problem. However, the amendments that followed meant that Ireland recognised that Irish mothers are empowered beings able to make informed decisions concerning their own bodies (Gerend, 2005, 40). In her 1990 victory speech, President Mary Robinson offered words of encouragement and recognition to women: “I was elected by men and women of all parties and none, (…) above all by women of Ireland, mna na hEireann, who instead of rocking the cradle, rocked the system”. After the anti-abortion climate of the 1980s, this seemed encouraging. Nevertheless, the ideology of the family remained firmly entrenched in Irish society and travelling to England was the only solution available to women with unwanted pregnancies who could afford it.16 Because the pro-life stance in Ireland was tied in with nationalism and Catholicism, it remained a symbol of Irishness so that, in pro-life rhetoric, abortion is viewed as a threat to the Nation itself. The debates on abortion were linked to the moral, political, and economic boundaries of the Irish

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nation in a context of internationalisation17: “Women’s bodies have been used to determine the moral, political and physical boundaries of the Republic itself, as well as the nation” (Martin, 2000, 66). It is worth noting that two of the artists who have regularly produced works on abortion, Emma Campbell (born in Belfast and working in ­London) and Helena Walsh (born in Dublin, living in London), combine artistic practice and activism and pay much attention to process and reception, working with women involved in support to abortion and eliciting a dialogue with the viewers. Blending informed content, emotional engagement, innovative artistic processes, and interpretative openness, activist works offer an “imaginative exploration of political ideas” (Mullin, 2003, 189). Both in Campbell’s work and in Walsh’s performances, silence – under the form of visual ellipses or deliberate mutism – and intersubjectivity supersede political discourse in an effective manner. For her body of works entitled When they put their hands out like scales: Journeys,18 Emma Campbell followed the journey many women from Northern Ireland had to undertake in order to terminate their pregnancies. Women from Northern Ireland seeking abortions often encounter difficulties and are made to feel ashamed. Campbell followed some of these women to abortion clinics in Liverpool and London without showing their faces, disclosing only fragments of bodies and leaving few visual clues. The photographs are imbued with a sense of secrecy and shame, while the bleakness of the landscapes elicits sadness and grief. Nondescript streets and fields are shot from the windows of boats, buses, or trains imposing the confining grids of their windows and imprisoning our gaze in a suggestive manner. Although grief is never showed as a personal emotion, it is efficiently transferred onto the emotional landscape. Several projects by Emma Campbell seek to do away with the negative stereotyping of abortion and the women supporting it: Her portraits of Abortion Support Network volunteers19 show joyful women of all ages and origins. Be a Butterfly is an ongoing photographic project during which the artist uses passport-sized photos of women who have had to travel to terminate their pregnancies and combines them with butterfly shapes. By using portraits, the artists replaces official statistics and stigmatising pro-life imagery by individualised experiences, thereby reinjecting the personal into the political and reintroducing intersubjectivity and personhood in the debate. Some of Campbell’s works were inspired by a Women on Waves journey, in 2001, from the Netherlands to Ireland, where the activists counselled many women with unwanted pregnancies. The artist used the Women on Waves archives, which she combined with post-Famine images from the National Library of Ireland and the British Library in order to provide a historical context for restriction to abortion. The combination of black and white archives and modern coloured images highlights the irrelevance of Conservative pro-life discourse in contemporary societies.

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Helena Walsh has also produced works on abortion, among which The Red Case, a three-day durational work (Something Human, The Terminal, Push, 2013) performed in London.20 The title for the work refers to the infamous X case, in which the Irish state had forbidden a young woman, pregnant after being raped, to abort. In Angela K. Martin’s words, “Miss X’s body was a female body violated, impregnated and incarcerated within the state” (Martin, 2000, 81–82). Helena Walsh explains that her performance “sought to offer a retort to the draconian patriarchal ideologies that deny women bodily integrity and subvert the shaming and silencing of women from Ireland who have abortions”.21 The artist drew a large X on the ground before placing Irish flags stuck in Catholic altar bread reading ‘Exiling Women’s Rights’. She then placed a red suitcase on the X, the interior of which was full of statistics on abortion, and sat in it dressed in red from top to toe, replacing facts and figures by her real, individual female body. The space she set up looked like both a defensive battlement and a funeral pyre. In the end of the performance, the artist opened her legs to reveal a bleeding vagina evoking abortion in an utterly physical way. The re-embodiment at play in this performance reasserted the fact that abortions are, first, lived and corporeal experiences that affect the body. Both duration and silence enabled the artist to deal with trauma and impose visibility on a long dismissed issue. Both Emma Campbell’s Women on Wave and Helena Walsh’s performances create a continuum between the plight of Irish women in the course of history and contemporary gender issues. Either through montage or through impersonation, the female body is the bearer of a long-silenced memory of women’s lives and pains. The artist is therefore positioned as a transmitter of experience, a position that equally results from involvement in activist groups. Walsh is one of the founding members of Ireland Making England the Legal Destination for Abortion (IMELDA), a group of women and artists lobbying for the right to abortion and including women who were active in the Irish Women’s Abortion Support Group (1980–2000). Like American avant-garde artists, Walsh aims at fusing art and life, and she regularly intervenes in spaces other than art galleries to heighten the visibility of her live art practice and commitments.

Conclusion Representations of motherhood in Irish contemporary art address motherhood, which is largely contaminated by the problematic legacy of nationalist and religious discourses, from a feminist standpoint. While women have, as Mary Robinson aptly put it, stopped rocking the cradle to rock the system, many artists still felt it necessary to combine artistic commitment with feminist activism. Collective experiences of activism, group exhibitions, or performances induce new forms of recollections, reconnections, and

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recognition. Performance has undeniably opened up a new space for women artists making the feminist slogan ‘the personal is the political’ an act of creation, participation, and communication. Mothering involves countless gestures and relies on body language; the use of ritualised gestures in ­performance – cleaning bottles, huddling, caressing, breastfeeding – is particularly appropriate to challenge our perception of it as natural or cultural. By breaching taboos related to sexuality, pregnancy, childbirth, breastfeeding, and abortion and bringing intersubjectivity to the fore, they act as catalysts of experiences and allow for continuity in the fight for respect and equality. Although this dimension does not fall in the remits of this chapter, it is worth noting that most of the artists mentioned have combined experiential intersubjectivity and recorporealisation or embodiment, which are feminist strategies, and curatorial or critical engagement, which have long been the prerogative of male artists. What we have observed is a move from critical feminist art using satire and parody to art activism, which envisages art practices as stretching beyond the art system and as a means to change things through a bottom-up process. By involving communities in artistic productions, artists have tried to put across a message through shared empathy. The results of the May 2018 referendum in favour of the repeal of the Eighth Amendment led Mr Varadkar, the Taoiseach, to utter these already famous words: No more to doctors telling their patients there’s nothing can be done for them in their own country, no more lonely journeys across the Irish Sea, no more stigma as the veil of secrecy is lifted and no more isolation as the burden of shame is gone.22 Historians will undoubtedly wonder whether the revolution that brought about this vote was a “quiet” one, as Leo Varadkar said. In Northern Ireland, such a revolution has not alleviated the pain of women still battling to have an abortion.

Notes 1 Mother Ireland by Rita Duffy, 1989; from James Steward et al., When Time Began to Rant and Rage: Figurative Painting from Twentieth-Century Ireland, pl. 68, p. 258, http://ritaduffystudio.com/ 2 Mathair agus Naoidhneann (Mother and Child), c.  1943, oil on canvas, 101.8 cm × 76.5 cm, Crawford Gallery, Cork, Ireland. 3 Heather Ingman, Nation and Gender, Twentieth Century Fiction by Irish Women, Farnham, Ashgate, 2007, p. 6. Ingman claims that Irish women have been imprisoned in stereotypes of Irish womanhood not of their making and were positioned as strangers or exiles within public life. In Women of the House: Women’s Household Work in Ireland 1922–1961 (Irish Academic Press, 2000), Caitríona Clear provides a more nuanced view of the pressure exerted by nationalist ideology on women.

202  Valérie Morisson 4 See David Lloyd, Irish Culture and Colonial Modernity, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2011, pp. 162–163; Joseph Valente, The Myth of Manliness in Irish National Culture, 1880–1922, Urbana, University of Illinois, 2011. 5 Children’s allowances were introduced in 1944 for every third child and in 1952 for every second child; after 1953 pregnant women and their under-six-monthold children were entitled to free healthcare. 6 The 1981 Census results led to some speculations that the Protestant majority would disappear because of the greater demographic vitality of the Roman Catholic population. The pronative position of the Catholic Church accounted for a slightly higher fertility rate until the 1990s when the influence of the church declined and socioeconomic situation affected fertility more than religious faith. Today the effect of a being a Catholic woman is a 4 % higher fertility compared to a Protestant, but the two communities are still maintaining distinctive demographic profiles (Patrick McGregor and Patricia McKee, “Religion and Fertility in Contemporary Northern Ireland”, European Journal of Population, 32.4, 2016, pp. 599–622). 7 www.amandacoogan.com/the-madonna-series.html 8 Performing borders https://performingborders.live/2016/05/14/helenawalsh/ 9 Idem. 10 Idem. 11 Quoted from the script of the work with the kind permission of the artist. 12 Quoted from the script of the work with the kind permission of the artist. 13 Quoted from the script of the work with the kind permission of the artist. 14 Mary McGee, a married mother of four, had imported contraceptives after having been warned by her physician that another pregnancy could endanger her life. The Irish Customs had prevented her from importing the contraceptives and, with the support of the Irish Family Planning Association, she had appealed on the grounds that her rights to marital privacy had been infringed. The High Court’s dismissal of her claim was overturned by the decision of the Supreme Court allowing contraceptives for private use. 15 The 1983 Eighth Amendment to the Constitution, which legislates that the foetus or embryo has an equal right to life as the mother, restricts access to abortion. Northern Ireland remains exempt from the 1967 Abortion Act that is in effect in England, Scotland, and Wales. 16 The UK Department of Health statistics estimates that between 1980 and 2017, at least 171,795 women and girls who accessed UK abortion services provided Irish addresses. In 2017, 3,092 women and girls gave Irish addresses at UK abortion services. More than 900 women from Northern Ireland travelled to England for an abortion in 2017. These numbers are deemed conservative (www. ifpa.ie/Hot-Topics/Abortion/Statistics). 17 The Maastrich Treaty in 1992 sparked much anxiety over abortion rights among Irish Conservatives and was followed by an anti-abortion campaign. “Irish women and the female body are particularly targeted as strategic to the conservative battle to preserve the Irish nation and its moral alterity with respect to Europe” Angela K. Martin notes (op. cit., p.  78). See also A. Smyth, “And Nobody Was Any the Wiser; Irish Abortion Rights and the European Union”, in R.A. Elman (ed.), Sexual Politics and the European Union: The New Feminist Challenge, Oxford, Bergham, 1996, pp. 104–130. 18 See the artist’s website: www.emmacampbell.co.uk/ 19 The ASN provides financial assistance and accommodation, as well as information to women travelling from the Republic of Ireland and Northern Ireland. 20 For a more fully developed analysis of this work see Valérie Morisson (2016a, 2016b), op. cit.

Motherhood in Irish & Northern Irish modern art  203 21 The artist’s website, www.helenawalsh.com/ 22 www.gov.ie/en/news/d7a266-speech-by-an-taoiseach-leo-varadkar-followingthe-declaration-on-the/

References Bonaventura, Paul, “Even Dorothy Cross”, in Even: Recent Work from Dorothy Cross (exhibition catalogue), Bristol, Arnolfini, 1996. Chase, Susan E. and Rogers, Mary Frances, Mothers and Children: Feminist Analyses and Personal Narratives, New Brunswick, Rutgers University Press, 2001. Clear, Caitríona, Women of the House: Women’s Household Work in Ireland 1922– 1961, Dublin, Irish Academic Press, 2000. Deepwell, Kathy, Dialogues: Women Artists from Ireland, London and New York, I.B. Tauris, 2005. Gerend, Sara, “Ireland as a Space of Compulsory Motherhood in Edna O’Brien’s Down by the River ”, in Caroline Alice Wiedmer and Sarah Boykin Hardy (eds.), Motherhood and Space, Configurations of the Maternal through Politics, Home and the Body, Basingstoke, Palgrave Macmillan, 2005, pp. 35–53. Grosz, Elizabeth, Volatile Bodies: Toward a Corporeal Feminism, Bloomington, ­Indiana University Press, 1994. Ingman, Heather, Nation and Gender, Twentieth Century Fiction by Irish Women, Farnham, Ashgate, 2007. Kristeva, Julia, Powers of Horror: An Essay on Abjection (Trans. Leon. S. Roudiez), New York, Columbia University Press, 1982. Liss, Andrea, Feminist Art and the Maternal, Mineapolis, University of Minnesota Press, 2009. Lloyd, David, Irish Culture and Colonial Modernity, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011. Martin, Angela K., “Death of a Nation: Transnationalism, Bodies and A ­ bortion in Late Twentieth Century Ireland”, in Tamar Meyer (ed.), Gender Ironies of Nationalism, Sexing the Nation, London and New York, Routledge, 2000, pp. 65–88. McCaffery, Michelle, “Fœtal Subjectivity and the Rise of Paternal Rights”, Irish Journal of Feminist Studies, 1, March 1996, pp. 1–11. Meyer, Tamar (ed.), Gender Ironies of Nationalism, Sexing the Nation, London and New York, Routledge, 2000. Morisson, Valérie, “Women’s Art in Ireland and Poland 1970–2010: Experiencing and Experimenting on the Body”, Etudes Irlandaises, numéro thématique, 37.2, automne 2012, pp. 81–96. ——— “Contemporary Performance Art by Helena Walsh: Embodiment as ­Empowerment in an Irish Context ”, Revue Miroir, 1.4, 2016a, Femmes de l’objet au sujet, dir. Christine Dualé, pp. 132–155. ——— “Silence et mutisme dans les performances durationnelles d’Helena Walsh et Amanda Coogan”, in Nathalie Pavec et Adrienne Boutang (eds.), Le Silence dans les arts visuels, Paris, Michel Houdiard, 2016b, pp. 115–130. Mullin, Amy, “Feminist Art and the Political Imagination”, Hypatia, 18.4, Fall 2003, pp. 189–213.

204  Valérie Morisson Novati, Gabriella Calchi, “Challenging Patriarchal Imagery: Amanda Coogan’s Performance Art”, in Sara Brady and Fintan Walsh (eds.), Crossroad: Performance Studies and Irish Culture, Basingstoke, Palgrave Macmillan, 2009, pp. 180–195. Pollock, Griselda, “Still Working on the Subject: Feminist Politics and Its AvantGarde Moment”, in Sabine Breitwieser (ed.), Mary Kelly: Rereading Post-Partum ­ enerali Foundation, 1999, pp. 237–260. Document, Vienna, G Ryan, Mary, “A Feminism of Their Own? Irish Women’s History and Contemporary Irish Women’s Writing”, Estudios Irlandeses, 5, 2010, pp. 92–101. Smyth, A., “And Nobody Was Any the Wiser. Irish Abortion Rights and the ­European Union”, in R. Amy Elman (ed.), Sexual Politics and the European ­Union: The New Feminist Challenge, Oxford, Berghahn Books, 1996, pp. 104–130. Urban, Eva, “The Condition of Female Laundry Workers in Ireland 1922–1996: A Case of Labour Camps on Trial”, Études irlandaises, 37.2, 2012, Enjeux féministes et féminins dans la société irlandaise contemporaine, pp. 1–14. Valente, Joseph, The Myth of Manliness in Irish National Culture, 1880–1922, ­Urbana, University of Illinois, 2011. Yuval-Davis, Nira, Gender and Nation, Los Angeles and London, SAGE Publication, 1997.

Chapter 15

Female ‘transformational energy’ in Louise Erdrich’s works Élisabeth Bouzonviller

Although American novelist Louise Erdrich is ‘terribly proud’ of her native ancestry (White and Burnside, 1994, 111),1 she chooses to define herself primarily as a mother: ‘I’m always a mother. That’s my first identity, but I’m always a writer too’ (Moyers, 2010). After her marriage to Michael Dorris in 1981, she became the adoptive mother of the three children he had adopted as a single father;2 then, they had three daughters together.3 Eventually, a few years after Dorris’s death,4 Erdrich gave birth, at the age of 47, to a fourth daughter.5 Her children are essential to her as evidenced by her interviews, her professional activities, which have been growingly involving them,6 the numerous dedications of her novels to them, and her two autobiographical essays. Children are also part of her fictional world. In The Blue Jay’s Dance, Erdrich explains that ‘[e]very birth is profoundly original’ (Erdrich, 2002, 46), and Julie Tharp notices that, in her novels, ‘[babies] are conceived in and out of matrimony, in violence, in lust, in love’ (Tharp, 2000, 136). Despite various circumstances, maternity and motherhood are always celebrated in her writing. Consequently, this chapter will try to show how her narratives depart from WASP models and provide a return to Native American culture while offering another approach to North American history through a maternity pattern inspired by the past. This will emphasise the postcolonial nature of her works, which challenge conventions in society and literature. First, the issue of maternal power in Native American traditions and in ­Erdrich’s approach to her own case as a mother and writer will be focused upon. Then, her novels will provide evidence that she considers mothers as agents of transmission, but also of resilience. Eventually, beyond the ethnic claims, echoes between mothers’ skills and the literary process will be highlighted.

Powerful Native American mothers Studying Native American life, Arnold Krupat concludes that ‘[t]o live is to live familially, tribally’ (Krupat, 1989, 230). Questioned about a common characteristic to all tribal narratives around the world, and to the Native

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American ones in particular, he suggests kinship relations (Krupat, 1989, 222–223). In addition to this general importance of family, women have been insisting on female power and more precisely maternal power within American tribes since before colonisation. Lee Maracle, a member of the Canadian Stó:lō First Nation, declares: ‘Gender complementary forms of power existed before patriarchal invasion, but they were dismantled. […] Our women have been disempowered’ (Maracle, 2015, 129–131). According to Paula Gunn Allen, colonisation and Christianisation have deprived women of their original position, especially as mothers: Pre-contact American Indian women valued their role as vitalizers because they understood that bearing, like bleeding, was a transformative ritual act. Through their own bodies they could bring vital beings into the world a miraculous power unrivaled by mere shamanic displays. (Allen, 1986, 28) Historian Larry Zimmerman links this power to the myth of mother-earth (Zimmerman, 2002, 101), an idea that Erdrich develops in her article ‘Where I Ought to Be: A Writer’s Sense of Place’ where she connects maternity and ecology: ‘[…] once we no longer live beneath our mother’s heart, it is the earth with which we form the same dependent relationship, relying completely on its cycle and elements, helpless without its protective embrace’ (Erdrich, 2000, 50). Zimmerman also mentions the fact that a girl’s first periods mean power and potential danger (Zimmerman, 2002, 101), an approach similarly developed by Anton Treuer, who says: ‘In Indian country, menstruation is universally seen as a representation of the spiritual power of women and their ability to bring life into the world’ (Treuer, 2012, 60). Given this lost female power, it is not surprising that Native American women’s literature should often offer narratives based on this aspect. ­Erdrich, for example, claims that women have a ‘transformational energy’, which echoes the ancient social model: ‘We are taught to present a demure face to the world and yet there is a kind of wild energy behind it in many women that is transformational energy, and not only transforming to them but to other people’ (Bruchac, 1994, 100–101). To her, maternity is always a strength and joy despite its constraints: ‘Sometimes I look at men, at the way most of them move so freely in the world, without a baby attached, and it seems to me very strange. Sometimes it is enviable. Mostly, it is not’ (Erdrich, 2003, 65).

Giving birth In 1995, Erdrich published a first autobiographical narrative entitled The Blue Jay’s Dance: A Birth Year, to be followed by a second one, in 2003, Books and Islands in Ojibwe Country. The Blue Jay’s Dance is a one-year

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maternal adventure at home from pregnancy to birth and early motherhood, while Books and Islands deals with a family journey through Ojibwe land with her youngest daughter. Both texts tackle the subject of maternity and literature, a main concern to her, as she mentioned in an interview: [Toni Morrison] spoke about being a mother, and she always spoke about it as a great boon to her as a writer. Previous to that I don’t think I’d read anything positive. There were few mothers writing, very few mothers who would talk about the benefits. Kay Boyle was one person for whom being a mother and a writer were passionately integral. Grace Paley, she’s very funny about it. She claims to have neglected her children, because it was the only way she could get things done. (Spillman, 2009) In The Blue Jay’s Dance, she insists on a female strength that reveals itself in the delivery experience: ‘Women are strong, strong, terribly strong. We don’t know how strong we are until we’re pushing out our babies’ (Erdrich, 2002, 12). As suggested in her use of the pronoun ‘we’, her individual, maternal experience is enlarged to a universal one. She presents herself as a mixture of instinct and learning, making of herself a member of a vast community beyond ethnic boundaries: ‘Mothering is a subtle art whose rhythm we collect and learn, as much from one another as by instinct’ (Erdrich, 2002, 161). Her writing even turns into a sort of feminist manifesto when, relying insistently on negations, she offers a dissident programme of education for her daughters and concludes: ‘We are born in cauls and veils, and our lives as women are fierce and individual dances of shedding them’ (Erdrich, 2002, 140). As in the case of other female writers from Native American origins,7 her feminism seems essentialist8 since women are mainly celebrated through their specific maternal roles, no matter if they are biological or surrogate mothers, as suggested by this comment: ‘Women without children are also the best of mothers, often, with the patience, interest, and saving grace that the constant relationship with children cannot always sustain’ (Erdrich, 2002, 162). At the same time, Erdrich insists on how difficult it is to express the delivery experience: ‘Even though I am a writer and have practiced my craft for years, and have experienced two natural childbirths and an epidural-­ assisted childbirth, I find women’s labour extremely difficult to describe’ (Erdrich, 2002, 42). However, she strives to reach this goal as she thinks this female experience has been ignored in writing for centuries: Over all of the millennia that women have endured and suffered and died during childbirth, we have no one story that comes down to us with attendant reverence […] In our western and westernized culture, women’s labor is devalorized beginning with Genesis. (Erdrich, 2002, 35)

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Both her autobiographical texts are meditations on her maternal link with a daughter before and after birth. In both cases, although fathers are mentioned, what the narratives emphasise is a female experience linking motherhood and literature. The Blue Jay’s Dance focuses mainly on the narrator’s efforts to write despite her maternal constraints. The first chapter defines this narrative as ‘a set of thoughts from one self to the other—writer to parent, artist to mother’ (Erdrich, 2002, 5). Unlike female writers from former generations, she may be lucky to have a room of her own (Erdrich, 2002, 6), yet once her daughter is born, she lacks time and space to devote herself to writing. On the other hand, in Books and Islands, she has plenty of time to read during the trip. This text even includes a self-portrait representing the narrator as a reading nursing mother (Erdrich, 2003, 17). Books offer, then, a remedy to her worries about being a mother close to menopause: How would I do it? I don’t suppose the Virgin Mary felt sorry for herself, but I did. Then suddenly, I thought of a most wonderful consolation. Books. Why? To read and read while nursing a baby. (Erdrich, 2003, 17) In The Blue Jay’s Dance, despite her hectic days, the narrator celebrates maternity and details the intricate links between writing and motherhood: ‘The need to write and to reproduce are both all absorbing tasks that attempt to partake of the future’, she says (Erdrich, 2002, 79). She offers her female version of life, both personal and political, as she claims that ‘[a] woman needs to tell her own story, to tell the bloody version of the fairy tale’ (Erdrich, 2002, 104). According to her, the ‘fairy tale’ should not stop with love and marriage but should include its hidden ‘bloody version’, that is to say, birth. Claiming that ‘[e]very female writer starts out with a list of other female writers in her head’ (Erdrich, 2002, 144), the narrator goes on with a long list, from Jane Austen to Jane Smiley,9 including paratactic biographical details about marriage and children (Erdrich, 2002, 144), the humorous conclusion being: ‘Reliable birth control is one of the best things that’s happened to contemporary literature’ (Erdrich, 2002, 145). Wondering about the specificity of ‘writing as a mother’, she resorts to the examples of two Nobel Prize novelists and their ‘ruthless’ heroines, American Toni Morrison’s Sethe and Norwegian Sigrid Undset’s Kristin Lavransdatter (Erdrich, 2002, 146–147). Eventually, having acknowledged the obstacles mothers encounter, she ­nevertheless celebrates maternity and links it closely to the writing experience. She even concludes on literature as a substitute for the plenitude felt by nursing mothers and refers to several male writers who seem to have expressed their longing for this type of sensation through the scriptural act: One day as I am holding baby and feeding her, I realize that this is exactly the state of mind and heart that so many male writers from

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Thomas Mann to James Joyce describe with yearning—the mystery of an epiphany, the sense of oceanic oneness, the great yes, the wholeness. There is also the sense of a self merged and at least temporarily erased—it is death-like. […] Perhaps we owe some of our most moving literature to men who didn’t understand that they wanted to be women nursing babies. (Erdrich, 2002, 148) In Books and Islands, the narrator keeps worrying about her child, but her ­ anadian-US thoughts also move toward more tribal concerns. Reaching the C border, for example, her anxieties recall ancient intergenerational fears due to colonial oppression: ‘“Do you have any proof that you’re her mother?” I stare at him in shock, it is such a strange question. I have to think. “Well,” I  say, “I can nurse her”’ (Erdrich, 2003, 100). When they are eventually freed, she concludes with relief ‘We’ve passed some mother/daughter test’ (Erdrich, 2003, 101), but because bloodlines have been questioned, the memory of the division of the territory by the colonial power has been conjured up. Motherhood leads the narrator to recall her roots and question the authority that has ignored ethnic claims for centuries. The recurring maternal motif of her writing becomes a postcolonial one challenging patriarchal established forms of power, as suggested in her novel The Round House: ­‘Indians know other Indians without the need for a federal pedigree, and this knowledge—like love, sex, or having or not having a baby—has nothing to do with government’ (Erdrich, 2012, 46).

Enduring links Whether they are trying to achieve independence or to reconcile themselves with their roots, children abound in Erdrich’s fiction, and mothers of all sorts rule. Even rebellious children cannot escape their mothers’ love. The novelist constantly stages this strong attachment, as in The Beet Queen, for example, when Dot reflects: […] there is someone waiting. It is my mother, and all at once I cannot stop seeing her. […] In her eyes I see the force of her love. […] I walk to her, drawn by her, unable to help myself. (Erdrich, 1987, 337) The metaphors of the spider web in Dot’s hair (Erdrich, 1987, 174) and of the necklaces in Love Medicine (Erdrich, 2005, 86) and The Antelope Wife (Erdrich, 1999, 20) express those enduring links between mothers and children. It is an attachment that resembles that of Native Americans and their tribes. Referring to the latter, Gerald Vizenor uses the portmanteau word ‘survivance’, which combines survival and resistance (Vizenor, 2011, 69).

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Erdrich echoes this point of view in her ‘mother’s vision [, which] includes tough nurturance, survival love, a demanding state of grace’ (Erdrich, 2002, 145). Her fiction offers this ‘mother’s vision’, as she repeatedly places mothers, whether biological, adoptive, native or non-native, at the centre of interest. In her plots, no child is left without love and guidance. A biological or surrogate mother is eventually always there to save, help, and perpetuate the family, the clan, and the tribe. Hidden links are discovered, whether of flesh and blood or of moral responsibility, in those stories related through their giant genealogical trees, and Erdrich concludes: ‘I’m working on one big continuous novel anyway. All of the books are part of it’ (Bacon, 2001). With her writing, the Ojibwe world is no longer a marginal one but occupies centre stage. The tribe extends the branches of its fictional families, and mothers manage to modify radically a canonical American literature devoted to solitary male adventures in the wild or in urban environments. Erdrich’s novels follow Ojibwe families in which mothers embody power and strength and transmit these qualities to their descendants. Thanks to these mothers, young generations are endowed with the ‘survivance’ necessary to the perpetuation of their community. This is suggested in the opening of The Bingo Palace through the use of an umbilical cord metaphor: ‘The red rope between the mother and her baby is the hope of our nation. It pulls, it sings, it snags, it feeds and holds. How it holds’ (Erdrich, 1995, 6). In This Giving Birth, Julie Tharp and Susan MacCallum-Whitcomb notice that birth stories ‘until recently have been silenced or privatized’ despite their being ‘so central to the “lives of one half of humanity”’ (Tharp, 2000, 1). This is not the case for Erdrich, whose birth stories are to be found in her two autobiographical essays, her novels, and even her poems with titles such as ‘Ninth Month’, ‘Birth’, or ‘New Mother’ (Erdrich, 2004b, 2004c, 2004d, 131–133). Her latest novel, Future Home of the Living God, is even entirely focused on pregnancy, as suggested by its jacket illustration, which represents a foetus’s ultrasound scan (Erdrich, 2018). Echoing contemporary concerns about reproductive rights and ecology, this dystopia stages an apocalyptic America where pregnant women are targeted since a general reversal of evolution leads most of them to give birth to monsters. As a consequence, a shadowy ‘Unborn Protection Society’ has taken over and healthy gestational carriers, like Cedar, the narrator, are to be impregnated against their will to ensure the survival of the species. Part Two opens on pregnant Cedar, confined to a hospital after her arrest, who addresses her baby to be born: ‘They have us. We are alone together now and I have only the barest idea what their plans are for us – though I assume not good’ (­Erdrich, 2018, 123). After a painful delivery scene, Cedar is deprived of her baby, and the novel ends on her helpless words: ‘And I have wondered, ever since your birth. Where will you be, my darling, the last time it snows on earth?’ (Erdrich, 2018, 267).

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In Erdrich’s other novels, births are rarely easy either, whether they take place in isolated cabins or urban homes or reservation ones. In LaRose, for example, Landreaux recalls how his wife had to experience harsh labour for the births of their children: He’d seen Emmaline go through drugless childbirth. She wanted drugs but only got lucky with Josette. Twice the trusted, competent anesthetist was not on duty at the IHS hospital. She didn’t want a bad spinal, an everlasting epidural or headache. Without one, the pain took up everything, she said. (Erdrich, 2016b, 286) In Erdrich’s fiction, mothers suffer, indeed, and the narratives do not avoid the realistic ‘bloody version’ of the tale (Erdrich, 2002, 104). During those dramatic times, female mutual help is often essential. In Tracks, Fleur goes through excruciating labour for Lulu, but is helped by her mother-inlaw (Erdrich, 1989, 58–60). She then loses a second child as Pauline, who wished to abort at first and eventually got rid of her baby through adoption (Erdrich, 1989, 131–136), does not manage to help her (Erdrich, 1989, ­155–157). Fleur then becomes addicted to alcohol during her third pregnancy in Four Souls and gives birth to a Foetal Alcohol Syndrome afflicted boy (Erdrich, 2006a, 68). Eventually, she is the medicine woman who knows how to help others, like Marie who fails to deliver her baby alone in Love Medicine (­Erdrich, 2005, 101–104). Once again, the latter episode links birth and ethnic origins when Marie retrieves tribal words from the depth of her memory while trying to give birth under her mother-in-law’s and Fleur’s supervision (Erdrich, 2005, 102). Birth strengthens links among women, generations, and tribal members, and Erdrich’s narratives feed on such cathartic scenes rather than avoid them. Mothers are also shown as educators. They teach survival through fighting, hunting, predicting, meditating, healing, feeding and sewing, as suggested by the long list of skills the first LaRose taught her daughter in the section entitled ‘What She Learned’ in the eponymous novel (Erdrich, 2016b, 198–199). The use of the anaphora ‘She taught her’ and the repetition of the phrase ‘how to’ insist on the all-encompassing teaching offered by the mother to her daughter. Whether they are biological or adoptive, mothers are characteristic of Erdrich’s writing, and even if some make mistakes, they are all enduring characters whose power is a source of survival for their children.

Feeding, sewing, writing Home may be perceived as a restricted kind of space dominated by routine and family life. It is, therefore, shunned by conventional literary heroes in

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quest of novelty and independence, but Erdrich’s fiction offers an inverted pattern in which home is the place of identity and revitalisation to be reached for, a place generally ruled by women, and mothers in particular. In their articles on Erdrich’s work, Kenneth Lincoln and William Bevis have both noticed this centripetal movement typical of her writing and of native literature in general (Lincoln, 1993, Bevis, 2011). Erdrich admits, indeed, that ‘the women in [her] books are lighting out for home’ (Pearlman, 1994, 153), and she confesses that she ‘hate[s] leaving home’ herself (Erdrich, 2003, 7). In Four Souls, Margaret remembers how she managed to retain her traditional knowledge at boarding school thanks to her matrilineal education and the way her mother had hidden her, for some time, beneath her great-grandmother’s skirt, to prevent the Indian agents from taking her away (Erdrich, 2006a, 177): ‘I knew who I was in relation to all who went before. Therefore, although I went to school I was not harmed, nor while I was there did I forget my language’ (Erdrich, 2006a, 179). Home embodies the tribe and vice versa, the family becoming a synecdoche for the tribe. Home is the place of ancestry and tradition, sometimes to be rediscovered, even in pain, as in Lulu’s case, for example. In Tracks, back on tribal land after her harsh time at boarding school, where she felt abandoned by her mother, she learns about the latter’s love from her adoptive grandfather’s narrative, which is one voice of the dual construction of the novel (Erdrich, 1989). In Love Medicine, Lulu is herself the mother of many children from various fathers, which leads the narration on many different paths, and creates a polyphonic text (Erdrich, 2005). In The Bingo Palace, she facilitates the escape from prison of her activist son, Gerry, and manages to involve the whole community in her act of tribal defiance, thus linking her mother’s and elder’s roles (Erdrich, 1995, 265). Since boarding schools were an instrument of acculturation based on the separation between children and their families, references to those institutions are recurrent in Erdrich’s novels10 and signify the tragic rupture of maternal protection leading to misery and the loss of identity. Home is the traditional location where mothers are to be found and the ultimate destination of all movements in Erdrich’s stories, which is not surprising for this type of literature inspired by people who have been the victims of separation, displacement, and dispossession. Home-rooted activities, generally performed by mothers, like meals and sewing, are constantly referred to in Erdrich’s writing; they acquire a unique dimension, unheard of in canonical literature. With her, the marginal and maternal become central after centuries of literary emphasis on white male adventures, as in Melville’s Moby Dick, Twain’s Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, and Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, for example. The kitchen, whether it is a basic place in the wild or a more modern version of it, is a meaningful setting where mothers rule, offer their love through their cooking, and gather their families. For example, the multiple

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narratives of Love Medicine start with Albertine going home, and story-­ telling originates in her grandmother’s kitchen where the women of the family have baked pies (Erdrich, 2005, 11–12). Significantly, The Blue Jay’s Dance, which recalls a mother’s experience during and after pregnancy, also makes numerous references to food and meals, even including recipes presented in the traditional way of a cookbook (Erdrich, 2002, 204). Food is to be read as a sign of generosity and sharing, as it suggests the maternal nurturing of family members. Conversely, its absence emphasises disorder, as in The Round House, in which the narrator’s mother stops cooking after having been the victim of a rape (Erdrich, 2012, 33). Food is also part of the metaphorical pattern of The Master Butchers Singing Club, which focuses on a German immigrant butcher’s shop where his wife becomes a surrogate mother for their neighbour and employee, Delphine (Erdrich, 2004a). Alongside her learning about maternal love at the same time as about meat processing, the novel stages the extreme forms of motherhood by revealing her hidden origins. Thrown into the outdoor toilet of her simple-minded biological mother as a newborn,11 Delphine was rescued by Step-and-a-Half, a survivor from the 1890 Wounded Knee massacre (Erdrich, 2004a, 325). A parallel is then established between two violent events: Delphine’s birth on the one hand and, on the other, the murder, at Wounded Knee, of a Lakota mother, sheltering her nursing baby with her bloody body, as in an inverted delivery scene (Erdrich, 2004a, 325). Often relying on the metaphor of food, the novel presents, in the end, all the facets of motherhood and child endurance, from devoted mothers to surrogate ones, including heedless biological ones. In addition to their feeding function, in Erdrich’s novels, women, and mothers in particular, are also skilled in the art of sewing, specifically ­beading and quilt making. These craft practices offer a metaphor for a mixed-blood America, but also for writing, as suggested by Dorris who describes Erdrich’s own quill making12 as follows: It is kind of a metaphor for writing. You take quills and you lay them down one by one. Using the natural colors, you create a pattern that emerges in the course of laying them down. That is what you do with dialogue […]. (Wong, 1994, 50) In Erdrich’s fiction, sewing is always a matter of transmission between women, especially along a transgenerational pattern. In The Painted Drum, Anaquot remembers how she taught sewing and curing to her eldest daughter: ‘She had loved her daughter, taught her sewing skills, and provided her the medicines to cure all ills’ (Erdrich, 2006b, 131). In Four Souls, Margaret prepares a medicine dress inspired by the memory of her great grandmother to save Fleur after her devastating life in town (Erdrich, 2006a, 117). In both novels, traditional female knowledge is linked with the idea of care and

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taught by the women of the family, but it can transcend family ties to provide regeneration for other tribal members. Through her needlework, Margaret celebrates generations of women and provides a metaphor for writing born out of emotions: To sew is to pray. Men don’t understand this. They see the whole but they don’t see the stitches. They don’t see the speech of the creator in the work of the needle. We mend. We women turn things inside out and set things right. We salvage what we can of human garments and piece the rest into blankets. Sometimes our stitches stutter and slow. Only a woman’s eye can tell. Other times, the tension in the stitches might be too tight because of tears, but only we know what emotion went into the making. (Erdrich, 2006a, 176) This sewing metaphor recalls Barthes’ description of the text as a piece of textile (Barthes, 1995, 997) and suggests that Erdrich produces her own sophisticated kind of weaving, a woman and a mother’s, which contrasts with canonical American literature. In The Antelope Wife, Cally has lost her indis mashkimodenz, a small, embroidered pouch containing her umbilical cord, and she is haunted by this loss, which embodies her lack of direction in life (Erdrich, 1999, 219). As she progressively learns more about her origins from her grandmothers, she also acquires the Ojibwe blue pearls Sweetheart Calico has inherited from her ancestors and becomes wiser, looking at the city and her relatives as if they were all part of a beaded pattern: ‘The city. Where we are scattered like beads off a necklace and put back together in new patterns, new strings’ (Erdrich, 1999, 220). This novel relies on beading as the motif that links the various branches of this Ojibwe family, an indigenous family rooted in the United States, since the epigraphs to the four parts of the novel show native women beading pearls recalling the three colours of the American flag. ­Reflecting about life, Cally perceives a beaded design, which echoes Erdrich’s work as a fiction writer: Family stories repeat themselves in patterns and waves generation to generation, across bloods and time. Once the pattern is set we go on replicating it. Here on the handle the vines and leaves of infidelities. There, a suicidal tendency, a fatal wish. On this side drinking. On the other a repression of guilt that finally explodes. (Erdrich, 1999, 200) Beading appears as a metafictional motif, and Erdrich is certainly the most skilful beader, who manages to embroider the story of Ojibwe families and of America by relying on mothers’ skills and perspective.

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In The Master Butchers Singing Club, a last chapter is devoted to Stepand-a-Half, Delphine’s original saviour, who is dying under a quilt of her own making, a needlework composition that alludes to the links she has established in life between the native and white worlds (Erdrich, 2004a, 386). Made of scraps of textile from Argus inhabitants and native ghost shirts, her quilt tells the story of America and of the old mixed-blood woman who saved a white baby. By rescuing Delphine, Step-and-a-Half defied lineage and ethnic belongings. From the narrative point of view, she is the one who holds all the threads of Delphine’s story, and she, eventually, moves from secondary character to central one, with her story as a survivor of Wounded Knee becoming the central horror story of the book. Her quilt reveals another history of the nation, an unusual one composed of numerous elements, different from the official one: ‘Before she fell asleep underneath that crazy quilt of all her pickings and wanderings, scenes assembled’ (Erdrich, 2004a, 386). Her quilt is also a metaphor for a writing composed of multiple elements forming a mixed whole, as the novelist skilfully embeds story within story and reveals maternal and filial links in her endless plots that weave another vision of America, a maternal and indigenous vision. Always intent on her desire to upset codes and compose new ones, at one point in The Antelope Wife, Erdrich leaves the narration to a dog, ‘curled underneath the beading table’, who has a specific insight about women: We dogs know what the women are really doing when they are beading. They are sewing us all into a pattern, into life beneath their hands. We are the beads on the waxed string, pricked up by their sharp ­needles. We ­ aking—the soul of are the tiny pieces of the huge design that they are m the world. (Erdrich, 1999, 83) This passage seems to describe Erdrich herself as a beader who stitches new patterns inspired from her ethnic origins and offers her decentred mother’s vision of life and literature, a maternal postcolonial approach that baffles long-established forms of power. In The Blue Jay’s Dance, she ‘imagine[s] a wide and encompassing room filled with women lost in concentration. They are absorbed in the creation of an emotional tapestry, an intellectual quilt’ as they slowly compose ‘a mother’s vision’ (Erdrich, 2002, 145). Erdrich ­herself contributes to this vision through her fiction, poetry, and life narratives. By positioning mothers at the heart of her writing, she seems to aim at conquering a place of power for mothers that has been absent ever since the Bible in Western civilisations, or that was lost, according to her, by Native American women with colonisation. She also challenges the codes of American literature by placing motherhood and ethnicity in the spotlight. In the end, this maternal approach is her way of debunking literary, patriarchal, and colonial rules and opening new perspectives within modern America.

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Notes 1 Erdrich is a member of the Turtle Mountain Band of Ojibwe through her mother, whereas her father’s family is from Germany. 2 Abel, Sava, and Madeline. 3 Persia, Pallas, and Aza. 4 The couple separated in 1996 and Dorris committed suicide a year later. 5 Nenaa’ikiizhikok is the daughter of Erdrich and Tobasonakwut (Peter Kinew, 1936–2012). He was an Ojibwe elder and activist. 6 For example, daughters Persia and Pallas are thanked in the ‘Afterword’ of The Round House for having helped with the manuscript (Erdrich, 2012, 485–486), and Aza designed the cover illustrations of Antelope Woman (Erdrich, 2016a) and Future Home of the Living God (Erdrich, 2018). 7 Cf Susan Power. 8 Essentialists contend that genders are marked by universal fixed features in terms of physiology and psychology. Maternity and the ability to give birth would be one of those attributes. 9 Jane Smiley is an American novelist who won the Pulitzer Prize in 1992. 10 See Tracks (Erdrich, 1989), Four Souls (Erdrich, 2006a), The Painted Drum (­Erdrich, 2006b), and LaRose (Erdrich, 2016b). 11 ‘[…] fished from the hole of Mrs Shimek’s outhouse’ (Erdrich, 2004a, 381). 12 Native Americans from the eastern seaboard and the Great Plains used porcupine quills for embroidery until they were replaced by glass beads around 1850.

Works cited Allen, Paula Gunn. The Sacred Hoop: Recovering the Feminine in American Indian Traditions. Boston: Beacon Press, 1986. Bacon, Katie. ‘An Emissary of the Between-World’. The Atlantic, January 14, 2001. www.the atlantic.com/doc/200101u/int2001-01-17, accessed April 23, 2012. Barthes, Roland. ‘Théorie du texte’. Encyclopaedia Universalis. Paris: Encyclopædia Universalis SA, 1995. 996–1000. Bevis, William. ‘Native American Novels: Homing In’. Ed. A. Robert Lee. Native American Writing. New York: Routledge, 2011. 103–135. Bruchac, Joseph. ‘Whatever Is Really Yours: An Interview with Louise Erdrich’. Ed. Allan Chavkin and Nancy Feyl Chavkin. Conversations with Louise Erdrich and Michael Dorris. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 1994. 94–104. Erdrich, Louise. The Beet Queen [1986]. New York: Bantam Books, 1987. Erdrich, Louise. Tracks [1988]. New York: Harper Perennial, 1989. Erdrich, Louise. The Bingo Palace [1994]. New York: Harper Perennial, 1995. Erdrich, Louise. The Antelope Wife [1998]. New York: Harper Perennial, 1999. Erdrich, Louise. ‘Where I Ought to Be: A Writer’s Sense of Place’. Ed. Hertha D. Sweet Wong. Louise Erdrich’s Love Medicine: A Casebook. New York: Oxford University Press, 2000. 43–50. Erdrich, Louise. The Blue Jay’s Dance: A Birth Year [1996]. New York: Harper ­Perennial, 2002. Erdrich, Louise. Books and Islands in Ojibwe Country. Washington: National ­Geographic Society, 2003. Erdrich, Louise. The Master Butchers Singing Club [2003]. New York: Harper ­Perennial, 2004a.

Female ‘transformational energy’  217 Erdrich, Louise. ‘Birth’. Original Fire: Selected and New Poems. New York: Harper Perrenial, 2004b. 132. Erdrich, Louise. ‘New Mother’. Original Fire: Selected and New Poems. New York: Harper Perrenial, 2004c. 133–134. Erdrich, Louise. ‘Ninth Month’. Original Fire: Selected and New Poems. New York: Harper Perrenial, 2004d. 131. Erdrich, Louise. Love Medicine [1993]. New York: Harper Perennial, 2005. Erdrich, Louise. Four Souls [2004]. New York: Harper Perennial, 2006a. Erdrich, Louise. The Painted Drum [2005]. New York: Harper Perennial, 2006b. Erdrich, Louise. The Round House. New York: HarperCollins, 2012. Erdrich, Louise. Antelope Woman. New York: Harper Perennial, 2016a. Erdrich, Louise. LaRose. London: Corsair, 2016b. Erdrich, Louise. Future Home of the Living God [2017]. London: Corsair, 2018. Fitzgerald, F. Scott. The Great Gatsby. New York: Scribner’s, 1925. Krupat, Arnold. The Voice in the Margin: Native American Literature and the Canon. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989. Lincoln, Kenneth. ‘“Bring her Home”: Louise Erdrich’. Ed. Kenneth Lincoln. Indi’n Humor: Bicultural Play in Native America. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993. 205–253. Maracle, Lee. ‘Indigenous Women and Power’. Ed. Smaro Kamboureli. Memory Serves: Oratories. Edmonton: NeWest Press, 2015. 129–31. Melville, Herman. Moby Dick. New York: Harper & Brothers, 1851. Moyers, Bill. Bill Moyers Journal, April 9, 2010. www.pbs.org/moyers/journal/ 04092010/profile.html, accessed March 5, 2012. Pearlman, Mickey. ‘Louise Erdrich’. Ed. Allan Chavkin and Nancy Feyl Chavkin. Conversations with Louise Erdrich and Michael Dorris. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 1994. 151–156. Spillman, Robert. ‘The Creative Instinct’. The SALON Interview. www.salon.com/ weekly/interview960506.html, accessed March 3, 2009. Tharp, Julie. ‘“Into the Birth House” with Louise Erdrich’. Ed. Julie Tharp and ­Susan McCallum-Whitcomb. This Giving Birth: Pregnancy and Childbirth in American Women’s Writing. Bowling Green: Bowling Green State University ­Popular Press, 2000. 125–140. Treuer, Anton. Everything You Wanted to Know about Indians but Were Afraid to Ask. St Paul: Minnesota Historical Society Press, 2012. Twain, Mark. Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. London: Chatto & Windus, 1884. Vizenor, Gerald. ‘Native American Indian Literature: Critical Metaphors of the Ghost Dance’. Ed. A. Robert Lee. Native American Writing. New York: ­Routledge, 2011. Vol. 1, 61–69. White, Sharon and Glenda Burnside. ‘On Native Ground: An Interview with ­Louise Erdrich and Michael Dorris’. Ed. Allan Chavkin and Nancy Feyl Chavkin. Conversations with Louise Erdrich and Michael Dorris. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 1994. 105–114. Wong, Hertha D. ‘An Interview with Louise Erdrich and Michael Dorris’. Ed. Allan Chavkin and Nancy Feyl Chavkin. Conversations with Louise Erdrich and Michael Dorris. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 1994. 30–53. Zimmerman, Larry J. Les Indiens d’Amérique du Nord. Cologne: Taschen, 2002.

Index

Note: Page numbers followed by “n” refer to notes. abortion 1, 2, 105, 106, 111, 112, 114, 167, 169, 191, 196, 198–201 Abortion Act of 1967 202n15 Adoption and Children Act in England and Wales of 2002 169 Adoption and Children (Scotland) Act of 2007 169 Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (Twain) 212 affection 142–3 Afghanistan, motherhood 28 AGLP see Association of Lesbian and Gay Parents and Future Parents (AGLP) Albertson, K. 49 allegorical motherhood in Irish and Northern Irish contemporary art 191–203; abortion (see abortion); embodiments and incorporations 193–8; political sphere 192–3 Allen, K. 6 Allen, P. G. 206 altruism: distributional effects 37–8; mothers’ selflessness 36–7; new feminist economics of care 40; self-interested/altruistic dichotomy, conceptual limits of 38–9 amae (dependence) 124, 177, 184; theory and construction of maternal fantasies 178–81 American Psychiatric Association 166 Ammerman, N. T. 87n3 Antelope Wife, The (Erdrich) 209, 214, 215 Antelope Woman (Erdrich) 206n6 Arai, L. 115 “Archers, The” 49, 58

artificial insemination 167 ART see Assisted Reproductive Technologies (ART) Asai, M. 180 Assisted Reproductive Technologies (ART) 93, 95, 102n1 Association of Lesbian and Gay Parents and Future Parents (AGLP) 171 attachment: intensive 19–20; theory 7, 18–22, 27, 33, 124 Austen, J. 208 Australia: good mothers 9; lone motherhood 5; teenage mothers in 5 Austria 2 authoritarian parenting 136, 140 authoritative parenting 136 autonomy 140–2 autopathography 95, 101 BAAF see British Association of Adoption and Fostering (BAAF) Babyklappe 7 Badinter, E. 6 bad mothers (Rabenmutter) 7–9, 50; and disables child, societal image of 65–6; guilt for being 71–2 Bailey, P. E. 111 Barthes, R. 178, 214 Basic Law for a Gender-Equal Society 181 Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother (Chua) 7 BBC Action Line 58 BBC Radio 4, 49, 58 Be a Butterfly project 199 Beatie, T. 12 Beauvoir, S. de 1 Becker, Gary S. 36

220 Index Beet Queen, The (Erdrich) 209 Bekaert, S. 105 Belgium 2 Berend, Z. 102n7 Bevis, W. 212 Bible, motherhood in 2–3 Binard, F. 165 Bingo Palace, The (Erderich) 210, 212 biological determinism 177 biologisation 19–26 biologised brains, neo-liberalised race and 26–8 ‘Birth’ (Erdrich) 210 Birth Charter 58 Birth Companions 51, 58, 60n10 Blue Jay’s Dance: A Birth Year, The (Erdrich) 205–8, 213, 215 Boat Festival 143 Boies, D. 153 Books and Islands in Ojibwe Country (Erdrich) 206–9 Bouzonviller, É. 205 Bowlby, J. 7 Bowlby, S. 122 Brah, A. 122 ‘Brain Science and Early Intervention’ research project 19 Brave New World (Huxley) 168 Bringing in Finn (Connell) 96, 99 Britain see United Kingdom (UK) British Association of Adoption and Fostering (BAAF) 170 buffering 23–6 Burke, C. 49 Burman, E. 115 Burns, V. E 110 business ethics, feminist critiques and 43–4 Butler, J. 193 Bywaters, P. 80 Cameron, D. 7 care 142–3; constellation 7; penalty 38 care work 33, 37–40, 43 Castet, A. 151 CECOS see Centre for the Study and Conservation of Sperm (CECOS) CEFER see Centre of Functional Exploration and Reproduction Studies (CEFER) Center for Disease Control 93 Centre for the Study and Conservation of Sperm (CECOS) 167

Centre of Functional Exploration and Reproduction Studies (CEFER) 167 Chao, R. K. 136 Chase, S. 191 childbirth 12, 78, 185, 197, 201, 207, 211 children’s independence 140–2 Chinese motherhood in the UK 134–45; care and affection 142–3; children’s independence and autonomy 140–2; filial piety and corporal punishment 139–40; methods 137–9; parent-child closeness 143–4; parenting styles 134–7 Chinese New Year 143 Cho, H.-J. 123 Chua, A. 6–7 Civil Partnership Act of 2005 169 Cixous, H. 196–7 Clarke, J. 111 Clear, C. 201n3 Confucianism 134–5, 144 Connell, S. 99–101, 102n8 consanguinity 79 Consuming Colonies 195 contemporary ‘IP memoirs,’ motherhood and mothering in 93–102 contraception 1, 10, 78, 106, 108–13, 169, 191, 198 Contrail (drama) 186–8 corporal punishment 136, 139–40 Corporate Social Responsibility (CSR): scholarship 40; thinking, stakeholder view in 41–3 Council of Europe 168–9 Couser, G. Th. 95 Criminal Justice Act 1991 (UK) 52 Criminal Justice Committee 53 criminal justice discourse, current landscape of 53 Criminal Law Act of 1885 166 Crook, F. 53 Croot, E. J. 80 CSR see Corporate Social Responsibility (CSR) cultural mythos 96 culture: of blame 9–10; impact on parenting 137 cyborg mothers 7 Denmark 2 desiring mother, taboo of 186–7 DI see donor insemination (DI) distributional effects 37–8

Index 221 Diva 169–70 Dixon, L. 57 Doi, T. 177, 179 domestic violence 22 Donath, O. 10–11 donor insemination (DI) 172 double consciousness 86 double-vision task 83–6 Doucet, A. 108 dustbin mothers 7 East Asian women in Britain, motherhood experiences of 121–32; employed mothers, narratives of 125–30; intersectional framework 121–2; stay-at-home mothers, narratives of 122–5 Edwards, R. 18 Eighth Amendment of the Constitution Act (1983) 198, 202n15 Ekstrand, M. 110, 111 embodiments 193–8 employed mothers, narratives of 125–30 England see United Kingdom (UK) England, K. V. 115 Equality Act 2010 (UK) 52 Erdrich, L.: works, female ‘transformational energy’ in 205–16 ethics of care 40–4 ethnic background 9 Evans, S. L. 122 family, evolution of 166–71; hetero-parenthood 168–70; homo-parenthood on children’s development, effects of 170–1; lesbian motherhood 168–70; sexual liberation, new technologies and 167–8 Family Law Reform Act of 1969 166 Family Nurse Partnership programme 22 Faraday Institute, ‘Uses and Abuses of Biology’ programme 29n1 father 7–10, 12, 20, 32, 35, 38, 39, 72, 78, 93, 125, 136, 139, 140, 157, 167, 170, 171, 181, 184, 208 feeding 211–15 female ‘transformational energy,’ in Louise Erdrich’s works 205–16; feeding, sewing, writing 211–15; giving birth 206–9; links, enduring 209–11; Native American mothers 205–6 Feminist Art and the Maternal (Liss) 191

feminist critiques, and business ethics 43–4 filial piety 139–40 ‘Fine Brains’ (Family-Inclusive Early Brain Stimulation) programme 28 firm 40–4; feminist critiques and business ethics 43–4; selfish or altruistic? 41; stakeholder view in CSR thinking 41–3 Fitzgerald, F. S. 212 ‘Five to Thrive’ campaign 20 Flather, B. 79 Folbre, Nancy 34, 38, 44n3 Foucault, M. 49, 51, 60n2, 107 Four Souls (Erdrich) 211–13 14th Amendment 154 France: being pregnant by a prisoner 2; condoms, promotion and advertising of 2; gay/lesbian couple, legal and social recognition of 166; gendered division of labour 39; Lebensborn scheme 2, 13n4; lesbian motherhood 165–74 Fraser, Nancy 33 French National Institute for Demographic Surveys (INED) 171 Friedman, Milton 41 Future Home of the Living God (Erdrich) 210, 216n6 gay/lesbian couple, legal and social recognition of 166 gender: discrimination in workplace 39; equality 32; studies 12 gendered dichotomies 40–4 gendered division of labour 36–7, 38, 39 gendered economic disempowerment 33 Gender Equality Bureau 181 gender-inclusive corporate leadership 42–3 Gerend, S. 192 Germany: bad mother (Rabenmutter) 7; being pregnant by a prisoner 2; condom use 2; fertility rate in 5 Gillies, V. 18 Gilligan, C. 43, 106 Goncalves, H. 110, 112 “good enough” mother, in young adult fiction 73–4 good mothering 2, 7, 8, 24, 121, 125, 127, 129, 130 good mothers 7–9, 50; cost of being 68–9; reflections on being 69–70; traditional, in young adult fiction 71–2

222 Index Gore, A. 83 Great Gatsby, The (Fitzgerald) 212 Gross, M. 171 Grosz, E. A. 192–3 Gumbs, A. P. 77 hadith (religio-historical narration) 78 Hallden, B. 111 Hall, R. 165 Hartman, A. 152 Harvard Center for Developing Child 20 Haskell, M. 184 Haut Conseil à l’Egalité entre les femmes et les hommes (HCEfh) 170 Hayes, S. 4 Hays, S. 19, 127 HCEfh see Haut Conseil à l’Egalité entre les femmes et les hommes (HCEfh) health 2, 10–12, 19–21, 24, 27, 55–7, 66, 77, 79, 85, 95, 96, 98, 101, 106, 124, 130, 152, 155, 177, 179, 192, 198, 210 Heenen-Wolff, S. 170–1 helicopter parents 7 Henderson, S. 12 Henke, S. A. 96, 101 Hertog, E. 188n6 hetero-parenthood 168–70 Hirao, K. 124 HMP Inspector of Prisons Annual Report 55 HM Prison Service 49, 52, 53 Ho, C. 129 Ho, D. Y. F. 135 Hollande, F. 170 Holmes, O. W. 64–5 Home Office 52 Homo oeconomicus 33–5, 39, 44 homo-parenthood on children’s development, effects of 170–1 housewifisation 179 Human Fertilisation and Embryology Act of 2008 (HFEA) 169 Human Fertilisation and Embryology Authority (HFEA) 172 Huxley, A. 168 ICSI see intracytoplasmic sperm injection (ICSI) IMELDA see Ireland Making England the Legal Destination for Abortion (IMELDA) Immaculate Makeover 194 immigrant mothering 83–6

In a Different Voice (Gilligan) 106–7 India, surrogacy services 4–5 INED see French National Institute for Demographic Surveys (INED) inequalities 18–29, 77; economic 33 infanticide 2 intended parent (IP) 5, 93–5, 99, 101 intensive attachment 19–20 intracytoplasmic sperm injection (ICSI) 94, 95 Invisible Stains 194 in vitro fertilisation (IVF) 94, 97, 100, 168, 169, 172 Ireland: allegorical motherhood in contemporary art 191–203; Maastrich Treaty 202n17; 1981 Census 202n6 Ireland Making England the Legal Destination for Abortion (IMELDA) 200 Irish Constitution: abortion 198; Article 41.2, 192 Irish Customs 202n14 Irish Family Planning Association 202n14 Irish Women’s Abortion Support Group 200 Irish Women’s Liberation Movement 198 Israel: regret motherhood 11 IVF see in vitro fertilisation (IVF) Johnston, D. D. 125, 129 Joyce, J. 209 JustGiving 58 justice, theory of 33 Knibiehler, Y. 1 Kristeva, J. 194 Krupat, A. 205 Kübler-Ross Model of Grieving 81 Kuczynski, A. 97, 99 Kukla, R. 96 Kyūtoku, S. 180 labelling mothers and motherhood 4–7 Landsman, G. 81 Landsman, H. G. 70 Lareau, A. 9 LaRose (Erdrich) 211 Lau Clayton, C. 134 Laundries, M. 191 Lavransdatter, K. 208 Lebensborn scheme 2, 13n4 Lee, E. 19

Index 223 Lee, M. 121, 131 legitimising stories 108–12 Lesbia 168 lesbianism 165, 172n1 lesbian motherhood 165–74; family, evolution of 166–71; moral values and law changes, evolution of: gay/lesbian couple, legal and social recognition of 166 lesbian mothers 151–62; acceptance of 152–4; arbitrary classification 154–6; education of 152–4; inferiority of 154–6; invisibility of 154–6; normalisation of 152–4; religious morality, as “superior governmental interest” 156–60 “Lesbian Mothers Network, The” 168 “Lesbian Mums on Holiday” 168 Lessing-Turner, G. 49 liberal feminism 33 Lim, H.-J. 121 Lincoln, K. 212 Liss, A. 191 lone motherhood 5 Lorde, A. 86 Love Medicine (Erdrich) 209, 211–13 Maastrich Treaty 202n17 McCaffery, M. 191–2 MacCallum-Whitcomb, S. 210 MacGonigal, M. 192 McLeod, C. 99 McMahon, M. 111 McRobbie, A. 5 Madonna 193 Madonna in Blue (painting) 193 Mann, J. 209 Mapping Feminism 194 MAP see medically assisted procreation (MAP) Maracle, L. 206 Martin, A. K. 200 Master Butchers Singing Club, The (Erdrich) 213, 215 material deprivation 79 maternal deprivation 7, 124 maternal fantasies 177–88; amae theory and construction of 178–81; comforting, in isolated society 183–4; maternalism, in era of social crisis 181–3; maternal love, subverting 184–6; taboo of desiring mother 186–7 maternalism, in era of social crisis 181–3

maternal love 8; subverting 184–6 maternal responsibility 18 maternal stress 21–2 Mauthner, N. 108 MBU see Mother and Baby Unit (MBU), in English prisons media 6, 10, 49, 50, 51, 52, 59, 79, 101, 160n6, 168, 182 medically assisted procreation (MAP) 169 Melville, H. 212 Mid-Autumn Festival 143 middle-class, middle class 1, 2, 6, 8, 9, 11, 23–5, 27, 83, 99, 111, 123, 127, 128, 152, 186 Mies, M. 179 Ministry of Justice 49, 55 miscarriage 97, 98, 100, 105, 106, 111, 112, 114 Mithani, F. 177 Moby Dick (Melville) 212 Mom, Marks of Motherlands 194 Morisson, V. 191 Morrison, T. 208 Mother (drama) 183, 186 Mother and Baby Unit (MBU), in English prisons 49, 53; Admissions Board 54; application criteria 51, 54–5, 59 Mother and Child (MacGonigal) 192 mother-blaming 66–8 motherhood: in contemporary ‘IP memoirs’ 93–102; lesbian 165–74; making sense of 1–4; pay gap 32; penalty 4, 37; in prison see motherhood in prison; scapegoating and labelling 4–7; see also individual entries motherhood in prison 49–60; criminal justice practice and process 56; eligibility/criteria issues 57; MBU admission criteria 54–5; other family members and staff, influence of perceptions of 57–8; reality 55–8; representation 55–8; right environment for babies 58; subjectification 55–8; UK penal policy context and 51–3; criminal justice discourse, current landscape of 53; time for change 52–3 mothering 4; behaviour 24; in contemporary ‘IP memoirs’ 93–102; intensive 19; and politics of early

224 Index intervention 18–29; South Asian, in white spaces 77–87; see also motherhood; mothers Mother Ireland 192 mothers: bad 7–9, 50, 65–6, 71–2; of children with disabilities, archetypal and realistic images of 64–74; cost of being a good mother 68–9; “good enough” mother in young adult fiction 73–4; guilt for being a “bad mother” 70–1; methodology 65; mother-blaming and shaming 66–8; reflections on being a “good” mother 69–70; smothering mother 72–3; societal image 65–6; traditional “good” mother in young adult fiction 71–2; employed 125–30; good 7–9, 50, 68–72; lesbian 151–62; scapegoating and labelling 4–7; selflessness 36–7; stay-at-home 122–5; see also motherhood; mothering Mother Ulster 192, 193 Muramatsu, Y. 187 Murray, C. 5 Muslims, in Britain 78–9 mythology 3 Nadeson, M.H. 23 Narey, M. 170 National Offender Management Service (NOMS) 52–4 neoliberal capitalism 42 neo-liberalised race, and biologised brains 26–8 Netherlands 2 neurosexism 18, 28 new feminist economics of care 40 ‘New Mother’ (Erdrich) 210 NHK 183 ‘Ninth Month’ (Erdrich) 210 NOMS see National Offender Management Service (NOMS) Northern Ireland: Abortion Act of 1967 202n15; allegorical motherhood in contemporary art 191–203 Norway 2 Oaklands Women’s Holiday Centre 168 Oakley, A. 1, 107 Obama, B. 155 Obama, M. 6 Ochiai, E. 126

Offenses against the Persons Act of 1861 198 Office for National Statistics (ONS) 134, 171 O’Keefe, C. 57 Olwan, D. M. 84 ONS see Office for National Statistics (ONS) O’Reilly, A. 94, 102n5 orthodox economics 34, 37, 39, 41 Osgood, J. 6 PACS (Pacte civil de solidarité) 166 Painted Drum, The (Erdrich) 213 Palacio, R. J. 74 Palin, S. 6 PANCOAST 173n14 Pappano, M. A. 84 parental workload 144 parent-child closeness 143–4 parenting classes: gendered, biologised, and learnt 20–3; styles, of Chinese motherhood 134–7 Parpart, J. L. 114 part-time employment 4 patriarchy 139, 140 Perrier, M. 11 Perry, K 153–5 Peterson, J. 94 Phillips, Á 195 Phoenix, A. 107, 115 physical punishment 136 Pinker, S. 7 Platonic (drama) 185–6, 187 Poland 2 Ponesse, J. 99 Portes, A. 122 Portier-Le Cocq, F. 1 pregnancy, muted desire of teenage mothers for 112–13 pregnant woman in prison 49–60; criminal justice practice and process 56; eligibility/criteria issues 57; MBU admission criteria 54–5; other family members and staff, influence of perceptions of 57–8; reality 55–8; representation 55–8; right environment for babies 58; subjectification 55–8; UK penal policy context and 51–3; criminal justice discourse, current landscape of 53; time for change 52–3

Index 225 prison in England and Wales, pregnant women and mothers in 49–60 Prison Reform Trust 55; Committee on Women’s Imprisonment (2000 – the Wedderburn Report) 60n4 Prison Service Instruction 49/2014 54 Prison Service Instruction 54/2011 54, 60n9 Prison Service Order 4800 52, 60n9 Proposition 8 campaign 155, 156 psychological abuse 136 Pudding Club, The 195 racial neo-liberalism 26 Raffenne, C. 32 Rational Economic Man (REM) 37–40, 43; (de)construction of, and value of production 33–5 Reception of Oocytes from Partner (ROPA) 172 Red Case, The 200 Red Wedding Dress 195 regret motherhood 10–12 relational autonomy 40–4 relational transcendence 100 religion, and South Asian mothering 79–83 religious morality, as “superior governmental interest” 156–60 REM see Rational Economic Man (REM) Renfrew, M. J. 49 responsibility 40–4 Review of Women with Particular Vulnerabilities in the Criminal Justice System (2007 – the Corston Report) 60n4 Ricard, N. 171 Rich, A. 12, 81 right environment for babies 58 Rizvi, S. 77, 81 Rogers, M. F. 191 romantic love 186 ROPA see Reception of Oocytes from Partner (ROPA) Rose, N. 107, 112, 116 Round House, The (Erdrich) 209, 213, 216n6 Sanderson, C. A. 144 ‘Saving Brains’ partnership of Western philanthropic foundations 28

Scalia, A. 157–8 scapegoating mothers and motherhood 4–7 Schröder, K. 5 Scotland: Commission on Women’s Offenders 60n4; regret motherhood 11 self-interest behaviour of Rational Economic Man 33–5 self-interested/altruistic dichotomy, conceptual limits of 38–9 Sen, A. 34 ‘separate but unequal’ class 154 sewing 211–15 Sex, Birth and Death 196 sexual liberation, new technologies and 167–8 Sexual Offences Act of 1967 166 shaming 66–8 Shizuka, Ō. 187 single motherhood 178 Smiley, J. 191, 208 Smith, A. 35 Smity, K. E. 64 smothering mother 72–3 social class 5, 9; biologising, buffering, and effacing 23–6 social mobility 105 social provisioning 34 solidarity 39 South Asian mothering, in white spaces 77–87; immigrant mothering and double-vision task 83–6; Muslims in Britain 78–9; religion, role of 79–83 Spare Rib 168 SS Marriage Order of 1932 13n4 stakeholder view in CSR thinking 41–3 Starman (drama) 186, 188 Stavrianos, C. 1 stay-at-home mothers, narratives of 122–5 Stern, E. 93 Stern, W. 93 Stier, S. 153–5 Strategy for Women Offenders 52 Stuck in Neutral (Trueman) 72, 74 sub-Saharan Africa: ‘Fine Brains’ (Family-Inclusive Early Brain Stimulation) programme 28 sukinshippu (skin-ship) 179–80 surrogacy 4–5, 93, 97 Surrogacy Arrangements Act of 1985 170

226 Index surveillance 2, 21, 79 Swanson, H. D. 125, 129 Tabberer, S. 106 Taylor, J. M. 107, 115 teenage mothers 5–6, 105–16; background of 106; legitimising stories 108–12; method 107–8; methodological considerations 106–7; muted desire for pregnancy 112–13 Teenage Pregnancy Strategy 1999–2009 105, 106, 109 television drama 178 Tell MAMA 78 test-tube baby 165 TFR see total fertility rate (TFR) Tharp, J. 205, 210 This Giving Birth (Tharp) 210 Thorsén, C. 111 total fertility rate (TFR) 181 Tracks (Erdrich) 211, 212 traditional “good” mother, in young adult fiction 71–2 Transforming Rehabilitation 53, 60n6 transnational mothers 7 Treuer, A. 206 Trueman, T. 72 Twain, M. 212 Tyler, I. 13n9 Ueno, C. 178 United Kingdom (UK): age of firsttime mothers 10; ‘Brain Science and Early Intervention’ research project 19; Chinese motherhood in 134–45; Department of Health 202n16; domestic abuse services sector 22; East Asian women, motherhood experiences of 121–32; Family Nurse Partnership programme 22; ‘Five to Thrive’ campaign 20; Home Office 52; immigrant mothering 85; Labour Government’s ten-year action plan 10; lesbian motherhood 165–74; motherhood 12–13; Muslims in 78–9;

pregnant women and mothers in prison in 49–60; regret motherhood 11; teenage mothers in 5, 105–16 United Nations Rules for the Treatment of Women Prisoners and Noncustodial Measures for Women Offenders (the Bangkok Rules) 52–3, 60n5 United States of America (USA): drug testing in pregnant women 21; surrogacy services 4 Vincent, C. 127 violence 111, 114, 153; domestic 22 Virgin Shroud (Cross) 193 Vizenor, G. 209 Wales, pregnant women and mothers in prison 49–60 Warnock Committee 170 Warsi, B. 78 Well of Loneliness, The (Hall) 165 White, E. 111 Wilkinson, S. 115 Williams, T. D. 78 Winnicot, D. W. 73 Woman (drama) 183–7 Women on Waves 199, 200 Women’s Justice Taskforce report (2011 – Reforming Women’s Justice) 60n4 Women’s Policy Group 52 Wonder (Palacio) 73, 74 Woodward, K. 50 working-class, working class 2, 5, 7–9, 18, 23–5, 29, 77, 111, 112, 192 Wu, C. 136 young adult fiction: “good enough” mother in 73–4; traditional “good” mother in 71–2 Zehelein, E.-S. 93 Zhou, Y. 122 Zimmerman, L. 206